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circa-specturgia · 10 months

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“Yours is not the only set of footsteps you’re hearing, even though you’re walking alone.”

Yours is not the only set of footsteps you’re hearing, even though you’re walking alone.

Behind you, a half pace behind, you can hear your work shoes. Their heels hits the pavement in their own distinct sound. Your fingers still remember the way you’d tie their black laces and tighten their black leather.

You walk still, trying to pay them little mind. It’s not the first time you’d heard them behind you. It likely won’t be the last.

Each step adds a gram of weight to the ring on your finger.

Each step a reminder of the long night hours. The office. The silence. The empty nightstand. The hospital waiting room.

Yours is not the only set of footsteps you’re hearing, even though you’re walking alone.

Somewhere behind them, pair of socks over bare feet shuffle over the freshly-set floorboards. Maple, like you’d always talked about.

The wind blows through your hair, whistling in your ears the first notes of a melody you once remembered. A melody you’d danced to on that floor, in the middle of the night.

Yours is not the only set of footsteps you’re hearing, even though you’re walking alone.

A pair of hiking boots, a bit further behind you, break a twig that you’d stepped over a moment ago. Their step has more life to it, more vigor, as it joins the march down the empty road.

The breeze carries the hint of a scent, despite the boots being behind you. Sap. fresh green-pine air. The frigid bubbling stream, the blue clouds and white sky. The rain. Sweat and laughter.

The moon shines through the clouds and for a moment the way it’s rays pierce them is the exact same as the suns atop that mountain from the magazines you’d only talked about until that summer.

Yours is not the only set of footsteps you’re hearing, even though you’re walking alone.

Your old sneakers plod against asphalt, dripping rainwater in the windy night, somewhere far, far behind you.

The balls of your feel and heels ache at the sound, brought back a moment to a long-ago night.

To the wind in your hair, the tears mixing with the sky’s downpour, glasses fogged up. Heart filled with adrenaline and excitement and fear and love.

Knuckles against a bright green door, sore shaky voice against red ears, lips against lips, relieved and bare laughter against laughter.

Yours is not the only set of footsteps you’re hearing, even though you’re walking alone.

It’s barely in reach of your ears, and over the other pairs, you hear the proud marching of a grade schooler.

Walking with pride and head held high in defiance of the worries that may come ahead with blissful, simple, wonder, for every day.

Distracted by any bug or stick or rock on the way home.

Yours is not the only set of footsteps you’re hearing, even though you’re walking alone.

Of disjointed steps and strides a heartbeat sounds out, walking down an empty night road.

You sit, on the bench, at the end of the road.

Afraid to look back. Afraid of their faces looking forward. Afraid of what you’d think of yourself.

Instead, they sit beside you. One, by one. A slightly younger person grasps your hand and squeezes it, a bit too tights their hand is less bony than yours. The ring fits better, not slipping down to their knuckle. It’s all they need to do.

You sit there. Beside you, your life, your memories. Their steps, leading you to this bench, under the moon and clouds and stars.

Yours was not the only set of footsteps you’d heard, even though you’d thought you’d been walking alone.

All you’d need have done had been listened for a moment, to have heard them behind you, always. In empathy do your struggles, in awe of your successes.

Now, their echoing footsteps have gone still, and silent, leaving just the breath, and the view.

This time, the footsteps come from ahead.

You know who they belong to in a heartbeat, as their fingers lace through yours at your side.

You sigh, the sound lost on the wind. Your eyes look to them, as a weary, long-thought-out smile comes to rest in your crows feet.

You’d heard footsteps whenever you were alone, all your life.

As you stand, and begin to walk with them, the rest stay under that moonlit bench, letting the two of you walk home in the quiet.

- Written between 1-2 AM, from the middle of a quiet field

#writeblr #writers on tumblr #writing community #writing #it’s been forever since I’ve written anything like this #but I decided to make use of the idea and the inspiration and write it all in one day #thank you for reading!#I hope you enjoyed it!#it might be messy as hell cause as said #I wrote it at like. 1 in the morning #but i had a lot of fun writing it

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underwhelmingalchemist · 1 year

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Actually, I love being a cluttered person.

I love spending time in my room filled with pillows and shelves of knick-knacks where everything is decorated for Christmas and is lit by red LED lights

I love having a closet that can accommodate every aesthetic from jeans and a t-shirt to cottagecore scene kid to forest gremlin to full lolita coord and never sticking to any single aesthetic, even if I'm reusing the same core pieces over and over

I love teaching myself to sing, and to make edits, and bake things I've never made before, and sew, and craft with foam, and make props and costume pieces, and crochet, and fold paper stars, and write new genres, and learn about odd bits of culture and history, and cosplaying and making videos and dancing and anything else that might strike my interest all at once

I love listening to every genre of music and having my playlist skip from metal to bubblegum pop to country, without any particular devotion to any one artist or band, picking up bits and pieces from every tiktok I come across or album that was recommended to be years ago or music my mom used to listen to when I was a kid

I love consuming any media that catches my interest, from anime to indie films to marvel movies to media analysis to children's cartoons to documentaries to video essays to tiktoks to podcasts without any visuals at all

I love being in a hundred fandoms all at once, and creating content for as many as I can and cosplaying and writing meta posts and making video edits and memes and shitposts and writing fanfiction for dozens of pairings, plenty of which involving the same characters shipped with different people because I can't choose just one

I love my blog of random bits and bobs I've collected, with shitposts followed by fandom pieces and poetic phrases and a video that made me laugh

I love my gender and all its messy complexities, and how I want to go on T but still wear lolita and skirts and makeup but also do drag in both the king and queen categories and put on a performance both onstage and off that seems both feminine and masculine and some secret third option and it's all so chaotically off-putting but makes everyone around me gradually feel more at ease with themselves

I love my attraction and how I'm ace but also enthralled by the concepts of kink and romantically attracted to whoever my mind feels like that day, with preferences that swirl and shift in some nebulous cloud of identity that nobody could ever quite figure out, least of all me

I love dating two people and getting to text my boyfriend about my day and talk to my queerplatonic girlfriend about her plans to marry her boyfriend and tell both of my partners that I love them and kissing them and making plans for the future with both of them

I love my body with all of its squishy curves and rolls, and getting to decorate and customize it however I want, whether it's putting stickers on it or dressing it up in fun outfits or putting color around my eyes and painting on little designs

I love being talkative and knowing a little bit about everything because I remember reading about it a while ago, just like I remember when someone tells me about their favorite TV show or how they had a fight with their boyfriend a couple weeks ago or if they just started a new game, and crying with people in the same day I'll laugh with someone different

I love doing a hundred things at once, and putting on a podcast on while I play video games and monitoring my texts and discord servers I'm in, and finding the most overstimulating music to blast through my favorite pair of earbuds just because I like the bass and how it crunches

I love using language in ways that might seem a bit out of place, like trying to make things fit in a box together and saying I'm 'Tetris-ing it together" or calling certain sounds "crunchy" or telling my boss that I "had to go on a sidequest" when I had to deviate from what I was told to do, or just using the word "scrungly" at all

All of this makes up who I am, each piece making up a small part of a larger whole, no one bit able to exist without the other

I love all my clutter, no matter what form it takes

And I love being a cluttered person.

#this got longer than i was intending #but i had a lot of fun writing it #i'm trying to understand myself more and be less hyper-critical and acknowledging what i love about who i am seemed like a good step #anyways #tags #i need those #first of all #long post #from there...#writing #self love #self appreciation #clutter #stream of conciousness

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wardingshout · 4 months

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Zelda goes mushroom girl

#tloz #a link to the past #zelda #link #my art #I was happy with that first one but for some reason decided it still needed a companion piece so I spent way too long on that second one...#I don't think there was any time during the progress where I was happy with it but hfduhdfu at least I got to Attempt drawing moss hell yea #I also at some point sat in Pyu's art stream and said I enjoy drawing legs As I was being murdered by the infamously impossibe (imo) squat.#it's ok I had fun !! but I need to learn how to let doodles be doodles or I'll never finish stuff at this rate dfsuhfd #if everything in my tloz tag looks like it was drawn by different people uuuh 2023 was art crisis year ngl......#I'm falling back into my old ways rn though #anyway I think about these two a lot I think they're both stone faced and awkward ppl in different ways but they try rly hard to be friends #like I like to think it starts out so incredibly awkward and a bit sad bc they keep stepping over each other's toes accidentally the harder #they try but idk they find comfy middle ground idk in my brain they have a very interesting friendship I wanna get around to drawing it #in a proper way that might make sense....#if I don't write 200 tags I will die maybe it's bc I grew up on dA or smth #and yes I know how to find 1 (one) type of mushroom /I/ am not mushroom girl unfortunately smh

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cleric4vampire · 10 days

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wyll.y.am ravengard, I love you so

everyone loves to put him in gold (rightly so) but my personal style is lots of silver jewelry + heavy eyeliner so that's what I gave him. also roses because he's so damn venusian

#wyll #wyll ravengard #bg3 fanart #bg3 #three color versions because I'm so damn indecisive. I'm experimenting with a more sketchy style and had a lot of fun with it #I have so many thoughts about wyll and his venusian qualities; how he embodies some of the truest and starkest aspects of venus #as well as its most painful and burdensome weaknesses #I could write an essay on it but I don't know how many people live in the intersection between bg3 and classical astrology. so I won't #also - I've had this sitting in my drafts for way too long and it was in danger of entering the ''I changed my mind I don't want this to #see the light of day'' phase so Im pressing the damn button #my art

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lonicera-caprifolium · 4 months

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a Christmas meal to go with @mirjam-writes' absolutely gorgeous fic--

Be Still My Soul (link ✨️)

#good omens #ineffable husbands #aziraphale #crowley #aziracrow #human au #commission #mirjam-writes #♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡#thank you for trusting me with a scene to go with your baby #I had a lot of fun with it!

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criticalrolo · 1 year

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I had a post a while ago about making sure your dnd character WANTS to be an adventurer a while ago, something else I’ve been thinking about is the importance of making a dnd character that WANTS to be in a group and have some sort of relationship with other PCs. the Group Nature of ttrpgs means lone wolves just aren’t feasible. if you really want to play a lone wolf or antisocial character at the beginning then I highly recommend telling your dm and the others players that you plan on forming bonds along the way and growing out of that mindset. otherwise why are you playing dnd, a group activity that involves cooperation and building relationships? Just Write A Book if you don’t wanna be in a group

#the advice Just Write A Book goes out to DMs a lot but it also applies to PCs I think #I’ve had character ideas that I’ve moved from PC to Book Character for this reason!!#I do like lone wolves who don’t trust others but they’re way more fun to read about than actually play #pls cooperate with the other players and be friends at the table lol #dnd

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catsgut · 7 months

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FROM BUD TO BLOOM - GOJO

warning : incest, drugging, noncon

“we know you just turned 18, but we were your age once, you know. even if it was years and years ago,” you rolled your eyes and groaned, falling onto the couch. “we just know how kids your age think,” your dad said backing your mom up. they were leaving for a week for work and just broke the news to you that you wouldn’t be staying at your house alone. part of you could understand where they were coming from, but you had just turned 18. it was bullshit they didn’t trust you enough to not throw a party.

but somehow, someway, they trusted your immature and spontaneous uncle to hold the fort down while they were gone. you weren’t really close with uncle satoru, so it didn’t bother you any that he would be there, it was the lack of trust your parents had for you. it was almost insulting.

a loud knock on the thick wood of your front door brought you out of your thoughts. speak of the devil. “toru!” your dads voice boomed at the sight of his older brother, arms wrapping around his shoulders to pat on his back. “hey,” you heard a smooth voice follow before the sound of shoes on the floor. “good to see you again,” gojo said to your mom with a bow and his signature smile. you sat up and peered over at the three older adults in the entrance hall, looking over the man you rarely ever saw. you were surprised he even answered to the text your dad shot him about the favor they had needed. gojo’s predatory eyes wandered over to where you were sitting on the couch and smirked.

“hello, angel,” he spoke eyeing every inch you down as if he could see what you were thinking. “your babysitter has arrived!” his long legs brought him to stand over you, head leaning forward to get a good look at your face. it had been so long since he had seen his pretty little niece. you sighed, closing your eyes you laid back down ignoring the annoying comment, still feeling hurt by the lack of trust your parents had for you. “aw not happy to see your uncle, little girl?” he chuckled and looked back over to your parents. “you nothing to fear! i’ll make sure everything goes… smoothly.” they just nervously looked at one another before putting their bags in the car.

they said their goodbyes and you hugged your mom tight. “it’s not too late to tell him to leave,” you mumbled into her shoulder before she flicked your forehead. “nonsense. now be good for satoru,” she said before kissing your cheek. “we will be back in a week.”

honestly, the first few days went by fine. you hadn’t spoke to gojo much and just hid up in your bedroom playing computer games. he actually wasn’t so bad, usually watching tv, cooking something, or laying out by the pool. the one thing you did notice about uncle satoru was that he liked the ac on full blast. colder than what your parents usually keep it at. several times he has pointed out your clearly hard nipples through the thin fabric of your pajama shirt. “you cold?” he’d ask with a grin and you crossed your arms over your chest furiously. it was embarrassing, but you assumed it was because he was just as immature as when you were a kid.

even though he kept the house at freezing temperatures, gojo absolutely loved to spent time outside. he would stay out there hours laying in the sun. a couple of times you had caught yourself staring out your bedroom window at the shirtless man laying on the pool chair. although he was in his 40s, you could tell he was still very active for his age. your eyes traced down his abdomen, taking in every detail of his defined body before looking back up to his face. to your absolute horror, he was already looking back at you with a sky smile. you quickly sat back down on your bed feeling your face get hot.

after that you avoided him as best as you could. he probably thought you were some kind of pervert, and you hated yourself for it. his own niece looking at his body in that manner. god, you needed to get ahold of yourself.

“hey.” you heard a voice in your ear from behind. it was the middle of the night and you were making yourself a snack. startled, you quickly turned around to be face to face with your uncle. “hmm, are you avoiding me, little girl?” he cocked his head to the side. you groaned at the nickname he had decided to give you. “i’m not little anymore,” you rolled your eyes and turned your back to him, hiding your embarrassed face. why couldn’t he just leave you alone.

“that’s right! you’re 18 now… you feel any older?” gojo asked leaning against the counter next to you, arms crossing over his muscular chest. you shrugged and stared down at your hands. why was he talking to you so casually after what happened just hours earlier. “i remember when i was 18. had the girls alllll over me,”. he giggled and sighed as he reminisced. “of course, they still are.”

you stared over at him with a look of horror at his comment. “what? embarrassed? well don’t worry, i won’t tell if you won’t,” his big hand rubbed your shoulder before placing it on top of your head. “do you have a boyfriend, y/n?” you shook your head quickly feeling more and more uncomfortable. “never had one before.”

that seemed to get his attention because he raised an eyebrow. “never? wow… so you’re a virgin then right? damn, if i were your age i would have jumped at the chance.” you didn’t know how to answer that, almost feeling ashamed being called out for something that was probably weird for a girl your age. of course you were a virgin, never even having your first kiss.

gojo stared down onto you for what seemed like hours before leaning closer. “so what you’re saying is you aren’t really a woman…yet,” he harshly squeezed one of your cheeks before leaving you alone, standing there in shock. ‘was that normal for uncles to do?’ you thought. you tried to brush it off, hurrying up in the kitchen before running off to your bedroom for the night. did that really mean you weren’t a woman? is it really that obvious? it made you feel insecure and uncomfortable at the realization. little did you know, gojo couldn’t get the thought of his sweet little niece being a virgin. he felt like the luckiest man in the world.

on his third night over gojo had offered some alcohol after getting back from the store. he said it would be good for the both of you to drink and bond over a movie. not wanting to seem little, you accepted his offer, sipping on the mixed drink he gave you. it tasted fruity and made your face twist in disgust. did adults really drink this crap? you would never say it, but this was your first time having alcohol and so far you couldn’t say you were enjoying it.

but was it normal to feel this funny after a couple sips? ‘must be a lightweight,’ you thought, eyelids blinking almost in slow motion. alcohol felt weird… why was your body feeling heavier?

you looked over at your uncle who was watching tv a few feet from you. his long legs were spread and he was picking at a hangnail on his thumb, biting at it occasionally. you cocked your head to the side as you watched the man. you felt guilty at the fact your stomach was doing flips at the sight of him just existing. it wasn’t normal to have these thoughts about your uncle, but here you were thinking the nastiest things.

you watched his eyes flick over to where you were sitting, giggling to yourself with your legs crossed. “what’s so funny?” he sat up a bit and patted the spot next to him. “come sit by your uncle.” his long finger beckoned you over as you slowly crawled over to him, head running into the side of his shoulder from losing your balance. “woah there,” he laughed and wrapped an arm around you. “how you feelin’ kid?” his eyes stared at you already knowing the answer to his question.

truth is you could barley see at this point. “ish thisss… normal?” you mumbled, head rolling to the side. “just gave you a little something extra… to make ya feel good,” you heard him say under his breath before pushing your back against the couch. his words didn’t register in your brain, but you felt his big hands on your hips, massaging them. you felt his long fingers hook into your waist band, playing with it for a bit, before slowly pulling your pants down your thighs. everything was happening so fast yet so slow at the same time. “mmm what doinn’?” your question went unanswered as rubbed his pointer finger over your pussy, listening to the wet noises it made. you moaned and closed your eyes, lip being pulled in between your teeth.

he inserted his finger before a second and then a third. your body naturally reacted to the foreign feeling, back arching and hips lifted off the cushions of the couch. he chuckled and pushed on your lower stomach. you tried sitting up, but between whatever it was you had drank and your uncle pinning you down you were unable to do anything but lay there and take whatever he wanted to give.

“just stay right there pretty girl,” you barley heard him say, and after that everything went black. you didn’t know what was happening to you even if you tried to fight it, drifting off into sleep. the last thing you remember was hearing the sound of fabric rustling, not knowing it was gojo taking off his sweat pants.

“missed you,” you hugged your mother tightly, face burring into her neck. you really, really did.

after that movie night with uncle satoru, you had felt off. your lower body ached and your head was fuzzy. you chalked it up to lack of sleep, but something deep down told you it wasn’t…. you were missing something big that happened but you couldn’t remember for the life of you. maybe it was the fact you woke up in your bed in a different pair of clothes, or maybe it was the weird sticky mess in your panties. the whole situation was off.

“she’s been an angel all week,” he told your parents with a hand on your shoulder. your parents told gojo he was so generous and that they were so thankful for helping them out. he even offered to let you stay with him when you went to college! your parents were so very happy to hear that, telling you it would be an amazing experience. you knew they just wanted you out the house, but all you could do was smile, not knowing what to do or say, showing gojo he got away with his sins that took place that night. showing him that he would be able to get away with something far, far worse.

#SORRY FOR THE HORRIBLE ENDING #the past week was a lot #but i also had so much fun writing this hehe #tw.noncon #tw.incest #gojo smut #gojo x reader #jjk smut #jjk x reader #satoru gojo smut #satoru gojo x reader

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st4rd0lly · 3 months

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ohh for the valentines thing maybe pm dazai (like in dark era) + virginity loss?

𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐌𝐄 ?

cw : virginity loss , corruption kink , slight possessiveness + obsessiveness , gn reader , dom dazai , sub reader , biting , dacryphilia , he’s kind of pathetic in this , lovesick dazai ftw , not safe sex (please if you’re gonna fuck irl do it safe and do it right darlings, wrap that thang), MDNI

Dazai shouldn’t be seeing you.

He shouldn’t be seeing anyone for a matter of fact, this he knew this well. Everyone around him knew it too. The cold and brutal executive who had a penchant for toying around with people. You knew this too, in fact you knew it too well.

So why were you in this position now?

Pleasure wasn’t something Dazai actively sought after, at least not for himself. Sex was more of means to gain information, and he knew a lot of it. Outside of it being one of many tactics for the mafia, he wasn’t particularly interested in having such an intimate time. And yet he feels like his skin is on fire when he sees any inch of you, eyes focusing in on any part of skin showing.

He tried to convince himself that this was just stupid lust, it’ll go away soon. You were just another mission partner, a fellow executive who tags along with him and Chuuya occasionally. You weren’t anything special to him, no not at all. You definitely weren’t the person he goes to when he had no one else to bother, and no, you definitely weren’t the person he gets reminded of the most.

That would be pathetic of him. And it’s not like he enjoys being so casually touchy with you. He totally doesn’t reach to pull and hold your arm to walk around with you when he starts an argument with Chuuya, huffing and telling you to just follow his lead instead of that stupid ginger. And he definitely doesn’t like it when he rests his head on your shoulder or vice versa when you two are alone. Or when he tells his bar friends about you. No, that’s just some stupid cringey romance thing. He tells himself he’s too good for that stuff.

So again, why were you in this position now?

His hands eagerly cup your face, his lips chasing yours each time you try to pull away for air. He wanted you to feel the way he does, how suffocating his love is for you. How each time he tried to pull away to breathe, you always pulled him right back in. But he realizes that unfortunately, he is a human who needs to breathe too, so he stopped momentarily for the both of you to catch your breaths. He wanted to dare not open his eyes but he was caught up in how they looked at him.

You didn’t look at him in pure disgust, or just pure lust. You looked at him with a hunger, a desire, an unfamiliar love that he was afraid of. But when it came to you, he was reduced to nothing but a lovesick yearner. And maybe he was ready to chase.

‘I want you.’ were the words he wish he could’ve said out loud to you, you deserved to hear them. But like an angel, it was like you heard the prayer repeating in his mind.

“I want you.” You whispered, your own hand reaching his cheek, the side where his eye was covered. He had to stop himself right then and there from melting and nuzzling into your touch.

“Have me then.” He replied quietly, wanting to come off as confident but his words sounded vulnerable to you.

“You would be my first.” You chuckled a little, smiling at him. Then his head got dizzy at the fact. Did he care whether you were a virgin or not? Not really, because either way, he was determined to make you feel like it was your first time on a high. But there was that burned so deliciously in his chest knowing that he would be the first to touch you. And he was sure to be the last too. Just like he was yours, you were his.

“First and only.” He grinned.

“We’ll see.”

And now that’s how you got into the position you were in now.

“Aren’t you taking me so good hm?” He cooed into your ear, cock buried deep inside you with each thrust of his hips. He felt you squirm, watching your chest heave and pretty tears fall from your eyes from the pleasure. Oh there was nothing more than he adored than seeing you under him, falling apart so beautifully. And there was nothing more he loved hearing than your cute sounds, all the moans and whines and whimpers. Your adorable little pleas for him to stop being so mean.

You were just so his.

“You’re just too cute… filthy too huh? Letting me fuck you like this.” He laughed a little, as if he wasn’t drunk off of you entirely. He kissed your tears and moved his hips more harshly, letting you wrap your arms around his neck to keep him close. He was so close, he was so fucking close. He can’t even remember how many times the both of you came, he knew he should’ve been more gentle but god, you were like wine he wanted to indulge himself in every night.

He let out muffled groans into your neck, covered with love bites and marks from his relentless attacks and teases earlier.

“D-Dazai…” You whimpered, your voice slightly hoarse from how much you were raising it earlier. It was the only thing you knew how to say at this point besides please and yes.

“G-God, fuck.. say that I’m yours.. You already know you’re mine. Please say that I’m yours..” He moaned, biting down on your neck. ‘Just a little more..’ He thought, but he didn’t even realize the words coming out like you did. But that’s all you’ve been wanting to say, you were just waiting for the right moment.

“You’re mine Dazai, fuck me like it.” You let out a small gasp before you yelped and felt him slam harder into you. You cling onto him tightly, one hand gripping his hair while the other scratched at the bandages wrapping his back.

“C-Cumming..!” You both whined, before reaching your orgasms at the same time. His body collapsed onto you with him still inside, his cock twitching as he fills you up. You both pant, holding onto each other tightly, exhausted.

“So…” Dazai says after a couple moments of silence, wincing a little before pulling out. “First and only yeah?”

“First and only.”

dividers : @/cafekitsune

#. . . words of the crimson moon —✫・゜・。.#dazai smut #dazai x reader #bsd smut #bsd x reader #IDK IF YOU CAN TELL BUT I LIKE WRITING FOR DAZAI A LOT <3 #i had a lot of fun with this request #i like writing dazai pathetic and mean and and and #gn reader #the ending couldve been better tho i know :(

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bowtiepastabitch · 5 months

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Historical Analysis: class and injustice in 'The Ressurrectionists' minisode

Alternate title: why we're tempted to be upset with Aziraphale and why that's only halfway fair

Okay so first off huge thanks to @makewayforbigcrossducks for asking the question (and follow-up questions lol) that brought me to put these thoughts all together into a little history nerd ramble. That question being, Why is Aziraphale so clueless? Obviously, from a plot perspective, we know we need to learn some lessons about human moral dilemmas and injustices. But from a character perspective? A lot of this minisode is about Aziraphale being forced to confront the flaws of heavenly logic. This whole idea that "poverty is ineffable" basically boils down to 'yeah some people are poor, but their souls can be saved just as if not more easily that way, so it's not our problem and they probably deserve it anyway for not working hard enough,' a perspective that persists in many modern religious circles. Aziraphale isn't looking at the human factor here, he's pretty much purely concerned about the dichotomy of good and wicked human behavior and the spiritual consequences thereof, because that's what he's been told to believe. His whole goal is to "show her the error of her ways." He believes, quite wholeheartedly, that he's helping her in the long run.

"the lower you start, the more opportunities you have"

So here's what we're asking ourselves: Why did it take him so bloody long to realize how stupid that is? Sure, he's willing to excuse all kinds of things in the name of ineffability, but if someone in the year of our lord 2023 told me he was just now realizing that homelessness was bad after experiencing the past two centuries, I'd be resisting the urge to get violent even if he WAS played by Michael Sheen.

Historical context: a new type of poverty

Prior to the 19th century (1800s), poverty was a very different animal from what we deal with now. The lowest classes went through a dynamic change leading up to the industrial revolution, with proto-industrialization already moving people into more manufacture-focused tasks and rapid urbanization as a result of increasingly unlivable conditions for rural peasantry. The enclosure of common lands and tennancies by wealthy landowners for the more profitable sheep raising displaced lots of families, and in combination with poor harvests and rising rents, many people were driven to cities to seek out new ways of eeking out a living.

Before this, your ability to eat largely would have depended on the harvest in your local area. This can, for our purposes, be read as: you're really only a miracle away from being able to survive the winter. Juxtapose this, then, with the relatively new conundrum of an unhoused urban poor population. Now if you want to eat, you need money itself, no exceptions, unless you want to steal food. Charity at the time was often just as much harm as good, nearly always tied deeply up in religious attitudes and a stronger desire to proselytize than improve quality of lie. As a young woman, finding work in a city is going to be incredibly difficult, especially if you're not clean and proper enough to present as a housemaid or other service laborer. As such, Elspeth turns to body snatching to try to make a better life for herself and Wee Morag. She's out of options and she knows it.

You know who doesn't know that? Aziraphale.

The rise of capitalism

The biggest piece of the puzzle which Aziraphale is missing here is that he hasn't quite caught onto the concept of capitalism yet. To him, human professions are just silly little tasks, and she should be able to support herself if she just tried. Bookselling, weaving, farming, these are all just things humans do, in his mind. He suggests these things as options because it hasn't occurred to him yet that Elspeth is doing this out of desperation, but he also just doesn't grasp the concept of capital. Crowley does, he thinks it's hilarious, but Aziraphale is just confused as to why these occupations aren't genuine options. Farming in particular, as briefly touched on above, was formerly carried out largely on common land, tennancies, or on family plots, and land-as-capital is an emerging concept in this period of time (previously, landowners acted more like local lords than modern landlords). Aziraphale just isn't picking up on the fact that money itself is the root issue.

Even when he realizes that he fucked up by soup-ifying the corpse, he doesn't offer to give them money but rather to help dig up another body. He still isn't processing the systemic issues at play (poverty) merely what's been immediately presented to him (corpses), and this is, from my perspective, half a result of his tunnel-vision on morality and half of his inability to process this new mode of human suffering.

Half a conclusion and other thoughts

So we bring ourselves back around to the question of Aziraphale's cluelessness. Aziraphale is, as an individual, consistently behind on the times. He likes doing things a certain way and rarely changes his methodology unless someone forces his hand. Even with the best intentions, his ability to help in this minisode is hindered by two points: 1)his continued adherance to heavenly dogma 2)his inability to process the changing nature of human society. His strongest desire at any point is to ensure that good is carried out, an objective good as defined by heavenly values, and while I think it's one of his biggest character hangups, I also can't totally blame him for clinging to the only identity given to him or for worrying about something that is, as an ethereal being, a very real concern. Unfortunately, he also lacks an understanding of the actual human needs that present themselves. Where Elspeth knows that what she needs is money, Aziraphale doesn't seem to process that money is the only solution to the immediate problem. This is in part probably because a century prior the needs of the poor were much simpler, and thus miraculous assistance would never have interfered with 'the virtues of poverty'. (You can make someone's crops grow, and they'll eat well, but giving someone money actually changes their economic status.) Thus, his actions in this episode illustrate the intersection of heavenly guidelines with a weak understanding of modern structures.

This especially makes sense with his response to being told to give her money. Our angel is many things, but I would never peg him as having any attachment to his money. He's not hesitant because he doesn't want to part with it, he's hesitant because he's still scared it's the wrong thing to do in this scenario. He really is trying to be good and helpful. So yes, we're justifiably pretty miffed to see him so blatantly unaware and damaging. He definitely holds a lot of responsibility for the genuine tragedy of this minisode, and I think Crowley pointing out that it's 'different when you knew them' is an extremely important moment for Aziraphale's relationship with humanity. Up until now, he's done a pretty good job insulating himself from the capacity of humans for nastiness, his seeming naivity at the Bastille being case in point.

In the end, I think Aziraphale's role in this minisode is incredibly complex, especially within its historical context. He's obstinate and clueless but also deeply concerned with spiritual wellbeing (which is, to Aziraphale, simply wellbeing) and doing the right thing to be helpful. While it's easy to allow tiny Crowley (my beloved) to eclipse the tragic nature and moral complexity of this minisode, I think in the end it's just as important to long-term character development as 'A Companion to Owls'. We saw him make the right choice with Job's children, and now we see him make the wrong choice. And that's a thing people do sometimes, a thing humans do.

~~~

also tagging @ineffabildaddy, @kimberellaroo, and @raining-stars-somewhere-else whose comments on the original post were invaluable in helping me organize my thoughts and feelings about this topic. They also provided great insight that, in my opinion, is worth going and reading for yourself, even if it didn't factor into my final analysis/judgement.

If I missed anything or you have additional thoughts, please please share!!! <3

#this was a monster of a post to write #in no small part because I was relying more on my own historical knowledge than usual so I had to double check myself constantly #but I had a lot of fun and I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did #good omens #good omens 2 #neil gaiman #good omens analysis #good omens meta #the resurrectionists #good omens season 2 #good omens minisode #nerd shit #ineffable husbands #aziraphale good omens

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circa-specturgia · 1 year

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"I'll carry you..."

A bit of fluff! The first half to two short scenes I wrote recently, the second of which I’ll post tomorrow! Simply put, I had the idea for a simple, soft scene, a character carrying another to bed, after they’ve fallen asleep, which I wrote in a sprint with @bloodlessheirbyjacques and @the-void-writes!

“Hey.”

Adira nudged the jihn with an elbow to the arm, pointing across the courtyard with her chin. Their student was sitting on the steps leading from courtyard to walkway, leaning against one of the columns ringing it, fast asleep.

A glance at the clocktower gave the time to be somewhere around 3 in the morning. He’d been training since at least 20. The moonlight shone from above bathing them in silver, glinting off of the ornate mosaic tiles as they crossed the space silently.

“Advanced Jynkaturgic Matrixes; 5th Edition” The vælan read in a whisper to herself, picking up the book lying on the steps next to a half-drunk pot of lavena tea, pouring herself a cup and downing it as she shut the tome, watching Cyril hook his arms around Cas’ shoulders and under his knees, lifting him up as the brunettes head fell against his chest, fast asleep.

“I’ll talk to him tomorrow about taking it easy. The boy needs rest.” He said, though he realized he’d gotten heavier since the last time he’d thrown him around. He’d grown up.

“Reminds me of someone I know.” Adira noted, sliding the tea to the side and following Cyril as he headed to the stairs.

“It was three times.” He sighed, though a tad amused, times from the academy coming back.

“Four, actually.”

“Three.” He repeated firmly.

“How could you know if you were asleep?”

“Not like you were any better.”

“Never said I was.” She shrugged, dancing up the steps simultaneously showing which boards didn’t creak, similarly lost in nostalgia.

The two made it to the room, Cyril nudging it open with a shoulder, Adira making sure he didn’t nearly bump Cas’ head on the doorframe.

He handed her Cas for a moment after she set the book down on the nightstand with a few others, holding him while he focused slightly, a mirage of heat glowing around his arm as the tattoos ignited with a dull, warm light, like the embers of a fire, heat filling the bed.

Within a minute they managed to get him under the covers, his shoes somewhere still downstairs. He’d picked up training barefoot from her.

He turned over, making small noise, before settling back in, the two of them closing the door after themselves quietly, heading to their own room. Settling into bed, Cyril realized how tired they’d both been, stripping down and lying down under the blanket, Adira slipping under it too, turning on her side.

“Some thing’s stay the same, don’t they…?” He said, after a moment.

“Yeah. Yeah, some things do.”

Hope you enjoyed! ✨

Taglist? Taglist! ✨ Thanks to all these wonderful people for supporting me and giving me the inspiration and motivation to write!

@bloodlessheirbyjacques @athenswrites @magefaery @muddshadow @awritingcaitlin @agrimedena-drax @pinespittinink @tryingtimi @jessica-writes22 @the-void-writes @peachy-ciel @queensummer ✨

#writeblr #writers on tumblr #circa specturgia #wip.circa specturgia #writing #lots of fluff #fluff #fluffy #writing community #other writers!#wtwcommunity #Short #but I had a lot of fun writing it #This can be read as happening in the same manor/castle as the events in Red Courtyard #Maybe the day before

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welcometogrouchland · 4 months

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I understand that literature nerd Jason Todd is kind of overblown in fanon compared to it's actual presence in canon (a few issues during his pre (and post?)crisis Robin tenure that highlight it) BUT consider that I think it's hilarious if the unhinged gun toting criminal has strong opinions on poetry

#ramblings of a lunatic #dc comics #Jason Todd #batfamily #it's just a fun quirk! it's a fun lil detail and I simply cannot slight ppl for enjoying and incorporating it into works #like obviously jason isn't the only one. I'm a big believer in the batfam having over lapping interests they refuse to bond over #i know dick canonically used the robin hood stories (which are pretty flowery in their language far as i can tell) as inspo for Robin #and i know babs was a librarian and even tho her area of nerddom is characterized as more computery she probably knows quite a lot-#-about literature as well #duke is a hobbyist writer i believe? i saw a fan mention that- which if so is great and I hope he's also a nerd #(i mean he is canonically. i remember him being a puzzle nerd in his introduction. but i mean specifically a lit nerd)#damian called Shakespeare boring but also took acting classes so i think he's more of a theatre kid.#Tim's a dropout and i don't think he's ever shown distinct interest in english lit and i can't remember for Steph?#I'm ngl my brain hyperfocused on musician Steph i forget some of her other interests I'm sorry (minus softball and gymnastics!)#and then Cass had her whole (non linear but it's whatevs) arc about literacy and learning to read #went from struggling to read in batgirl 00 to memorizing Shakespeare in 'tec and is now an avid read in batgirls!#she's shown reading edgar allen poe but we don't know if it's his short stories or his poems #point to all of the above being: i know Jason's not the only lit nerd in the batfam #but also i do need him to be writing poetry in his spare time and reading and reviewing it #jason at the next dead robins society meeting: evening folks today I'll be assigning all of us poems based on laika the space dog #damian and steph who have been kidnapped and brought to jasons warehouse to hangout: LET US GO BITCH #speaking of^ random poem i think jason would like: space dog by alan shapiro #wake up one morning in an unfamiliar more mature body with a profound sense of abandonment. the last four lines. mmm tasty

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hollowtakami · 27 days

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HEYOOO

so I read your keigo fics and I really loved them! What do you think about Keigo waking up from a nightmare and he can't find you, so he starts to panic, and when you come back from the toilet (or wherever you were), he immediately latches onto you panicking and crying

Man he is so sweet

hi anon! ^_^ tysm for your ask, it rlly made me smile hehe. here’s a small drabble as thanks:)

(apologies if its rusty, the only thing i have written as of late is uni essays-)

keigo gasped for air as though he’d been reborn, feathers pricked out like needles.

he clutched at his shirt like a vice, daring to tear through his skin and stress grip his dying heart. he panted, delirious amidst his fear.

the suns of his eyes bounced across every corner of the room, his free hand scratching away the duvet in search of you. nothing, not even his feathers could sense you, clouded by fright.

what the avian didn’t know was that you hadn’t left him like his father, you’d only gotten to get a glass of water after the drought in your throat had woken you up, not nearly as violently as the way your boyfriend’s body treated him.

what you didn’t know was that your boyfriend was unfurling faster than the might of his wings ever could.

pattering through the hallway of your apartment with a glass and a plenished throat, you gently broke your way into your shared bedroom with a tired hand.

your eyes retreated behind their lids at the light you swore you hadn’t put on, lest you disturb keigo in his sleep.

no, an instinctual feather did so.

you stop, feet planting into the carpet as your brain tries to process the scene in front of you, whirring through its fatigue.

there was keigo, plumage fluffed up in fear, eyes wild and pinned on you, your bedsheets in tatters.

“kei?” words clawed up your throat as you slowly made your way to the bedside table and placed the glass. keigo grabbed your wrist the moment you’d set it down, you managed to get a better look at him.

sunny bedhead and a dark sky lining his eyes, his chest heaved along with the heavy burdens that laced his blood, what was his own that didn’t stain his hands.

no matter how much he scrubbed his skin, keigo would never be clean. it had trickled into his brain, and he couldn’t even escape it in his sleep.

“stay,“ he silently barked, his words scratchy.

keigo’s stress grip on your wrist wouldn’t let up, the avian latched onto you for dear life.

your face fell, eyebrows furrowed as you saw his glassy eyes, glossed over with fear.

“bad dream, baby?” you whispered, slowly raising your wrist to run a hand through keigo’s hair, massaging his scalp with gentle nails.

keigo only choked on a sob, his vulnerabilities racing down his cheeks to their end. if only this would end, he begged to a god he wasn’t sure existed.

you brought your wrist down, eyes trained on the dots of his.

“‘m not going anywhere, baby boy,” you soothed, gentle reassurance hanging in the air until keigo was ready to pluck it down and hold it close to him.

he tried to not, more words contesting in his throat.

keigo looked down at himself, feathers shaking more than his tired body.

“bad..” he gestured to himself.

“you aren’t him, birdie,” your words were soft, sun against his skin. his heart swelled amidst the silent rage of his head.

soon, you felt keigo’s grip starting to soften too.

you grabbed the glass of water with a free hand, using the other to usher strands of gold out of his eyes, tucking them behind his ear as you helped him sip some water.

kissing his forehead, you cooed, “that’s my boy,”

keigo chirped, too frightened to speak. he would only chirp or coo when this regressed into his fear, not that you minded. you knew that his bird qualities were something he was forced to bury, much like other innocents.

but, there wasn’t any blood on keigo’s hands.

the only thing in his hands was the silk of your skin, fingers intertwined as you spoke to him with the song of your voice, an angel he would tell himself he didn’t deserve.

your wings were pure, his stained red. he was born like this, conceived by a monster of a man. so, that must mean that he was born the same.

it took an angel like you to help him realise he had never fallen, it was someone else who had clipped his wings.