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chat-noir-always-here · 4 years

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I rewatch Miraculous—Mr. Pigeon

Behold!!! The episode that almost made me stop watching Miraculous.

No for real i think i got up and left the room first time around, this episode was so ridiculous.

• “You only have one day to work on your fashion piece.” Only a day? That seems kinda unrealistic when you take into account designing, gathering materials, whether or not you need to go out and buy any materials, the amount of time it takes to actually put all that together...

•WHOA Gabriel’s actually smiling in that pic Mrs. Bustier shows. Er, smiling-ish

•Pure cinnamon roll child seems proud this peppermint frappucino dickhead is his father (Gabriel ur hair looks like whipped topping and that tie doesnt help). BE GRATEFUL FOR SUCH A CARIBG CHILD YOU PRICK!!!

•Maaaaaariii chill the fuck out your overactive imagination and severe anxiety are getting the better of you.

•AHEM Gabriel has a purple bowtie in Mari’s imagination instead of that ridiculous peppermint scarf he uses to hide Nooroo’s broach???

•Adrien: appears out of nowhere

Marintette: jerks and flops away like a fish on dry land

Me: lol bye Marinette

• Adriens beuatiful face when Mari is talking to him (before she blunders and stumbles with her words) is beautiful

•Mari’s beautiful face when Adrien is telling her “you’re so talented Marinette!” and the subtle tremor in her eyes as they widen with her smile...☺️😊😘i love my beautiful, anxious mess of a daughter

•Mari: Follows Adrien with her eyes like an owl. LMAO.

•Chloe does not deserve Sabrina 😒

•Whereas Gabriel resembles a peppermint frap, Hawk Moth/Papillion appears to be the result of what might happen if Batman and the riddler had a baby

•Ramier, bruh, there is like. Zero. Fucking. Reason to be that upset over not being allowed to feed pigeons. For real. Go feed them on some rooftop somewhere if you must. No reason to let Hawk Daddy akumatize you over it...

...

...You know what? We’re not calling Gabriel “daddy.”

EVER. Again.

•Also Hawk-shitface, pigeon dude is your worst idea and you keep coming back to him. Seriously at least put some effort into your champions’ outfits. Youre a fashion designer for petes sake!

• wow this show really loves its skin-tight body suits, huh? Even when they look ridiculous.

•Sabrina how the hell much did you have to pay for a cellphone that lets you zoom in on a fucking sketch from dozens of feet away and score yourself a crystal-clear image???

•Sabrina: “We’re soooo awesome!”

Chloe: “We?”

Chloe does NOT deserve Sabrina.

•Arent real bird feathers full of germs and bacteria that cause diseases? And Marinette “im immune to bird flu” Dupain-Cheng just plucked that shit up off the ground and put it on her hat of all things. I dont know whether to be fisgusted or impressed.

•Chat “paint me like one of your French girls” Noir for the win everybody

• “Im allergic to feathers.” I came across a theory on tumblr once (cant find the OP) that this coulda been caused by Emilie wearing the damaged Peacock broach when she was pregnant with him. If thats true i would be pleased😏

•Allow me to channel Chloe for this comment: LB, CN, that disguise is about as convincing as Mr. Pigeon and Bubbler’s get ups are appealing. In other words, NO.

•Chat Noir moonwalking with a hat on—booiii got some moves. 👌👌👌👌

• “You’re the cat dont you eat [pigeons] for breakfast?!” No LB, Kitty Boi is a domestic kitty otherwise he’d present to you little dead things like my cat used to do before we stopped letting him go out. This is an awful joke but SPARE THE BIRDS, theyre just like Ramier—being controlled by a monster.

• “On the count of three my beloved pigeons will commence fire.” As disgusting as pigeon poop is i think they’ll live. Cant you come up with a better evil plan? Threatening to break the glass floor at their feet by having the pigeons stomp on the cage would be more effective. I’m not trying to help the villain, kaay? I just prefer my villains to use their head. Honestly Team Rocket is more intimidating than Pigeon Dude.

•is it just me or is kitty boi especially adorable in this episode??? 😻😻😻

• flock of pigeons put a dent ten times the size of kitty boi’s head in the door

Okay thats actually kinda terrifying. What woulda happened if that attack hit a normal person wearing no magical armor??? They’d be pecked to bits...

• CN: “I gotta get outta here before my secret identity is revealed!”

LB: “Yeah you wouldnt wanna let the cat out of the bag!”

CN: “...Haha very funny.” 😾

Dont dish out what you cant take, handsome boy.

•LB’s look of amusement as CN starts running in place for fear of detransforming in front of others is hillarious

•kitty boi if this hotel takes tips you should really give Jean-whatshisname one. That was the speediest, life-saving room service ever.

•isnt this just Chloe’s room??? Theres a ladybug pillow on the bed and everything. Why did the mayor send CN to Chloe’s room???

• “i cant wait my dear pigeon.” Hmm reminds of later on when Hawk Moth calls Nats “My dear Mayura.” Bruh if you INTO Ramier just ask for his phone number like a normal person, quit akumatizing him and eat a damn snickers

•LB: Time for a sneak attack! Oh no, my sneak attack failed cuz my partner couldnt help but sneeze with all these FEATHERS around.

HELLO, he just told you he was allergic to feathers???

•ugh them censoring out the punches with flashy screenshots is so LAAAME show me the VIOLENCE.

• “Cat Noir! Grab [the bird call!]” AGAIN he’s ALLERGIC TO FEATHERS. Just tie that yoyo to something to keep Pigeon dude in the air and smash it yourself.

• Gabriel is that teacher from Ned’s Declassified School Survival Guide who was never physically present in class and was only ever seen through a tablet or some nonsense

•Chloe getting busted my Marinette in front of the principal, Gabriel and Adrien is a great example of how PLAGIARISM DOESNT PAY are you listening art thieves lurking on tumblr, instagram and elsewhere???

•ahem Gabriel that sympathetic look you give a weeping Chloe is very out of character

• “youre the winner Marinette.” Not gonna check out Kim and Max’s hat? You could at least look at it, doesnt seem very impartial to pick Mari without looking at ALL the hats

•siiiiiiiiiighhhhhhhh

Girl they are BOTH allergic to feathers. How many blonde teenage boys walk around with a feather allergy? Quantum Masking or no Quantum Masking, c’mon you should be at least considering the idea theyre the same person from that knowledge alone.

Annnd thats all for now. This episode is more of a vent-inducing hate sink than enjoyable, save for the gushing waterfall of cute kitty boi moments it provides. I may do Stormy Weather later today to make up for it.

#miraculous ladybug #adrien agreste #adriennette #marinette dupain cheng #mr pigeon

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i-write-and-therefore-i-am · 4 years

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One Monstrous Miracle (Part Five)

Okay. So. This one got away from me. It got unexpectedly dark, and I’m not sure how I feel about that but I’m going to post it and move on with the story. I am not a happy author about this chapter, for many reasons. Nevertheless, I love each and everyone of you and I hope you find it within you to enjoy this <3 (Pst! If you’d rather read on Ao3, here ya go!)

Previous-Next-First

Pairing: Aziraphale/Human!Reader

Summary: Michael takes some initiative. So does Sandalphon. Uriel is basically the emotional support nerd ig. Aziraphale has a nightmare. Reader does NOT have a good time.

Warnings: Okay listen closely. I have written a non-graphic description of a kidnapping, and subsequently a heavily-implied violence segment. I might be overstating or understating (please tell me if I am understating!), but I just want to keep you lovelies safe.

ALSO: This is NOT a warning, but while you’re here I might as well tell you that I have used they/them pronouns for Michael, and it/its pronouns for Sandalphon (from the script).

Word Count: 2730

(@gif, shits going down)

Michael was not stupid. They were not dimwitted, or blinded by heavenly goodness, or any of the things that they could very easily accuse their fellow celestial beings of…being. They had been paying the Angel Aziraphale very close attention these past millennia, and they had seen exactly what they had expected; the Angel had gone native. Worse than that, he had gone native and he was fraternizing with the enemy. THE enemy. El Numero Uno. The Demon Crowley.

Because Michael was none of the things mentioned above, they had quite a bit of room to be some other things, like cunning, vigilant, and good at waiting for just the right moment. They didn’t bring the aforementioned knowledge to Gabriel’s attention straight away for the sake of…strategy. It had nothing whatsoever to do with the fact that the Archangel-Fucking-Gabriel wasn’t the only gosh darned Archangel around (and that’s with a capital ‘A’, thank you very much), and so there really was no pressing need for Michael to give the information in the first place, now that they thought about it. They could investigate on their own, build up a solid case, and then work from there. Maybe get some respect around the elitist promotion trap that was their Heavenly home. If only.

Michael enlisted Uriel, knowing that she would be invaluable when looking for documents or anything paper related. She had the memory for things exactly like that. Michael brought Sandalphon precisely because they knew that Aziraphale was still terrified of it after what happened at Sodom and Gomorrah. Together, they monitored Aziraphale’s every move—although the angel had somehow devised a way to keep the group from ever being able to overhear any of his traitorous conversations with the hated Crowley, they weren’t deterred in the slightest bit. They could follow the pair, take pictures, perhaps the odd selfie when the mood hit. Michael was building their case against Aziraphale, and it was only a matter of time.

Armageddon threw everything into quite a pretty mess, now didn’t it? Aziraphale was openly discussing his meetings with his “wily adversary”, reporting on the current status and whereabouts of the Antichrist (Warlock. What a revolting name). Things were starting to get fun for the first time in about a hundred years, and Michael simply didn’t have the time for their surveillance missions anymore. Not to mention that Gabriel was demanding that they all stay together as often as possible, which was a nightmare in and of itself. Michael was rather looking forward to the end of the world, not for the gargantuan blood bath that would ensue, as most of their angelic associates where no doubt panting for, but for the endless peace that comes after a job well done.

One day, when the Antichrist (still Warlock, despite Michael’s very best efforts) was 10, nearly 11, Michael noticed something very strange about the familiar bookshop that they and the rest of the group had been watching for the last couple of centuries. There was a woman, well-dressed (Michael assumed. Angels, proper Angels, that is, Aziraphale not included, have no real sense of human fashion), practically cantering down the pavement, apparently towards Aziraphale’s shop. “No, that can’t be right,” Michael thought to themselves. Although, thinking back, that woman did look strikingly familiar. So familiar, in fact, that—

“Uriel! Take a look at this.” Michael had rolled her rolly chair away from her workstation and towards the cubicle to the right of hers. Uriel popped her head around the weird, cloth divider separating their “offices” with a curious expression.

“Yes, Michael? What is it?” The other angel asked from her rolly chair. Michael gestured that she should roll her rolly chair into Michael’s cubicle.

“I’ve found something strange in the Eden files, take a look at it.” The Eden files was their special code name for anything pertaining to Aziraphale that was not, strictly, on the books. This strange something happened to be a livestream of the street where Aziraphale lived. The woman was getting closer to the shop, although not quite close enough to tell if that was, indeed, where she was going. Michael pointed the woman out to Uriel.

“Now. She looks awfully familiar to me.” Michael’s gaze drifted from their finger to Uriel sitting beside them. Uriel had her thinking face on, which could mean one of a million different things and by this point in their long, coworker relationship, Michael had learned to just let her think. Uriel frowned slightly, moved closer to the screen, tapped a single key on the keyboard in front of them on Michael’s desk, and rewound the feed. She paused it. Zoomed in. Michael wondered why it was so difficult for the Management to install some touchscreens on the ground floor, at least for the Archangels and Possibly a few of the Principalities. They’d seen inside of Gabriel’s office (Yes! A whole, bloody corner office with glass windows instead of walls so that he can survey the worker bees in their nest and not one but TWO whole touchscreens!), after all. Uriel snapped her fingers in front of Michael’s face.

“Michael? Were you listening?” Michael, as you know, had not been listening. At all.

“Of course, Uriel. What was that last bit, again?” Uriel sighed and pointed at the woman zeroed in on.

“She visits the shop almost every day. She might be important.” Michael leaned forward in their rolly chair, squinting at the grainy image despite the fact that every angel had perfect 100/100 eyesight. They hummed.

“Yes. I quite agree. Sandalphon?” They called out the name of the coworker whose cubicle stood on the left side of theirs. They heard the familiar sound of the rolly chair growing nearer until Sandalphon sat beside the two other angels. Michael pointed to the woman on the screen.

“Let’s keep an eye on her.” They all watched as Uriel unpaused and the woman entered the shop.

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They did not have to wait long for the woman to make another move. Only a few hours later, she was hurrying out of the doors, clutching onto her purse and…crying?

“He doesn’t hold on to them long, does he?” Sandalphon remarked, rubbing its forefinger across its teeth diamonds. Uriel giggled but sobered when Michael glared at her. This was not the time for making jokes. That woman was certainly a human woman, there was no doubt about that. Why was she spending so much time around Aziraphale? Why had she run sobbing from his shop? Was this like that holiday Aziraphale took with Alexander the Great? Michael very dearly hoped not—Aziraphale had positively ruined that poor boy.

“Keep your focus on that woman. We need to learn more about her.”

The kept the feed trained on her as she made her way home. She didn’t live too far from Aziraphale’s shop. But just far enough that walking was just slightly out of her way. Uriel, the more softhearted of the bunch of angels huddled around the screen, wondered whether they should miracle her a taxicab, but she was quickly shut down.

“What, and give ourselves away? Gabriel would have our halos!” Michael exclaimed, shifting in their chair. Once the woman was in the door, Michael cut the feed, gaining the attention of the others. They cleared their throat.

“Ahem. So. Not only has Aziraphale been seen consistently in the presence of known Demon Crowley, but he also appears to have developed some sort of relationship with a…mortal woman. Once again, Aziraphale proves that he does not have the strength required to walk among them. Instead, he cavorts with them, befriends them—”

“Runs a bookshop,” Sandalphon growled helpfully. Michael nodded appreciatively.

“—and runs a bookshop. Clearly, he is no longer fit for his position.”

“That’s all well and good, Michael, but he can’t be removed from said position. Only the Almighty can deal with that level of personnel change.” Uriel reminded them calmly. Michael sighed deeply.

“I know that. We all know that. The only problem is something must be done about it. Aziraphale can no longer be allowed to continue this way. It’s heinous.” All the angels nodded their head in mutual agreement. They all tried to think of something they could do, but nothing seemed to jump out at anyone. It stayed like this for a few long moments before suddenly, Sandalphon gasped loudly, startling the other two.

“I know!” it said. “The girl. She’s important to him, right?” Uriel scoffed.

“She did just run from his shop in tears, Sandalphon, did you miss that part?” It was unfazed by Uriel’s goading.

“Exactly. It’s Aziraphale! He’s so soft, he’ll go groveling for her forgiveness within a fortnight. And when he does…”

“They’ll make up with each other. Where are you going with this?” Michael interjected impatiently, not in the mood for idle chatter. Sandalphon grinned, its teeth glinting in the Holy light.

“We kidnap her. Get us in Gabriel’s good books, get some information, and, of course, to scare powe ickle bitty Aziwaphawe. Perfect plan.”

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It was not, as it happens, the Perfect Plan. However, credit is due where credit is due, and that credit goes to Sandalphon for thinking of a Nearly-Perfect Plan. It would have been the Perfect Plan had Aziraphale and that blasted woman not been so stubborn and stayed apart for so long. The days until the Antichrist’s birthday were slowly running out, and the time during which the angels could execute said plan was drawing thin. Thankfully, the two made up just in the nick of time, so it had worked out in the end.

The trio had made the trip to Crowley’s flat, knowing that they would find Aziraphale there. Aziraphale had been flustered, but his story about checking about in the demon’s abode appeared to check out. Michael refused to take their eyes off of him the entire time. After they miracled away, they appeared in an alleyway not far from the woman’s home, and on her usual route. Michael had decided, because Michael was a little bit of an ass at times, to make the mystery just a smudge more difficult by abducting the woman outside of the home BUT simultaneously leaving a single, white wing feather on the floor of her locked flat. It really was quite devious for such a pure-hearted creature. Hmm.

The kidnapping went swimmingly. Uriel snuck up behind the woman, Sandalphon had thrown the bag over her head, and once everything was settled (or as settled as can be with a kicking and struggling woman in tow), Michael miracle them into a top-secret location. I’m afraid that I, as the author, am not at liberty to disclose the location of the following events, because of course I’d have to kill you afterwards, and I’d rather not do that.

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Angels do not have dreams. Angels cause dreams in other people, they take away dreams from other people, and they may, upon occasion, serve as conduits for messages from the Almighty, which often appear to other people as dreams. But Angels themselves do not dream. Except for Aziraphale, evidently, whose subconscious had decided to do away with the natural order of things to just…you know…spice it up a little. Aziraphale frowned deeply in his sleep and rolled over, sniffling.

He was in a corridor. There were no lights, only a faint glow that seemed to come from nowhere at all. There was one door, ahead of him, but the rest of the corridor was bare, empty grey concrete. He began to move towards the door, but the corridor seemed to get longer the closer he got, until he was nearly running, trying to make some progress down the hall but never moving one inch.

The scene changed, the corridor erupting into grey and black smoke that smelt faintly of saltwater taffy. The scene reconstructed itself as a square room lit with an old-fashioned lightbulb swinging slowly back and forth from the ceiling. There was a figure shivering on a metal chair in the center of the room, hands tied behind their back and a sack over their head. Aziraphale heard whimpering from the figure and made to rush over to help them but he found that his feet were rooted to the ground, as though someone had glued them straight to the floor. Aziraphale looked up from his shoes and gasped.

Surrounding the figure were Michael, Uriel, and Sandalphon. Michael stood directly in front of the figure, bending over slightly. Sandalphon stood directly behind the figure, fingers grasping at the sack. Uriel stood apart from them both, in the corner opposite to Aziraphale. Michael made a motion at Sandalphon and it yanked the sack off of the person’s head to reveal—

Y/N. Eyes red from crying, hair a mess, makeup smudged and beyond repair. Aziraphale felt his heart stop beating. What the hell was going on? Was this some kind of joke? A voice, nagging at the edge of his consciousness told him that no, it was not a joke. Aziraphale struggled against whatever was holding his feet down with renewed vigor. He stopped when he heard your voice, hoarse and trembling. It broke him to hear you like that.

“W-who are you? What do you w-want from me?” You coughed, and Aziraphale felt a miracle dance along the tip of his fingers. He would make you well again, he would heal whatever has happened to you. You continued. “I have m-money if that’s it! It’s n-not m-m-much but—”

“Silly girl, we don’t want your money.” Came Sandalphon’s voice.

“Mmm, that’s right.” Michael responded. They leaned in closer to you, and you sank deeper into the chair to escape them. “What we want is information.”

“Wh-What? What information? I don’t- “

“What do you know of the Angel Aziraphale?” Azriaphale’s blood went cold. He had been so close to telling you himself! After all of the Armageddon mess was straightened out, he had promised himself, he would march right up to you and tell you the truth. But not now! Not when he couldn’t be there to explain, when you were hurting, being hurt, tied up like some criminal. A noise horribly like a snarl erupted from Aziraphale’s throat, startling him. Was he truly invisible in this room? After a couple of seconds of pure terror, Aziraphale’s pulse began to slow and he realized that this was most likely a vision dream, a message from someone showing him something that was either already happening, or about to happen. He prayed to anyone who would listen that it was neither of those two options.

“I swear I don’t know!” The sound of your terrified voice brought him back. Sandalphon laughed its ugly laugh and Michael chuckled.

“Should we really be doing this, Michael?” Uriel inquired softly from her spot in the corner. Aziraphale was sure he was just projecting his terror onto her, but he thought he could almost see a hint of concern in her deep black eyes. Michael just shook their head.

“It’s not as though she’ll have very long to remember it, will she?” At this, your body seized in horror, eyes open wide in shock. Fresh tears were streaming down your cheeks. Aziraphale wanted to burn this room to the ground.

“Are…are you going to kill me?” you whispered through your crying. Aziraphale held his breath to listen for the answer:

“Oh, dear me, of course not. Do you know how much paperwork that would be? Oh no. Definitely not killing you. As long as you give us the information we need.” Came Michael’s reply.

Aziraphale felt that old rage bubble up inside him, and his sword hand itched, as though the missing sword were a missing limb instead. He took a deep breath and clenched his hands into fists. He would not debase himself in such an appalling manner. He had grown since those days, and he would not be brought to his knees by a dream.

“I told you, I don’t know anything!” you pleaded desperately. The room was beginning to fade away, smoke swirling at the edges, illuminated by the swinging bulb. Aziraphale cried out, reaching out for you only to be met with empty air.

“Oh, we’ll see about that, now, won’t we?”

The last thing Aziraphale heard before waking was the sound of Michael’s laughter.

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#mine #aziraphale x reader #Aziraphale #crowley #good omens #One Monstrous Miracle #michael sheen

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yourfandomfriend · 5 years

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Symbolism and Simplification | Good Omens Meta

Aha, I’ve found something to meta about! It’s actually the only ambiguous thing about the whole series: what do you think Crowley and Aziraphale represent?

** SPOILERS** FOR GOOD OMENS ** SPOILERS **

There’s a lot of argument surrounding GO in regard to the sexuality of the main characters. On the one hand, they’re angels, they don’t breed, they don’t have human brain chemistry, they even really have gender in the sense we’re used to, they obviously lack the baggage of humans and their sexualities. But on the other hand, they’re fictional characters invented within a society, baggage is baked into everything whether we mean for it to be or not.

So what are they already? Are they gay/bi/etc? Are they without human definition? Ace? Queerbaiting? Better left to interpretation? Well. I think all these questions ignore something painfully fundamental that we zero out when we adjust to consuming the hundreds of stories available to modern flixxers:

They are fictions.

I don’t mean that as a brush-off; I think the questions are valid and being fictitious doesn’t let anyone off the hook for political statements. What I mean is, fictional characters aren’t people but are symbolic of people. Of large ideas and thorny emotions, how we see ourselves grappling with them, with all the noise of reality, the static and blur and contradiction, left out.

That’s important because nothing in fantasy is ever truly a 1:1 reflection of reality. That would be horribly dull and not at all as sharp and vivid as fiction. We don’t have time for squinting at Monets. The world is ending...

Making the Big, Feel Small

The TV Apocalypse! Hot take: who gives a rats ass about that? A fake world ending and people who never lived are going to die? No consequences for us, so no real stakes! Why should any of us care?

Well, what if the world ending in a TV show took something away that could hurt us in the real world? Reach through the screen and snap us where it counts? But that would mean the show would have to be the one to give us something we wanted in the first place. Needed, even. Something rare and precious, something it could hold over our heads in case we stopped investing our emotions in the make-believe end of days.

I think you get where I’m going with this. The fabric of reality is threatening to be torn apart over some ridiculous war between initial caps Good and Evil, and if they get their way, it’s not just the end of the world. It’s the end of Crowley & Aziraphale’s arrangement/fraternizing/love story.

And just like that, we feel it tug at our heartstrings. It really could end, oh no!

We like them so we get why they might like each other. But to make us really care, we have to go through it with them and have them go through it with us. It’s not enough for us to want them to be together, they have to want them to be together, too. So the miniseries decides to illustrate anecdotes that the book is content to describe so you’ll know where you were when these chumps fell in love with each other.

As far as romantic moments that leave shippers squeeing, most shows have a few every season at the very best, but Gaimen and co. aren’t forking around. They only had eight episodes, why not go the “Oops! All Berries” route? Every scene they’re in has at least a look or a line that sews precarious, blossoming Love Sweet Love into the seems of this show like a sadistic tailor.

We don’t just want them to be safe in the end. We don’t just want them to be happy. They have to be together.

Making the Small Feel Big

So love stories... Some of us adore them but some of us just don't have the patience for them, or we’ve been conditioned to think they’re too flowery. Just people creating drama for themselves that could easily be avoided. What to do then? How does one make a romance slap?

Why not make it the literal end of the world? Why not rain fish from the sky and summon C’thulu and set shit on fire? Not only is it great drama but it makes for great symbolism and helps out those of us who can’t sit still for a love story.

Why not make saps of your hard-edged audience? Some of us need it.

Making the Ineffable, Eff

“So the HMS Ineff Yourself is the ship to end all ships,” I hear you say. “So what? You didn’t answer the question to our satisfaction! What are they really? Friends, lovers? I want a box to put them in or I’ll explode! This isn’t hyperbole and I’m not a straw man, I’m a real person trapped in a blog post!”

Well, I can address some of that, relax. Answering the big question requires a buttload of empathy. Not only are Crowley and Aziraphale not human, but they don’t have the culture of humans. Their big taboo isn’t about gender -- in a world where the establishment is casually nonbinary, it’s hard to use these guys as a super-literal reflexion of the real world. The hats have little fingers, the plants are terrified, it’s all a stretch.

But the idea of two characters in love being torn apart by a false dichotomy that dictates everything about their expression and forces them into narrow little boxes of performance, that if expectations aren’t met could result in their violent deaths, is, among other things, deeply applicable.

It doesn’t just look like this to a biased audience, it was written that way. In order to wrap your brain around something as alien as angels and demons, something you can’t actually know, you have to draw from what you can know. They love each other, but it’s all a little beyond their understanding. But they’re immortal, they have time to figure it out.

That answer may lack the definition some of us want, but what doesn’t?

Better Angels

One part of the story I’ve seen even very smart people stumble over is something I see smart people stumble over constantly in their analysis of great fiction. They just can’t abide a gray area.

Maybe in real life, it makes sense for things to not be all black and white, but they expect things that are a little removed from them, things they might not be paying a lot of attention to (like my blog posts) to be very clear about which side they come down on. They’re like Gabriel that way.

We know most people are blind, biased fools, but we all want to believe we’re not. We don’t have scales on our eyes, we know what’s up and see the world clearly, we want what is Right, not just what is simple and convenient.

But if most people are fools...?

The Heaven part of the story makes no sense to people who see the world in black and white terms because, you know, it’s one thing to portray Hell as bad, but Heaven? Heaven is Righteous, how can Righteousness be bad?

Sure, Crowley’s okay, but that must be because he’s good deep down and always has been, there’s no other reason he’d care about humans. And we like him, and we’re good, so he must be good. (That’s the transitive property of fandom.) It can’t be that we mistake things we like for things that are right and all that’s beneficial to humanity with good-. Ow! Oo, sorry, I think I sprained my sarcasm. (I shouldn’t overtax it like that!)

Along with not seeing the gray in Crowley, most will ignore it in Aziraphale, too, at least on first viewing. After all, he’s just so kind, and willing to rebel against Heaven and everything he believes in and even put himself in danger of smiting to stop a terrible thing from happening. But most of all, he cares about humans and Crowley. He loves. What’s so bad about that?

Well, you can love people and still be decadent, dishonest, willfully ignorant of inconvenient facts, manipulative, self-involved, gullible, silly, (although it hurts me to list that as a flaw) procrastinating, spoiled, and a push-over.

Actually, looking at a list of some of Azirphale’s flaws makes it clear that most of them come down to him being weak-willed. He wants to be good but as an unsupervised god among men for 6000 years, someone who can magic even small things to go his way, he lacks the willpower to stick to anything once he’s (even gently) been tempted away from it.

And that which seems to be the heart of all his failings, the thing that pissed off Heaven the most about him, also seems to be the thing Crowley finds most compelling about him. It’s the part of Az that wants things for himself, that needs other people, and will break the rules if he thinks they’re unreasonable. That would never, say, damn someone to Hell for asking questions. The part of him that can absolutely love someone who was damned.

Aziraphale spends most of the story being pulled back and forth between powerful personalities, between Gabriel and Crowley, only to ultimately choose and fight for the thing he himself wants most, rather than what other people tell him to do or even the thing he knows is right. Which is good, since his concepts of right and wrong were handed to him by ridiculous bureaucrats.

At least in the series, Aziraphale and Crowley are perfectly symbolic of humanity’s struggle with doing the right thing in interesting times. They aren’t exactly bad people needing to become good, but a lot of little mistakes on their part added up to a big disaster and they both needed to find the strength and the courage to swim against a very wicked current.

In my opinion, the show is about failing and making amends. It doesn’t matter if you’re trying to do the right thing or the wrong thing, we all fuck up more than occasionally, but we have to get on with it and do our best.

Because there are no better angels. It’s just us.

...What, you want a clearer, simpler answer than that? Fine. The real message of Good Omens is don’t pollute.

#good omens #meta #spoilers #long post

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segadores-y-soldados · 7 years

Text

Listen y’all

Because I’m this Petty and Extra™

Have this. 1. Amelie Lacroix used to be a ballerina.

Old Habits:

Reaper sneers beneath the mask. “I will not work under Talon.”

“Oh no, we are aware of your...peculiarities,” the agent says, a little more cautiously. “We’ve heard the stories of your...abilities and were interested in seeing how you feel about a...partnership.”

Reaper glances towards him, then back towards Widowmaker. His thoughts are unraveling, struggling to jam puzzle pieces together. Why the fuck won’t his thoughts settle down -

“I’m not interested in any sort of deal - ” his words and thoughts die in his throat.

Widowmaker has shifted slightly in the moonlight and, fuck, he’s not really sure why - maybe it’s his stronger senses post-meal, or maybe he’s just so fucking keyed up from the events of the night - but something finally fucking clicks and it’s like he can see it as clear as day.

Amélie.

The name rushes through him like fire consuming dry tinder and he feels something inside him explode with energy. Now that he’s seen it, he doesn’t know how he’s missed it - the tall figure, as graceful and powerful as a ballerina, her long hair pulled back tight, pale skin and dark sneers. But there’s something missing from her - some characteristic that he’s not really entirely sure what it is. He stares at her with a loss for words, his thoughts shoving each other to get to the forefront of his mind.

How in the fucking FUCK I thought she was dead we all thought she was dead I fucking TOLD JACK to do a rescue mission but no he thought it was TOO FUCKING DANGEROUS WHAT THE FUCKING HELL IS SHE DOING HERE didn’t Talon fucking kidnap her why is she working with them

He attempts to steer his thoughts back on some sort of course, but it’s like the world has fucking shifted beneath him and he can’t get his footing back. A god damn mental paradigm shift had broken into his thoughts and scrambled them like eggs on hot pavement, and he is left reeling until a thought stampedes its way to his brain.

Brainwashing.

2. The Reyes shrug

76 + 127: How We Were Made (SEP-era Reaper76):

Even now, Jack knows Gabriel has already found a way out of his cell.

Jack just has no idea what he did.

Think outside the box, he can practically hear Gabriel whisper incessantly to him in his rattling, loose brain.

I can’t, Gabe - I’m fucking trapped inside the box.

You just gotta assess the situation critically. You have advantages, Jack - you just gotta find them.

Advantages.

Sure.

Being locked in a cell has zero advantages over a guard in light body armor and a rubber-bullet gun.

The haze of sleepiness and exhaustion and pent-up frustration and roiling, thunderous energy in his veins is killing every idea in his head.

Look at your situation, think of what you have that 16 or 14 doesn’t.

“...So you are you gonna suck 16’s dick or nah?” 83 asks him vaguely from across the hall.

Sucking dicks is thinking outside the box, right? Jack half-wonders to himself, half to whatever sliver of Gabriel exists in his exhausted mind. He can practically see Gabriel’s shrug - Gabriel would understand if Jack sucked a dick to get out of jail. Gabriel would probably do that himself.

Had Gabriel sucked his guard’s dick for the key?

The thought alone makes his head pound harder.

3. I’m not the one with the statue.

Segador: It Is Not Him:

“Uh -” Reaper says unhelpfully as Sombra snaps out a hand to 76, pulling him over to the holoprojector, saying eagerly, “Oye, oye, Jack - is this Gabe??”

Jack takes a second to process the image and then -

In the stiff, awkward, uncomfortable, deadass silence -

He fucking laughs.

The years and the stress and the explosion and his myriad of problems have tempered the sound, made it harsh and gravelly, filled it with the ashes of what they had once been, but there’s a light there, a brightness, as if someone is pulling the sun out of the depths of the oceans -

And then Sombra is laughing again too, and snapping a picture with her biosystem as Jack wheezes, “Can I get a copy?” and Gabriel growls, “Listen assholes -”

“What the shit is going on over here?” Ana asks as she joins them from her rounds about the museum hall and both Jack and Sombra pull her to the projector and suddenly all three of them are laughing and Gabriel -

“Fuck this shit, I’m gonna rejoin Talon,” Gabriel huffs but suddenly there’s a warm, gentle pressure of a hand on his arm and Jack is there, smiling brightly at him from underneath scars and a silver-white five-o’clock shadow.

“Don’t be mad, Gabe,” the ex-commander chuckles to him and Gabriel softens a little at the words. Jack jerks a thumb to the statue of himself a little ways off to the side, asking playfully, “Wanna help me knock the head off that jackass?”

“Fuck yeah, let’s do it.”

4. “Gabe, anything else you’re not telling me?”

Old Habits (preview - Pre-SEP meeting):

Reyes looks at him with a little bit of embarrassment until Jack sticks out his hand.

“What?” the cadet asks in surprise and Jack just grins, “Name’s John, but I fucking hate it, so call me Jack.”

“Are you fucking serious -” Reyes breathes, “A goddamn handshake?”

“Aww, after all we went through, and you won’t even shake my hand?” Jack mocks at him and Reyes glares at him fiercely before smirking wickedly, “I can see why people want to punch you, jackass.”

“I mean, it is my kink - ”

“I am going to regret saying that to you,” Reyes sighs before taking Jack’s hand.

His hand is rough around the knuckles and joints from years of boxing, but it’s warm too.

“Gabriel,” he mutters.

“Encantado, Gabríel,” Jack beams at him and he sees Gabriel’s left eyebrow quirk a twitch at the Spanish, but Jack rolls on, “This is the part where you tell me you hate the name ‘Gabriel,’ so I can call you ‘Gabi,’ right?”

“Oh, holy fuck, now I really see why people want to hit you, pendejo.”

5. Strike Team “Blue as Blue Can Be” Uniforms

Segador: It Is Not Him:

With pounding frustration and an increasing headache (or was it increasing frustration and a pounding headache?), Gabriel steps out from behind the little partition where they had given him room to get changed. He squares up before the small group of people in the room - his four closest companions, Ana’s seven-year-old daughter Fareeha (who’s looking rather bored as she smashes some buttons on her gamepad), and a bunch of the new recruits who are milling about awkwardly.

“I look ridiculous,” he growls.

The four heroes - Jack, Ana, Reinhardt, and Torbjörn - are lounging around the main room of the base, all of them also wearing these fucking weird ultra-blue “Overwatch” armor sets. Reinhardt looks especially uncomfortable and especially blue - Torbjörn had barely managed to whip out the cobalt armor for him last-minute when Adawe had told them about the “Overwatch global reveal” photoshoot to them last week. The tiny engineer, meanwhile, looks completely out of place without his usual red armor, and he tugs at his beard nervously as he assesses the new recruits. Jack and Ana seem to pull the look off well, as its basically the get up they’re already used to: Ana’s reading something on her datapad, adjusting the beret perched on her silky black hair. Jack is leaning slack against the arm of a cheap couch, looking completely at ease with himself, tapping away at his datapad with a faint smirk as Fareeha next to him whines, “Jack, that’s not fair -”

“This is why I told you not to battle the Overwatch Pokemon Champion, Fareeha,” Jack grins to her before he and the others turn their attention to their commander -

There is stiff, awkward, uncomfortable, deadass silence in the room, broken only by the faint electronic chirping of some pocket monster passing the fuck out on Fareeha’s gamepad.

Torbjörn snorts as Fareeha’s tiny shoulders begin shaking. Ana flashes a terrible, dry smile before covering her mouth and looking away. Reinhardt squints at him with his good eye and Jack gives him the most awkward, fucking fake smile Gabriel has ever seen on him, muttering with some effort, “You - you look good, Gabe.”

“I look fucking ridiculous -” Gabriel starts with a scowl before Ana shouts, “LANGUAGE, GABRIEL.” Her daughter doesn’t even seem to notice, however - Fareeha is giggling and chortling to herself as she shakes Jack’s arm with bubbling excitement and the blonde second-in-command is also starting to shiver with stifled laughter.

6. Push Ups

76 + 127: How We Were Made (SEP-era):

Jack sighs again, not sure if he loves or hates the pressure in his head and neck, before pushing his arms up off his elbows and onto his hands.

Upside-down push-ups suck.

Gabriel’s wide, smug, fucking charming grin flashes into his head.

Jack winces against another wave of nausea and sets into his first rep. He’ll only do five at a time - before the mere act of being upside down makes him want to puke - then put himself back into a normal push up position on the floor, then repeat a few times until he actually throws up or gives himself a nosebleed. He doesn’t know what the fuck is in the “enhancements,” but every other person in the group has had nosebleeds or mild seizures.

It had been fucking terrifying the first month.

After that, the fear slowly eased up when everyone started getting them. Apparently that made it...more normal, though Gabriel loved to point out that even if 100% of all 150 of them got the nosebleeds and seizures, that statistically proves nothing except that the chemicals are fucking all of them up instead of a subset of them. Jack loved to point out that Gabriel was not very good at math, and that would cause Gabriel to point out “Shut the fuck up, Jack, I passed three levels of statistics at West Point” which would cause Jack to point out “So did I, pendejo - I had to help you study for all three of them.”

Jack does his push ups and then slowly puts himself back down on the ground when 78 groans from his cot, “Dude, you gotta try to get some sleep.”

“Yeah, last time that happened the alarm went off,” Jack sighs, letting himself slump face-down on the cool, dull concrete floor.

Fuck, even that feels comfortable.

7. Gabriel, Jack, and NES video games

127 + 76: Trick to the Game:

“How are we gonna shoot ducks indoors?” Gabriel mutters as they reach Jack’s room, and Jack smiles mischievously as he punches the lock code into the keypad, saying with a playful threat, “Oh, you’ll see.”

“What the fuck did I say about scaring me -” Gabriel begins as door slides open, Jack pulling and tugging him inside until Gabriel can finally see the screen glowing on Jack’s side of the room, with a small white video game console actually hardwired to the tv’s only USB port because what the fuck kinda video game system runs on wires these days -

“The fuck is that??” Gabriel asks as Jack bends down and grabs some sort of weird long white remote -

“It’s a Wii U!” Jack states happily and Gabriel just looks at him totally lost and rather distrustfully, before he sputters out, “The fuck is a Wee You?”

“It’s one of Nintendo’s worst-selling consoles ever,” Jack continues, pointing the remote to the infrared sensor bar that he’s taped to the wall because there’s no spot to put it on the holo-tv. He flips to the main menu (the little plaza thing is empty because there’s no internet connection, and even if it were available, Nintendo’s had the servers down for decades now), and selects -

“Ay Dios mio,” Gabriel swears as the words [DUCK HUNT] load up in bright, bold, electric blue letters. The older candidate rubs at his forehead with his hands, mumbling, “I cannot fucking believe you went through ALL THAT just for this joke.”

“YES,” Jack shouts, fist-pumping into the air, “The long con pays off! I still got it.”

And then, after a pause of grumbling silence, Jack looks at him and asks, “...Do you really think that geese are ducks?”

Gabriel looks up and squints at him, saying dryly, “...Aren’t they?”

“...Dude.”

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almaasi · 7 years

Text

reaction post typed while watching SPN 12x12 “Stuck In The Middle (With You)”

well THIS is some delightfully interesting bullshit right here

06:43

frankly i am not ready and i don’t think i will ever be ready

i saw some shit on instagram and i went from being “scared but interested” to HYPED and now i’m scared again

i just want cas to come out of this okay

like that’s what i’m here for, just cas being alive and loved (by dean. but also sam and mary)

06:48

*DEEP BREATHS*

06:50

mr ketch is definitely cute, in a murderous stephen fry kind of way

06:52

cas: “cheese isn’t a carbohydrate”

i guess cas read up on the ketchup vs vegetables debate

give me a nutritionist!cas au stat

06:54

cas: “sunrise special please”

CAS IS SUNSHINE

also flustered under mandy’s attention BECAUSE HE ALREADY HAS A BOYFRIEND

RIGHT

RIGHT???

06:55

guess sam’s magic wifi hair doesn’t work any more

06:56

what i have learned here is that dean is turned on by the smell of food

give me cas bathing himself in strawberry syrup before bed

06:57

obviously there’s something else going on but right now it kind of looks like mary’s uncomfortable with either a) using mandy as part of a plan, or b) dean instructing his boyfriend to go flirt with someone else

edit: probably more like uncomfortable that they’re trying to make cas flirt and not focusing on the issue at hand

06:59

CAS SNIFFING PEOPLE

OH GOD CAS YOU’RE SO INAPPROPRIATE AND SO UNAWARE OF IT

I LOVE YOU SO MUCH

sidenote, cas was the only one who didn’t get screentime when mary asked if everyone understood the plan

07:01

DEAN: “MY SHY BUT DEVASTATINGLY HANDSOME FRIEND”

OKAY THAT’S CANON

GUYS THAT JUST HAPPENED DEAN JUST DESCRIBED CAS AS DEVASTATINGLY HANDSOME

CONTEXT DOESN’T MATTER BECAUSE THOSE WORDS CAME OUT OF DEAN’S MOUTH

07:03

dean: “when do you get off?”

mandy: “whenever i can”

woooowwwww go mandy

also i’m so concerned for cas right now DID HE CONSENT TO BEING USED AS A HONEY TRAP I DON’T THINK SO

HE HASN’T SAID A WORD ON THIS

edit: mandy wasn’t even part of the plan ?? i’m ????

07:05

DID I JUST SEE A BLACK GUY DIE FIRST

///SQUINTS REALLY HARD

07:06

and then a white guy BUT THEN THE (asian? native american?) LADY

AAAND WE’RE BACK TO ZERO REPRESENTATION

WHAT THE FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK

ARE THEY ACTUALLY KIDDING LIKE

DO THEY EVEN SEE THE ISSUE

DOES ANYONE MAKING THIS SHOW EVEN REALISE WHAT THEY’RE DOING

fuck

y’know i’m just gonna have to let this go right now because i can’t even comprehend how ferociously problematic this show is

i just wanna enjoy it for my fave characters and i can’t do that unless i bundle the problems into a box and forget about them for now

07:09

still thinking about it though

this is trump’s america, where problematic bad things happen so often and with zero time to process that you just get to the point where it’s like “oh great another social apocalypse, must be thursday”

07:12

“the wounded angel” // “earlier”

i feel like i’ve watched a movie like this (certainly a lot of tv show episodes clearly all based on the same source material)

pulp fiction or something idk

something bizarre and character-action-driven that doesn’t make a lot of sense until the end

07:14

AW MAN THAT SLOW MOTION WALKING SHOT IS GONNA MAKE A REALLY GOOD GIF

THANK YOU GABRIEL RICHARD SPEIGHT JR

07:20

IS THAT YELLOW EYES

WHAT

WHAT WHAT WHAT

07:21

nOOOOOO CAS

NOBODY HARPOONS MY BABY AND LIVES

except dean, who stabbed him first, married him later

07:21

YYYEEEEEEE MARY SAVING CAS WITH THE CAR

07:23

and while mary and sam are talking about yellow-eyes, dean is smothering cas in kisses and magic healing tears, yes? yes

07:26

WOW WAS THAT FLIRTY LOOK DEAN GAVE DIRECTED AT CAS

I THINK SO

WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE THO

07:26

i watched that bit again I THINK DEAN WAS SIGNALLING TO CAS THAT MANDY’S RESPONSE WAS A POSITIVE THING

aaaah the people who subtly and automatically support autistic friends are the best

also why is dean so determined to get cas to like other people?? CAN’T YOU JUST ACCEPT THAT CAS IS ALL YOURS AND WILL FOREVER BE YOURS