#the book miracle is proof

[beautifulenemychild]

oh no they bicker like the old married couple they are

[bat-the-misfit]

finally finished rewriting Juliana's personality analysis!!! It has 12 pages now and it is so much more complete and i'm so proud of myself sidwjbsjqoaodywiwhaj!!!

[long-live-astronerd-ghost-king]

DPXDC prompt. Field trip.

Some people would call gothamites petty, but given that most of the USA population treated them as scum, they believed that their behavior was justified.

They didn't like tourists, to put it mildly. Therefore, after learning that in their city were people on a field trip from Amity Park who could not leave Gotham for several days due to weekly escape from Arkham, the news channel immediately decided that a short interview from the guests would definitely amuse the locals. The reaction of outsiders never ceases to be ridiculous.

Reporter: ~Good afternoon~ Gotham News! May I ask you to share what you liked most about our wonderful city?

Mr. Lancer*still in a cold sweat and looks at every passerby as a potential villain*: Uh, no, me..It's so unexpected. Well, first of all, people here are very…

Danny *is high after the tasting samples Dr. Crane gave him for free and is extremely eager to share his happiness with others*,* picks a microphone*.

Danny: Gotham is the best city in the world! Like seriously, damn, I'd like to die here. Although there are constant shootings somewhere, half the time people don't even shoot at me! I haven't been this relaxed since middle school! And in the evenings, there is often such a pleasant scent of fear and despair on the streets. This fear toxin of yours is a real miracle! It's sooo good!

Sam *decides to take the initiative in her own hands before Fenton says too much*: Personally, I am very pleased with the number of green spaces you have in your city. It's nice to see that here eco-activists are really being listened to. Also, the fact that most restaurants have a thoughtful menu for vegetarians left a very pleasant impression.

Dash in his favorite T-shirt "it's not gay if he's dead": Four words. Hips of Red Hood. The fact that it is not marked in the guidebook as the main attraction of the Crime Alley is a real crime. This dude clearly never skips leg days. My respect.

Tucker: What can I say? The speed of internet here, even during villains attacks, is absolutely  unbelievable. I don't want to leave this place.

Jazz: I love Gotham! Finally, I was able to buy all the works published by Dr. Harleen Quinzel. *girl picks up an impressive stack of books* For some reason, they are not available online.

The camera points at a red-haired guy with a twitching eye.

Wes: I'm 85% sure Bruce Wayne is Batman. I have a proof and I am ready to provide it.

A girl with a "Good Guess" pin from Riddler enters and takes camera away from conspiracy theorist.

Star: Sorry, he slipped out at night and went to look for problems. Again. Don't pay any attention to him. He's always like this when he drinks more than two energy drinks in a row.

[halemerry]

On Crowley, memory, and identity.

So full disclosure first, I am not someone who is particularly interested in having Crowley's angel name on screen - personally I rather like the idea of never having an answer to this question - but I also do think it's interesting and fun to speculate and we got quite a few hints at this throughout this season soooo

Obviously part of this is that we meet him. The angel that would become Crowley is the first person on screen this season. We confirm a lot about him here. He confirm that he is powerful enough to start the engine of the universe. We confirm that he can control gravity and time and space and light. We confirm that he is the being that says let there be light before the beginning. We also confirm that he consulted with the concept designer of the universe and that he's very comfortable with the idea of questioning authority. We are also given Aziraphale's anxiety as a contrast to this and as proof that that is not a universal trait for early angels.

Now, we have always had evidence that Crowley is powerful. He's done some things that seem impossibly big. He stops time very casually and seemingly without effort - even at the end of season 1 it doesn't even seem to give us the same strain on him that holding the Bentley together does. This is a thing that we only ever see Crowley do and notably a thing that you would think other beings would mess with to their advantage if it was possible. Which means they either literally can't or that it never occurred to them that they could. Or as is becoming increasingly clear: perhaps it's a bit of both.

But that's not the only implication of power we get in season 1 either. We get Crowley seemingly in tune with the universe in a way many angels and demons aren't. Which, makes some sense if he helped make it. This manifests in all sorts of ways. He's constantly aware of Aziraphale's presence. He can smell when the world state changes like when Adam names Dog. He holds the Bentley together through utter destruction. He notices that there are different books in the bookshop - something I always assumed was meant to convey he was familiar with the shop's contents but after learning he didn't even know Jane Austen was a writer I wonder if it's actually more to do with him being in tune with reality. He also can apparently quite literally feel when there are eyes on them.

We're given even more of all these things this season in some really interesting ways. Crowley literally tests the air to check if a miracle has happened - another thing that we don't see anyone else do despite Heaven literally assigning someone to Aziraphale to check for a specific miracle. This particular beat is also something we are shown twice this season. Both here and in 1941, when Furfur uses the miracle blocker on Aziraphale. Here Crowley tests his miracles and despite getting nothing of the sort when Aziraphale tries a miracle literally the beat before this, we are given both a visual and an auditory effect. It ripples out with a watery sound effect from Crowley's finger. It's like he's prodding at reality.

There's also several instances involving the recognition or lack thereof of angels and demons. Crowley feels that the demon army is arriving before it does. Neither side seems to be able to track Gabriel - one of the most powerful beings in existence - at all once he leaves Heaven. We also see countless angels fail to notice Crowley himself both as Bildad the Shuhite performing literal miracles right in front of them. And this happens again as he prances about Heaven after Muriel. Aziraphale can't tell Shax is a demon despite Crowley recognizing she's manifested behind him nearly as soon as he answers the phone. Aziraphale can't even recognize that he himself is still an angel at the end of the Job story.

He also. Quite literally. Brings someone back from the dead???? Like waves a hand casually on the street and reconstitutes Mr. Brown like he'd never been dead at all. Mr. Brown returns with no memory of what happened to him holding a newspaper that seems to have literal bite chunks coming out of it. It's not framed as a huge miracle or anything strenuous either - just a casual snap.

And that's not even getting into the parallels with Gabriel. First of all. We get the color purple. It's purple when Aziraphale and angel that would become Crowley start the engine of the quadrants of the universe and it's purple when they miracle to hide Gabriel. This color is associated with power and, historically in the language of this show, with Gabriel himself. Them using it together twice speaks a lot to the power they have together.

But that's not the only symbolism historically tied to Gabriel that has found its way to Crowley this season either. Most flashy of all is the lightning. This is how we see Gabriel arrive on earth at the end of season one and it is something Crowley apparently just Does when he gets too mad to contain himself.

This alone wouldn't catch my attention except. Except the way Crowley reacts to Gabriel's memory problems is... interesting to say the least. He's angry and understandably so. Part of this is him being mad and protective of Aziraphale - he says as much himself to Jim directly. And yet, weirdly, it's the kind of mad that reminded me of something else.

This is the mad he tends to gets at his plants. Do it properly. Think hard. You can do better than that. Grow better. It's the kind of angry that's steeped in projection. It's he kind of angry that is undercut with the occasional weird undercurrent of understanding. And so much of his dialogue with Jim around this is framed like he does actually understand. Jim says it hurts and he says he knows. Jim starts talking about it feeling like being an empty house that still remembers where the furniture is and Crowley immediately latches onto this and understands ah it's looking at where the furniture isn't.

And there's a few other conversations that center around this issue that I find really interesting from a projection perspective. There's the conversation that happens when Crowley goes to have an alcohol fueled chat with Jim. He says "You're Jim now. Got everything just the way you wanted?" This doesn't make a whole lot of sense for him to be addressing Gabriel with. As far as he knows all Gabriel would want was the end of the world.

And then there's the particular way he asks Jim to eliminate himself in this scene. Climb out the window. In other words, have a fall. Something he pretty immediately retracts and clearly feels guilty about no matter how much he hates Gabriel.

And then there's the first conversation he gets to have after learning about Gabriel. Crowley opens this conversation, thinking out loud. He's staring out, not talking to Az yet and the very first thing out of his mouth is, of all things: "He's going to be okay." A weird start for a statement about Gabriel in itself but then Crowley goes and adds what at it's core is his own trauma narrative to the end with, "We can just take him somewhere and leave him there."

Now the real fun bit: Crowley also has memory issues that are out very prominently on display even as far back as season 1.

He has inconsistent memories of his Fall. The answers he gives us to why he Fell change slightly - even when he's alone with himself. He doesn't seem to understand why exactly he Fell even though he clearly has some vague idea of the pieces in play. I always thought to some degree that this was just a trauma response, but season 2 drew even more attention to this and now that we know that memory alteration is how Heaven handles powerful angels I can't help but to wonder if there's more in play here.

Crowley can't remember Furfur - who he apparently literally fought next to during the war in Heaven. Crowley can't remember building a nebula with Saraqael. Crowley doesn't remember why they decided gravity was a good idea.

But he does remember bits and pieces here and there. He remembers doing some of the starmaking. He remembers how to access clearance locked files. He's missing pieces and also seems to have an understanding that Gabriel's memories ARE in there. Almost like he's done this work on himself before.

This narrative itself is also far more concerned with the angel Crowley was this time around. It teases his rank a few different times. Most notably is him having access the files only available to Dominions and above.

Now angel hierarchy is a bit of a messy area depending on what sources you're using but given Good Omens tendencies in the past we can assume that this leaves us five ranks. Dominion, Throne, Cherub, Seraph, and Archangel.

I might break down why I think Dominion, Throne, and Cherub feel kind of odd to me later if there's interest - now available here - in that but given the current length of this meta I just want to focus on that last one for now.

Crowley was an Archangel is far from a new theory and I've honestly historically had some fairly mixed feelings about it. But the parallels between Jim and Crowley lend some interesting connective tissue to a lot of those theories. And. There's also some interesting camera work and script writing tied to Crowley and that term outside of the scenes about Gabriel's memories specifically.

Firstly, during Crowley's chat with Beelzebub he says it's a big universe with plenty of places for an archangel to hide. Like Alpha Centauri perhaps?

Then we get Aziraphale and Crowley both presenting Hell and Heaven respectively the idea that it could have been them that did the archangel class miracle. Aziraphale gets scoffed at and yet. Shax is the one who says the miracle was archangel level and Crowley's response is "how do you know I didn't do it?"

Then later as she's prowling about the shop we get this interesting shot of Crowley in the doorframe and Jim in the background. Crowley grins and offers to let Shax look in and see if she can see any archangels in there while he's framed dead center and Jim himself is blurry in the back of the frame.

And most fascinating in my opinion is this shot that happens when Crowley and Muriel are accessing the classified files. Nearly every shot in this sequence is group shots or shots of Gabriel. The camera is focused in the plot and the way the archangels function as a group and on Gabriel himself. But we get one single shot in this entire sequence of Crowley by himself and it is immediately following Gabriel saying "I am the only first order archangel in the room - or, well, the universe."

And then in the end. We get the Metatron who goes out of his way to avoid using Crowley's name. He calls him demon (and insists correctly that Crowley would recognize him even when Michael doesn't) or refers to him as Aziraphale's friend. He only ever uses that name when trying to use him as a bribe for Aziraphale. That combined with the dark look he gives Crowley implies a familiarity that only the Metatron has with him.

So who is he then? There's plenty of old meta out there about why certain archangels fit or don't and I won't reiterate them here. They're interesting and definitely worth poking around at and very fun to read! Personally I'm not as interested in naming the someone he used to be as I am in examining the places that ghost of this angel has started to poke through the narrative so I'll end this here. It's spiralled into something far longer than I ever meant it to be anyway.

[marvelwitchergilmore]

In Sickness and Health

Summary: Logan x Fe!Reader -> Logan takes care of you when you're sick.

Disclaimer: Mentions of throwing up, getting the flu, flashbacks to exploding boats. Mostly fluff for how Logan takes care of the reader. Couple of swear words. Happy ending. Not Proof Read.

You never got sick. 

It didn’t matter who you were around, or where you had been or what you had been doing. You never got sick. 

You could help ten puking kids, three more flu ridden ones, walk through a room full of adults who had everything from the flu to fainting from it, and still walk away and not have gotten sick. 

Standing by the kitchen door, Logan watched you. 

In all fairness, he’d been watching you ever since he saw you sneeze whilst he was sitting outside teaching a kid outside of lesson times. Sitting in a classroom didn’t help the kid, but sitting outside on a bench, watching the world go by…well, the kids could recite the whole book by the end. 

For three days, you’d been sniffling, sneezing and coughing. No more than anyone else, but coming from you, it was concerning for Logan. 

He couldn’t get sick, but that was due to his own mutation. Not by some miracle act from God. 

So, standing by the kitchen door, Logan watched you. 

Your nose was a little red from the amount of times you’d used a tissue against it in the last few days, your skin was flushed, your eyes heavy and your steps slow. 

For the third time in four minutes, you zipped your jumper back up and shivered. 

“You’re sick.”

Logan’s voice made you jump. He wasn’t loud but it still made your ears ring. 

“I am not sick.”

“Yes, you are.” Logan pushed himself from the door frame and he walked closer towards you. 

“I don’t get sick. I’m not sick. Just…tired. Didn’t get a lot of sleep last night.”

“No, neither did I. I could hear you coughing and sneezing from down the hall.”

“That wasn’t me.”

“Sure.” Logan raised his brows for a second. 

“It wasn’t.”

Then you sneezed. 

“Okay,” Logan practically sang, taking you by your shoulders. “Let's get you to bed.”

“I don’t need to go to bed. I’m making food-”

“We don’t need you making everyone else sick. One kid, fine. An entire school? Even Mother Teresa might struggle with that one.”

Logan stood behind you and guided you out of the door and down the hallways. 

“Why is it so hot in here?” Quickly zipping your jacket back down, you tried your hardest to get it off you as fast as you could. Logan helped you for a moment before pressing his hand to the back of your neck. 

“You’re sick.”

“I am not sick.”

“You’re freezing cold,” Logan pointed out. 

“Then why do I feel like I’m on fire?”

“Because,” Logan said. “You’re sick.”

Helping you down the hall and into your bedroom, Logan pulled the covers back from your bed and made sure you got into it. The minute your head hit the pillow, the pouding just became a dull ache. 

“If I’m so sick, why are you helping me? You’ll get sick.”

Logan shook his head as he tucked you in whilst simultaneously untucking your duvet from the frame of the bed. 

“I can’t get sick. My mutation makes sure I can’t.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, ‘oh’.”

“But what about the kitchen?” 

You went to get out of bed again but Logan practically ran around the bed to stop you. It didn’t take a firm hand to push you back down. 

He sat beside you, his arms caging you in where you lay. 

“Don’t worry about that. I can take care of it.”

“You can cook?”

Logan nodded. 

“You? You, Logan Howlett, can cook?”

Logan furrowed his brows, a little offended. “Don’t sound too shocked.”

“Just…never seen you cook an actual meal.”

Logan shrugged, “When you bunk with seven other soldiers who don’t know the difference between toast and charcoal, you learn pretty quickly.”

“Huh.” You said, slightly shocked by his admission. Though, come to think of it, Logan was full of surprises these days. 

Your friendship with him hadn’t started out on the best of terms given that you had punched him in the face when you first met him, thinking he was on the other team of people who were hunting you. 

You got a good swing in, too. Made his nose bleed. Which was never an easy feat when it came to someone like Logan. 

Of course, for a while, given that you didn’t want to join either team, or any team for that matter, you and Logan were a bit stand-offish to each other. On the rare occasion you did see each other (usually whenever X-Men came to find you), your communication with him was through glares and grunts. Which he gave back in return. 

Then the first couple of times he, technically, saved your life, you were more adamant on fighting him. Like when he pulled you out of the water when you fell in, even though it had been on purpose and you yelled at him for leaving the boat you’d both been on. 

“Oh, well excuse me for thinking I was saving your life!” He had yelled at you as you walked up the bank and found a log to throw your jacket over whilst you wrung out your hair and the bottom of your t-shirt. 

“I jumped, Logan. I didn’t fall. I knew what I was doing. You should be on that boat right now!”

“Maybe, but now I guess we’re stuck together, huh?”

Funnily enough, it was after that day you decided you hated him a little less. But it wasn’t from the water, it was when he actually listened to you and left the boat when you told him to just before it exploded. 

He was the one to find you back at the bank when you dragged yourself up it and collapsed, catching your breath. 

“You blew up a boat.”

You nodded. “I blew up a boat. And saved your life. I guess now we’re even.”

“Even, huh?”

You nodded. “Yeah.”

He offered you his hand a minute later and pulled you up. 

It still took a while for you to both become friends, but at least from that day forward, you were both civil and talked. 

A few hours passed after Logan had tucked you in, or at least, you guessed they had, considering the sky was less sun-lit and more moon-lit. 

“Hey,” Logan shook you awake gently and you turned over, your entire body hurting as you did so. 

Slowly you sat up and felt Logan’s hands brush the hair from your face until he could see you clearly. 

“Here, take these. Drink this.”

You swallowed down two tablets but made a small groan when Logan didn’t let go of the cup. 

“You’ve already broken two, this is just safer.”

Then you remembered. 

Logan kept his hand on the bottom of the cup as you held it and drank from it before pulling it away and placing it on your side table.

And looked down. 

“Why am I wearing your shirt?”

“Because I found it in your draw. And it’s easier to get you out of it, if you spill something on it again.”

You furrowed your brows. “You got me changed?”

“It was either that or listen to you keep falling around in here.” 

You grunted a small response as Logan went to lift something else from beside your bed. “Here, you need to eat something.”

“I’m not hungry.” You tried to push it away. 

“You haven’t eaten in two days. You need to eat something.”

You groaned again. “What is it?”

“Soup.” Logan gave you a small spoonful, the heat from the bottom of the bowl warming his hand. “Careful, it’s hot.”

He managed to get at least half of the bowl down before you rejected it saying you were full. 

“Why are you helping me?”

“Because someone else might actually think you mean what you say while you're sick.”

You were still for a moment, then nodded. Maybe he was right. 

“What time is it?”

“A little after eight.”

You just hummed and slowly lay back down in bed. 

“You just get some rest.” Logan told you, rubbing his thumb over the knuckles of your hand before getting up. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

You didn’t know if it was a minute, but he was back. 

With his hand against your forehead, and through the blurry vision of your eyes in the dark, you could tell he looked worried. 

“Honey, you’re burning up.” He told you, slowly peeling back each layer of bedding you’d put on top of yourself. 

You hissed as he pulled the final layer back. “Logan, it’s freezing.”

“Come here, sit up for me.”

And you did. 

Crouching in front of your legs, Logan kept his eyes on you until he checked the thermometer was on. 

“Open up.”

You did so and he stuck the thermometer under your tongue. 

“I’m surprised you know how to do this.”

“Stop talking.”

You waited for a few seconds, but then you had to speak. 

“Logan, I don’t feel so good.”

“I know-”

Within a split second, you pulled the thermometer from your mouth, left it on the bed and a momentarily confused Logan behind as you ran towards your bathroom and flipped up the toilet lid. 

“Okay, okay.” Logan was right behind you, pulling your hair back and rubbing your back as you practically threw your guts up into the toilet bowl. 

Eventually, it stopped but you remained where you were. The puking might have stopped for a moment but the gurgling inside your stomach hadn’t. 

“I think I’m sick.”

Logan gave a fake scoff. “See, now that’s just untrue.”

“Don’t make me laugh,” you told him, feeling a small smile on your face before it was wiped away by the wave of a sick feeling again. 

For a moment, the gurgling in your stomach subsided and you dropped to the side of the toilet against the wall. 

Logan quickly ran a fresh wash cloth under the sink before he wiped your face down, removing some of the sick stains and sweat. Once he ran it clean, he gave it to you to place at the back of your neck. 

Then he stood up again and started searching through the draws around the sink til he found what he was looking for. 

“Lean forward a little.”

You followed his instructions before you felt his hands scoop up your hair and secure it with a scrunchie he had found. 

“Thank you.”

Reaching up to the counter, he pulled down the thermometer he was yet to check and gave a small whistle.

“Well, what’s the verdict, doc? Girl or boy?”

“39.6.”

“That’s a lot of kids..”

“I’ve called Jean. She’s still tied up at that conference in Melbourn but she should be back soon.”

“Hopefully she knows how I can give birth to that many.”

“Think you can stand?”

“After giving birth? Hell no.”

Logan sighed, but you didn’t miss the chuckle that escaped him as he helped you up off the floor. 

“You okay?” Logan asked you if you gripped onto him as you swayed on the spot. 

“Dizzysall.” You drawled a little as you spoke, closing your eyes. 

“Let's get you back into bed.”

Logan helped you from your bathroom, back into your bedroom and into bed. You pulled the covers back over you, only to have Logan pull them off again. You whined a little. 

“We still need to get your temp down, bub.”

You gave in, your strength leaving you as tiredness kicked right back in. Again, Logan brushed the stray hairs from your face as you tried your best to fight off sleep. 

“You’re gonna get sick.”

“Can’t, remember?” Logan’s voice was soft. “Mutation stops it.”

You nodded, remembering, letting out a small; “Lucky bastard.”

Logan chuckled but just sat beside you as your hand held onto his while your eyes closed, giving him a little more freedom to let his eyes wander around your room. 

You had a couple pictures round your room, but not many. However, you did have a hefty parcel you were yet to open, on your desk that he could guarantee contained some. Also on your desk you had a small record player, as well as the records lined up beside it. You had everything ranging from Christmas Classics to Movie Soundtracks to 80s rock. Most had been your own that you brought with you when you moved into the school, taking up a teaching position. But some others had been gifts from birthdays, christmases and the last couple had been from one’s Logan had found himself. He thought you might like to add them to your collection so picked them up and brought them back from flea markets and other places he found whenever he went out. 

From what he could see, the last record you had played was one he had found for you. 

When you were sound asleep, Logan stood and walked across your room and opened up your window which let in a cool breeze. 

He was quiet as he moved about your room, shutting the door a little so he could flush the toilet without disturbing you before he tidied up the bathroom a little. 

Then he started cleaning around your room, wiping down any surface you had touched and any that you could have. 

By the time he finished, he woke you up again to make sure you got some more fluids down you all the while feeling your forehead with the back of his hand. 

“You feel cooler.”

“Just what I’ve always wanted to hear.” 

Taking the thermometer from your bedside table, he uncapped it and placed it under your tongue. You stayed quiet this time, waiting for the beep. 

Your temperature had gone down a little, but not by much. 

“Logan? Will you stay with me?”

Logan nodded. “Sure, bub. Lay down.”

You did so and he walked around the other side of your bed, pulling the covers to the floor save for the thinnest and lightest one. 

Almost instantly you curled into him and closed your eyes, his arms holding you close. 

“Thank you for making sure I don’t die.”

Logan smiled. “If you did, who would give me crap from cooking?”

You gave a slight smile before sleep overtook you. You woke a couple of hours later to chuck up the last few remaining ounces of your internal organs, and Logan stayed with you the whole time. 

And when you fell asleep on your window seat, having been desperate for fresh air that didn’t smell like the inside of a toilet bowl, Logan carried you back into bed. 

By the time morning rolled around, you had less of a rough storm inside your stomach but you were no better than the night before. 

So, Logan made you take a shower. 

“I’m gonna keep this door open,” Logan called over his shoulder, between the gap he had left in the door. “Shout me if you need me.”

“Okay.”

Immediately, Logan started stripping your bed covers and sheets, changing them for fresh ones. He was almost done when you came out of the bathroom, wrapped in a towel. Saying nothing, you moved over to sit by the window seat and let the fresh air brush around you. 

Logan found you an extra towel and wrapped it over your shoulders so you wouldn’t get too cold, or even sicker, before going in search of some clothes. 

You managed to pull your arms through the t-shirt and lift it over your head. Logan helped pull it down over the rest of your towel covered body and left you to deal with your pants whilst he shut the window so the gap for air wasn’t so big. 

You pulled the towel undone from underneath you and Logan took it from you, throwing it into the laundry basket by your door. 

You managed to twist your hair into a bun as you walked over to your bed, laying on top of the sheets. 

The rest of the day was spent sleeping, waking up when Logan came back to make sure you were getting enough water and medicine down you as well as keeping it down. And by the afternoon, he had found a couple of old movies. 

And when you asked him to stay with you, he did. 

You fell asleep fifteen minutes in, but Logan still stayed with you. And even if he wanted to leave, he couldn’t. Because your hands had been held above his, over your middle since he lay beside you. 

You turned over, half way through the movie, gripping onto his shirt and he just rested his chin on the top of your head. 

You woke up six hours later and felt better. 

Over the next two days, your fever finally went down and you stopped gagging at every smell that was stronger than laundry softener. Until finally, you were sat up in bed with Logan, able to feed yourself without your arms screaming at you to just not move an inch. 

“I mean it, Logan. Thank you. For everything.” You told him, turning to look at him. 

He had made you some more soup and gave you some added crackers. Your appetite wasn’t back but you were thankful that you were actually hungry for once and not feeling sea sick. 

“Don’t mention it. How’s the soup?”

“Tastier now that it doesn’t smell like everything else did.”

Logan nodded. “Still surprised that I can cook?”

“Oh, yeah. I still need to see you cook to believe it though.”

Logan smiled. You were getting better. 

The conversation flowed for a while longer until you asked Logan one specific question. 

“Do you remember when we became friends? I’m not talking about after the boat. I mean like, actual friends.”

“We’re friends?”

You scoffed, hiding your smile whilst he showed his, and shoved him slightly. 

“I’m kidding. But you remember the river?”

You nodded. “Of course. You don’t exactly forget jumping from an exploding vessel.”

Logan waited a moment and then nodded. “I remember when we became friends. You took care of Rouge. She wouldn’t let anyone in to see her, but she let you.” 

Logan leaned his head back and looked up to the ceiling. “God, I remember that. I think you even called me an ass.”

“Correction; A jackass.”

“Forgive me.”

“Forgiven.” You nodded. “You were so worried about her, and I couldn’t blame you. But you were being a jackass.”

“I just remember racing home and by the time I got upstairs, everyone was in bed, except for you. You stayed with her all night.”

“So you made me a cup of coffee.” You finished for him. 

Logan nodded. “I remember all of that. Why’d you ask?”

“Because I’m glad it happened.” You told him. “Not Rouge getting sick, but…the moment. I’m glad we became friends with Logan, because it made me trust you outside of being an X-Man. And, I’m sorry about all the disgusting things you’ve witnessed in the past couple of days but…I’m glad you were the one to help me. I trust you, Logan. With my life. Both figuratively and literally.”

Logan shifted his hand so it held onto yours. “I’m glad, too.”

A few moments passed and you both broke eye contact when a pair of familiar heels were heard coming down the hallway. 

“Here you both are.”

Jean was finally back. “You’re looking better than Logan described.”

You looked at Logan for a moment before looking back at Jean. “Yeah, it’s been…rough.”

“How are you feeling?” 

“Better now,” you smiled a little. “Logan had a lot to do with it.”

“I’m glad you’re okay. I’m just gonna go and check on everyone else. Make sure they’re not coming down with something, too. Are you two okay here?”

You nodded, “We’re fine.”

Jean didn’t fail to spot where Logan was holding your hand, and she gave a brief smile before heading towards the door. 

A week later you were right as rain and was finally getting to see something you had been begging to witness all week. 

Logan cook. 

You sat by the kitchen island, watching him prepare the ingredients, cook said ingredients, all the while creating a delicious meal that wasn’t just soup and crackers, all without burning the house down. 

“So you really know how to cook?” You asked, bouncing a wooden spoon between your fingertips. 

“I really know how to cook.” Logan said with a small smile as he sliced through the pastry. 

“Why don’t you do it more often?”

He shrugged. “Dunno. Pass me that?”

You handed over the wooden spoon and Logan started stirring something. “Come and try this.”

And you did. 

That night, you both sat out on the balcony, watching the stars go by. 

And, as you sat there, watching the stars go by, the music from the record player steaming out from the kitchen, you looked over at Logan and realised something. 

You trusted him. 

You more than trusted him. 

You, in fact, loved him. 

It would be a few months more before something would happen between you both, but you would come to find out that Logan had realised that exact same thing. But rather than realise it out on the balcony, he had realised it for himself back inside the kitchen when you had stood beside him. 

He couldn’t make sense of it at the time. Why, for such a small moment, had he realised then. But either way, he was thankful for it. Both of your lives were lived in higher stakes. 

To have a small moment feels so connected with such a big one…

Looking at you, and having you look back in the same manner…

That meant the world to him. 

In sickness and in health, 

You meant the World to him. 

[etherfabric]

Why things will be easy now

Choose a pile by which picture you resonate with the most.

If your mind is too busy to clearly decide, take a few deep breaths, and use the finger of your non-dominant hand to hover over the images. One will give off the most subtle yet prominent signals, like tingles, a magnetic pull, or temperature. This is your pile. Multiples are also possible.

more PACs

Pile 1

Queen of Swords, The Emperor

■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■

Things will be easy now because you learned what works for you, and are confident to ditch the rest. Your intuition is razor sharp and wielding it is second nature to you now. Other's opinions don't sway you anymore. You know everyone has their own path, and them doing thing A has no influence on your thing B. You are a master now with drawing boundaries with others as well within your own thoughts - you know which ones are from your true, authentic, eternal, beautiful self, and which one are just silly downward spiraling habits you can opt out anytime. Those doubts are like fluffy clouds on a breezy summer day - superficial, fleeting, never able to stop the sun from reaching you. You know where to put your energy and your focus, and feel the results instantly. How come mood is now so easy? And the best part - it doesn't actually feel new. You remember how this was always at your disposal. How you just forgot about it. But it was always there. Memories of past successes are cut and dry proof of all the blessings to come. It feels powerful, it feels true, it feels good - it feels you. Like actually you.

Pile 2

The World, Page of Pentacles

■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■

Things will be easy now because the minute somethings stops feeling satisfying, another perfect thing will pop up. Talking about divine orchestration, and this is your symphony. You enjoy every step of the journey - the idea, the initiation, the progress, the habit, the finish. You marvel at the infinite combinations of those currents through your perception, and the world is your oyster now. So many prospects that hold reliable promises! It's all up to you. Things that used to be dull and monotonous suddenly bring a sparkle to your eye again. Food tastes rich, water refreshes you with every sip, your body is a miracle you have access to every living second. The physical plane got its magic back. With the eyes of the eternal child, you feel abundant beyond limits. I get the feeling specifically of having beautiful interactions with nature, with an emphasis on animals. Spotting a rare bird, petting a cat, a butterfly landing right next to you. Serendipitous timing with weather - sun right when you want it, rain right when it adds to the athmosphere, a breeze caressing your back as encouragement on a stroll towards something exciting. Beautiful sunsets, stargazing, moonlight moments. You have everything you could ever want, and then some. This is what life is about, and it's so easy. And you know how to stay in it.

Pile 3

3 of Cups, 2 of Wands

■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■

Things will be easy now because it finally clicked: You remembered how freaking likeable you are. Social interactions that used to confuse you now suddenly make sense - people are intimidated and nervous around you! They really want you to like them, and they can't fathom how you don't see that. Well, those times are over now. A calm and confident warmth emenates from within you now, and what used to be a source of anxiety and stress is now a constant uplift in your life - the people you meet, how they look at you, the words they say, just their body language from across the street are all surefire signs you can read like a children's book. They reflect what has finally once againrevealed itself to you: You are beautiful, impressive, radiant, capable, deserving, magical. This makes time by yourself like a serene island of recuperation and contemplation. Your dreams and plans with people are just as easily achievable as opening the door to your room. Mundane, easy, self explanatory, a given. Not ever a focus of your worries. Why worry about the doorknob? Why worry about things that are certain? Why worry about just the right people entering your life at just the right moment, with just the right circumstances, right words, right gifts, right intentions? That's right. As easy as the inhale and exhale. As sure as the next breath. Welcome to the truth.

Pile 4

5 of Cups, The Hierophant

■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■

Things will be easy now because you know you don't have to fake anything to get what you want. Feel sad? Cry. You are still God's favorite and your blessings are on their way. The more authentic you are, the faster they will come. You have found comfort in what others would falsely read as "bad signs". There are no bad signs when you are set on the right path. There are only different stations all with their own rhythm, themes and energies. All parts of you are necessary and welcome. Your joy, your fear, your sadness, your frustrations - they are no longer being pushed away, but embraced. That's how they power your manifestations. The more you, the merrier. You can suddenly feel the beautiful relief and cleanse your tears bring, the empowering holy fire within your rage as it propels you forward towards what you deserve, the soothing hum of your tiredness replenishing every cell. No more thwarted sense of self that breaks you - you are perfect and sacred as you are. The less pressure, the more rewards are coming your way. Life flows through you, you are an expression of the divine, and carry yourself accordingly through all phases of life. You will suddenly see texts and teachings reflecting exactly that. You will feel validated in a way you never felt before, but it will feel just like home. Your true home of eternal love and possibilities.

[maopll]

Could I request biker au for Wriothesley, Argenti, and Al-Haitham? Congrats on 1K 🎉

YOUR BIKER BOYFRIEND

⋆·˚ what an honour to have him as a boyfriend... a sweet and loving boyfriend under that helmet ! just a dream come true ...

note : biker bf's biggest fan !! . — let's all be from genshin impact and not tell argenti ahh character selection /j.

sfw // very hot , gn!reader

side note: og's will know that there were notes about additional characters but author was too lazy to even remove them

— ୨ WRIOTHESLEY ୧

Before a big game, he would always tease you or just passionately kiss you before he goes off to win another gold trophy. "It's just a ritual, baby nothing much" so he says before he walks off with a shrug and a shit eating grin.

You've always known that he wouldn't do anything that would risk his life. Yet the thought would always scare you. So before he goes, he also hugs you tightly and whispers sweet nothings into your ear.

"See these scars dear? They are also rewards of hardwork and show my countless wins" he kisses your forehead and takes in your scent. "I will always come back to you".

"It's a promise then"

— ୨ ARGENTI ୧

His red luscious locks flowing in the wind as he takes win after win, is straight out of a movie. After every win, while receiving his trophy, he would playfully scream towards you "To my love!" and ending it with a flying kiss. Poor other fangirls thinking it was for them.

He makes you give him full spa and makeup after coming back since he doesn't really want to reek of sweat nor does he want to stay separated from you for any moment.

"Ah right there, dear... yes that feels good"

You were massaging his back after showering him. "You are enjoying this more than I thought"

— ୨ ALHAITHAM ୧

"What are we even doing?"

"Building full proof strategies to conquer victory"

"???"

He kept you by his side as he went through the records of history and wins of one of the world's greatest bikers. 5 books were on the table 4 hours ago and now it's just 2 books on the table. "I understand that but..." you tug at his sleeve "let me go first? I'm barely being of any help..." he was holding your hand and not letting you go anywhere.

"Hmm then is completing 3 books supposed to be a miracle? your presence is definitely helping dear" "wow you smooth talker... alright I'll humor you but you better achieve victory tomorrow." He only chuckled at your words since there hasn't been a competition which he didn't win. "if I win then I will receive your kiss on the stage deal?" "deal"

—

"I kissed you as per the conditions of the deal. happy now?" "I've never been happier dear"

[godisrealproof]

God cares about his creation.

A teenager got to leave her wheelchair behind.

Similar things happened to me too.

[ourg0dsal]

Gideon Nav CANNOT Die. Hold on- I know... but give me one second and I'll explain.

So, as I said before Gideon Nav cannot die, or at least her body can't. Cause clearly (spoiler warning) Gideon Nav died at the end of Gideon the Ninth. There is no avoiding that.

But! If you have read all the books GtN, HtN, and NtN including all of the accompanying short stories (tho I will admit I have not read The Mysterious Study of Dr. Sex yet) then there is a better understanding of the timeline of the whole story outside of just what the three main books give you. Specifically and especially with Gideon's body. But also there are many times In Gideons life were she has faced near death events or events that she should not have survived from and still was breathing on the other side.

To go in chronological order of these events, when she was first born she was found in a container held by the air depraved suit of her mother. And while ofc In the book it does state that her mother had redirected her air supply to Gideon, but it is simply being stated to cover all my bases.

Then the 200 sons and daughters massacre when Gideon was 1 (or 2 im not sure) when she inhaled poisonous air without dying. Which led ofc to the Reverend Mother and Father fearing the ground she walked. And this is a big one because, it literally creates waves in the plot. It's a defining point of Harrow and Gideons relationship. That Gideon did not die when she was supposed to.

Later in the story Gideon talks with Pal when she believes Harrow to be a murderer and openly admits to him that "she nearly killed me a half dozen times growing up" which obviously in context was to emphasize on the brutal relationship between her and Harrow. But this could also be other times where miraculously Gideon survived death when she shouldn't have. Because as we know from the first confrontation between Harrow and Gideon. Harrow doesnt hold back for her.

Finally of all the events where Gideon escapes death, this one actually happens within the main story of Gideon the Ninth. When Harrow siphons from Gideon to retrieve one of the challenge keys. And at the end when Gideon passes out, it is narrated ""ha-ha," said Gideon, "first time you didn't call me Griddle," AND DIED." Now, this could obviously just be the snarkiness of Gideon narrating. Or something incredibly clever left behind by Tamsyn Muir for a book series that is so clearly meant to be reread. But ofc to do my rounds the next line after does state "well, passed out. But it felt a hell of a lot like dying." But then immediately after "wake up had an air of ressurection." Which honestly feels like Tamysn Muir teasing the readers at this point. The question then becomes rather, which one was the tease and which one was foreshadowing/ evidence.

Now the point of listing all of these events is that in all of these cases the chances of death are so incredibly high that for most its a miracle she's alive. Ofc most notably for the siphoning trial and the poision gas, but none the less there is proof within the written story and and out that Gideon has looked death in face and moved on with maybe a headache. And it wasn't just in her child hood this is something she can just do. Some recreated in the written story! Because as Pal said. Even with the siphoning challenge done perfectly the chances of leaving Cam with severe brain damage was far to high. And Gideon didn't even suffer that.

Sadly, despite all these Gideon gets to the final battle and fights Cytherea and does die. At the hands of a particularly pointy fence. Or was it truly the fence that did her in? Rather than the lyctorship ritual that was started seconds afterwards.

My full theory, isnt just that Gideon Nav can't die. It's that Gideon Nav wouldn't have been able to die... If Harrow hadn't sucked her soul out. There are at the very least 8 seperate events that Gideon should have died, two of which were nearly gauranteed, but she was ended by a piece of metal. Yes, a very well placed piece a metal, but the point still up to that point she had faced worse a came out unscathed.

If Harrow had not completed the lyctor ritual, Gideon would not have died. Wether or not through resurrection or simply walking it off. Gideon's body has some sort of necromantic attributes to it that keep her alive. We see this in the Untitled Entry short story with Judith Deuteros that describes Gideons body, as it does not rot, cannot be injured, cannot be fed to animals forced or otherwise. And that is all before Jod ever gets a look at the body, because otherwise he would have known Gideon was his daughter before the later events of Harrow the Ninth.

And ofc during the first challenge when Harrow uses Gideon as her eyes to be able to see the construct in the other room and Gideon is able to see the thanergetic signatures that Harrow remarks should be impossible. (I assume because the process is Harrow extracting information (Gideons eyesight) from Gideon and so Gideon should not also be receiving information (the ability to see the signatures)) unless Gideon had some form of necromantic abilities, which she was tested for as a kid and apparently did not have. Alongside not having the correct attitude to be a nun of the ninth. And so we can round it out to be her body being naturally necromantic leaving Gideon without the ability to use it. (Which Is a jump from the actual point we are attempting to use, but for now this stops us from assuming Gideon as any sort of necromantic ability which is a theory all on its own. One that I personally have no evidence for or against)

Now, that I have hopefully made both my Ap Lit and Lang teachers proud with my 3 am essay, I must give you the real tragedy of Gideon the Ninth. Had Gideon not died, had Harrow been unable to complete the lyctor ritual for emotional reasons or otherwise, had Harrow not become a lyctor and killed cytherea. Gideon would have had to watch Harrow and Cam be killed, possibly even Corona, Judith and Ianthe. And then to be used for Cythereas own motives. Tamysn Muir beautifully set up the story so that the best possible outcome could have happened. Had Gideon not died. Everyone else would have. And "Camilla the sixth was no idiot" cam knew and accepted this whereas Harrow never would have. And so the unkillable Gideon had to die, and forcing Harrows hand was the only way to do it.

[heliosundercover]

Batboys and

how they talk about you

Bonus fic as a thank you for allowing my jason fic to do well 💋

Dick Grayson-

, who talks about you like a goddess walking the earth, loves you more than words. The type to talk about you so much that people doubt your real

 

“My girlfriend is so sweet, guys. Today we went to that one library I like. Guys, have I told you even her favorite book is adorable?”

It doesn’t help that he tends to get caught up in certain details, completely ignoring other ones. No one knew your name until a week into dating.

 

Jason: “If you asked me before, I would’ve never believed him; weve all gone a little insane, but now that Ive seen proof, I'm happy for him. He gets to be well-dick, and she gets to smile and nod, but I swear she enjoys it. They’re weird together.”

 

Tim: “We love Dick. A lot, but we were looking at a wonderful facility that has an in-patient gym in the beginning. But the way he looks at her, I wouldn’t be surprised if she actually did miracles.” 

 

Damian: “At least I believed him at the start. He was smitten and absolutely whipped. I thought it was just like Dick. I don’t know why I, of all people, was the only one that caught it.

 

Bruce: Yeah, I knew she was real. Why would I ruin everyone’s fun? I mean, Dick is a bit. Aloof sometimes… I'm not exactly surprised; he’s not exactly amazing socially sometimes, but with her, he’s extra awkward, and I watched him flirt with men and women. But look, as long as he’s happy, we’re happy for him.”

 

Dick is a completely drunken idiot, with so much training thrown out the window. 

(Can you tell I'm not a fan of a playboy dick😞 im sorry i love a good love stuck man)

 

Jason Todd-

, who is extremely protective of his peace, sometimes acts as if you’re fragile. He was the type to invite you to a family game night where he called a family meeting an hour beforehand, forcing everyone to be on their best behavior. Needless to say, it was awkward, but one uno round later, he realized you fit in just fine. 

 

“I knew my girl would win. She's a gangster.”

boast when you absolutely dominate everyone playing in the game. You never quite beat the cheating allegations.

 

Dick: "I don’t know how he did it, but he found someone who brings out a side of him I haven’t seen in years. No one is that good at uno; naturally, at least, I think she’s a meta. I'm not saying that non-metas aren’t good at uno.”

 

Tim: "You know how in movies the girl animals just have lashes, and how the boy is always darker and the girl will be like a lighter color? It's like she was made for him. I'm glad he found his anamorphic girl, Wolf. But, can I be honest? I think Alfred was telling her our cards.”

 

Damian: "I'm glad Jaybird is happy. He’s definitely earned it. Even if she cheats at UNO, they’re perfect for each other. Hell, the cheating is what makes them perfect for each other.”

 

Bruce: "I'm glad to see Jason happy. The sparkling in his eyes, the boyish smile, is the same joy I saw after he hit me with a car iron and ran off, giggling. I like her.”

 

 

Bruce Wayne-

is proud to show you off publicly. He’s not one to spoil someone, but sometimes he can’t help but pick up trinkets for you. Sometimes you’d wake up to keychains, jewelry, or even clothes somewhere in your shared room. 

 

He tried so hard to be there for you and protect you from his line of work. Some nights, he wouldn’t come to bed at all to avoid waking you. Some nights, if you worried too much, he would send Dick out in the Batman costume so he could be by your side. 

 

"Shh, baby, its ok... Tonight, I'm staying with you, okay? I love you; do you know that? And I know sometimes the risk scares you, but I’ll always be here for you.”

 

Dick: "It's nice knowing Bruce isn’t constantly brooding about it. Well, I knew that fact already, but this is different. I only see a light in his eyes when he’s doing stuff he absolutely loves. Like when he talks to his parents tombs and we pretend we don’t see him.”

 

Jason: "i think that man would come back from the dead more dramatically than I did for this woman. And I waged like 3 wars.”

 

Tim: “Sometimes I see them sitting in the library together in silence. All they do is enjoy each other’s presence. Its adorable”

 

Damian: “Dads earned it. And when I say he’s earned it, I mean he’s earned it!”

 

Bruce isn’t the easiest to be with, but he always makes up for it.

[solarisfortuneia]

— 𝐟𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐮𝐭𝐞𝐬.

and the smell of camphor dancing in the wind.

✦ info: he didn't know he'd lose you so soon. (come back, please. even if it is just for five more minutes.)

✦ featuring: alhaitham.

✦ warnings: angst, character death (reader), heartache, 1.2k words, somewhat proof-read.

✦ notes: i cried so goddamn hard writing this. why is my first work after hiatus pain. why did i pick up the angst wip. but!! i'm writing again, so that's good. (more notes at the end.)

he didn’t know that it was your last day together. 

he didn’t know that the smile you gave him that afternoon, your eyes sparkling like sunlight upon the serene waves of the ocean, would be the last he’d ever see. that the playful light in your gaze would fade so very soon, slipping through his fingers like sand.

he didn’t know that last night would be the last time he held you close while you drifted off to sleep. he didn’t know that today would be the last time he’d wake up with you.

he didn’t think he’d lose you like this. 

he didn’t think he wouldn’t be able to save you from that blow. 

“please, please,”  he begs, both to you and to whatever force that is just barely holding you together. “just stay with me for five more minutes, please. until i can get you somewhere.” 

the rain soaks him to the bone, clothes and hair sticking to his skin. your lips stay motionless, eyes shut.

“wake up, please,”  he bargains. “you can have all the five minutes of extra sleep you want later, i promise. just—”  his vision blurs, and something shines on the ground before it is gone, swallowed by damp earth, lost amidst drops of falling rain. 

desperately, he tears off parts of his traveling cloak to staunch the bleeding. deep inside, he knows it is futile. he knows your wound is too great. he knows what lies ahead. but he cannot help but press the cloths to your wound and pray. 

please, please tell me it’ll be okay. 

please stay with me, beloved. i’ll read you all the books in the world. i’ll sleep in with you everyday, even if we end up whiling away our time. 

please. stay. stay with me. i can’t lose you yet.  

“— just wake up, beloved.” 

by some miracle, your eye flutters. just a bit. just enough to set hope ablaze, just enough for the grip on his heart to loosen a tiny bit. he buries his face in your shoulder, resting his head against your neck, uncaring of the blood that stains his clothes. your blood. on his clothes. his hands. everywhere. 

no. no. this can’t be happening.

he feels you strain beneath him, your unwounded arm gently, weakly brushing his back. he jolts upright, eyes trained on your face. you send a frail smile his way. he clasps your face softly as you nuzzle into his palm.

“alhaitham—” 

his full name. archons, how long has it been since you called him that?  

“— take good care of yourself, okay?” you tell him, chest heaving, your fingertips touching a tear on his cheeks. “i love you. so much.” 

those are the last words he hears fall from your lips. he presses a kiss to your forehead, to your eyelids, and to your cheeks and to your lips, over and over and over until he feels your breath slow, hoping they’ll say what he knows he cannot manage to choke out.

i love you. 

he stays there next to you for who knows how long, holding you until the rain slows and a faint rainbow smiles in the sky.

until he can’t smell camphor anymore.

—

every person has their curiosities. 

they’re just the little traits that set them apart from others, the things that make them tick just a little bit differently, the things that make them, them.

for instance, someone may be obsessed with collecting tiny furniture, while another eats the crusts off their sandwich before actually consuming it. someone may have an affinity for the most niche aspects of linguistics, while another can accurately predict the next raindrop that slides down a window pane.

after all, no two people are exactly alike, are they?

alhaitham knows he’s got his fair share of these curiosities himself. his aversion to soup and all things that resemble it, to name one. and with you, he’d noticed two things. 

number one: the scent of camphor that seems to linger on every inch of your person. 

he’d caught whiff of it almost immediately the first time you met. you were but one of his juniors in the akademiya, filled with bright-eyed curiosity and anxiety to match. you had tripped over a stair and bumped into his table in the library, bringing the mountain of books in your arms crashing down.

and with subsequent coincidental meetings, he learnt that the subtle scent of camphor dancing in the air meant you weren’t far away. 

you were, unfortunately, one of the poor souls who seemed to be cursed with constantly recurring minor illnesses, and almost always walked about with a stuffy nose. and so, you always carried a small disc of camphor in a handkerchief, as well as in your pocket.

you swore up and down, left, right and center that sniffing the vapors helped make breathing easier.

‘it’s my grandmother’s remedy, alhaitham! camphor always works wonders. well, that and eucalyptus oil.”

alhaitham may not know the validity of your claim or the legitimacy of the cure, but he knew to never, ever question a grandmother’s remedy. that, and he’d much rather refrain from starting a back-and-forth about something so small.

and number two: your neverending pleas of different variations of ‘just five more minutes!’ 

“five more minutes, ‘haitham. please.” you’d whine grumpily when he woke you up to start your day. “let me sleep in for five more minutes.” 

“five more minutes, habibi,” you’d ask when he put down the story you’d requested he read out to you before bedtime. “read me the part where she finds the music box?”

“five more minutes, baby,” is what you’d tell him when he asks how much longer you’d take getting ready. “you can’t rush perfection!”

those five more minutes were never five minutes long. 

but he’d always, always indulged you and those pleading eyes of yours. as stoic as he appeared to be, you lived in his heart. of course he could never deny you anything under the sun.

—

alhaitham remembers that silly little song you sang over and over, the one you’d learnt from a kid in the bazaar. he’d taken you to see one of nilou’s performances, and, friendly soul that you were, you’d struck up a conversation with some of the eager audience members before the play. 

“oh, how i wish i was a bird flying free,

i’d see the world, every mountain and every sea!

oh, how i wish i was a cloud in the sky,

wouldn’t you like to wave to me as i pass by?”

you’d hum that rhyme on every idle afternoon.

loss is inevitable. he knows that, with how logical and rational and straightforward he is. he’d lost his parents, but he was far too young to remember. he’d lost his grandmother, but she passed in her sleep of old age, serene and wise.

but you? he didn’t think you’d leave him this soon. a singular wish sits in his soul, making its home in his bones. 

a wish that you’d come back, somehow. 

he wishes you gave him five more minutes, just as he always did.  but he knows that you could’ve given him five more hours, five more days, five more years and five more decades and it would still not be enough time spent with you. 

a blue feathered bird comes to perch on his shoulder, interrupting his musings just as he raises his face to the sky. he sees the heart shaped cloud that floats idly above sumeru city.

 he thinks of the rhyme again, and something in him tells him to wave. and so he does. a scent so familiar lingers, faintly brushing his nose in the wind that picks up.

“alhaitham, it's time to go.”  kaveh calls his name softly.

 alhaitham doesn't move. “five more minutes,”  he says, echoing your favorite phrase. “i smell camphor in the breeze.” 

✦ extra notes: my alhaitham characterization for this fic stems from how i believe that when alhaitham is attached, he's attached. so i focused more on that, and less of all that rationality and whatnot. this one loves deeply, yk?

that camphor thing is a real grandma remedy in our household (my mom would tie some in a hanky and put some under my pillow and still to this day reminds me to do it when i'm sick) which is what originally sparked the idea for this

when i'd initially started this wip, i didn't expect it go this way. usually i write with my brain, but i think i wrote this one with my fingers working faster than i can think hsjhsj so sorry if it's kinda out of place lmao but yk what? i'm happy with it still even though i feel like it doesn't have my usual quality.

thanks for reading.

[cornchrunchie]

I'm sure someone already pointed it out, but– I just can't get over the symbolism of the church scene in 1941. How the bomb shatters the church and kills the nazis and leaves Aziraphale and Crowley behind.

The bomb literally destroys the Good™ (the church obviously represents Heaven) and the Bad™ (we know that the nazis represent Hell because that's where we meet them again. Also, they're nazis) but it doesn't do any harm to Aziraphale and Crowley, therefore placing them with neither Good nor Bad but rather something in between.

Look at them. The sacred ground is scattered around them, not even sacred anymore, since Crowley no longer is bothered by it. What once was to resemble the Evil is now buried beneath.

But there is Aziraphale, who used a miracle to save not only himself but also Crowley. And there is Crowley, who used a miracle to save Aziraphale's books. Because they care for each other. Because they look out for each other. Because neither of them is solely good or bad, they are shades of grey.

We even see Crowley pulling the bag out of the dead person's hand, which could be interpreted as an act of ultimate liberation from the past. After thousands of years of choosing between Heaven and Hell, Crowley chooses to save the books for Aziraphale.

Even though this scene takes place years before they get cut loose from Heaven and Hell respectively, it already depicts Aziraphale and Crowley as independent from both, as their own team. It's the visual proof that they already are an us.

In the end, it all comes down to them. When Heaven and Hell lose their power, when there's little more than broken pieces left –

Aziraphale and Crowley still survive. Together.

Anyways, I'm going mad over here

[kacievvbbbb]

Mihawk and the Red Haired Pirates

-Look I don't know what to tell you, Mihawk's epithet is literally Hawkeyes meaning he is world-renowned for his eyesight meaning that he'd probably make a good sharpshooter. And maybe Yasopp decides to test this theory with a little friendly competition. And after giving Mihawk a quick intro into how guns work, maybe Yasopp had to pull out every trick there is in the book to narrowly avoid losing to said Hawkeyes, who as it turns out is indeed very good at hitting targets and who had literally just learned how to cock a gun not even 30 minutes ago. But who's to say what actually happened, the day of November 25th at 2:35pm? Certainly not Yasopp, the record clearly shows he is undefeated.

-Once a year Ben and Mihawk go on a little trip just the two of them. They act like it's just so they can shit-talk Shanks but actually, they just go fishing somewhere in the middle of the ocean and drink horribly overpriced and fancy alcohol. Look Benn loves his crew, and would die for them but also if he doesn't get at least a week to himself once every year he'd kill them all himself. He deserves nice things and a little peace and fucking quiet and not being constantly inundated with the whims of a man child and Mihawk's the closest he's ever gonna get to a friend with taste, and he travels alone with a bunch of fancy wine. Sue the man. Mihawk who would rather nap is fine to let someone else sail his overgrown raft against the annoyingly ever-changing grandline for a week or two.

-Wouldn't it be cute if Mihawk learned a lot of his fancier cooking techniques from Roux? Like he knew how to cook to survive but watching Roux is how he learned to like properly dice vegetables and that eating fish prepared the same way three times a day is not infact a life he would like to lead. This was of course less cute to Lucky Roux who in the beginning had no clue what was happening and only felt the weight of Mihawk's otherworldly stare on the back of his neck as he handled knives. (he defiantly for at least a little bit, thought Mihawk had a knife fetish. which, he's not entirely wrong)

-To Building Snake (who I just learned is the RHP's navigator) Mihawk might as well be a modern-day miracle. In his eyes, Mihawk's sailing is proof that god exists, because only divine intervention can explain how this man ever gets anywhere never mind on time or early even. Building Snake is pretty sure he owns neither a map nor a log pose and he has never actually seen the sails of Mihawk's pretend ship unfurled or in use. Actually, he has never seen Mihawk do anything but sit menacingly on the throne in the middle of the boat, which why? If you think about it for even a second longer that 2 minutes how Mihawk "sails" anywhere breaks every law of physics and somehow even the concept of geography. Building Snake would like to dissect him and study him under a microscope but knows the boss would disapprove.

[romanoffsbish]

The Tournament

Natasha Romanoff x F!R

Natasha was never one to shy away from a challenge, and your body paid the ultimate price. | WC: 1,254

Smut: Lengthy (10hrs 😉) | Taped | Mommy (N) | Oral (Both) | Fingering (N) | Spanking (N) | Overstimulation (R) | KO (R) — | — 2nd lil blip - Masturbation (R) | Promises of Oral | Teasing

Natasha was exhausted.

It had been ten hours of this. On and off

Mostly on, and you, well you were not cognizant.

——

The redhead had mistakenly read one of Tony's world record books, it was a gag that he childishly bought. In the section dedicated to fornication she had read that the longest "episode of sex" to have been recorded, with no change in intimacy partners, was five hours long. So of course, Natasha Romanoff, the competitive devil, took the challenge on to double it, ensuring that no one (human-wise) ever beat her record.

You knew when you met her on the battlefield that she was an overachiever. It was the way that she had been graceful the entire time she choked the enemy with her beefy, as well as soft, thighs. To the now, where she fell beside you with an arm that held no functionality. All of the adrenaline faded and she huffed a tired chuckle.

What a night it had been she mused within the hollow confines of her dimming mind. Though sore she was able to get out of bed and work to clean you up. The moment you two had hit hour eight you were snoring. Natasha admired the way your body convulsed with every sleep time orgasm, even if you couldn't feel it, you were having the time of your unconscious life.

The you of the morning will be gobsmacked and in some way turned on. Your vagina that should be in ruins would likely pulse with a sharp, painful need. For now though she settled your core beneath a pair of fresh panties and slipped you up the bed and onto the pillows that were designed for you. Then she cleaned up the room of any evidence. She took the toys down to the small, second kitchen you had and tossed them into the designated dishwasher. Then she finished off the tray of peanut butter sandwiches she'd made for the nights necessary fuel station. She also had vodka, and an assortment of chocolate and fruit to munch on.

The rules of the book stated that breaks that lasted less than three minutes were ebbed into the flow of things.

Natasha was terrified to let you down, and by you she meant her very annoying sense of pride. Which is why the night started off with you in the captains position. Your soft lips painted her skin a lovely blend of maroon and lilac, the blue to forge a galaxy would come later.

The way she mewled for you felt pornographic, and then you remembered she had planned to record this for proof. You shakily agreed so she set up five cameras around the room. At each two hour mark when she stopped to drink some water or bite into a peanut butter sandwich she'd stop the one and start the other when she was back. Each clip got a different angle, each with their own feature and timestamped to the second to further prove the breaks weren't prolonged.

Natasha nearly killed you when her knees locked behind your head; but you didn't mind. You whispered a prayer against her pussy that she'd hopefully find you in paradise one day, then she came with a miracle on the dancing tastebuds of your tongue. Oxygen filled your lungs just as it excavated hers, the both of you spluttered as you choked on her slick, and she forgot how to breathe in place of the dizzying pleasure.

Thirty minutes down, but you were far from tired. It showed in the wild irises Natasha's soft emeralds met. Whenever you looked at her like that she lost all of her sense of authority. You'd flipped her over and fingered her while backhanding and palming at her smooth ass. Natasha grunted at each slap then moaned at the thrusts, it was husky and made your body tremble.

Natasha chased every single high you offered her, and she was near to losing count when you slowed down. You'd made it to hour three, and that's when the need to rest began to set in. Natasha saw it, and flipped you over so she could take over. You'd lasted longer than anytime before in one straight session and she was so incredibly proud, but more importantly turned on.

"Fuck Y/N," she panted against your cheek as her fingers slid through your slick folds. "You made me cum eight times and my pussy is still throbbing as you moan in my ear." Her lips lowered further, hot breath tickled your ear and you giggled breathily. "Keep going my sweet girl, you're in for a long night so keep it up."

You did your best too, entertaining her with answers to her filthy questions, moaning and thrashing as she found a new way to get you to your new best orgasm, but then your lethargy began to set in once again.

At hour six Natasha had sat your limp form up and nourished you back to life within the time constraint. Offering you a bit more enjoyment before the eventual KO took place. Your cries turned into whimpers, then choked moans until the sound of skin slapping and slick sliding was all she could focus on as she thrusted.

There was no time to feel any aches when focusing on keeping your body mindlessly jolting so Natasha built up her mental walls and in the long run gave herself carpal tunnel. In the end she felt it was worth it, as she won the fictitious title of "longest sex (love making) session ever recorded," and then she found you three days later after coming home early (at midnight as opposed to 7am) with your fingers inside you as your eyes were transfixed on her head between your legs.

"Wanna make a new record?" You jumped up and held your slick hand out in front of you to stall her request from happening, but all the redhead did was lunge and take your fingers into her greedy mouth. She moaned at the uniquely tangy taste, but her eyes creased in contradiction as your slivered nail scraped her palate.

"I need to taste you," she grunted and you gasped, "Natasha baby please." She shushed you with a bruising kiss and rubbed your cunt against her latex suit. You choked on her tongue and she chuckled, "It's okay detka, you can admit that you need me, I'm here."

"I'm sensitive," you whimpered and she kissed the bridge of your nose in comfort. "I'll be gentle detka, I just want to spend four hours talking to your pussy. Gonna tell you all the reasons why I love you while your moans convey the same message back to me."

"Please," you were breathless now and this time you were beckoning her closer instead of away. She pecked your lips then pulled away abruptly to keep her focus on a shower, while also making you stumble. "Get on the bed with nothing on detka, keep your hands to yourself and sit pretty while I take my quick shower."

"Be fast mommy," you cried and she cackled as the door shut, showing you her intentions to edge you.

You smirked, excited that your plan had worked, much unlike your legs would come morning; Natasha would now likely spend the entire week at your beck and call.

In the end, everyone wins.

Well, except for Tony, who had to fork out the cash for sound proofing the walls and sending Steve to therapy.

[emacrow]

Danny wasn't the first to be contaminated with ectoplasm. Jazz was.

Thus contant angst and some gore. Viewer be advised.

Born and raised as a fenton without miraculously being effected by ecto while Jack and Maddie wear hazmut suits most the time up to her teen years would take a miracle.

Jazz knew she was effected by ectoplasm since she was a little girl, taking care of danny as a toddler and trying to make sure her brother doesn't eat the glowing green liquid in the freeze.

She didn't want him to get sick like she did... making sure the gadgets stay out of his line of sight.

He was innocent and too young to notice how ne-neglect her parents were being over their obsession of ghosts.

She was infected enough to see the tiny fading blobs flying around but never mentioned to her parents again after last time, and her parent stay in the basement for almost a week and half that time and missing Danny's birthday again.

Jazz was smart though, reading about psychology books far higher in intelligence then her age, and knew enough about the inventions that Jack made gave her an idea..

A terrible but brilliant idea to bring this family together, so danny could have the best childhood memories then hers..

She began sabotage some of their works to jam and malfunction, making some of their work papers as proof seem crazy to be denied so they actually spent time with her and danny as a Family and it was working well enough for years,....

Until the ghost portal work that day..

Then the ghosts coming out of it causing havoc which renew her parents obsession back from the very grave she has surely made they were buried...

Then finding her brother.. her sweet little brother had died and came back due to her sabotaging the portal with the turn on button being inside...

Something inside her crack a bit.

Helping him and distracting her parents was going well enough. Stealing the ecto shot to help her brother heal from the battles of facing the ghosts, red hunter, GIW and her parents. This was all her fault that she knew deep within..

Until Danny (her sweet little brother that she raise, care for, love)went missing during the middle of his sick day with no ghosts being out today when she decide to go get chicken soup from the store..

She should've seen it sooner when she came back and seen Danny's bed empty with spot mixed of ectoplasm and blood, dropping the chicken soup package from the store ..

Their parents loved them that she knew as she grabbed the fenton creep bat..

But she knew since she was a little girl..

Opening the basement door quietly, slowly and walking down the stairs without making a noise.

That they love their work more.

Her eyes burned with burning fierce firey green glow of pure rage and determination as she creep slowly aiming, as she swung the fenton creep hard on the back of Jack's head with a sickeningly crack, then next quickly hitting Maddie hard in the face as she knew they both won't listen to reason..

She know that would only buy her enough time consider Jack was a hard head, but maddie was out for good measurement. Taking the keys to the ecto shackles.

She know that if she were to cry, she will not stop crying if she did. Unshackling Danny's limbs, and pressing the off button on the ecto Ghost muzzle.

Checking to see if he lost any limbs or organs.. thankfully none yet...

"It's going to hurt, but we are leaving together.. ok danny?" She said with a watery tone looking into her brother's tear soaked red eyes, grabbing the ecto fishing string and a needle, giving Danny's a metal piece of material to bite on, onceshe pressed the freshly Y incision as she began to resew. Giving him a couple of Ecto-Dejecto to speed up the healing. (Pretending it was just a gash in her mind instead of seeing her brother's heart beating with a marble sized core buzzing leaking ectoplasmic mixed blood)

Once she sewed the wound up, rushing to put danny in the back of her car, getting the secretly duffle bags containing the things, New IDs, money, passports needed including a USB of the fenton portal and inventions blueprints in case anything happened(it did, it happen oh god..), rush back to the basment, press the button she had hidden in the lab to delete everything about all the information about the ghost portal and ghost files, the immediate lockdown everything including the portal in 5 minutes then self destruction meltdown minutes afterward.. afterall she did help made the lockdown, putting her own special password(She always make sure to had to backup plan to a backup plan..)

By the time she got to her car, and started driving at speed that would've gave her a police ticket, she didn't stop even when she saw the glowing ectoplasmic forced field emerged covering only the fenton house..

She didn't stop when she left the Amity Park border line.. She didn't stop when the loud ear piercing boom echoing.. she just drove to the only person in one place that would help her..

Her distant cousin twiced removed Edward Nashton whom live in Gotham.

[zionworkzs]

Alright, let's talk about this scene in S1 Ep3:

Let's take this line by line, shall we? I added in some stage directions so we can see the acting choices alongside the dialogue (because this scene!!! this scene!! there is so much unsaid and communicated via body language).

*Crowley gets into his car and Aziraphale miracles inside*

C: *surprised*

C: What are you doing here?

A: I needed a word with you.

C: What?

A: I work in Soho. I hear things. I hear that you're setting up a...

A: *looks at Crowley*

A: caper. To rob a church.

C: *looks away from Aziraphale*

A: *concerned* Crowley, it's too dangerous. Holy Water won't just kill your body, it will destroy you completely.

C: *annoyed* You told me what you think. 105 years ago.

A: And I haven't changed my mind. But I can't have you risking your life. Not even for something dangerous. So... *pulls out thermos* you can call off the robbery.

C: *looking at Aziraphale, clearly surprised*

A: Don't go unscrewing the cap.

A: *not looking at Crowley anymore*

C: *looking between the thermos and Aziraphale* It's the real thing?

A: The holiest.

C: *attention fully on Aziraphale now* After everything you said?

A: *nods, still not looking at Crowley*

C: Should I say thank you?

C: *still looking at Aziraphale*

A: *pointedly NOT looking at Crowley*

A: Better not.

C: Well, can I drop you anywhere?

A: No. Thank you.

A: *briefly glancing at Crowley*

A: Don't look so disappointed.

A: *looking away again*

A: Perhaps one day we could, I don't know. Go for a picnic.

A: *looking at Crowley now*

A: Dine at the Ritz.

C: I'll give you a lift. Anywhere you want to go.

*silence, and the longest amount of time Aziraphale looks at Crowley this whole scene*

A: You go too fast for me, Crowley.

*both looking at each other for a beat before Aziraphale exits*

OKAY SO HOLY HECK

I feel like this scene gets boiled down to THAT line we all remember (and we'll get there), but I feel like the whole scene and the context is so so important if we want to understand THAT line.

So the background info:

1862 AD - London, St James Park: Crowley asks for holy water.

1941 AD - London: Aziraphale meets with Nazi agents inside a church. Crowley swoops in to save the day (and the books). We have the magic show and the lovely candelit dinner afterwards.

This scene takes place in 1967 in Soho, London presumably.

So, since 1862 when Crowley first asks, Aziraphale has been thinking about this request of his. Aziraphale presumes in 1862 that Crowley wants the Holy Water as a "suicide pill," and Crowley never corrects this assumption.

So, Aziraphale is under the impression that in 1967 he is giving Crowley a tool to use for his own destruction, if it comes to that.

He goes against Heaven and, from our understanding, steals Holy Water so he can give it to Crowley.

The implications of this are DEEP and COMPLEX. Because this is the FIRST time we see Aziraphale directly go against Heaven without any kind of moral out. He isn't saving Job's children. He's literally defying Heaven to protect Crowley from doing something stupid.

It's a purely selfish action that directly goes against Heaven.

This is HUGE for his character. And as I've talked about a bit in this post, I think by this point, Aziraphale was fully aware he was in love with Crowley.

This, THIS, is proof of his devotion to Crowley. Going against Heaven overtly to supply him with something he believes Crowley will use to end himself.

You can see Aziraphale's guilt and concern in this scene simply through how he choses when to look at Crowley and when to not (michael sheen, I'm in ur walls).

He looks at Crowley concerned when he talks about the church heist. He says as such. That he thinks it's too dangerous. He pointedly DOESN'T look at Crowley once he hands over the Holy Water. Like he can't bring himself to come to terms with what he's done. (Looking out for the person he loves by giving them a means of their own destruction.)

And this little interaction:

C: Should I say thank you? C: *looking at Aziraphale* A: *pointedly NOT looking at Crowley* A: Better not.

He doesn't want Crowley to thank him for what he perceives to be a sin. For giving him the ability to end himself. It hurts Aziraphale to think about. I think, even being in the car near Crowley hurts Aziraphale then.

Then we get the exchange at the end.

Crowley offering to drop Aziraphale off, which the angel denies.

Aziraphale clearly reading Crowley's disappointment and offering a fantasy of the future he doesn't believe they have in an attempt to cheer the demon up.

A: Perhaps one day we could, I don't know. Go for a picnic. A: *looking at Crowley now* A: Dine at the Ritz.

He looks at Crowley for the briefest of moments when he says "dine at the Ritz."

These things that Aziraphale is offering are normal, human pastimes. Nothing grand or overtly romantic. Just, a picnic. Dinner. It goes to show us how deeply Aziraphale loves humanity and recognizes that same love in Crowley (even if their love presents itself in different ways).

He's saying: one day, when I'm not me, and you're not you, we can do the things humans do. We can be simple.

And then, of course:

C: I'll give you a lift. Anywhere you want to go.

Crowley says this line almost desperately. He wants to stay in this moment. He wants to draw it out. This moment where this angel he's befriended cares for him so deeply that he'd risk everything.

I haven't talked much about Crowley in this scene because at this point in their relationship, and I know this is controversial, I don't think Crowley is in love with Aziraphale here.

I talked about it in the aforementioned post, but it's my interpretation of Crowley's character to be naturally distrusting of others. Which makes sense given his history.

I don't think he's in love with Aziraphale in 1967.

But I think he recognizes Aziraphale's love for him, even if only for the briefest moment. He sees Aziraphale's willingness to save Crowley from himself and knows that there is something there.

But he is SCARED. Big scared. And he doesn't know how to deal with the influx of information being presented to him.

And I think he reads between the lines of Aziraphale's words. He hears Aziraphale say: one day, when I'm not me, and you're not you...

I'll give you a lift. Anywhere you want to go. Is Crowley saying: You're saying we have to be different people, but we don't. I can take you right now to a picnic, to the Ritz. Nothing has to change. We can be us.

And Aziraphale says:

A: You go too fast for me, Crowley.

You go too fast for me, you treat life like a speedrun to get to the good parts. Hell, Crowley slept through the 19th century because he wanted time to move forward. Aziraphale recognizes this. He's in love with this demon who won't slow down and appreciate the mundane, human things that Aziraphale treasures. He goes too fast. He never settles down.

And I think this is a gross misunderstanding of Crowley's character on Aziraphale's part. He thinks Crowley is too fast and never settles down. Changes his hair, his clothes, his accent. But the clothes and the hair are all set dressings to Crowley. They are distractions from how set in his ways he truly is.

Crowley is s l o w to everything.

So slow that it scares the shit out of him and he overcompensates by re-inventing his image every chance he gets. He wants to blend in with his surroundings so he can be just like everybody else.

It's a deep self-hatred most likely instilled in him since before his Fall. He was not good enough for Heaven. He isn't bad enough for Hell. He can't even pass as a human because of his eyes. He doesn't fit anywhere.

So he could never fit with Aziraphale.

He doesn't even see it as an option.

Not yet, anyway.

Aziraphale misunderstands this as Crowley being unable to take time and care and put work into things that truly matter. Aziraphale thinks that they can't be together because they are too different. No matter how much he loves Crowley, Crowley is, and will always be, just a few steps ahead of him. He will always be just out of reach.

This scene is Aziraphale's confession and subsequent realization that they can never work.

This scene is Crowley understanding Aziraphale's feelings and his inability to process his own.

This scene is devastating. Because it's another miscommunication. It's a clear example of how these two understand each other, and, even after 6000 years, don't understand each other.