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stevieschrodinger · 6 months

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So what if like the thing that makes Alpha and Omega pairs, true mates or whatever, is like a detectable thing that they can test for. And like, everyone has their little blood test at birth and then on say, their 18th birthday, the Alpha gets informed as to who their omega is.

Obviously it's a bit of a sexist deal and lots of Omega and their supporters are trying to get it changed so that both parties are informed, to make it fair, and that is getting some traction but right now, the Alpha gets told and the Omega has to wait for them to show up.

Except when Eddie, fucking excited as all hell to meet his Omega finally, opens his envelope to find Steve Harrington's name starring back at him and Eddie just. He just can't. Steve's one of the biggest bitches at Hawkins high. And even if Eddie can, sort of, get past that, Steve's a snob. He lives in a fucking mansion and has a nice car and preppy clothes and yeah...Eddie is going to get rejected stone cold and that would be fair because he doesn't have a single thing to offer and Omega like Harrington.

Eddie burns the envelope.

And yeah, he can't help but watch Steve a little more now that he like, Knows, but he does his best to put it behind him.

And Steve gets into a fight with Nancy wheelers new Omega, when Nancy gets her envelope, and it's not Steve's name inside and it looks like Jonathan came out on top and Steve...well, he looks beaten and sad and that nearly makes Eddie cave but...no. no.

Right up until he has Steve under his hands, pinned to a boathouse wall with a bottle to his throat and Eddie's been thinking of Steve has his Omega for so long it just kind of slips out. Eddie whispers it, 'Omega' and the bottle drops to the floor and shatters more.

And Eddie has to watch it play out from close range on Steve's face, dawning realisation. Deep hurt. And then anger. An angry shield that comes down as he pushes Eddie off.

"Dustin explain to Munson what's up, I'll be outside a minute.". And Steve just stomps out and there's fuck all Eddie can do about it.

And then he kinda gets distracted by hell dimension stuff. For a bit. And Steve's clearly fucking angry with him and Eddie, well, what the fuck is Steve expecting Eddie to do, right? Steve would never have wanted him in the first place. So Eddie is fucking angry. And it comes out spiteful, calling Steve 'big boy' like he knows it'll rile Steve up. Throwing his jacket at Steve so he will cover up, because he can't bare to look at all the skin Steve is showing, especially with fucking Wheeler hanging around. And if it got something of Eddie's on Steve, well then, it doesn't fucking matter does it? Doesn't mean anything.

And it's not until it's all done, and Eddie wakes up fucking high as a kite on pain meds, with non other than Harrington sitting by his bedside that it all slips out, "what are you doing here?"

Steve shrugs, won't look at him, "waiting to see if my Alpha dies, I guess."

And he just sounds so...bereft. so broken.

"Steve, I just...look-"

"Doesn't matter. You've made it clear. It's fine. And you're going to live I guess so I'll just-" and he's standing, turning to leave.

And Eddie knows Steve now. Sees him with the sheep. Knows he isn't a bitch. Knows he's just...a good guy. Knows he isn't any of the things Eddie thought he was.

"You grew up in a fucking castle." Steve pauses, sitting back in the chair to frown at Eddie.

"What has that go to do with-"

Eddie clears his throat, it's dry and scratchy and hurts but he has to do this. "You grew up in a castle. Nice car. Both parents. Preppy clothes, fucking, shitty fucking jock friends. Steve, you would have rejected me in a heartbeat. I live in a fucking trailer and sling drugs on the side I'm not- I couldn't do that to you."

And Steve just, he just starts crying. He nods, wipes his eyes, "I might have," he admits finally, "I don't know what I would have said...but I needed you. Since then I needed you so much and," he sniffles, wipes his pink nose .

"And I didn't know. I couldn't have and I am so sorry but could we just, now, can we just-" and it hurts like fuck but Eddie bites it down because Steve is half clambered into the bed next to him and yeah. Yeah, that's perfect.

#eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things #steddie #alpha eddie munson #omega steve harrington #world building #ficlet #i write

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cosmicanakin · 3 months

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anakin drabbles!

adult content / minors do NOT interact.

pairing. anakin skywalker x female reader.

contains. penetration, possessiveness, power dynamics, unprotected sex ( stay safe folks ), explicit language.

authors note. miss anakin terribly so i wrote this <3

divider creds @fairytopea / @pfpanimes

soft pants fill the air as anakin hovers above you, caging your writhing form beneath his solid bulk. intense blue eyes gaze down hungrily, taking in every gasp and mewl escaping plump lips parted in ecstasy.

"you're mine, y/n." he growls against the shell of your ear, nipping the sensitive flesh teasingly. whimpers turn to full-blown moans as he pulls nearly all the way out before snapping his hips forward in a sharp thrust.

"i'm yours, ani. only yours." you cry out, fingernails raking down sculpted back muscles unable to find purchase against sweat-slicked skin. a low rumbling chuckle greets this admission of submission to his masterful control over your trembling form.

grasping your wrists in a firm yet tender hold, he pins them above your head stretching your frame taut as a bowstring beneath his divine ministrations. his ruthless pace never falters, leaving you bereft of ability to meet each passionate roll of powerful hips locking perfectly to your own.

leaning down to claim your mouth in a blisteringly carnal kiss, he swallows each sweet sound of ecstasy spilling wantonly from your lips. the way his tongue curls around and plunders your own mimics his merciless plowing driving you ever closer to cliffs edge.

"you feel incredible, so tight and wet. i don't ever want to spill myself anywhere but your hot little cunt." anakin growls roughly, never losing stride even as your walls begin fluttering wildly around his massive cock.

a litany of praise and possessive endearments tumble from his lips, fuelling your building orgasm higher with each scorching word. "that's it baby, cum for me. i want to feel you milk my cock - every last drop."

with a cry muffled against his shoulder, the blinding release claiming your senses sends colors bursting behind clenched lids. your entire being shreds to pieces impaled so deliciously on his long thick shaft, barely registering continued powerful drives through your pulsing walls gripping him vice-like.

anakin growls viciously, slamming into your limp pliant form a final few times before erupting in a scorching torrent shooting so deep you swear you feel it pooling low in your gut. emptying himself fully buried to the hilt ensures every molecule is branded solely to your greedy channel throbbing delicately around his now softening length.

taking his time to ride out the waves of bliss still crash through your joined forms, he peppers tender kisses across flushed skin comely sheened with a fine mist. lazily rocking gentle strokes ease you both down from ecstasy, words of adoration whispered like prayers against clammy flesh.

collapsing atop your sated form, anakin draws your pliant body flush against the masculine contours of his own painted vibrantly with afterglow's glow. tucking sweaty flyaways behind your ear, massive arms encircle your frame possessively despite tenderness flooding blue irises gazing down adoringly.

yours and anakin's souls remain joined closer than any physical melding, hearts beating as one to the rhythm of shared intimacy's melody. a perfection found solely with your lover, whose passion knows no bounds beckoning you ever higher ascending together.

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celluloidbroomcloset · 7 months

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(This leads on from this post, which focuses on clothing and disguise in OFMD Season 1. I'm going to do a separate post on Ed's clothing change, and how this all culminates at "Calypso's Birthday," to avoid this getting too long and unwieldy for Tumblr.)

At the start of Season 2, Stede has abandoned most of his finery by necessity. He opens the season in a dirty shirt and trousers, a costume that he comes back to several times even after he returns to the Revenge. He's given up his wealth, and all of the money they earn at Jackie'z goes into the coffer to help them go back to sea.

Even this early, Stede's costuming is significant. He's not just dropped the finery that had defined, and after a while imprisoned, him, he's done it by choice. He gives up his wealth so that his family can be secure and he can be free. He doesn't take the money earned by the crew to rebuild his wardrobe, because those things don't matter as much to him as they did in Season 1. The goal for him is to support his crew and to find Ed. Everything else pales.

Stede goes through several changes, though, as the season progresses. He puts on a uniform when he joins Zheng's crew, and immediately discards it as soon as they steal the Revenge, going back to the dirty shirt and trousers. I think a lot could be said about the few times Stede puts on a uniform - here and when they steal the Royal Navy outfits - and how quickly he wants to get rid of them. They represent another form of a conformity that he's fled from, and are at odds with his individuality.

His first scenes with Ed after Ed has woken up have him back in the same shirt and trousers. In terms of plot, he's not had a chance to get any new clothes, but this is also symbolic - he's approaching his relationship with Ed without any of the clothes that he'd hidden in, or in which Ed had fallen in love him. It's just him. It's significant that it is in this guise that Ed accepts him again, and their relationship begins to move forward.

I think it's also significant that, where Stede has so defined himself by his clothes, Ed often sees him out of them, first when they meet, again when he appears as the mermaid. In neither case is this presented as explicitly sexual - in one Stede's half dead, in the other he's a fantasy image - though there is an undercurrent of desire. Ed doesn't define Stede by his clothing.

The next big shift is to the cursed suit, and the first time that we see Stede shifting his focus from Ed and the Revenge to finery again. He fully indulges his foppery here, posing in front of the mirror, whipping the tails of the suit around, asking everyone to admire what a great suit it is. But it's a different kind of foppery to what we see in Season 1 and the use of his outfits as disguise. Here it becomes more an expression of himself and how he feels - he's confident, he's happy, he's not buttoned up to the neck but wearing an open collar revealing more of his chest and body.

It's important here that the fine things don't stop being important to Stede; he doesn't just stop loving them now that he's out from the weight of his class. But he does become more comfortable in them. The cursed suit makes him into a peacock - it lets him strut around, change his posture, and he's honestly bereft when he has to give it up. But he does give it up - it's not as important to him as it once was.

But. He keeps the shirt. It's a piece of finery that he doesn't have to give up - a compromise with the crew - and he wears it into the next episode. Ed remarks on it; it's the shirt that leads to the "you wear fine things well" callback, the same color and fabric as the handkerchief Ed kept, and leads to their first kiss on deck.

Ed's comment is more than that, though - from the start of Season 1, Stede's clothes have been his form of self-definition and disguise. It's one of the first things that Ed and he talk about. Stede has now lost, or Ed has destroyed, most of those fine things that weighed him down (the hidden closet of a repressed gay man). The shirt is Stede retaining his love of fine things, a love that Ed admired and never found strange or offensive as others did but that wasn't what made him fall in love with STede. Ed's comment doesn't just recall that first night on deck; it recalls the entire beginning of their relationship, the love that they both share and that Ed himself tried very hard to (literally) throw overboard. But it's also not the only thing that makes Stede who he is. "You wear fine things well" is about the person, not the things. It is Ed taking Stede as he is, and loving him as he is.

All of this confirms what I think is a lingering fear Stede has - that Ed might not love him as he is. They first bond over fine things, but Ed loves Stede in the dirty white shirt he's been wearing for months, and in the red silk shirt, and in the blue shirt covered in the blood of their enemies. He fell in love with Stede in the finery, but loves him in anything.

Following the "cursed suit" incident, Stede obtains new clothes, but they're not the armor or disguises of his old wardrobe. He gets leather trousers that allow him to wear a sword and gun, and nice shirts of good fabric that let him work on deck, roll up his sleeves, wear gloves. He no longer buries himself in protective layers. His clothes reveal more of his body - without being artificially cinched at the waist or layered over his chest - showing off his chest and arms. They're appropriate to the world he now lives in, and expressive of his increasing confidence and his developing relationship with Ed. He's a man more at ease with his own body, who isn't afraid to reveal who he is not just to Ed, but to everyone he encounters. He's no longer ashamed of his sexuality. He's cast off the armor.

#ofmd s2 #ofmd #ofmd season 2 #our flag means death #stede bonnet #ed teach #gentlebeard #blackbonnet #ofmd meta #as someone who started writing about media in the dark ages #man i like having access to good gifs to illustrate points #gif makers are the best #cursed suit #rhys darby #taika waititi

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lisbeth-kk · 10 days

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May Prompts (22) Night

The Luckiest Girl in the World (chapter 22)

I'm so sorry. Go get those tissues. I've used all of mine.

Summary: Rosie gets devastated news, and all she can think of is how her Papa is coping.

Twenty-Two Years Old

When Dad called with the news, my first thought was quite irrational: oh no, we’re never going to celebrate our twentieth anniversary! The second thought hit me with force and made me breathless: how is Papa doing?

“I’ll hop on the next…”

“No need, sweetheart. A car will pick you up in approximately fifteen minutes,” Dad assured me, and that’s when I started to cry.

***

Uncle Myc stood and waited for me outside the car when I ran to the kerb. His arms opened and I collapsed against him, heartbroken and totally devastated. He didn’t try to comfort me with words of nonsense, like it’s going to be ok, because he knew it would be a long time before any of us would be fine after this sudden and tragic loss.

“She seemed fine yesterday,” I told uncle Myc on the way home.

“Yes, so I have been…informed,” he sighed.

“How is he?” I asked, terrified of the answer.

“As expected.”

“Rock bottom,” I mumbled, and felt my throat tighten painfully from withheld tears.

“Indeed,” uncle agreed gravely.

***

It was worse than I expected. Papa’s loud voice boomed like a signal horn from upstairs when I locked us in.

“How could you not have seen the signs? You’re a bloody doctor, John!”

The words were spit like venom. I couldn’t discern Dad’s reply, but his voice was calm. He knew Papa wasn’t angry at him, but he needed to vent his sorrow, shock and devastation at someone. Luckily for everyone involved, Papa had chosen the right person for such an onslaught.

Before I climbed the stairs, I looked over at Nana’s door.

Gone. Dead. You’ll never see her again. There’ll be no more Christmas baking. She’ll never scold Papa for being petulant anymore. England has fallen.

The seventeen steps had never been so steep, my body never so heavy, and at the same time it felt hollow.

“Nearly there, Rosamund,” uncle Myc murmured from behind me.

I woke from my daze and realised that the shouting had stopped. In its wake came a sound so heartbreaking, it made tears flow down my cheeks. Before I opened the door, a thought hit me like a battering ram, making me lose my balance for a moment.

If Papa mourned Nana like this, he would be utterly destroyed if Dad died before him. Not even his biological family’s demise could elicit such grief from him.

***

Inside the flat, Papa clung to Dad, and it struck me how small he seemed in that moment. So lost and bereft. This was not a puzzle he could solve, or a culprit he could catch to make everything right again.

“Rosie’s home,” Dad whispered to Papa and reached for me.

I didn’t think Papa would let go of Dad, give me room, or even detect the words, but he did. My name seemed to have a magical effect on him, because he straightened, turned his pained face at me and lifted his arm to indicate that I was welcomed into his and Dad’s cocoon. We held on to each other for what felt like hours. Dad asking if we were alright, Papa muttering something under his breath, and I just clung to my parents, wordless.

Dad, always reliable in a crisis, remembered that there was another person present, and carefully entangled himself after kissing us both, guiding our arms to embrace. Papa mumbled his name questioningly.

“Just give me a few minutes, Sherlock. Take care of Rosie, yeah?”

Papa nodded and pulled me closer, cradling the back of my head, whispering my precious girland I’m so sorry you have to go through this, and she loved you like a granddaughter.

***

The days leading up to the funeral alternated between the three of us sharing memories about the core of 221 Baker Street, what we would miss most about her, and lots and lots of crying.

Dad was our rock in all of this, despite that he grieved his former landlady too. Some nights, Papa was inconsolable, and I thought his heart would literally break. He curled up in bed and sobbed full of despair. Only Dad could hope to console him, coaxing him out of the dark place he had locked himself in.

Both me and Papa agreed that we would honour Martha Hudson on the day of the funeral. Nana’s niece, Deidre, was her only living relative, and uncle Myc assured her that we would arrange everything if she weren’t able. From what Dad told me, she was relieved, having just started her tattoo studio, and she was quite short of money after the investments.

***

Leaving uncle Myc and his minions in charge of the ceremony, proved to be ingenious, as we all expected. Even Nana would’ve been pleased with him, I think.

It all took place at Pembroke Lodge in Richmond Park. The Grade II listed Georgian Mansion is a beautiful and tranquil place, posh, but not over the top.

The pleasantly warm weather allowed us to go dressed without jackets and coats. To honour Nana, all of us wore something purple, her favourite colour. Even uncle Myc acquiesced to leave his black suit at home, and instead he wore a light grey three-piece-suit with a deep purple tie.

Deidre showed up with purple nail polish, her black hair in spikes, the dramatic makeup intact, purple leather trousers, and a matching jacket with a black shirt underneath. Her Doc Martens boots were bright red. She was over the moon about the venue and to what lengths we’d gone to ensure a proper farewell for her aunt.

***

We didn’t know all the mourners, but I think I spotted a few celebrities who wore gigantic sunglasses and hats to hide their identities, which obviously had the opposite effect.

Ginny, who conducted the ceremony was a calming presence throughout, and informed the congregation that there would be one speech apart from her own, and musical elements performed by a pianist and Papa on violin.

Papa held it together through his potpourri of Nana’s favourite classical pieces. He had his eyes closed and lost himself in the music. It was heartbreakingly beautiful. Beside me Dad clasped my hand firmly and never took his eyes off Papa. Admiration, love, sorrow and grief washed over his face in quick succession. He rose when Papa lowered his bow and looked over at the coffin that was decorated with purple lilacs. I saw the moment his knees gave way, but Dad was already at his side holding him close whispering something in his ear. I went over to them to pry the violin and bow out of Papa’s limp hands and let him lean into Dad’s arms.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” Dad murmured teary-eyed.

Papa’s sobbing was muffled by his face being buried in Dad’s neck. Dad’s hand cradled the back of Papa’s head like it was a delicate object made of china. Slowly, Dad led Papa back to his seat and he held him tight until it was my turn to honour my beloved Nana.

The night I decided how to do it, Dad and Papa asked if I was sure I would manage it on my own. I retorted that of course I would. I was not a child anymore. What I hadn't considered was that reading a poem out loud in my room was completely different than performing it in front of a crowd, not to mention the emotional impact this performance would have on me.

I got to my feet when Ginny gave the signal and walked over to stand beside the coffin and opened the book on the correct page. Dad and Papa noticed before I did. Something gave me away. Did the book tremble in my hands, did my legs quiver, or did my breathing start to go wild with panic? Whatever it was, they both stood, came over to me, embraced me with their backs to the onlookers to shield me.

“Are you sure you want to go through with this, Bee?” Papa asked with a thick voice filled to the brim with withheld tears.

“You don’t have to, you know. Nobody would…”

I cut Dad off abruptly feeling the soothing effect the closeness of my parents had on me.

“I’m sure. Stay, will you?” I said quietly.

“Of course,” they retorted in unison.

***

I took a deep breath, let go of my parents and we all turned to the other mourners and I started to read with one father on each side, radiating comfort and love.

Warning

When I am an old woman, I shall wear purple With a red hat which doesn’t go and doesn’t suit me. And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves And satin sandals, and say we’ve no money for butter. I shall sit down on the pavement when I’m tired And gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells And run my stick along the public railings And make up for the sobriety of my youth. I shall go out in my slippers in the rain And pick flowers in other people’s gardens And learn to spit. You can wear terrible shirts and grow more fat And eat three pounds of sausages at a go Or only bread and pickle for a week And hoard pens and pencils and beermats and things in boxes. But now we must have clothes that keep us dry And pay our rent and not swear in the street And set a good example for the children. We must have friends to dinner and read the papers. But maybe I ought to practice a little now? So, people who know me are not too shocked and surprised When suddenly I am old and start to wear purple.

Today, I will nudge you in the direction of AO3 and the end notes to give you some context

@calaisreno @totallysilvergirl @keirgreeneyes @helloliriels @raina-at

More tags in the replies

#may prompts 2024 #may 22: night (metaphorical)#sherlock fandom #rosie watson #sherlock #john watson #mycroft holmes #johnlock #bbc sherlock #sherlock fanfic #ao3 fanfic

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lucem-stellarum · 8 months

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I could totally believe that somewhere in the hoodie thief saga that Guy... wait. Let me set the scene.

-(faintly, from the other room) Honey, have you seen my hoodie?

-No, I mean MY hoodie. The one I wore to that thing last weekend (his voice gets louder and clearer as he walks in)

-Aww, you're so cute Honey, wearing my hoodie in our bed. But it's cooold and I need it back now.

-(mock offended) Yes it's my hoodie. Just because I let you wear it sometimes doesn't make it yours.

-Now let's not get all technical about who actually bought it. That doesn't matter. It's mine. My hoodie. And I need it back. So give.

-No? No? wHaT dO yOu mEaN no? (Guy's voice wavers in exaggerated desperation)

-(in the same tone as Miette) Oh! Oh, how cruel! You leave me bereft, at the mercy of the tumultuous elements, nigh at the edge of perishing from the cold! Won't you take mercy on one such as me?

-Well, that's not fair. Honey, please? It's freezing in here. You can have the whole blanket all to yourself.

-Sticking your tongue out at me? Rude! But if you're gonna be like that I can think of better things to be doing with it, ifyouknowwhatimean? (He does that one sound. You know the one. I have no idea how to transliterate it)

-Fine then. I guess we're just gonna have to share. It's our hoodie now. (Sounds of rustling fabric. His voice gets slightly muffled again) Don't yell at me! This way we both get what we want. I know my hands are cold, I told you it was freezing out here.

-You know, struggling like this is really making this sharing thing more difficult. Heh, but if you really want me to I could just stay here, with my face pressed against your chest. (Again, that one noise.)

-Okay, okay, I get it. Just hold still while I...

-(his voice gets clearer, and extremely close) Well hello there, beautiful. Come here often? I know I do, heh.

-You're so cute when you're embarrassed. Don't try to deny it, I can see you're blushing. (Kiss noises)

-Yeah I'm gonna kiss you. I love you. Even if you are an unrepentant hoodie thief (he gets cut off by a kiss from the listener)

-You know that's not fair, right? Kissing me to make me stop talking is just rude.

-Yes it is! (mock outrage) Just because it's a reliable way to get me to stop telling the TRUTH doesn't make it not rude! Besides, it's an overused cliche that completely disregards any legitimate concerns of the kissee. Yes, kissee is a real word. It's French.

-(sincerely) No, Honey, I'm not actually mad. You know I love your kisses. 10/10, would be kissed again. Can we snuggle now? It's snuggle time.

-Do you wanna be the big spoon or the little spoon? Awww yiss, I love being the little spoon. So warm and cozy. (rustling noises again).

-Yeah, Honey, I love you too.

#redacted asmr #redacted guy #redacted honey #i was thinking my thoughts and came up with this #is it just me or are “faux script fics” just not a thing here #or am I not looking in the right places #cause it feels like it should be a thing

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moorishflower · 1 year

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That long lost!Addams ficlet is a delight. You KNOW Gomez would be so absurdly proud if his new great x100 uncle then managed to bag an actual eldritch terror as a partner. Wouldn't even miss a beat.

"Hob Gadling," Dream says, and Hob makes a frankly embarrassing sound -- not a shriek, nothing like that, but maybe a startled yelp -- and jerks off the side of the bed and onto the floor. Dust from beneath the bed settles immediately in his hair, and the floorboards creak alarmingly under his weight, but, after a tense and breathless moment, nothing happens. Hob exhales, and finds himself looking up between Dream's long and slender legs. He's wearing skinny jeans, Hob notes, and he can't resist the urge to grab hold of both of Dream's calves, just above the ankle, and Christ, but he's so skinny Hob can nearly get his fingers to touch.

Dream only raises an eyebrow at him. "Why do you keep the company of witches?" he asks, and Hob strokes up the length of his legs, as high as he can reach, humming softly. His heart is still hammering with excess adrenaline, and he's got to channel it somewhere. Lust for his lover (partner? boyfriend? they haven't really discussed --) is as good a cause as any.

"Hello," he says, attempting to maintain some manner of social nicety. "Good to see you, darling, how's your day been, mine's been fine --"

"Hob."

"-- I only learned that I've apparently got relatives, still," he finishes, and Dream's other eyebrow joins the first. Hob uses Dream's ankles to hoist himself further from the edge of the bed, and then picks himself up gingerly, brushing dust from his hair, his shoulders. It falls down from him in a grey cloud, and he's not able to suppress a sneeze before he says, "Loads of them. From my mam's side of the family. Apparently she had a sister."

"And you decided to visit."

"There were extenuating circumstances," Hob says, thinking of the diary, the bidding war, Gomez's unflappable enthusiasm for the esoteric. "But yes. What's this about witches?"

"Many of your relatives are. Though this explains, somewhat. How swiftly and easily you took to immortality."

Witches are real? sits on the tip of his tongue, and Hob only narrowly swallows it back. "Am I a witch?" he asks, half-fearing the answer. It'd make his drowning in the 1600s a lot less poignant, maybe. If he's been a witch this whole bloody time, if 'witch' is a thing that's somehow separate and distinct from human...

"No," Dream says, and all the tension leaves Hob's shoulders at once. He sits back down on the bed with a shuddering sigh. It's a nice bed, a four-poster with a canopy, and Gomez and Morticia had reassured him that this room did not contain anything that lived under the mattress. The sheets are heavy velvet, in deference to the cold Chicago winter, and yesterday morning he'd woken up to the sight of Wednesday Addams standing over his bed with a morningstar in one hand and a pair of scissors in the other. She had been contemplating the best way to wake him: by cutting his hair (he'd needed to explain to her that it would take time to grow back), or by caving his chest in (requiring a totally different, but no less important, conversation of its own).

"Good," he says, and Dream makes a low, thrumming noise, and straddles Hob's lap.

"You did not tell me where you were going," he murmurs, and strokes his thumbs down Hob's cheeks, catches his nail on Hob's bottom lip and pulls it down slightly to expose his teeth. "I felt you, still. In the Dreaming. But The New Inn was bereft of you."

"I didn't realize I was coming here until the second I did it," Hob admits, and Dream seems to take this in stride. "Besides. I've got no way to contact you. I sort of hoped you'd just...feel where I was."

"I did. I do. And yet. To hear it from your lips would also be...pleasing."

"You're allowed to say you're miffed, love," Hob says, and lays his hands in the cup of Dream's hips. Thin and bony and his. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you where I was going. Maybe we can figure out some way we can talk not through the Dreaming, in future. Dunno if you get cell service there."

He means it as a joke, but Dream tilts his head to the side, considering. His thumb sweeps up from Hob's lip, touches just below his eye, the firm bone of the orbit.

"I will consider it," he says, and then bends down and gently covers Hob's mouth with his own. His lips are soft, and Dream always runs closer to lukewarm than he does body temperature, but now Hob gasps because Dream's mouth, when it opens against him, is chilled. Sweet and cool as wintermint, and his tongue licking at Hob's lips is like a round of ice that thaws and melts and slowly slips inside, until Hob can drink him the way he would snowmelt, held in the cupped chalice of his tongue --

"Dios mío," comes a familiar voice at the door, and Hob frantically pulls his hands from where they had been inching over Dream's arse, and then just as frantically tries to rearrange himself so that his erection isn't immediately visible. He's not sure how he manages this last, since he feels hard enough that it could be seen from space, but if that's the cross he must bear, then so be it.

Dream, as always, is utterly unflappable, and turns to the bedroom door looking every inch a king; he's wild-haired, Hob realizes, and the skinny jeans aren't so much gone as they are flickering, like a projector caught between two slides, flipping back and forth between Dream's usual peacoat and jeans, and what Hob's become used to seeing him wear in the Dreaming, what he thinks of as Dream's robe of office, flowing like ink, black as the starless sky.

Gomez, standing in the doorway, looks between Dream and Hob, and then a wide and cheery grin nearly splits his face in half.

"Mi querido niño! You did not tell me you had a paramour! And who is this enchanting creature? Gomez Addams, my friend, at your service!"

Dream blinks slowly, and Gomez, to his credit, does not come forward with a proffered hand or, thank God, a hug. Only beams at Dream from the doorway, until Hob's increasingly eldritch lover breaks the silence at last.

"I am called Morpheus," he says, "Lord of Dreams and King of Nightmares. Shaper of Form and Prince of Stories." He inclines his head slightly, and Gomez looks as though he might faint with delight. "And lover of Hob Gadling."

"You did not tell me you were royalty," Gomez says. He strides into the bedroom, and thankfully it's Hob he's bound for, Hob's hand that he grabs. "Royalty! Why, the Addams haven't hosted a king since good old Henry!"

"Which Henry?" Hob gets out, as he's forcibly removed from the bed and dragged, almost bodily, towards the door. Gomez is strong. He keeps forgetting.

"It doesn't matter! They're all quite dead. But yours isn't! Come, my liege! Allow me to escort you and your Prince Consort on a promenade of the grounds! Have you ever been to America before, sir?"

"I am a representation of all sleeping minds, and of the dreaming subconscious of all living things," Dream says, sweeping behind them, stately and imposing. "So. Yes."

"Oh, splendid! That means I don't have to explain baseball."

"What is happening," Hob whispers, as he's manhandled out into the hall. His mind is caught somewhere on prince consort and doesn't quite want to let go of it, but he feels like that's a conversation he ought to have with Dream in private.

And Dream looks at him, smirking faintly, his starlit eyes flicking from Hob's mussed hair to his kiss-pinked lips, and down to the way that Gomez so effortlessly steers him by the shoulder out into the manor proper.

"Family," Dream says, and reaches out, and laces his fingers with Hob's.

#hob gadling family values #my fic #ask response #the addams family #the sandman #hob gadling #dream of the endless #dreamling #gomez addams

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blindmagdalena · 1 year

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how do you think homie would react to reader breaking up with him because they have very different morals (homie kills people, ik he's babygirl but he does just brutally kill people, reader is a pacifist)

-bree(sorry for multiple asks in short time :P)

cw gaslighting, imprisonment, manhandling. no more mr. nice homelander.

"Fine, listen, listen, if it means that much to you, I won't do it anymore," Homelander says, hands lifted placatingly. The way he says it makes it sound like he's doing you a favor. Like you're overreacting to a mild infraction. You stare, mouth agape. "This... This isn't some bad habit. You kill people."

"Yeah," he agrees, a slight strain creeping into his voice. "Yeah! Okay. And? Lots of people kill people. And typically, I only kill people who're also killing people." "Typically," you echo, at a loss. How can he be so flippant about this? It's like he hasn't heard a single word you've said. "You don't care. At all." "Why should I care? Why should you care? It's not like I'm killing people you like, or even know," he says, his exasperation with you intensifying. "But you love me. So just... Cool off, alright? Sleep on it. Before you do something you'll regret."

The shift in his voice when he says that runs a chill up your spine. "Are you threatening me?" "What?" Homelander laughs. "No! Of course not. Babe, listen to yourself. C'mon, I know you're upset-" he moves to take your hand, but for the first time, you yank it from his reach, crossing your arms. His hand hovers in the space yours had been for a moment, his eyes locked on the same spot. He inhales a slow breath, his fingers curling into a fist before dropping back to his side.

When he looks at you, his gaze is bereft of any playfulness. Your denial of him has flipped a switch in him that you've never seen before.

"You're tired," he says, voice set low. Any traces of the lighthearted pretense from earlier has been dropped. "It's late. You have a lot to process. So, we are going to put this aside for tonight. You are going to come to bed with me, and we'll talk about it in the morning, when you're calm." "I am calm," you tell him, refusing to let him make you feel like you're the one being unreasonable. "Please move. I already told my friend I'm on my way," you lie. You wish you had. You wish you realized sooner you would need to. Homelander had always been so utterly devoted to you. He hung on your every word, met your every whim, loved you so thoroughly that he made you feel like his entire world. Only now have you realized the dangers of that kind of love.

His mouth twitches. "Which friend?"

You begin to answer, wanting to give validity to your fiction, but an awful thought occurs to you. Would he hurt them? "It doesn't matter," You reply instead, clutching your overnight bag. "I need space, and I don't want you coming to me before I'm ready. Please, move," you say, voice wavering. He was making this so much more painful than it already was. You do love him, but he's making you feel like you barely even know him.

Homelander taps his hands on his thighs, considering you. After a prolonged silence, just before you open your mouth to speak again, he claps his hands together. "Alright. Sure," he says, stepping forward. You step backwards. "Door's right there." You're immediately relieved, but there's a nagging feeling in your gut. "Thank you," you say softly, adjusting your grip on your bag. "I'll call, okay?" Homelander offers a sideways nod, seeming... resigned. You feel the guilt of it weigh heavily, and for a split second, you question yourself, whether what you're doing is right or fair. You have to steel yourself before your resolve falters. You need time away from him to collect yourself, and figure out what to do about the man you, as it turns out, know very little about.

Just as you pass him, you feel a sudden grip on your arm, and in a flash you're spun around, stumbling back into the penthouse. You stare wide-eyed for a moment, turning back around. Poised exactly as he had been before, Homelander stands in front of the door, hands on his hips. His brows lift slightly. "Well?" Your heart is racing now. "What are you doing?"

"Go on," he says, ignoring your question. "Door's right there."

Anger rolls through you in a heated wave. "I'm not playing this game with you," you say, moving to shove more forcibly passed him this time, but once again he catches you with a hand on your wrist, spinning you around with such ease, you may as well weigh nothing at all. Yet again you stumble back into the penthouse, tears welling in your eyes as you round on him. "Stop it! Get out of my way!" "Door's wide open, babe. All you have to do is get to it, and you can leave," he says, voice perfectly relaxed, devoid of any passion or empathy.

With a frustrated cry, you hurl your bag at him, and full on sprint towards the door. You get closer this time, but just as you reach for the knob, Homelander takes you by your shoulders and spins you right around. Your own momentum carries you further in. You barely catch yourself from falling, letting go a sob that's equal parts rage and heartbreak. Who is this man?

This time, you throw yourself bodily towards the door, screaming your distress, your anger. You do it again and again and again, and every time, Homelander spins you right back around. On the final attempt, as he once again redirects you, the force of your own momentum hurls you to the ground.

"Do you get it yet?" Homelander asks, cocking his head to the side, checking to see if you're picked up on this lesson in futility. "You don't call the shots here. You don't get to just decide we're done. Relationships go two ways, sweetheart," he says. That petname used to give you butterflies. It sounds sour on his tongue now. You hear him sigh, closer to you now.

"Didn't think you'd be that stubborn. But I guess I've always loved that about you when it wasn't pointed at me, huh?" He asks, a playful little lilt slipping back into his voice. You struggle when he scoops you up, you make an animalistic noise of pure aggravation, but it's as fruitless as ever. Homelander is both an unstoppable force and an immovable object, his grip on you like steel. He cannot be stopped, or even hindered, as he carries you towards the bedroom. He sets you down on the bed, and out of pure unthinking fury, you raise your hand to slap him across the face. The strike lands, but Homelander doesn't so much as twitch. Your hand smarts, you may as well have slapped a brick wall. You clutch your wrist, letting go another sob. It aches immediately, frail in comparison to his unyielding frame.

Cupping either side of your face, Homelander swipes away your tears with his thumbs, watching you impassively. There's patience in his expression, though it looks stretched thin.

"I know you're upset," he says, an echo of earlier, as if picking up right from where he'd left off. As if nothing of the last twenty minutes had even happened. "But we'll get through this. And hey, hey, I'm not even mad at you, okay? Because that's what it means when you love someone. You forgive them." You feel numbed by your own plethora of tumultuous emotions, strung out and exhausted. You close your eyes, unable to stomach the loving way he's gazing at you. He kisses your forehead, wringing a weak, hiccupped little noise out of you. "That's my girl. I love you more than anything. You know that, right? That I would never do anything to hurt you?" No matter how gentle his hold on you is, it's inescapable. You have no choice but to face him, bleary as he is through your tear-welled eyes. Unable to push an answer through the tightness in your throat, you just nod.

"That's right. Of course you do. Because if I wanted to hurt you, I would have. It would have been easy, huh?" Those words break something in you. You lose whatever bit of composure you had built back up, and you begin to sob anew, an agonized sound. Homelander's expression twists. He's never liked seeing you cry. He's also never been the source of it.

"Shhh, shhhh, hey, it's alright. You're okay. I would never let anything happen to you," he says, as if he wasn't the very thing happening to you in this moment. He kisses your forehead again, your tear-streaked cheeks, and finally your lips.

You don't have any fight left in you. Not against the press of his lips, and not against the way he brings you under the covers with him, clothes and all.

He pulls you against his chest the same way he has a hundred times before, as if this is any other night that the two of you have fallen asleep in each others embrace.

You hug your arms tight to your chest, crying hard, while he rubs your back, hushing you. Comforting you, as any good boyfriend should.

"It's alright. I've got you," he says, his arms an oppressive force around you. "I've got you."

#oh boy is this ever some ANGST #fair warning this is kinda dark compared to my usual brand #also wtf it got long ANYWAYS #homelander x reader #homelander x you #darling anon #ask and you shall receive #my writing #angst #dark fic #the answer to your question is 'badly' btw!#THANKS BREE ILU #bree

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whenyouwishuponastar7 · 1 month

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I told someone there would be an ER bracelet picture a few days ago and I'm glad manipulative liars all work in the same, predictable ways. I have nothing nice to say as I'm enraged that she thinks she'll be welcomed back here and doesn't think she's done anything, let alone apparently has nothing to apologize for. She said a lot, but very little, and what little there was only asked for you to feel sorry for her. Oh, and what makes her happy. Do not give her your sympathy or pity because Apple has done nothing but seek those when she knows she has fucked up. I have seen so many screenshots of her begging for pity and sympathy as she twists situations to her advantage. DO. NOT. GIVE. IT. TO. HER. She has done FAR worse than what's been posted and she fucking knows it. Her ER story is filled with red flags and is bereft of key information. I say that as someone who has been there and as someone who has been in ERs countless times because of my health issues. Apple is, and always will be, the biggest victim in her eyes. Nothing she says or does is wrong and if you have a problem with it, oh well, she'll get someone else to attack you. I hope those people are few and far between now. I don't care if I seem callous about this. I'm looking at an abusive, gaslighting, manipulative, ableist, transphobic (and worse) liar only continuing the same patterns and I hope you all are as well. The stories people have shared about her abhorrent behavior aren't less important because Apple said she had to go to the ER and needs therapy now. Guess what I've done in therapy? Discussed Apple's affect on my mental health from August until now. I don't want her making our fandom unsafe. Too many people are still scared of her and this will only make them more frightened. And that's a damn shame. The only thing I wish for her to do is be honest. If she doesn't want to own this or even apologize here, fine. But if she goes to therapy, I wish for her sake that she is honest, so she gets help and stops being such a cruel person. Apple, get the help you need. But don't come back to all of the people you harmed. I can't count them on two hands anymore and that's just those of us who have shared our stories; others haven't. We don't want you here.

#harringrove #billy fandom #I'm sorry but she made my life a living hell for five months and took a lot from me lmao while slandering me the entire time #she has said worse about my friends #done worse #she is not a good person and that post is manipulative #just like everything else has been #and it's a wonder that it pops up hours after she was named #on the day the person who made it possible for ALL of us to have voices shared their story #hmm

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an-au-blog · 5 months

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I need to get this ball rolling and to write this au idea out anywhere so pllleeease indulge me and listen to me try to put a spin on Shuggy soulmate au.

Setting: a world in which soulmates are connected by a string of fate that shows only for a short second when two peoples hands touch, doesn’t even have to be romantical, but if you are connected to someone with that string it means your souls are interwoven in some way. Shanks and Buggy share such a string. In the beginning they both believed they were more along the lines of „platonic complete opposite soulmates who’s differences and conflicts drive each other to become their best selfs“ but after Laugh Tale they both realized that at least the „platonic“ part was complete Bull and they become a couple.

The inevitable happens. Rogers excecution, Buggy feeling betrayed by Shanks decision, breakup in the rain, but Shanks still holds out Buggy will come and join him again soon. Then one night Shanks wakes up with a feeling of absolute heart wrecking despair washing over him and at first he thinks he had another nightmare about Rogers execution, but then he realizes that he’s in physical pain, his heart is actually aching and a deep sadness envelopes him as he scream sobs and curls in on himself. Buggy has cut his string.

Years later. They meet again at Marineford and things proceed mostly normal. Shanks doesn’t hold a grudge against Buggy, doesn’t even mention it, doesn’t even confront Buggy about it, he still feels deeply for his soulmate and he never managed to cut his string, because he couldn’t bring himself to do it, but he knows Buggy has moved on. And Buggy is pissed as expected about Shanks being so nice and friendly and “Oh the map? You’re still angry about that?” And GODS he wishes Shanks would be at least a little bit pissed… and part of him is glad he isn’t.

… because thing is, Buggy didn’t cut his string either. Oh he tried alright, and it was as awful and painful as it was for Shanks, an immense physical pain combined with the worst sadness and loneliness he ever felt in his life and that’s saying something coming fresh of his father figures execution. But through the sobbing and heaving he suddenly realizes with dread that the string has reattached himself to him. He once again curses that damn fruit That bereft him not only of his ability to swim but also to cut of the person he never wants to be hurt by ever again in his life. But he can’t. But Shanks thinks he did. And the least he can do after hurting his soulmate this badly, doing the one thing that everyone tells you not to do another human being because the pain is so immense, is to never let Shanks know that he couldn’t cut it.

I'm not even joking when I say that literally half an hour before seeing this ask, I was thinking about red sting soulmates Shuggy omfg get iut of my head ahhagah

Anon imma name you just so whenever you write/post this pleaaaase send me the link! I'm naming you Meltan because anon, this melted me this is amazing :')

The thread hurts like cutting off a part of one's body. Some say it's even worse. Shanks had experienced that already, but it was fueled by the urge to protect. He lost his arm for Luffy and that was fine by him. He still feels bad that he regretted it for a split second because he thought that that was the hand that had Buggy's string on it. If he just prayed to anyone and anything that he never had to choose between the two.

Ever since they realized their bind was more than just platonic, the string felt a bit more lively. "Lively" probably wasn't the best word to call it, but it seemed somewhat vibrant. Shanks took pride in it and in the little time they had together before their breakup, he'd take any chance to touch Buggy and look at the thing that connected them for life. Even if they parted, he thought, they would still fate connecting them and pulling them together.

I'd like to think that Shanks knew, that Buggy's parts always came back to him. But he's under the assumption that Buggy's string isn't on him anymore, so it hurts even more because that would mean Buggy didn't feel their connection as a part of himself.

Shanks sometimes still felt the string but he thought that it was like a phantom limb syndrome. He had one arm less anyway, and he would still feel like it was there, but the string felt more tangible. He assumed it was because it was cut off more recently.

(Dare I improvise that- ) Buggy, when they meet again, started wearing long gloves and long sleeves again. He didn't want to risk Shanks knowing. One late night, Shanks gave him a big hug and for a millisecond their skin brushed. Buggy jumped back in a moment of shock. He felt it. And if he felt it, then Shanks also felt it. It was like a warmth after being in the cold for more than a decade. It felt like the first drops of water after wandering a desert for too long. Shanks maybe tries to tell him what he felt but Buggy denies everything and makes jokes of the sort of "Shanks are you drunk again?" "Haha, okay buddy, time to go to bed now" or just tires to make an excuse to leave. In any case, he rushes to shut the door behind himself because he knew he was going to crumple. He leans against the door and slides down, face in his hands, cursing himself for letting himself feel what he's been trying to stay absent for so so long...

Why did he need months of rehabilitation every time he saw Shanks again. Why did being sober hurt this much...

#AAAAAA anon/meltan I'm begging you please send me if you ever post this pleaaaaaase I'm crying #shuggy #shanks x buggy #buggy x shanks #soulmate au #answers #op

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yuusakuhanazawashole · 14 days

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The funniest part about GK is that I thankfully have yet to see people incorrectly glorifying it as nationalistic dogma the way some idiots like doing with pieces of media. Like don't get me wrong, I'm sure there are people with weak enough reading comprehension to do that, yeah, but they have to compete with how every actively fascist character ends up dead or bereft of purpose and precious things by the end of the story. Tsurumi lost everything twice over, most all of his men are dead, and the two guys that aren't and seem to be fine and happy are short multiple loved ones and a sense of purpose or closure because their lives were built on lies that they ate up like a pack of hungry dogs. Also the guy literally carrying the imperialist symbol as an ideological conduit got fucking merc'd and every image I see of him with the rising sun flag is usually paired with him being explicitly homoerotic towards his freak brother (who was also the dude that merc'd him). In this essay I will

#golden kamuy #tsurumi tokushirou #hanazawa yuusaku #ogata hyakunosuke #koito otonoshin #tsukishima hajime #GK metaposting ig #golden kamuy spoilers #Yuusaku I can fix you come here boy pspsps

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borninwinter81 · 3 months

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William Blake and Good Omens - an intertextual analysis

Please note: I did another version of this and posted it, but it was quite hurried, way too short, and was incorrect in a number of ways so I deleted it. However it had already been reblogged by the time i did so. If you happen to see another version of this meta that's not the right one, this is the version I'm happy with!

After my previous post re William Blake and Good Omens did so well, and so many people showed an interest I've decided to do a more in depth piece. This is focused upon the TV version of Good Omens, not the book.

Please don't tag Neil in this - although it's mostly textual analysis I do a very small amount of S3 theorising, and I know he doesn't want to see that.

I am in no way suggesting that Neil and Terry specifically wrote Good Omens with Blake in mind, I honestly just wanted an excuse to write more about Blake because I love his work so much, and I thought it would be interesting to try and apply some intertexuality since the works will contain similar themes, both being about God, religion, humanity, and angels and demons.

I also should stress that I am not an expert on Blake, there are people far more qualified to comment on him than I. I'm just a former literature student who loves his work.

There have been many different interpretations of Blake's work over the years, so it's completely fine to disagree with someone else's ideas about it, as with any work of art or literature. And although this piece is likely to be long, I'll barely be able to scratch the surface of all the possible meanings that could be ascribed to it.

Much like the old adage that if someone claims to understand quantum physics they're lying, I'm not sure anyone can truly fathom the full meaning of Blake's philosophy (especially in his later prophetic works, fuuuuuuck those beasts....), so if you're confused by him don't be discouraged, that's perfectly normal!

That being said, I wish to discuss the parallels between Good Omens and The Marriage of Heaven and Hell, my personal favourite and probably the most accessible of his longer works.

"Without contraries is no progression. Attraction and Repulsion, Reason and Energy, Love and Hate, are necessary to Human existence. From these contraries spring what the religious call Good & Evil. Good is the passive that obeys Reason. Evil is the active springing from Energy. Good is Heaven. Evil is Hell."

This excerpt is from near the opening and sets out the central idea of the work - that there is an essential duality to humanity, and each person is a combination of extremes. These extremes are not at war with each other, but rather are equally necessary, hence the "marriage" of the title. "The Marriage of Heaven and Hell" is a metaphor for the human experience.

Consistently throughout The Marriage... Blake refers to the two extremes as Reason and Energy. These terms could be construed in a number of different ways: thought versus emotion, mental versus physical, restraint versus desire, temperance versus excess, caution versus impulsiveness, and following the rules versus free will.

Blake's use of the word "Reason" in this context may be somewhat confusing, however he likely chose it because of his negative feelings towards science and the Age of Enlightenment. Blake saw literal visions of angels and prophets and the divinity of all creation, and hated that science reduced everything to formulas, calculations, and materialism, leaving the world bereft of wonder. "Art is the Tree of Life. Science is the Tree of Death" as he put it.

His ideas about "reason" are best expressed by his painting "Newton". Though inspired by the scientist, it is not a portrait - instead it depicts a figure deeply engrossed in scientific drawings and calculations, totally ignoring the beauty all around him - see below.

In the context of The Marriage... Reason is "passive" because it involves thought, caution, self-restraint, and doing what you are told, all states which block action. Energy is "active" because it is physical, emotional, impulsive and allows you to act based on your own choices and desires. It's quite clear that Blake feels "energy" is the preferable state - he tells us as much in the next section:

"The Voice of the Devil

All Bibles or sacred codes, have been the causes of the following Errors. 1. That Man has two real existing principles Viz: a Body & a Soul. 2. That Energy, call'd Evil, is alone from the Body, & that Reason, call'd Good, is alone from the Soul. 3. That God will torment Man in Eternity for following his Energies. But the following Contraries to these are True. 1. Man has no Body distinct from his Soul; for that call'd Body is a portion of Soul discern'd by the five Senses, the chief inlets of Soul in this age. 2. Energy is the only life and is from the Body and Reason is the bound or outward circumference of Energy. 3. Energy is Eternal Delight."

So the body is an aspect of the soul, not separate from it, Energy comes from the body, it is Reason which places limits upon Energy, but Energy is eternal delight. Physicality, desire, impulsiveness, emotion, sensual pleasure and free will are not wrong or evil, they are aspects of the human soul and it is from them that we derive our enjoyment of life.

This does not necessarily mean that Reason is always bad. After all, Blake tells us that both are necessary for human existence. Sometimes temperance, caution and thought before action are required. But Reason becomes negative when it "usurps its place and governs the unwilling", i.e. when it completely supplants Energy and becomes the sole guiding factor, forcing passivity.

The Angels of The Marriage... are governed by "systematic reasoning", therefore they are wholly creatures of Reason. They are also "all religious" meaning they believe the "errors" stated above. His Devils by contrast "hate religion" meaning they believe the "contraries", which are the true statements according to Blake. It does not necessarily follow that they are wholly governed by Energy, merely that they believe Energy is "eternal delight".

It is worth noting at this point that Blake saw God and religion as totally separate. For Blake, "God" is that connection with divine wonder which was integral to his life; he tells us plainly that "all deities reside in the human breast" and that "the voice of honest indignation is the voice of God". In other words all humans have a direct and intuitive link with God and don't require the church, Priests, or a religious framework and adherence to a set of rules in order to reach moral decisions. These rules exist only to "enslave the vulgar".

The importance of this ability to make one's own choices about a moral course of action is shown by one of the "Memorable Fancy" sections of The Marriage...

Blake relates how a Devil is able to use an Angel's "systematic reasoning" against them:

"if Jesus Christ is the greatest man, you ought to love him in the greatest degree; now hear how he has given his sanction to the law of ten commandments: did he not mock at the sabbath, and so mock the sabbaths God? Murder those who were murder'd because of him? Turn away the law from the woman taken in adultery? Steal the labor of others to support him? Bear false witness when he omitted making a defence before Pilate? Covet when he pray'd for his disciples, and when he bid them shake off the dust of their feet against such as refused to lodge them? I tell you, no virtue can exist without breaking these ten commandments; Jesus was all virtue, and acted from impulse, not from rules."

The Angel has no way to refute the "reasoning" that Jesus was governed by Energy and "impulse", i.e. his own morality, the "voice of righteous indignation", not reasoning and the rules laid down by Heaven. And because Jesus is the Messiah he must be virtuous, therefore Energy is virtuous. The Angel immediately allows himself to be consumed by fire and is resurrected as a Devil.

How can these concepts apply to the world of Good Omens? This was where my first draft was totally incorrect, as I tried to transfer Blake's ideas about Angels and Demons and Heaven and Hell wholesale, applying "reason" to Aziraphale and Heaven and "energy" to Crowley and Hell. In fact the divide is slightly different in the GO-verse: Crowley and Aziraphale *both* represent Energy, and it is Heaven and Hell that act according to Reason.

At first glance Aziraphale may appear to toe the line - he needs creative application of the rules to make him comfortable with trying to avert the apocalypse, and when he doesn't like the way matters are being handled by the Archangels he seeks a higher authority and goes straight to God. He'd clearly prefer someone to be confirming the rightness of his actions for him. However this doesn't mean that he won't act on his own.

Immediately upon his introduction to the story he has given away his flaming sword, an action that he took impulsively because he felt it was right, not because someone told him to. It bothers him, but he does it anyway.

In the Job storyline, though he initially looks for some loophole within the rules that will allow him to save Job's children, in the end he directly goes against Heaven to do it, even though he believes he is going to Fall and become a Demon for having done so.

Though he resists it and exhausts all other possible avenues first, he eventually does take an active role in averting the apocalypse in S1.

He hides Jim at great personal risk to himself and against the will of both Heaven and Hell, again because he feels it is the right thing to do.

He is therefore perfectly capable of independent action from a position of "righteous indignation".

On a more basic level, he enjoys worldly pleasures, which all come from "energy" according to Blake's philosophy. Food and drink most obviously, but also books, music, dancing, theatre, art and so on.

Crowley is more easy to place as acting from Energy - in spite of the obvious aesthetic differences between them, he also loves worldly pleasures. Alcohol and coffee, snazzy clothing, driving his car with Queen blaring on the stereo, going to lunch with Aziraphale, Shakespearean comedies. All things he isn't supposed to want or need, and which baffle other Demons, in the same way that Aziraphale's desire for food baffles the Angels.

And he's absolutely willing to act according to his own moral impulses when they conflict with Hell's orders (or Heaven's), be it saving Job's children, ensuring that Elspeth doesn't die by suicide, or averting the apocalypse. Yes, he'll try to hide his "good" actions in order to avoid punishment by Hell, but he's firmly "on his own side".

Conversely, Heaven and Hell are both part of the structure of religion in this story, are strictly adherent to a set of rules, and their inhabitants appear to have no real desires of their own, other than possible advancement within the systems they uphold. They are "passive" in that their functions allow the status quo to continue and the "great plan" to unfold as they believe it is meant to, even though each side expects a different outcome.

Again, applying Blake's philosophy, I would say the reason for this is that "energy is from the body". Crowley and Aziraphale have both been given bodies in order that they can exist on earth, and *have* existed on earth for 6000 years, therefore "energy" - physical pleasures and free thinking - have become a part of who they are.

On a more fundamental level, possession of a body can be equated to humanity, and humanity has been shown as the most powerful force of all in this story, its influence having led to Adam becoming "human incarnate", and thus acting according to what he feels is right, instead of fulfilling the function he was destined for.

Heaven and Hell contain no material objects, and the Angels and Demons are spiritual beings, having no bodies, so they are not open to energy, and therefore are wholly governed by Reason, and the preservation of the religious structures within which they exist. Structures which, as for Blake, may not actually have anything to do with God herself. In S1 she is a distant observer, clearly aware through her narration of all that is going on, but not interceding in any way. In S2 she is barely present save for her voice being heard briefly in Job, and overlaid with Gabriel's on two occasions.

Bearing all this in mind, what predictions can we make regarding S3 by applying Blake's philosophy?

"The ancient tradition that the world will be consumed in fire at the end of six thousand years is true, as I have heard from Hell.

For the cherub with his flaming sword is hereby commanded to leave his guard at [the] tree of life, and when he does, the whole creation will be consumed and appear infinite and holy, whereas it now appears finite and corrupt.

This will come to pass by an improvement of sensual enjoyment."

The parallels of the cherub with his flaming sword, and the passage of 6000 years should be obvious to anyone reading this - they have of course been lifted directly from the Bible as they are in GO.

I have read some metas which speculated that Aziraphale's bookshop, or perhaps Earth itself, is a metaphorical stand-in for Eden or The Tree of Life. Aziraphale has been commanded to leave his "Eden" and will now be instrumental in causing the whole of creation to become infinite and holy, but Blake tells us this will be done by an improvement of sensual enjoyment, which arises from Energy not Reason.

Sensual enjoyment is something which is intrinsic to Aziraphale's character, and this could make his placement in Heaven very important.

Putting aside all the "final fifteen" theories and taking matters at face value, Aziraphale tells us that if he's in charge he can make a difference - he needs to subvert the system from the inside out. The most subversive thing of all could be that a sensualist who acts according to "the voice of moral indignation" and "Energy" has become the supreme Archangel. We have seen in Blake how a realisation that Energy could be virtuous was enough to convert an Angel into a Devil (incidentally, does the image of an Angel being consumed by fire and emerging as a Devil seem familiar at all...)

We may have seen the beginnings of this already. Gabriel and Beelzebub became open to Energy from such little things as visiting earth, spending time in one another's company, and their mutual enjoyment of a song, which has given them wants and desires beyond those dictated by Heaven and Hell. This is enough to make them wish to leave their roles behind.

It's possible that the same may happen with Muriel. They haven't yet imbibed food or drink, but they have shown an enjoyment of books, which are an earthly pleasure, and open the reader up to new ideas and ways of thinking.

Of course, this would lead to questions regarding the Metatron's statement that he has "ingested things", and whether this means he is acting from reason or energy. Of course the simplest explanation is that it is a manipulation tactic, and he is lying about having done so, but if true that statement has some interesting implications. However, this is now super-long and I'm out of juice, so will leave others to speculate. I may return to this in the future!

There we go, hope you enjoyed. I doubt this will reach nearly as many people as my first Blake post, but if a few find it of interest then my work is done!

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thepictureofjune · 1 month

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The Tortured Poets Department of schloss einstein ; the anthology

part 1 here and now we continue except the nitpicking gets more crazy the closer you look.

Enjoy :]

The Black Dog - Ava Eilers (Staffel 27 post 1065)

I am someone who until recent events You shared your secrets with And your location, you forgot to turn it off And so I watch as you walk Into some bar called The Black Dog And pierce new holes in my heart You forgot to turn it off And it hits me I just don't understand how you don't miss me

So Ava revealed that Patrick actually really hurt her and to this day, it still seems to be something that drifts them apart yet Patrick seems like he doesn’t know anything about it, perhaps doesn’t even see it as a big thing. Yet to Ava, this was everything. (written pre 1067 btw)

imgonnagetyouback - Leon und Simon (Staffel 27 post 1066 u 1067)

Whether I'm gonna be your wife or Gonna smash up your bike, I haven't decided yet But I'm gonna get you back Whether I'm gonna curse you out or Take you back to my house, I haven't decidеd yet But I'm gonna get you back I, I hear thе whispers in your eyes I'll make you wanna think twice You'll find that you were never not mine Small talk, big love, act like I don't care what you did I'm an Aston Martin that you steered straight into the ditch Then ran and hid

this is mostly here for shigs and giggles and bcs we got a Limon l-word bomb before we got Nolin so yeah

How did it end? - Noah Temel (Staffel 27)

And so a touch that was my birthright became foreign Come one, come all It's happenin' again The empathetic hunger descends We'll tell no one Except all of our friends We must know How did it end? (...) Say it once again with feeling How the death rattle breathing Silenced as the soul was leaving The deflation of our dreaming Leaving me bereft and reeling My beloved ghost and me Sitting in a tree D-Y-I-N-G It's happenin' again How did it end? I can't pretend like I understand How did it end?

To me, this is Noah being an outsider in the divorce of his parents, being just a child as his parents kept fighting, kept moving on and throughout all of this, he has no idea why it is happening nor how it came to an end like that.

So High School - Marlon und Nesrin (Staffel 27)

I feel so high school every time I look at you I wanna find you in a crowd just to hide from you And in a blink of a crinklin' eye I'm sinkin', our fingers entwined Cheeks pink in the twinkling lights Tell me 'bout the first time you saw me (...) Are you gonna marry, kiss or kill me? It's just a game, but really I'm bettin' on all three for us two (...) Truth, dare, spin bottles You know how to ball, I know Aristotle

Don’t think I need to explain this one.

I Hate It Here - Maxi Zielenski (Staffel 27)

I hate it here so I will go to secret gardens in my mind People need a key to get to, the only one is mine I read about it in a book when I was a precocious child No mid-sized city hopes and small-town fears I'm there most of the year 'cause I hate it here I hate it here Nostalgia is a mind's trick If I'd been there, I'd hate it (...) I'm lonely, but I'm good I'm bitter, but I swear I'm fine I'll save all my romanticism for my inner life and I'll get lost on purpose

Okay I think we’re all aware that Maxi probably hates every place she is in. Her home felt foreign and now at the school, the only reason she is there in the first place is her grandmothers treasure and it is said that as soon as that’s gone, she wants nothing more than to leave.

thank you aIMee - Joel Lucas (Staffel 26 u 27)

And then she wrotе headlines In the local paper, laughing at each baby step I'd take And it was always the same searing pain But I prayed that, one day, I could say All that time you were throwin' punches, I was buildin' somethin' And I couldn't wait to show you it was real Screamed, "Fuck you, Aimee" to the night sky as the blood was gushin' But I can't forget the way you made me heal Everyone knows that my mother is a saintly woman But she used to say she wished that you were dead I pushed each boulder up the hill Your words are still just ringing in my head, ringing in my head I built a legacy that you can’t undo

We meet Joel as someone who would rather have success than friends, who doesn’t seem to care for other people but who also is sad whenever things don’t work out for him. Makes you wonder why, no? Why that kid came to the school not caring if he made friends. Why he always felt like an outsider in every social intersection with everyone he ever talked to. How such a kid went from not caring about other people to doing everything he could to keep his best friend. (need to get started on that joel analysis already I have too many thoughts about him)

The Prophecy - Mikka Lund-Mayr (Staffel 26 u 27)

Change the prophecy Don't want money Just someone who wants my company Let it once be me Who do I have to speak to About if they can redo the prophecy? Cards on thе table Mine play out like fools in a fablе Oh, it was sinking in Slow is the quicksand Poison blood from the wound of the pricked hand (...) And I sound like an infant Feeling like the very last drops of an ink pen A greater woman stays cool But I howl like a wolf at the moon And I look unstable Gathered with a coven 'round a sorceress' table A greater woman has faith But even statues crumble if they're made to wait I'm so afraid I sealed my fate No sign of soulmates I'm just a paperweight in shades of greige Spending my last coin so someone will tell me it'll be okay

Mikka is canonically lonely if I may remind you of that. He doesn’t have his best friend anymore and somehow even when he tries to become friends with Reena again, it doesn’t really seem to last all that long (also because the writers literally forgot about him but yeah). All he has is his inventions.

The Bolter - Simon Reuter (Staffel 27)

By all accounts, she almost drowned When she was six in frigid water And I can confirm she made A curious child, ever reviled By everyone except her own father With a quite bewitching face Splendidly selfish, charmingly helpless Excellent fun 'til you get to know her Then she runs like it's a race Behind her back, her best mates laughed And they nicknamed her "The Bolter" (...) She's been many places with Men of many faces First, they're off to the races And she's laughing, drawin' aces But none of it is changin' That the chariot is waitin' Hearts are hers for the breakin' There's escape in escaping

Simon is wasted potential on all accounts because you’re really going to tell me he is proud and fine and happy with all the trophies he wins? That there isn’t mayhaps the need to always succeed because it’s what is expected of him? And he seems like he likes every girl at the entire school but cannot pull any of them simply because? Not because maybe he is trying to find the one that makes sense, the one girl that maybe makes him feel a little better about himself, because love is supposed to reveal our true selves and Simon has always been someone else his entire life?

(i’m trying to give him the depth that the writers failed to bcs wdym he is just some guy who likes sports and girls?) (update nach 1066: nvm I think they really just gonna leave him with being everyones no.1 nuisance)

Robin - Chiara Dorn (Staffel 24 und alle danach eig auch)

Buried down deep And out of your reach The secret we all vowed To keep it from you in sweetness (...) You got the dragonflies above your bed You have a favorite spot on the swing set You have no room in your dreams for regrets The time will arrive for the cruel and the mean You'll learn to bounce back just like your trampoline But now we'll curtail your curiosity In sweetness

This song references a lot of childish demeanor or behavior that is only known for children, trying to keep the illusion of innocence alive for someone who is too sweet to learn about all the cruelties of the world. For me, this is Chiara.

And we're done. (and now we can get back to over-analyzing kids that aren't actually sad but could very well be!)

— june🪐

#schloss einstein

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panickedscribbles · 6 months

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One thing that always sticks out to me when listening to The Protomen is just how terrible the people of the city are.

Like, a fairly standard assumption in Hero-centric fiction is that people, as a whole, are worth saving. Yes, there are going to be evil villains the hero must fight, and yes, there are going to be scumbags who really aren't worth the heroes effort, but generally there is good in the world and it is worth fighting for.

But that just straight up isn't true in these albums! It starts in Act II with the lynch mob from "The State VS Thomas Light", which I could sort of excuse. People do stupid things when they get caught up in the heat of the moment, and pack mentality is a powerful thing. But as things slowly get worse, no one stands up and says "this isn't right."

By the time of "Breaking Out", there are a grand total of two people willing to do anything about the state of the city, Light and Joe. Then following Joe's very public death, no one else stands up and says enough. Everybody just goes back to keeping their heads down and pretending nothing is wrong, for the next 12 years.

Finally, in "Hope Rides Alone", Protoman arrives to save the day, only to find he's entirely bereft of allies. There is no rebel alliance to help the conquering hero defeat the evil empire. It's just one man, standing alone against an never-ending army. He does his best, he fights his hardest, he gives it everything he's got, but it isn't enough. It was never going to be enough. Not alone.

And this is where the first real nail gets driven into the coffin. "We are the dead." The people of the city chant this as they watch their hero fall, but it's clear he isn't included in their mourning. They cry, not for their fallen warrior, but for themselves, for the fact that they will have to live under Wily for longer. They could step in, fight back, save Protoman. But that would mean risking themselves, and that's just not worth it. And I just have to drive this point home: a man is being beaten to death in front of them, and they're busy singing "Oh, woe is us, the Real Victims™ here."

Fast forward another few years to "Sons of Fate". Megaman arrives to finish what his brother started, only to be forced to murder the man he came to avenge. The crowd that gathers eggs him on the whole time. They don't care that the man he's fighting once fought for them. They don't care that he died trying to free them. They don't care that they're asking their new hero to murder his own family. They only care about themselves. Nothing has changed. No lessons have been learnt.

What else is there for Megaman to do except walk the same path his brother did, only this time with the benefit of hindsight. There will be no last stand, no heroic sacrifice, no warrior to stand between mankind and Wily's horde. This time they are on their own. This time they will have to fight for themselves, or they will be cut down. And Megaman is fine with either option.

I think that's a really neat direction to have taken things, and I'm looking forward to seeing how things finally change for the better in part 3.

#the protomen #thinking far to hard about this #but their music just gives me brainworms

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shallowseeker · 8 months

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Becky Rosen-Baron, MIA.

Becky's "death" + Dean's side of the fireplace mantel

Becky loses her husband, then her "junior" and daughter...and then she herself dies. Just like Dean.

///

The two sides of the mantel:

Ahh, the mantel, nestled as the hearth of home. Hearths are associated with home and family because the hearth was historically the main source of heat in the home, as well as where the cooking was done.

The left side is Chuck's side, black chess pieces. Sam is driving the car with TFW safely confined to the roadhouse at the end. The monster hand is pointed away from Sam.

The right is Becky's side: white pieces, glass half-fall.

It's also Dean's side, with Dean driving the car and heading towards Cas and "mini Cas," plus a family portrait showing what Cas and "mini Cas" are to Dean. The monster's hand is reaching for Dean's side, as Dean-action-hero figure frantically fights against it.

Awww. the cute little family picture with Rod Baron, Rod Jr, their daughter, and Becky Rosen, which also foreshadows the order of the losses (hub dies first in the form of Cas and finale-dad).

This is right next to...Dean in a car, Cas, and a "mini Cas." (Becky doesn't know about Jack.)

///

Other suspicious details: Dean prime is in the car driving towards Cas in front of a reddish Hellscape.

Alternatively, the photo behind Cas bears some resemblance to a blossom, like the Leviathan blossom he was searching for, crazed, as he rushed through the lands of Purgatory on the verge of losing Cas. They even look like they could be two blossoms straining towards one another. Who knows? It could be a famous fanart I'm just not familiar with.

Anyhoo, both Cas and "junior/little" Cas are turned away from Dean.

This is a nod to Dean...without? Bereft. A la The Winchesters companion series. Here's Dean's ending. Limbo. Wandering. Searching for a happy family he doesn't have.

///

If the more-discussed left side was Sam's ending, then the less-discussed right side is Dean in The Winchesters. It's the head side versus the heart side.

And the heart ending, which we sort of get from The Winchesters is a wandering, driving Dean, looking for this nebulous happiness he can't seem to find without Cas and..."mini Cas/Cas junior" Jack.

///

Becky was "doing great"

But Becky's life is so cute, y'all. That hub is adorbs.

ROD: "We'll be fine, babe...it's just Lake Michigan. Hardly any chop!"

Famous last words, Rod. You don't know that it's you who is going to mishandle that "Michigan chop."

Becky/Rod - But OMG can we just take a minute? They LIKE each other. They tease each other. They know the motion sickness comes from him, probably. And he knows she's gonna be nerding out during her relaxing weekend (that's part of the point of getting away--to let her have that time).

AAaaaaaahhhhhHHHHhhhhh.

Rod knows about Becky's writing and her superfan status (hard to miss in her office hehe) and loves her for it. And it's just so damn cute.

BECKY: Four hours in a boat? Rod, Junior gets seasick in the tub. ROD: Where would I be without you? BECKY: Covered in puke. [BECKY taps on the window.] Have fun, sweeties! JUNIOR: Thanks, Mom, we will. [ROD and BECKY kiss.] ROD: (fondly)Wow. Felt that. You can’t wait to have the house to yourself. BECKY: (flirtatiously) Oh, you have no idea.

///

Along comes Chuck, the metaphorical stop sign to Becky's life; her "off-screen murderer"

Chuck sees her big house and her van and her fam and notes sees that she's doing "great" for herself. She doesn't know it yet but he is the end of her life--he even appears in front of a stop sign!

BONUS: Becky's wearing the gray duster/caretaker warrior/hearth of house/"dead guy robe!"

Instinctively, she runs. See, even with their baggage, Becky's already got a bad feeling, "Well I don't need or want to see you."

So naturally, he worms his way in.

CHUCK: I’m sorry, I… I know we’re not together anymore, and it seems like you’re doing great. I just – I… I wanted to talk. Catch up. It’s been a rough couple of weeks. BECKY: That’s not my problem. [She turns to walk into the house.] CHUCK: Wait, Becky, please. I don’t have anywhere else to go.

So then, after denigrating her POV:

BECKY: I’m a writer, too, Chuck. CHUCK: Oh. I mean, fanfic… it’s not really the same thing… BECKY: Writing’s writing. The self-sabotage, the doubts, the struggle against time. So, whenever I have a spare minute, I write.

He steals.

///

He will wind up taking everything

First, he steals her rosy little laptop with her cute little rose decal-skin and the rose keyboard cover and he even puts on HER GLASSES:

///

Then, clever girl that she is, she fakes liking it to try to get him to leave! The LYING motif. "It's so good! I loved it....it's so good I'd love to get back to my own work."

CHUCK: "No...no no. You're shining me on. ...Come on, one note."

Then Becky makes her fatal misstep

She gives concrit, which is what Chuck said he wanted but not what he actually wanted. Just look at this face. Becky's starting to feel that...wrongness.

Something's off.

It's the same subtle change--that same whiplash we saw when he cruelly turned on Metatron in the diner.

After he writes his hopeless ending on her computer, and she lets her criticism rip. He sadistically enjoys her discomfort. He's sticking it to her, with her love of laundry and conversations and banter, which will appear in the terrible finale. Then, he says this:

[BECKY walks but turns to CHUCK.] BECKY: You have to leave. CHUCK: Nah, I kinda like it here.

He took a crap on her computer, wore her glasses, sat in her seat...now he's taking her office. Her house.

///

Chuck takes all

[ROD enters the living room.] ROD: Babe, you wouldn’t believe what happened.

JJLKgj! Aw, Rod. He cannot wait to tell her that he's the one that wound up puking. KJALGJAGH get you a man like that!

Then he kills Rod right in front of her.

[BECKY looks at CHUCK.] BECKY: Please. ROD: Junior was fine, but I puked everywhere. [ROD walks in and sees CHUCK. He looks at BECKY, confused.] ROD: Babe? CHUCK: Hey. [CHUCK snaps his fingers. ROD disappears in a puff of dust.] BECKY: (screams) Rod?! What happened? Where is he? CHUCK: He’s gone. BECKY: What?!

Her children enter next; we can only hear them off-screen. Rod Jr. can't wait to tell her about the puke incident either. They just know she'll love it.

Chuck will take Rod right in front of Becky's eyes, but her children will die off-screen. "Away."

[ROD JR. enters.] ROD JR.: Hey, mom! We’re back! Dad got sick! He threw up all over the side – [CHUCK snaps his fingers again. The kids disappear.] BECKY: (gasping for air, on a whisper) No! (shudders) The kids. CHUCK: Oh, don’t worry. They’re not dead. They’re just away. [BECKY turns back to CHUCK.] CHUCK: Oh, yeah. I’m God. [BECKY looks horrified.] BECKY: What are you… No. You bring them back. You bring them back! [CHUCK smiles.] BECKY: Please…you can’t do this.

It echoes both Dean pleading with God in 13x01, "Now, you're gonna bring them back," and his 15x18 "Don't do this, Cas." Yeup. Becky is now bereft. Without. Rod's gone, like Cas will soon be gone.

CHUCK: Oh, Becky. I can do anything. [CHUCK steps closer to BECKY. He snaps his fingers. She disappears in a puff of dust.]

Becky faces him defiantly but quickly unravels into grief. "You bring them back...please."

And then he kills Becky.

And here we have these "withouts" culminating. The fun motifs about having the house to yourself end with a cheeky disappearance of the things Becky loves the most. It's cruel. She'd been trying to help Chuck, and he did not show the slightest glimmer of gratitude once her "fluffing" ceased.

And then she herself is gone.

///

It makes you think of this too from 15x18:

DEAN: "She's gonna kill you. And then she's gonna kill me."

///

Girls named Becky take things and break things?

In 13x01, the angel Miram ranted and raved about the specter-like example of a "super bitch named Becky."

This Becky would "take things and break things."

But the funny thing is...here? As Chuck settles into her office and takes her house…

He's the one taking and breaking. He stole everything from her the same way he tried to wrap himself up in Dean's gray MoL robe.

Just 'cause he can.

#shal meta #chuck shurley #spn finale #cw spn finale #cw dean's death #mcd #spn atomic monsters #spn 15x04 #spn season 15 #becky rosen #rod baron #the rosen-baron family #spnwin #spnwin adjacent

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