#i hope this is even vaguely coherent and that people see it

[siriusly-the-best-bi]

Ya know what’s curious to me? In Episode 2 when Crowley asks Aziraphale in the cellar whose side he’s on, Aziraphale responds “God’s, of course!”

Ya know why this is curious?

Well, for one, they’re talking about sides. Heaven and Hell. Their respective bosses. Crowley’s response of going along with Hell as far as he can makes sense, it’s what we expect to hear, but when he turns the question on Aziraphale, he doesn’t exclaim ‘heaven’s obviously!’ He immediately associates himself and his values with God directly.

Second of all, In episode 6, when talking about accepting the Metatron’s job offer as the new supreme archangel with Crowley, Aziraphale says “but heaven! Well, it’s the side of truth, of light, of good.”

For the entirety of Good Omens season 1, Aziraphale had always talked about following God’s ineffable plan, which was a noticeably different turn of phrase than those such as Gabriel used in heaven, always referring to it as the Great Plan. This is even the very thing that lead them to wiggling their way around Armageddon in the first place when confronted by Gabriel and Beelzebub.

Aziraphale has always made the distinction that he is an angel and does good because he believes that God is good and he trusts in their design.

Now I might just be loosing it, it is nearly 3am, but this sudden distinction and the choice of Aziraphale to not only discuss heaven in such a manner, but to refer to it as an entire Side, and use the adjectives he uses to describe heaven when we’ve only ever seen or heard him talk about God this way… it just all plays very intentional to me. It feel’s weird.

Especially once you take into consideration the flashbacks we’re shown of Beelzebub and Gabriel discussing the failed Armageddon in their little pub rendezvous. They never once mention their respect ‘boss’. Gabriel says “we are ready for round two.” And Beelzebub’s response is “as are we.” This we that they’re referring to isn’t God. It’s not Satan. They’re talking about the beings who reside in these respective places. The Angels and the Demons. And the conversation then continues with Gabriel admitting, “everyone in Heaven is all like, ‘Well, you’re the commander-in-chief, can’t you just make the war happen anyway?’ Like, I make the rules.” And whats Beelzebub’s response? “That’s exactly what my lot said.”

The pressure isn’t coming from God anymore. In the past, like seen in the Job episode, when there were divine tasks at hand they were dealt with by the angels for God, and God was directly involved in finding the outcome. There was no going through management or filing paperwork or monitoring miracles. And hey, I get it. As time evolves along with the humans, so does everything else.

My question is, is it possible that with these evolutions in the human world, that Heaven and Hell have perhaps learned a thing or two from humanity as well? Already they’ve mimicked the clothing, the office spaces, the entire design of heaven and hell down to the management hierarchy. Is it possible that these wars and these fights aren’t being started by God anymore, but an act of civil war amongst the Angels and Demons? We already see Michaels urge for power and control paralleled and almost foiled by Shax’s drive for control and power and both were the driving factors between any of the Major problems this season that lead to major conflicts between Heaven and Hell.

That brings us of course, to the Metatron. Who is he and where exactly did he come from? When did his position become necessary and why wasn’t he present as the ‘voice of god’ in the job minisode? Why suddenly are all of God’s plans, only being carried out by him?

Do you want to know why I think Gabriel was being demoted and not sent to Hell as a fallen angel? Because I don’t think they can. I think that’s something only God can do, but what kind of fear and control would that hold over all the busy bee’s? No, no, instead, let’s frame it as a Kindness. Heaven won’t cast you out because it will make them look bad! because it’s happened before, so they have no choice but to play a game of politics to keep everyone in check.

But here’s my question. Has there been a fallen angel since the great war? Why is it that after all this time, Aziraphale hasn’t fallen time and time again? Why is it that instead of an Angel falling from grace to join the armies of hell, the response to an act of rebellion is absolute destruction. The same could be said for hell. If you have demons walking around that are doing good, wouldn’t that simply just re-spark their halo’s? Why is it that they’d be destroyed by Holy Water instead of simply returning to Heaven?

It’s because God plays an ineffable game of their own design. They’re not playing with earth, or humanity. They’re toying with the Angels and the Demons. It’s why they’re placing bets with Satan.

When Crowley’s attempting to convince Aziraphale to run away for the last time, he doesn’t say Fuck God and Fuck whatever game this is, we don’t need to be a part of it. He says Heaven and Hell are toxic we need to get away from them.

It’s just so curious to me how this season has carefully and slowly taken us away from the idea of God and God’s Ineffable Plan and instead led us into this drama between Heaven and Hell, no mention of God whatsoever. No narrator.

#thoughts anyone? #genuinely curious if i just need a fucking nap #but also idk this time watching it really just struck me #when theyre discussing sides in the job minisode #they’re talking about heaven and hell #when the question is turned back on Aziraphale however #unlike crowleys answer of ‘i go along with hell as far as i can’ he doesnmt even mention Heaven #he goes straight to god #uk what thats a good point #let me add that into the post rq hold on #fuck me i went back to add the little paragraph and went on a tangent #it is now nearly 4am #so #ahem #shit #i hope this is even vaguely coherent and that people see it #i hope it doesn’t get swallowed by the void cause i think im onto something but im so tired #bi.f.shit #good omens #good omens 2 #good omens 2 spoilers #crowley #aziraphale #ineffable divorcées #ineffable husbands #good omens spoilers #good omens meta #good omens analysis

[mockerycrow]

Frozen Fingertips [2/2] (Ghost x GN!Reader)

ghost masterlist - part one

Summary: Ghost struggles to keep you alive through these harsh times.

A/N: I’m so glad you guys enjoyed part one!! i did not shrink the font of this one because i realized that it may strain some peoples’ eyes. this is not as angsty as i wished it to be, and it isn’t as long as i hoped. i apologize. tbh i don’t like this, but i hope y’all enjoy

[WARNINGS: Descriptions of developing hypothermia and frost bite, delirium, near-death experience(s), angst to fluff.]

THE BLIZZARD WAS not stopping and it didn’t show signs of stopping any time soon, which honestly terrifies Ghost because of your awful condition. Despite his previous efforts, you quickly slipped back into a delirious state of developing hypothermia—a state you weren’t completely aware of, but you knew something was wrong. You could vaguely acknowledge the way that you were fading in and out wasn’t normal, but it wasn’t like you could do anything about it. What you hated was the painful tingling and the weird.. harsh cold entering your lungs every time you took a deep breath. You’re so warm, yet your lungs burn cold.

You only saw times in glimpses—what you thought was likely a matter of hours, expanded across a matter of a few days. The harsh blizzard was unwavering, it’s snow falling from the sky harshly messing with the radio signals. Ghost would sit by the window with his personal radio on his vest, along with the emergency signal radio he had stowed in his pack. He would get small glimpses of other peoples voices—Price’s would come through occasionally, luckily long enough for Ghost to update him about their situation and their whereabouts, your condition; but Ghost was never able to provide an update about an exact location. The windows were frosted over and even when they weren’t, all Ghost saw was endless snow and pine trees far as the eye can see, until they eventually faded from view due to the snow coverage. Every time Ghost suddenly becomes aware of his breath, he can’t help but glance over at you; wrapped up in two sleeping bags, sitting way too close to the fireplace—sometimes shuddering, and sometimes.. not moving at all. His heart drops to his stomach when he doesn’t see your breath in the air. He calls your name loudly, firm and demanding and when you don’t answer, he scrambles from his position by the window. “Fuck,” He utters. “Fuck!”

Ghost ignores the pain in his knees when they harshly bash against the ground as he kneels next to you. He grabs your face by your cheeks, startled by the hue of blue on your lips. “Bloody bell—wake up!” Ghost snarls, somehow managing to keep his voice steady. He holds his breath until he sees your chest slowly yet shakily rise—and then you exhale very slowly, and clearly with amounts of trouble. Relief floods Ghost’s veins, but it’s quickly replaced by frustration and panic. You gasp quietly before you begin to shiver uncontrollably again, and taking Ghost completely by surprise; you open your eyes. Your eyes are glazed over, your eyelids puffy. “[Name]?” Ghost questions, his eyes staring hard into yours, silently noting your dialed pupils. “[Name], can you hear me?” If you do, you don’t make coherent indication. Your tongue darts out and wets your lips before you croak out, “I gotta pee.” Ghost huffs and shakes his head, his hand shooting up and laying on your chest—which is covered by many thicker layers, so disregarding Ghost’s hand, it’s not very likely you could’ve gotten up without help, anyway. “You went an hour ago, yeah? You need to stay layin’ down.” You groan and despite your arms being tucked into your multiple covers, something moves against the fabric as if to swat Ghost’s hand away. Ghost can’t help but swallow nervously; he isn’t stupid, he’s aware you’re in one of the stages of hypothermia, he told Price as much. He’s been able to keep the frostbite at bay, but he’s running out of firewood. It’s snowing way too damn hard for him to even pick up stray logs and sticks laying around. Your slowed heartrate, increased urge to urinate, slow cognitive functions, slurred speech, cold skin—blue lips..

It’s not looking good and Ghost doesn’t want to think about that, but that’s all he can see of you right now, so how could he not? And it’s hard both mentally and physically to stay in this cabin, seeing you deteriorate while he himself is getting absolutely fucking freezing. Ghost has had to shed a layer or two just to keep you alive. He can’t deny the way the cold air is scratching at his skin, seeping through his balaclava and into his jaw, nearly making his bones hurt. Ghost clenches his teeth as he shudders for a moment, eyes fluttering closed just long enough to gain his composure. Fuck. Ghost doesn’t want to die here. He doesn’t want you to die here, not like this. Not in a run-down abandoned cabin with shitty insulation, where frostbite is nipping at your fingers and where the cold is finally getting to Ghost’s head. He grits his teeth and sits back on his ass normally with a gloved hand to his head, his vision absolutely swimming. “Stop it,” He grunts quietly. “Hafta stay up.” Ghost takes a deep breath and grunts as he pushes himself to his feet, his boots booming against the wooden floor as he walks over to the area where the firewood is kept. He grabs a few of the pre-cut logs and he makes his way over to you and the fireplace, tossing the logs into the ashes, slowly refueling the dying embers. Ghost sniffles a little under his mask as he grabs a piece of paper and takes out a lighter, lighting it on fire before quickly tossing it into the fireplace to make a better fuel source. He crouches near the growing fire, taking his spot by your feet. Ghost sucks in a shuddering breath and rubs his upper arms, and he can’t help but take another glance at you. You stopped trying to get out of your warm enclosure of blankets, but your eyes were darting around the room slowly, unfocused and hazy.

Ghost’s chest clenches for a moment and he walks back over to your shivering form, and he already did it, but he presses his fingers against your lukewarm skin—nearly cold. Your eyes flutter again and then they vaguely glance in the direction that you think he’s in; which you’re almost right, but a few inches off. You try to speak but a quiet choked noise leaves you, your breathing shaky—finally from fear this time. Ghost puts his finger to his mask in a shushing motion, trying his best to keep you calm. “You’ll be alright, yeah? Gotta wait until the storm’s done brewing out there.” He attempts to reassure your delirious brain, but you can only make another “out of it” noise before your eyes flutter shut once again, you losing consciousness. Ghost feels an ugly and dreadful feeling deep in his gut, scratching at his veins, climbing them until his fingertips are cold both due to the temperature and panic. Ghost has always insisted he doesn’t panic, and he hasn’t—until now. Not until he fears the storm won’t pass over and help won’t arrive until you’re frozen and stiff under your fear, despite his desperate attempts to keep you warm—and alive. Ghost doesn’t want to admit it, but fuck, he’s terrified to fall asleep because out of the two of you, what if he’s the only one who wakes up?

Ghost’s eyelids flutter for a moment before he inhales in a sharp manner and his spine straightens up, his hands clenching together for a moment. “M’not going to fall asleep.” He mutters to himself as he takes his place next to you on the floor and holy hell, the floor is cold—so he silently scoots closer to you and wraps an arm around your body, and Ghost uses his other arm as a pillow. Your chest very slowly rises and falls, and he finds comfort in the sight of a sign of you being alive—you’re still here with him, and that’s all he needs.

Ghost is awoken from a banging on the cabin door. He jolts ever so slightly, but he’s immediately hit with chills, his limbs trembling. Fuck, he fell asleep. His eyelids feel like sandbags and and he can’t stop fucking shaking—and he feels so heavy.. so tired. “Ghost!” A familiar voice yells outside of the cabin. His arm wraps around your form tighter when he doesn’t immediately recognize the British accent behind the door, he grunts as he clumsily sits up and pulls you closer, his trembling hand grasping as his hip, taking out his service pistol. The door opens as he attempts to aim it, his weak and low voice hissing out, “I’ll blow your fuckin’ brains out—“

“Ghost, it’s Price. We found you. Put the gun down.”

Ghost blinks slowly as he looks at the figure who slowly approaches, two others trailing behind—and it is Price—with Gaz and Soap. Ghost sharply inhaled and his arm lowers, the pistol slipping out of his grip. Gaz rushes over to him and your limp form, taking off his gloves. “We got you, Ghost. We got you.” Price assures, but his lips are pressed together as he watches Gaz. Ghost’s head rolls back for a moment, blacking out for a few seconds—Soap’s hands catching his head before it hits the floor. “They’re alive,” Gaz grunts out, leaning down to pick you up bridal style while keeping all of the layers around your body. “Barely, but we gotta get ‘em both to warmth. Now.”

When Ghost finally comes to, the first thing he notices is the smell—it doesn’t smell like rotting and burning wood; his lungs don’t burn with every breath and he can keep his fingers. The second thing he notices is the ache within his throat and his limbs, and the third thing he notices is that he is not wearing his mask. He still feels heavy, but it’s not the kind of heavy where you want to sleep forever heavy. It’s a.. comforting heavy. Someone laying on top of him heavy. It takes him a hot second to open his eyes, and another second to adjust to the harsh lights of the hospital room—oh, wait, they’re not that bad, his head just hurts. Ghost notices someone laying their head on the bed on top of Ghost, their arms under their head as a cushion. He blinks blearily as he doesn’t register it at first; the hospital gown, two IV drips for two separate patients, and the bandages covering your fingers—it’s you. His eyes widen and he lets out a quiet noise, causing you to lift your head up immediately and look at him with the most vulnerable look you could ever have, your eyes wide and bulging like when a child doesn’t know whether to believe the adult in front of them. “Ghost?” You ask, and fuck, your throat croaks. Your vocal cords sound like they’ve been torn apart and reattached, croaking with relief and pain. He swallows thickly and he nods for a moment, unable to find his voice. Your eyes soften for a moment before you whisper to him. “Hurts to talk, huh? Me too.”

Then don’t, said his silent gaze. Yet, somehow, you manage to catch on his memo. Wordlessly, you reach up to one of his hands—covered in scars and calluses, but you don’t mind. Your hands are similar as you nervously glance at him, grabbing his wrist and turning it over so his palm faces up. Ghost eyes your movements, but makes no move to stop you. You take one of your pointer fingers—the one that isn’t bandaged—and you trace letters into his hand slowly.

T H A N K Y O U

Ghost meets your gaze, and you have tears in your eyes. His hand is grossly limp as he grabs the hand you were moving away, and he instead pulls your hand closer to his face for a closer inspection. The bandages concern him, so he looks at you again. You reach for the clipboard you left by his feet and you place it in his lap, pointing to the part of the medical report about your frostbite blisters. Ghost inhales deeply for a moment before his fingers tap against your hand—rhythmically? Oh, it’s morse code.

Ghost is tapping SAFE over and over while looking at you, to reassure himself—and you. You nod in response and offer him the smile he’s been waiting to see and you tap back to him, SAFE.

#call of duty #call of duty mwii #cod mw2 #mw2022 #cod #mw2 2022 #modern warfare ii #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x gn!reader #ghost x gn!reader #simon riley x gn!reader #cod ghost #ghost cod #cod mw ghost #ghost angst #ghost call of duty #mw2 ghost #gn!reader #simon ghost riley #ghost #ghost mw2 #simon ‘ghost’ riley #simon riley #simon riley x you #crowd favorite

[theshitpostcalligrapher]

please tell me this manga/comic/show exists i do not wanna have to make it

okok I've posted about this before but I'm watching animation content on youtube again while getting work done and by GOD I WANNA TALK ABOUT THIS AGAIN

There's a specific concept I want to consume as content/art so badly but it came to me in a stupid dream. BUT. Sometimes, a dream means I DID see a hint of it somewhere and my brain accidentally plagiarized it which provides me with the teensiest sliver of hope that exists already and I don't have to work on it

It's a kind of a reverse isekai, right? But instead of an instant portal, it's time passing. And what I mean by that is that it's a Sun Wukong story, but the branch off is that after the main events of Journey to the West he gets either water temple'd or trapped in magic sleep again, not for a few hundred years but a few THOUSAND.

He wakes up to an incredibly far-flung China that remembers his myth and only his myth.

The art style that operated in this dream was sort of. Textured but 3D? Think nimona's buttery lighting but instead of emphasis on light and shapes to operate with the stained glass and solarpunk-medieval style the models are textured in a way that just invokes traditional brushwork and colour bleed even in a more cyberpunkish setting. Think like. Whenever there's a night scene the astigmatism glow of lamplight bleeds a little, like ink feathering on paper.

It's a little bit of a Steve Rogers treatment in a way, the world has moved past him, but also completely mythologized and capitalized on that mythology. Rather than treat that man out of time narrative as an aspect of backstory, it's the MAIN character narrative, because this ISN'T a world that needs him. This world is doing pretty okay, actually.

This a story about him.

Not about his feats or how cool his powers are or the 8 gajillion things the magic staff can do but just.

How ya doing, bud?

From the vaguely coherent notes that I could garner from my sleepily typed googledoc, it seems that I wanted this to be a love letter of sorts to the Asian diaspora experience? A specific sort of loneliness? Where the world you experience has a sort of disconnect in that it makes plain you belong there but you also don't, you never have, and there's no way to go "back" but going forward feels like groping blind through the muck. How much right to the past does he feel like he has? When it's been built into something he can't recognize and is clearly important to other people.

I want the pickup of the plot to gain him friends, family, maybe even a conflict or two but the stakes should never elevate vis a vis physical enemies to battle.

It'd be about 2/3 of this sort of narrative drawn story and the other 1/3 just hogwild worldbuilding and design

I've looked at a few other journey to the west adaptations but they mainly just use him as a funky lil action figure hero that's there to be cool as hell and save the day

99% likely this is just a thing my brain is made up and I'd need a several million budget and about 25 additional skills to start the ball rolling but hey, worth it to ask yall again

#sun wukong #journey to the west #mia dreams #i get these cinematic dreams once every now and again maybe i'll use that tag to post more of em

[ane-doodles]

My COTL References

(you can use them as inspo if you want)

A little more:

Wow, I didn't think this would take so long, but I think it was worth it in the end.

I have had to look for all kinds of references to be able to draw the bishops in a satisfactory way (references from the game itself, from animals, body types, eyes, and even how to draw cat paws). I think I have done them justice.

Although I don't plan to draw a comic or write a fic, I did want to define my own reference when drawing them. That way my little doodles would have some coherence.

A couple of details from the designer (just me commenting):

• I had to look for references of many body types and choose the one I thought was most suitable for each character. It was a long road!! The most difficult to draw was Narinder.

• Heket's outfit is inspired by a dress I recently saw in a store, it looked like a tunic so I decided to use it as a model. I added the veil because I wanted to cover her head (it's difficult to draw), plus I think it gives her a distinctive touch and personality. She accidentally ended up looking like a very flirtatious nun.

• Kallamar's design was particularly difficult because in the game itself he doesn't have a torso! but for reasons of ease and patience here he is going to have one. It's funny that he's super tall, but he keeps hunching over trying to hear what others are saying (you know, he doesn't listen very well for obvious reasons).

• Leshy was my favorite design! He has all the characteristics that I usually give to a protagonist!! He ended up looking like a young boy who surely likes soccer. I drew him thinking that he would surely like to walk around, so he should be comfortable... but he will surely end up crashing on more than one occasion. The green looks so fluffy!!! ah! but I also gave him a sting (I thought it would be fun)

• Shamura was interesting. I didn't want to give it too many legs, but I also didn't want it to look strange. In the end I ended up taking inspiration from different insect characters I know (like the red guy from Adventure Time). His clothes are all torn, I think he would have a hard time adjusting to them and would end up destroying them very often.

• Although I have drawn Narinder before it is not easy without him looking like an anime boy with a cat head! so it took quite a while to try to get out of there, that's why his proportions look more animalistic now!! I like to think that his body was vaguely more human when he was a god, but that when he transforms into a mortal he becomes more animal-like. It was difficult to design his clothes, but I like the change of coat he has...I hope I don't change it again soon or I'll have to make him a wardrobe.

• I have no special notes about the lamb, except that I forgot to put the leg warmers!! I realized it too late, but let's imagine they are there. I liked designing the second fleece, obviously based on Narinder's.

• As you can see, each of the coats are made from the remains of the tunics that the bishops previously wore. I want to imagine that after they were defeated, the lamb recovered them and turned them into new garments so that they would feel more comfortable in the cult (but also so that they would be distinguished from the common people).

• I have planned jobs and positions that each one would occupy in the cult, but I don't know how close they are to canon since I haven't taken the time to research. We'll see!!

And that's it, if you made it this far, have a candy 🍬 , thanks for reading my ramblings.

#cult of the lamb #cotl #cotl reference #cotl the lamb #cotl the one who waits #cotl narinder #cotl heket #cotl leshy #cotl kallamar #cotl shamura #ane doodles yay! #character design #Chain for a promise AU #CFP au

[gwenllian-in-the-abbey]

What do you think of Grrm's portrayal of religion?

Hi anon, this is a really interesting question, and it took me awhile to put together what I hope is a coherent answer.

For context, I think GRRM's background is important to keep in mind. George is almost exactly my parents' age and belongs to the same demographic of American anti-war ex hippies who aged into broadly liberal baby-boomers. Their radicalism has largely mellowed over the years, they may not be the most up to date on the appropriate terminology, and they tend to prioritize nonviolent solutions to systemic problems (my mom often tells me the younger generation needs to do another March on Washington). One thing liberal boomers also tend have in common is that often they grew up religious but, as they entered their 20s and went to college, broke away from the churches of their childhood. My family is full of ex-Catholic liberal boomers like George. They might have dabbled in Buddhism or Hinduism in the 70s, New Age mysticism in the 80s or 90s, and ended up settling into statements like, "I'm spiritual, but not religious." Almost invariably, they have a sort of disdain for organized religion, which they associate with a kind of yokel mentality, a place for anti-Choice anti-LGBTQ traditionalists. Although they will profess "to each his own," to the average liberal boomer, the church represents regressive values and they cannot imagine why anyone would willingly return to it. Even those who did remain religious take great pains to make it known they are not like those Christians. And to be fair, liberal boomers have a good reason to feel this way. The churches of their childhoods were not fun places for people whose own ideas and values went against post-WW2 broadly white middle class values. Unsurprisingly, SFF authors tend to fit into this category.

And this sort of bleeds into a lot of 90s SFF. You see a lot of worlds that have religion, but rarely do you have characters that are religious, and even more rarely do you have sympathetic young protagonists who are religious. You might have the occasional kindly priest or nun type, but far more often these characters will be abusive, mean spirited, or narrow minded (think of Brienne's childhood septas). Religion is often treated with the same disdain by in-world characters as it is by the authors themselves. You might even have worlds that are almost entirely secular, with vague references to "The Gods," but without any real religious traditions constructed around them (Robin Hobb's Realm of the Elderlings series, which features two vague dieties, Eda and El, who seem to have no religious traditions surrounding them whatsoever). You might have cultish religions that are actively dangerous and must be stopped, or you might have Catholic church analogues, existing in opposition to everything cool and fun. Protagonists tend to be cynical non-believer types, or they might start off as true believers and lose their religion along the way. Rarely are they allowed to have sincere and abiding faith.

And you can see a lot of this in George's writing, in the way he portrays the Faith of the Seven and other religions, and the way the fandom receives them. The Faith of the Seven is Westeros' answer to the Catholic church, but there are also the Old Gods, the faith of R'hllor, and others, often presented in opposition to each other. George himself sees religion as a divisive force, and in ASOIAF, we see religions in conflict with each other, we see them weaponized to fuel vendettas, we see them used to drive prophesies and start wars. There's a clip somewhere, of George at a panel, where he's talking about religious conflict and his take is very reminiscent of George Carlin's-- you can tell he knows the bit. "Are you really going to kill all of these people because a giant invisible guy in the sky told you too? And your giant guy in the sky is different?" George asks, receiving a round of applause from the crowd. It's a very modern view on religion, which is fair, I think. He's writing for a modern audience who have modern conceptions of the church, and he is making a deliberate point about the harm religion can do. .

What I do think is missing, or at least downplayed, are the ways in which the medieval church was really a driving cultural and social force in medieval Europe. We live in a secular society, so we have the luxury of disregarding the church in a way that medieval people did not. This is one major way in which the worldbuilding of ASOIAF departs from the real world middle ages. To portray the medieval church as a primarily regressive institution that mostly drove conflict is too simplistic. The Catholic church is what culturally unified most of western Europe into what was known as "Christendom." The clergy served political functions, such as providing an important check upon the power of medieval kings, and when the power of the church declined, despotism grew. Socially, for most western Europeans, the church was also the center of day to day life. Insofar as medieval peasants had any opportunities for leisure time and celebrations, most of these revolved around the church. The church was for centuries a driving force behind art, music, literature, and architecture, and it also performed important social functions, such as operating poorhouses and leper-houses, and providing educations for children.

And all of this was just extremely normal. Most people prayed multiple times each day, and sincerely believed in heaven a hell. The state of one's soul after death was such a real concern that the sale of indulgences-- a way that you could pay to get your dead loved ones whose souls were in purgatory into heaven more quickly-- became a major racket for the Church. I've seen the HotD fandom react to Alicent Hightower's level of devotion calling her a religious "fanatic" and I cannot stress enough how absolutely normal Alicent would have been in medieval times. This is where I blame the framing of the show more than George, because it does set Alicent's faith in opposition to Rhaenyra's seemingly more modern values, but does it in a selective way. For instance, Alicent comes off as prudish, and modern audiences hate a prude, but we never see how her faith would have certainly inspired her, as queen, to take other more progressive actions such as giving alms to the poor or bestowing her patronage upon motherhouses. In another post about the fandom perception of Valyrian culture, I talked about how this modern view of devout belief, particularly Catholicism, tends to cast anything that is presented in opposition to it as an unequivocal good, and I see this sort of rhetoric slung around the fandom a lot, "why would you defend the pseudo-Catholics who hate women??" But the pseudo-Catholics are really just normal medieval people, and they didn't hate women, they simply lived in a patriarchal society and the material conditions did not yet exist which would allow them to challenge that in any meaningful way.

#asks #faith of the seven #alicent hightower #grrm #asoiaf and religion #asoiaf

[jadewing-realms]

disclaimer: written pre-release

i've had this sitting in my drafts for a bit since i started playing BG3, I kept seeing a particular kind of post regarding Astarion and it really started to frustrate me soooooo. here's a vaguely coherent rant nobody asked for pff

As I got into the game, following Astarion's romance subplot, doing research on the game and characters thus far, I encountered the schism between those who love Astarion and by extension, characters like him, and those that consider said characters as little more than toxic creatures, narcissists best dealt with swiftly and harshly. The latter tends, in the posts I've found at least, to view the former as poor unfortunate souls with the dreaded "i can fix him" mentality.

Now, I'm not here to say either is entirely wrong. I think to take a side here is to do the exploration a disservice and to forget the depth of nuance in art and media interpretation.

And that's just it. Because at the end of the day, interpretation is one of the key elements involved in this discourse. In the case of Astarion, especially with the game having been in early access for so long and no complete, guaranteed details of his past or arc made public yet, with so much up in the air as the full release drops, there are worlds of interpretations that can be made regarding our infamous vampire rogue.

Is one of those interpretations that he's both emotional and literal vampire who's every action is a trap for the protagonist in order to use them, and that he's irredeemable? Yes. Is another that he's simply trying to survive in a situation he's never been in after spending two centuries living like an animal? Also yes.

The error here, I think, is to treat one interpretation like it's more "right" than another. Which is what I've seen a lot of online threads do... Insisting one perspective is superior to the other. Which is bad faith even on a good day when either perspective is based in concrete, unchangeable fact. Even moreso in this case, until there's complete canon material to bank on, and even then that will have so much variety to it since most of it will depend on the actions of the player. It's a choice-based game. There is so much space for varied experiences, and none of them will be "right" or "wrong."

I feel like in modern media discussion, when considering whether a character is actively harmful or just flawed, it can be easy to forget that some of our most popular stories are ones in which someone is deemed beyond hope or redemption, a danger to all they encountered, only for their arc to raise them from their Pit of Dickishness and set them on pedestals as some of the most memorable, inspiring characters we know.

The timeless story of the Christmas Carol gives us an absolutely despicable old geezer who literally spells out the horror he'd inflict upon the poor if he could, simply for the sin of poverty. But in an effort to fixate only on how problematic he (very much intentionally) is, we might lose sight of how the whole point of the story is to watch him be forced to confront his ways, unpack all his crap, and become better for it in the end.

Characters like Prince Zuko, Edmund Pevensie, Greedling, Steve Harrington, Boromir, James Ford, friggin Darth Vader, we wouldn't have any of them if we only read them at surface level as toxic assholes and then left it at that. But through learning the nuances of these characters and watching them confront their actions and consequences and learn from them, they not only grow and change into better people, but we love them because they hold pieces of ourselves in them, despite their sharp edges. We can understand why they are the way they are, and maybe, if we're honest with ourselves, we can acknowledge that we might have done similarly awful things under their circumstances. It makes them relatable, admirable, and cautionary all at once. It makes them human.

None of that is to say that there are never characters built purely and solely to fear and loath, not at all. True scumbags can and do exist, both in fiction and reality. To try to enforce the idea of finding empathy for a true monster is often a tactic used in reality to gaslight people into excusing said monsters' behavior.

Which leads into the "i can fix him" argument. When applied to situations dealing with real dangerous and horrid people who can't or won't change? Absolutely Not Great (though that's not to say it can't be included in a story, there are valuable themes in that on its own). Condoning this dynamic as something good is what leads to abusive relationships and innocent people staying in unhealthy situations for far too long. I'm among those who can attest to that personally.

That said, when it comes to Astarion, no one can rightly say going through his romance arc or not is condoning anything. Because it once more comes down almost entirely to perspective and interpretation, because he's a video game character comprised of pixels and a well-written script and there are limitless ways he can be interpreted and interacted with.

Like, personally, yes, there are some dynamics I'd feel uncomfy pairing him with, even with the empathy I feel for his character. Platonic or romantic, doesn't matter. Does that mean I'm going to apply my interpretation and personal boundaries to the next person playing the Astarion romance? No. That would be assuming I've somehow discovered the "correct" way to interpret the game, which I have not and can never do because RPGs like Baldur's Gate 3 are such personalized experiences. People are 100% free to play a fictional game however the hell they so please, because stories are not inherently 1-to-1 reflections of reality.

Especially when it comes to the narcissism accusation, it sparks an extra layer of discomfort for me when it seems like characters who act selfishly or spin lies get called "narcissistic" when that's kinda severely over-generalizing what narcissism actually is??

Narcissism is inherently selfish, but not all selfishness is narcissism. Gaslighting is built on lies, but not all lies are gaslighting. This separation was literally bugging me so much, I talked with my therapist about it last week. And she agreed.

Some folks seem to forget is actual NPD isn't just about selfishness and manipulating. It's fragile ego and delusions of grandeur and the mind games, dysregulating highs and humiliating lows that they will weave in a web around you so that you, as a victim, can never get your mental and emotional footing. Usually for the purposes of then swooping in to offer themselves as your only source of stability. The whole "rely on me because your judgment is clearly faulty and you need to be protected from yourself" shtick.

You know. Kinda like Cazador.

The way I see Astarion, by contrast, is that he has an honesty to him that lacks such delusions. As much as he desperately tries to maintain this veneer of poise and sass and devil-may-care out of self-preservation, it's paper thin and crumples under the barest pressure. Like, the equivalent of a thematic sneeze and down he goes. Then you see him as he is. Which is just... frightened. Sad. Kinda pathetic, really. And absolutely, positively lost. All things he knows, but he legit believes he will be killed if he lets any of it show.

Comparing that to, say, Wyll, who's blissfully ignorant bluster reminds me painfully of self-aggrandizing family members that I love but can't interact with honestly because of the forest of self-delusion around them... well, it's not much of a contest.

If somebody interprets Astarion as a slimy, manipulating power-monger and gets rid of him the first chance they have, that's their story to tell and power to them for it. But the same must be said for the opposite. I don't appreciate the thought that there's a whole sect of the BG3 fandom that probably genuinely considers me "less than" or "unhealthy" or "problematic" in some way for being among those who like this character or others like him and their potential thematically and narratively. But if my interpretation is that he’s a frightened man who just wants to feel safe and free, that is also its own story and it's mine to tell if I wish. And both can be good or even powerful stories!

Is all of this based on my own personal nuances, biases, and priorities? Absolutely. And that's kinda the whole point... There's not a wrong answer with this, really. I experience these games and these characters through a lens that is mine and mine only, and I give meaning to the worlds I enter based on what makes the story feel most interesting and satisfying for me. And at the end of the day, what else is art for but to help us explore ourselves and learn a little bit more about what it means to be human. In all its glory and ugliness.

And that's a wholly personal journey nobody deserves to have micromanaged or belittled. I'm certainly not gonna go around looking down on anyone for having a different reading than mine. You do you, boo. But let me do me too.

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #astarion #my musings #in this essay i will #half of this feels incomprehensible because i added tidbits over the span of a week #but maybe someone somewhere will get something out of it #it was cathartic for me anyway #narcissism #character analysis #media literacy #art interpretation #thanks for coming to my ted talk

[nostalgebraist]

comments on almost nowhere for new readers

A few points that may be useful to people who didn't read Almost Nowhere before it was complete, but who are planning to read it now. (AKA "archival readers," as opposed to "serial readers.")

(1)

You'll want to read it fast enough that you don't lose track of the plot.

But, you probably shouldn't read it as quickly as you can. If you "binge-read" it over a very short span of time, some of the effect will be dulled or lost.

When planning out the story, I thought a lot about the reader's evolving state of knowledge. "What the reader knows" was almost like a character unto itself, and an important one.

For example:

I tried to create a enjoyable, continual "rotation" of mysteries, with new questions arising at the same time that old questions get answered, repeatedly across the course of the book.

In between the point when a question is raised and the point when it finally gets a definitive answer, I often tried to create a succession of interesting intermediate states. For example, the reader might first encounter something important in the form of an enigmatic, unexplained name or phrase, mentioned incidentally. Later, the same term starts appearing more often, and gets more coloration, and this coloration is different each time, so that the sum total of "what the reader knows" traces out a series of different "shapes" over time.

So you'll have the most fun if you stop regularly to savor your current state of knowledge. The questions that haven't been answered yet, the partial glimpses you've seen of things you don't fully get. Maybe even go back and re-read earlier bits, if you like.

(1b)

All that said, I also want to caution against viewing the book as a puzzle you're meant to be able to solve on your own, like a "fair-play whodunit."

I intended it to be fun for the reader to wonder about how the questions will be answered, but there's no pretense of playing fair. And that "fun" is often more aesthetic and thematic than it is intellectual.

(2)

Almost Nowhere is divided into 3 parts.

You can see them if you look at the table of contents. In Part 1, the chapter titles are Roman numerals. In Part 2, chapters have verbal titles, together with Arabic numerals that start over from zero. In Part 3, the Roman numerals resume again.

The three parts tell a single continuous story, and share most of the same major characters. But each one is somewhat distinct in its style, tone, themes, and areas of focus, and each one extends the scope of the plot considerably.

Maybe the closest comparison-point is a trilogy of SF/F novels, where each of the sequels is clearly "its own book" that feels distinct from the other two books, while still continuing the story in a coherent way.

I mention this here in the hope that these transitions will be less jarring if you're prepared in advance for them.

(2b)

In another, more "spiritual" sense, Almost Nowhere really has just two parts.

The transition happens at Chapter 13, which could fairly be grouped either into the first or the second part, or both, or neither.

Why? Up through Chapter 12, my planning for future events had been fairly slapdash and vague. I was still in the "throw stuff at the wall so I can create the real story by looking for patterns in it later" stage of my unusual creative process.

After Chapter 12, I thought "okay, that's enough of that. Vague inklings of the future aren't sufficient anymore. It's time to get start being more serious about my planning. It's time to 'create the real story.'"

So I did a bunch of that, and it profoundly shaped everything from Chapter 13 onward. (I don't know how obvious this transition would be if you didn't know about it beforehand; to me it feels very obvious, but maybe deceptively so.)

It goes deeper than that. Chapter 13 is tonally different than any of the preceding ones -- darker, more personal, with a new focus on obsession, bittersweet reflection on the past, regret, resignation. And, semi-accidentally, that ended up setting the tone for the whole rest of the book.

It's not all like that afterwards, to the same extent. But that stuff is always there, at least in the background.

I don't know if this is actually useful to know or not, but I felt like mentioning it, so there it is.

(3)

Like Floornight and TNC before it, Almost Nowhere is a hybrid.

It combines elements from a number of different genres and story types that would not normally be seen alongside one another. At the same time, it doesn't really belong to any of the genres or story types that it draws from.

This aspect of my fiction tends to elicit bimodal responses. When I mix one type of story with another, it tends to come off either as the best-of-both-worlds or the worst-of-both-worlds, depending on the reader.

Some people see five individually good "normal" books, merged into one and singing in harmony. And people see five half-assed attempts to do five different things, without following through on the promises of any one of them.

For example, I noted above that I put a lot of care into setting up mysteries, and I expected the reader to be very aware of them. And I also noted that the story isn't very rewarding if treated like a puzzle that can be "solved" in advance.

But some people are going to see the mysteries, and the care put into them, and think, "ah, I know (and enjoy) this genre, this is a puzzle you're supposed to work out in advance." And these people aren't wrong; it does kind of look like that, especially at the beginning.

Likewise, Almost Nowhere has several chapters that explain math and physics concepts to the characters and to the reader -- either real ones, or fictitious ones that have some pretense of continuity with real math and physics. Sometimes these get very involved, in the manner of Stephenson or Egan.

A reader who sees this stuff, and thinks "ah, I know (and enjoy) this genre," is likely to be disappointed when they discover that the story is not really about math or physics in any deep way. Certainly not about real math or physics. The invented "physics" is closer to the core of it, but less so than some other things -- and anyway, there is more of pure fantasy to it than serious scientific extrapolation.

Like Floornight, AN is arguably "best" described as a fantasy story, and not the GoT kind of fantasy -- the highly aestheticized, thematic, emotional kind of fantasy, where "feels" and "vibes" are almost literally magic and drive everything from the inside out.

But if you read it for that genre, specifically, it may feel odd that it keeps lapsing into long descriptions of nuts-and-bolts plot mechanics, and into laborious explanations of made-up technobabble. Or into setting up "puzzles" that almost feel solvable-in-advance.

Or just, like, being written in this really weird, particular, often opaque style.

I can't just say "leave all your genre preconceptions at the door," as if it were that simple -- as though one could just do that by force of will. But be aware that the elements you recognize, from other fiction, may not be there for the usual reasons.

But they are there for a reason.

When I think about why I write, I often come back to an answer that Andrew Hussie gave on Formspring long ago:

Q: Do you enjoy your own work? I mean if Homestuck was made by someone else and not you, is it the kind of thing you would like reading [...]? A: I am making the kind of thing I would want to read. I am making the kind of thing I wish existed, but doesn't. Yet.

I am doing that, too. I'm taking elements from all over, and building something else out of them. It looks deceptively like the sources it draws from, but it's very different from any of them, underneath.

If it had already existed, it would not have been necessary for me to invent it.

(4)

As I mentioned in the last bullet point, Almost Nowhere is written in a very particular style.

This style gets better-defined over time, and more ossified, and possibly more extreme. (Chapter 13 played the same role in this process as it did in various others, for instance.)

At various times, I've said that Almost Nowhere is my favorite of my stories, or the most ambitious or accomplished one, or the one I like most on re-reading. And that is all true -- in certain senses, anyway.

But I don't want to convey the impression that I think the "Almost Nowhere house style" is like, the epitome of Good Writing or something. Or even that it's my best writing, necessarily. It simply is what it is, as much for consistency's sake as anything else.

(I confess there were times when I looked back on something I'd just wrote, and thought to myself: "I'm not actually sure this is, like, good. Maybe it isn't. But is is definitely Almost-Nowherey, that's for sure." And then I let it stand, for that reason.)

In the best-case scenario, you'll find that you greatly enjoy the "Almost Nowhere house style." If it's not to your taste, hopefully you will find it at least tolerable enough that you can access and enjoy other aspects of the book.

But if you find that really dislike the style, this book is probably not for you, sorry.

It's over 300,000 words, and they're all like that. I wouldn't want someone to force themselves through 300k words while hating every one of them, in the name of finding out what happens, or being a nostalgebraist completionist, or whatever.

#almost nowhere

[not-scared-of-microwaves]

The Tortured Poets Department Review

Now that I've sat with it for a few days, I actually have some coherent thoughts on TTPD, though I won't know where it falls in my overall rankings for a while.

Overall

The thing people aren't getting is that this is Taylor Swift. This is, quite honestly, one of the most quintessentially Taylor albums she's ever released. It has the lyricism of Folklore, the sensibilities of Evermore, the self-awareness of Reputation, the storytelling of Fearless, the specificity of Debut and Speak Now, the vagueness and metaphors of 1989, the synths of Midnights, the rawness of Red. It's American Gothic. It's fictional. It's nonfiction. It's confessional, it's scathing, it's cringe, it's clever, it's more than a little crazy.

She admitted things in this album you couldn't waterboard out of me. People say it's the most unlikeable she's been, but it's also the most human. She's not censoring herself to keep her likeability. That's brave.

Fortnight [feat. Post Malone]

Do I like it? Yes. Do I think it should have been the album opener and the lead single? No, probably not. I'm planning on doing a track by track breakdown later, so I'm not going to go in depth on the lyrics here, but there are some interesting metaphors. You can tell she thinks she's slaying the "I want to kill her" line, and while she is, I don't think she's serving as much as she thinks. A vibe. On my playlist but not on repeat. 7/10

The Tortured Poets Department

The title track. This should have been the opener and lead single. It makes a much better mission statement for what this album is than Fortnight does. Who's gonna hold you like Taylor Swift? No fucking body. The production is.... twinkly? for lack of a better word. She's being specific and metaphorical, making cultural references, and she's self-aware--this is Taylor Swift, people. A vibe. Not on repeat, but only because I have others I prefer, not because I don't love it. 9/10

My Boy Only Breaks His Favorite Toys

It's a metaphor, it's tongue in cheek, it's self-aware, it's heartbreaking, it's a bop. She knows the relationship is toxic and killing her, but it wasn't always, and so she keeps holding on hoping it will go back to the way it started. At the end, she accepts that it won't be going back. Lyricism? Peak. Beat? Peak. On repeat. 10/10

Down Bad

Incredibly real and human. She's reflecting on the feelings of being love bombed then left behind, how it feels so good until it really, really doesn't. A call back to New Romantics. The lyrics say sob, the beat says dance. 10/10 on loop.

So Long London

A track five. Does it live up to the name? I'm not sure. It's sad, certainly, but it doesn't have the rawness of All Too Well or My Tears Ricochet. It's more resigned and tired. She's accepted that the relationship has fallen apart and now she's just tired, frustrated, and ready to be done. Even if she's sad, she still has some control, and that makes it a little easier. Drags on a little long for me, but the flip of "so long" is definitely clever, and she has some very relatable lyrics, and I see the purpose to it being on the album. 7/10.

But Daddy I Love Him

Love Story's older sibling. Again, I won't get too into it bc I want to do a breakdown. She's self-aware but it doesn't help because she's just desperate to make her own decisions. Calling out conservatives and small-town churches. Cringe in places but that's our girl. Minus a point for the baby lyric being in the chorus instead of like. the bridge. Half a point back bc you SHOULD have seen my face. 9.5/10.

Fresh Out The Slammer

This has some juicy information, but I'll save that for the breakdown. Very metaphorical, but also specific enough we know what's going on. Excellent story-telling. Really brings us into the headspace she was in at the time. I don't have it on repeat but through no fault of it's own. 10/10.

Florida!!! [feat. Florence and the Machine]

Flop. The drug metaphor isn't that creative and while there are a few decent lyrical moments, it's just not that good and the soundscape isn't interesting enough to redeem it. That said, even a bad taylor swift song is better than a lot of other artists. 5/10.

Guilty As Sin?

I don't think I've ever heard a song approaching this issue (emotional infidelity) in this way. It's got all the hallmarks of a Taylor Swift song: pop culture references, references to her past discography, religious symbolism, an outro that matches the intro. It's painfully honest, unapologetic, and human. A bop. 10/10.

Who's Afraid of Little Old Me?

Mad Woman and Mirrorball are shaking in their boots. It's giving horror, it's giving Salem Witch Trials, it's giving a reflection on fame and its effects. It's terrifying, it's haunting, it's beautiful, it's heartbreaking, it's unhinged. 10/10 doesn't feel like high enough.

I Can Fix Him (No Really I Can)

We're at the saloon and I'm happy to be there. Another song that is quintessentially Taylor: country sensibilities, religious themes, self-awareness, story telling, change in the outro, bad decisions made out of love. Not my favorite but only because I like other songs better, not because I don't like it. 9/10.

loml

This may be the saddest song she's ever written. Two meanings to "loml" as there should be. She's heartbroken and it's breaking me too. Vocals are giving "I'm on the verge of tears." Story telling, religious themes, metaphors. It's scathing, it's haunting, it's confessional. I'm not crying you are. 10/10.

I Can Do It With A Broken Heart

Lyrics are giving heartbreak, sound is giving bop. So powerful and relatable. Excellent storytelling, and tells us so much about her headspace. We know exactly what she's talking about. It's giving Youre On Your Own Kid. 10/10.

The Smallest Man Who Ever Lived

The storytelling, imagery, details--all peak Taylor. It's scathing, it's haunting, it's Taylor Fucking Swift. Wild to me that Mattie Healy's family listened to the album and were relieved because it could have been worse when this was in it. This, the take town of the century, could have been worse. Legendary. 10/10.

The Alchemy

If one more person tries to claim this is about Travis Kelsey there will be blood. "Oh but the football metaphor--" she's been doing that for years. Miss Americana, anyone? She's weirdly obsessed with high school football. This isn't about Travis, it's clearly about a rekindled relationship, not a new one. Travis can't spell "heroine" (I don't think he's stupid, but his tweets have proven he cannot spell). Metaphorical, clever, and definitely tells us her mindset. A bop. 9/10.

Clara Bow

This song. The Lucky One, Nothing New, they're both shaking in their boots. A reflection on what it's like to be a pop culture woman, the lies they tell you, and the promises they pull from you. Taylor saying her own name in a song. AND it's the album closer. 10/10 isn't nearly good enough.

Extended Album

The Black Dog

The storytelling, the way she took a single moment of stalking her ex and turned it into a beautiful lament on what it's like to lose someone and imagine what they're doing now, then in the outro brought it back to that one instant--and people say she can't write. Religious themes, references to past songs, this has it all. 10/10

imgonnagetyouback

Before people go around accusing her of copying Olivia Rodrigo, this would have been written before Get Him Back came out, so no copying occurred on anyone's part. They each took the concept and turned it into two very different songs. Imagery, story telling, craziness, a BRIDGE. 9/10.

The Albatross

Story telling, metaphors, literary references, clever turns of phrase, a change of meaning in the outro. Either a reflection on the way she's frequently depicted or is fictional, most likely a reflection on the way she's depicted through a fictional character. Just feels a little distant to me. 8/10

Chloe or Sam or Sophia or Marcus

Heartbreak, metaphors, bisexuals--what more can I ask for? All while she's imagining her ex moving on and thinking about how it fell apart. Objectively good but just not that interesting to me. 7/10

How Did It End?

Another that's objectively good but just not clicking for me. Story telling, metaphors, the lyricism is slaying. Asking how it ended through the lens of a gossip uninvolved in the relationship, but not being sure how it ended herself. 7/10.

So High School

Glitter gel pen. Objectively, not that creative or interesting. It's just a bit of fun. She's not taking herself seriously, she's writing silly song about how she feels like a silly teenager in love, and it does have some interesting lyrics. It's a bop. You know Travis heard this and was like "this is great babe I love it." Objectively, like a six, but this song has a choke hold on me for some fucking reason. 9/10.

I Hate It Here

Everyone's talking about the racists lyric and I swear reading comprehension is gone. Piss on the poor. This is for the girlies who daydream 'too much', who devoured books in middle school, who took things to seriously and too literally. 10/10.

thanK you aIMee

This song is so funny to me. "Here's thirty songs about my mental state and btw fuck Kim K." Serving metaphor, lyricism, and homicide. A mythology reference. A scathing takedown. 8/10 an icon.

I Look In People's Windows

I've not seen nearly enough people talking about this one. It's so relatable, honest, and unhinged. Storytelling, imagery, wondering what if. Heartbreak. I've never heard a song take this approach to these emotions. 9/10.

The Prophecy

The desperation, the feeling of hopelessness, they hit hard. She's reflecting on the repeating patterns of lost relationships, and how it feels inevitable at this point, and how she's willing to beg for it. She's losing hope, and willing to do just about anything to have it again. 10/10 devestating.

Cassandra

I am a mythology nerd at heart, so using Cassandra as a metaphor was a guaranteed way to get me obsessed with a song. She's serving lyricism, story telling, imagery, metaphor, mythology references, anger, sadness, what more could I ask for? Heart breaking. 10/10

Peter

Literature references, lyrics, heartbreak. Objectively, it's very good, but I'm bored. 7/10.

The Bolter

Storytelling, imagery, lyrics, literature references, the Bolter serves it all. I'm not entirely sure what it's about but it's a bop. I think it's fictional, but it's Taylor reflecting on her own life through the lens of this fictional girl. 9/10

Robin

I. Don't care. It's probably got great lyrics or something but I skip before I'm through the first verse because I'm just bored. Sonically, boring. Lyrically, the first verse doesn't redeem it. I've listened all the way through once and it was enough for me. It's not egregious, it's just not interesting. Flop. 4/10.

The Manuscript

I also skip this one but I have more of an appreciation for it than I do for Robin, just because of the subject matter. I have my theories on what it's about *cough* All Too Well Ten *Cough*. I like this as an album closer as well. French press lyric kills me. 7/10.

#microwave talks #ts 11 #taylor swift #the tortured poets department #ttpd

[quartergremlin]

vack om my trollhumters vullshit

i love you varvara never change. those horns sure are for his deceit.

steve calling coach his dad and them havimg to correct himself. i love them. THEM ARE COVERING FOR THEIR FAMILY-MESS AT SVHOOL

GET THEY ASS UHL

they really are terrible students huh.

MO STEVE!!!!!

honestly, this whole episode is nearly indistinguishable from like. a regular teacher breakdown. rip to everyone with those stories about purple flyimg momky.

"emotionally commect with him" sticktler the MVP I guess? for at least giving them advice instead of going "a cat?? rip to you buddy better put that thing down."

mrs. jameth that's mot good for your digestive system.

MO SMR UHL MO

"a pep talk from your favorite student?" mot for long eli. just wait until krel gets here.

Smr. uhl honestly the scarriest here. turms into somic. "gatito" ... the meowing.

oh fuck you strickler.

weird-ass relationship there tho. that's fun. i omce saw you as a father but you've betrayed me and threatened the ome we both love dearly. etc etc

.

Jim thimgs that are funny to me amd I hope they never chamge:

1 - imsecure avout skimmy legs.

2 - mervous around claire when mot im immediate danger - impulsive spanish

"girls domt pee. they conspire!"

jim you are failing so hard. you're lucky you're both such nerds.

DOUXIE!!! my little sopping wet meow meow loser.

RULE THREE!!! *comfetti* love me some rule three.

love that this is the same bathroom set from the museum. yaas team keep recycling those sets so you cam put more energy into other things. like all those fire effects. jesus.

loving morgamma. keep being absolutely unhinged. also the voice effects are cool.

*tries to stab jim with a butter knife* "she's flirting with you"

"begome servant" > *the distinct sound of 1000 years of douxie servitude immediately clicking into place*

its also interesting to see how these people have changed from the past im wizards to mow. even if they didn't plan on having Morgana be a pretty normal person in the past like. i can see how being imprisoned for that long would drive you insane. how you'd completely lose your shit, try to kill a guy with a butterknife, and them down a raw steak im negative 2 seconds.

jim only hitting morlaire in the face with pillows while motemrique has no qualms about knocking her out cold. that's the sibling effect right there.

claire gravs motemrique by the scruff: *vaguely annoyed*

morgama does it: *kills her with cast iron pam*

kmowimg what I do about merlim. i get it. guy sucks. i would absolutely want to destroy everythim he's ever touched too. sorry yall ever met him.

also I like that while they do have a light/dark good/evil thing going om it's not that dark magic is vad necessarily. vlimky defimetly doesmt think much of dark magic. its just the connection between claire amd morgama is able to ve exploited by morgama, who is looking out for her own self-interest.

it happens again amd again but im always somehow surprised when trollhumters says: good amd vad are subjective. what really matters is if you can look out for the people you care about amd hold your values. something like that. im sure I could say something more coherent about it later. im multi-taskimg.

[mindfuljujutsu]

No Strings Attached

What starts as a clandestine arrangement between Yuki and Gojo quickly turns into a rollercoaster of emotions, with unexpected twists and turns. As they navigate the complexities of their connection, they'll discover that love doesn't always play by the rules.

| Part 1 | Part 2 |

words: 1 820

a/n: This was originally intended to be a simple Gojo one-shot, but it kept on getting longer and longer. So, I decided to turn it into a short series. I'd also like to mention that some things don't exactly align with the jjk plot, but they have been adjusted for creative purposes to enhance the story's flow and coherence. I hope you enjoy it regardless. The next part is coming soon. Happy reading!

2013

Yuki spotted Satoru the moment he entered the room where the party in honor of Kento Nanami's birthday was being held. Nanami wasn't the type to celebrate his birthday, let alone join any celebration or party. So, it was safe to say that Nanami wasn't too enthusiastic when his group of friends decided to throw him a birthday party. He looked like he'd rather be anywhere but here—a room full of teenagers dancing, drinking, and making out in Gojo's massive apartment.

Satoru Gojo looked incredible. His messy white hair was styled as usual, he sported his signature round sunglasses (despite it being nighttime), and he rocked a tight-fitted black t-shirt with matching skinny black jeans. Saying that Satoru looked good was an understatement.

Yuki watched as he greeted people, making his way through the crowd of party-goers. He shook hands, accepted hugs, and gave fist-bumps to people he probably didn't even know, but who definitely knew him. He was the quintessential popular guy straight out of a book—handsome, rich, confident, cocky, and undeniably self-absorbed. Things that Yuki had initially despised about him but had come to accept.

Satoru moved towards his group of friends, consisting of Geto, Shoko, and Nanami. They were all sitting at the bar located right next to Satoru's kitchen (what teenager had a bar in their apartment? They were all just under the age limit to drink), engaged in their own conversation. When Satoru arrived, he immediately got pulled into a chair and included in whatever discussion they were having.

"He's hot, isn't he?" A feminine voice remarked from beside Yuki on the couch she was relaxing on.

She turned to see an unfamiliar face, a girl she hadn't seen at Jujutsu High or at any of the parties she attended. She must've been new to the school or the area.

Seeing the confusion on Yuki's face, the girl extended her hand for a shake and introduced herself. "I'm Iori Utahime. I recently moved to the area from Kyoto."

Yuki nodded and shook Utahime's hand. "Nice to meet you. I'm Yuki," she said before sipping her beverage. "Do you attend Jujutsu High? I've never seen you before."

"No," Utahime shook her head. "I graduated from high school two years ago, but I'm attending Jujutsu Tech to become a Grade One sorcerer."

"Wow, you really don't look your age. You fit right in with us high schoolers."

"Thanks," Utahime smiled. "What year are you?"

"I'm a second-year semi-Grade 1."

"How did you get invited to the party? Do you know Nanami or something?" Yuki asked curiously. She had never seen or heard of Utahime, and if she were part of Satoru's group, she would've definitely heard about it already.

"No, I got invited by my dorm mate who's around here somewhere," she said, waving around the room vaguely. "We met Shoko, that girl over there," she pointed towards Shoko who was laughing at whatever Geto had just said, "outside the Tech while we were having a smoke break. She got us invited to the party."

"The guy you've been staring at, he's pretty hot," Utahime shrugged casually, nodding towards Satoru and his group.

"Gojo?" Yuki asked, feeling herself slightly flush at the thought of getting caught watching Satoru. She cleared her throat, "Uh, yeah, he is, but he's totally out of my league."

Utahime gave Yuki a once-over, analyzing her features and clothing. "I think you're pretty. You should go up to speak to him."

"What? Are you crazy?" Yuki laughed, shaking her head at Utahime's audacious idea. "I was only staring because he's hot. I don't like him like that or anything."

"Well, then, if you won't take him, I will," Utahime stood up from the couch and straightened out her tiny skirt. "Are you coming?"

Yuki nearly choked on her drink. "Over there? To Gojo?"

Utahime rolled her eyes at Yuki's incredulity. "Yeah, obviously," she pointed over her shoulder, "I'm going to go over to Shoko. I'm sure she'll introduce me to all her friends, including Gojo. I'll make my move then."

"I get that. I just don't understand why you want me to tag along."

"We'll get you introduced to him so that he at least knows you exist. Besides, you'll get to stare at him up close too."

Yuki set her empty cup on the coffee table and hesitantly stood up to follow Utahime as she made her way towards Satoru and his friends. She looked down at her little black dress and made sure to brush out any wrinkles it got from sitting on the couch for so long.

"Utahime!" Shoko exclaimed when she saw the two of them approaching. "You came!"

Utahime smiled at Shoko, "Yeah, Chichi came too, but I somehow lost her in this house."

"Everyone, let me introduce you all to my new friend, Utahime. She just moved here from Kyoto," Shoko said. Everyone introduced themselves, either waving or shaking Utahime's hand.

"Oh," Utahime said, realizing that Yuki was still there, practically hiding behind her. "This is Yuki. She attends school with all of you."

Yuki shyly waved at the group, who were already looking at her with tiny smirks, almost as if they knew a secret that nobody else knew. And they did.

"Yes, Yuki," Geto mused, smirk still on his lips. "I know you from somewhere, but I just can't put my finger on it."

Yuki felt her entire face flush in embarrassment, knowing what he was getting at.

"You're right," Satoru chuckled, staring at Yuki with those bright blue eyes hiding behind his glasses. "I feel like we've met before. Do I know you from somewhere?"

Yuki felt her eye twitch in annoyance. She had a sarcastic response on the tip of her tongue but decided against saying anything. "No. You're probably confusing me for someone else."

"Probably," Gojo agreed, but he still had that smirk on his face.

"It was nice meeting you all, but I gotta go," Yuki said, already backing away from the group, who watched her in amusement. Utahime watched on in confusion, probably not understanding what was going on between all of them.

Before anyone could say anything, Yuki bolted out of there and made her way straight out the front door of the apartment. Feeling as if she needed a breather, Yuki made her way up the tiny staircase hidden further down the hallway outside of Satoru's apartment. She followed the stairs that took her up to the empty rooftop of the fancy apartment complex.

There was a beautiful garden and barbecue area up there, but she walked right past that and instead made her way to the edge of the rooftop where she leaned against the railing to look out at the twinkling city lights below.

"I don't think I've ever seen you run that fast.”

Yuki screamed at the sudden appearance of a deep voice directly behind her. With a hand on her heart, she quickly turned around to face the culprit, who was laughing at her wide eyes.

Yuki punched Satoru's arm for scaring her. She hated it when he sneaked up on her, and he knew that well. He was always trying to get on her last nerve.

"You're such an asshole, Gojo," Yuki said, shaking her head and then turning back around to look at the view again.

Strong arms wrapped around Yuki's body, and Satoru pressed tightly against her back. She could still feel him laughing at her jump-scare earlier.

"I'm sorry," he said, sobering up, though not sounding apologetic at all.

"How did you know I'd come up here?" Yuki asked, tilting her head to get a better look at Satoru.

"When I saw you bolt out of the apartment, I knew you'd come up here."

Yuki groaned at the reminder of her hasty exit but turned around in Satoru's arms and glared at him a moment later.

"You and your big mouth," she said, poking him on the chest with her finger. "You just had to tell your friends that we were hooking up, didn't you."

"You don't think they would've found it suspicious that I kept turning down girls and going home alone all the time? I was saving us from having them on our backs all the time, and trust me, they would've found us in some kind of compromising position eventually."

With that, Gojo leaned down and smashed his lips to Yuki's, pulling her body tighter against him in response. Yuki couldn’t help but moan into the kiss. No boy had ever kissed her as good as Gojo did. 

Yuki felt Gojo’s hand trailing up her thigh and going under her black dress, but before he could get any further, a tiny yet familiar voice broke them apart. 

"Are you both seriously doing this up here?"

"Jeez, kid," Gojo groaned when he saw Megumi sitting cross-legged on the ground in the garden area. Yuki hastily pushed Gojo away from her, not wanting Megumi to see more than he had already witnessed.

Yuki heard Gojo groan and swear under his breath, knowing that he probably wasn't going to get any alone time soon. Yuki smiled at Megumi as she approached his tiny figure sitting criss-cross-apple sauce on the ground.

"What are you doing up here, Gumi?" Yuki asked, holding out her hand for him to take. After staring at it in contemplation for a few seconds, he took it and pulled himself up.

"Gojo said that I should stay in my room during the party, but the music was too loud and distracting, so I came up here for some peace and quiet," Megumi explained, tightening his gown around his tiny Batman pajamas.

"You know not to come up here alone, Megumi," Gojo scolded the young boy. "Especially at this time of night."

"I tried sleeping, but all those people were too noisy!"

"C'mon," Gojo said, moving to pick Megumi up. "You're going back to your room."

Megumi whined but surprisingly didn't argue. "Can I at least get some cake before I go to bed?"

"There's no cake at the party."

"What kind of party is this?" Megumi asked, looking at both Yuki and Gojo with wide eyes.

Yuki couldn't help but chuckle at his antics. "How about we go for a milkshake at Diddi's?" Yuki suggested. Diddi's American-style diner was open all night on weekends and was a favorite place for the three of them to hang out.

"Yes, yes, yes, please!" Megumi exclaimed in excitement. "Please, Gojo, please! Let's go to Diddi's, and after that, I promise I'll go straight to my room."

Gojo sighed but agreed anyway. He had trouble saying no to Megumi sometimes.

"Fine. Let's go."

a/n: The interactions between Gojo and Megumi are absolutely adorable and were one of the main reasons why I decided to extend this fic. You can look forward to more heartwarming Gojo and Megumi interactions in the future 😉

I'd also like to mention that the posting of this series won't strictly follow its timeline. I thought it would be more interesting to include time-skips in each part. See you soon!!

#gojo #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru #megumi fushiguro #jujutsu #fic #gojo fic #gojo x reader #gojo x fem! reader #gojo x female #gojo x fic #gojo x imagine #gojo series #gojo x series #satoru #geto #nanami #yuji #fushiguro #yaga #nobara

[southfarthing]

I've been having thoughts on the similarities between Elrond and Faramir for a while, and I finally tried to write my thoughts in some very vaguely coherent manner!!! I wrote this for an instagram post with the prompt 'kings', so I touch on that too - didn't want to take it out. but yeah enjoy!

Elrond

Elrond and Elros are the last descendants of the Kings of the Noldor and the Sindar (two of the three groups of elves), as well as of several lords of men. But while Elros chooses to be a man and becomes the first King of Númenor, Elrond chooses to remain an elf, and does not claim kingship. 

It is said that ‘The hands of the king are the hands of a healer’: Aragorn, when he enters Minas Tirith to heal Faramir, Eowyn and Merry, says, ‘Would that Elrond were here, for he is the eldest of all our race, and has the greater power.’

While Turgon builds Gondolin as a hidden fortress that locks good in, Elrond builds the Last Homely House as a welcoming haven that keeps evil out. While Thingol’s kingdom falls apart because of his greed and his feud with dwarves, Elrond gladly lets them stay in Rivendell and does not lay claim on Glamdring, the sword that belonged to Turgon his ancestor.

Faramir

Faramir is the rightful Steward of Gondor after the deaths of his father and brother. At this point, the return of the King is a distant dream for the reality of most Gondorians: Faramir is the hope of Gondor.

Here was one with an air of high nobility such as Aragorn at times revealed, less high perhaps, yet also less incalculable and remote: one of the Kings of Men born into a later time, but touched with the wisdom and sadness of the Elder Race. He knew now why Beregond spoke his name with love. He was a captain that men would follow, that he would follow, even under the shadow of the black wings. - Pippin's first impression of Faramir when all of Minas Tirith is cheering as Faramir returns to the city <3

Faramir & Elrond

Both:

Have lost a brother who was more the tereotypical king/warrior-type, while they themselves are more the scholar-type. 

Are less eager yet longer serving and successful leaders of their people.

Fight and lead armies, but don’t thirst for battle.

Elrond has foresight; Faramir sees the prophetic dream that should have sent him to Rivendell instead of Boromir (and seems to be the higher powers’ first choice, as he sees it numerous times before Boromir does).

Elrond establishes Rivendell as a place of refuge and healing; Faramir hopes to have a garden in Ithilien after the war.

Elrond serves as Gil-galad's herald; Faramir serves as steward to Aragorn's kingdom.

Both have been said to have a wise, wizardly air:

He was as noble and as fair in face as an elf lord, as strong as a warrior, as wise as a wizard, as venerable as a king of dwarves and as kind as summer.

‘Ah well, sir,’ said Sam, ‘you said my master had an Elvish air; and that was good and true. But I can say this: you have an air too, sir, that reminds me of, of – well, Gandalf, of wizards.’

to conclude:

no brain but i just think elrond and faramir should be best friends. and gandalf can hang out with them too. they should sit in the minas tirith archives and elrond can tell stories of numenor and faramir can listen with tears in his eyes yeah you get it <3

also I drew elrond's colour-coded family tree FROM SCRATCH for literally no reason so adding it under the cut because damn that took a while

#?????????????????????????? no thought only blorbo #faramir #elrond #lotr #silmarillion #mp

[thedigitalwave]

Inspired by a dear person's request, let's talk about anti-endos.

I want to go back to the basics with this. There likely won't be anything new to talk about, so I want to help the newcomers understand some stuff.

First, what are systems?

Systems are collectives of people/parts, individuals who have different personalities or ways to behave, who coexist inside one body. Though some systems were always systems, most start off as singlets (one person inside one body). Now, an analogy.

Let's consider people to be mirrors. Through something (even as mundane as fate, or as tragic as trauma), a mirror can break. Breaking a mirror causes multiple parts of the mirror to be reflective on their own, or in a way, separate mirrors.

Singlets are one mirror. The mirror is not broken, even though the mirror could have gone through the same stuff a broken mirror went through.

Systems are fully divided mirrors, with distinct pieces who act as their own, though in the same frame.

There are also median systems. You can consider those, mirrors who didn't break fully. The mirror might be shattered, but the parts still connect as one in some ways.

Now that you understand what a system is, let's abandon the analogy, why not.

A system is, simply, a collective of individuals in one body. That's a vague description because there's no right way to be a system, therefore there are infinite ways to be one. What if I said some people didn't agree with that?

What if I said some people believe you have to go through something really traumatic to be a system? What if I said that those people think being a system is purely medical? In this analogy, what if I said that people believe that, to be an actually broken mirror, you have to be broken in a very specific way? Or else, you're just larping the role of a broken mirror.

Those people are anti-endos. Let me explain.

What are system origins?

A system, again, can come to exist through multiple means. Some people believe they were born a system, I'll never discredit them. Some people became one.

Systems can be roughly put into 4 categories of origins.

Traumagenic. Traumagenic systems are systems that came to existence through trauma, often in childhood. They're often disordered systems. Which means they have DID, OSDD or some other disorder that is where their system came from. Those disorders are often trauma-based.

Endogenic. Endogenic systems are systems that came to existence through something other than trauma. There's a vast amount of ways that systems can come to exist like that, and they're often non-disordered, though not a rule. Some of these systems are spiritual, which means their systemhood is inherently linked or caused by spiritual means. Some of these systems are created intentionally, through tulpamancy or some other means, and they're called willogenic.

Mixed origin. Those are systems who don't fit either category above because they're in both, or have a complicated relationship with origin, like for example, having fused and restarted the system multiple times.

Xenoorigin. Those are systems who don't fit either category above because they're neither, often because their experience with origin is completely detached from what is normally considered to be a valid or common system origin.

What are anti-endos?

Anti-endos are people who believe systems should only be traumagenic and disordered. For them, there's no other way to be a system, because systemhood is something completely psychological, medical and specific. There's no nuance to this for most. For them, endogenic systems simply don't exist, or aren't really systems.

This is a post covering just the grounds. If you want to have me debunk some common anti-endo arguments, please leave them below (specify that it isn't a hate comment or I will block you accidentally). I hope this was coherent enough. See ya!

#radqueer safe #radqueers please interact #🌈🍓 rq #🍓🌈 rq #pro radqueer #radqueer #pro endo #endo system #endogenic system #endo safe #pro endogenic #plural system #plurality #endogenic info #endogenic #discourse #syscourse #system discourse

[soaps-mohawk]

Hey love! 🖤

I got a bit of a random tumblr related question for you! Why do people who want you to know that it's specifically them, send you asks anonymously and then add something specific to them as a signature of sorts, instead of just asking without hiding their username? 🤔

I have absolutely nothing against people doing this and everyone should be free to do as they like! I'm just genuinely curious 😅

It just seems like a lot of extra effort and a change of people getting mistaken for other people, you know?

I've only recently started being social on this site, even though I've been lurking for years, so some things are a bit of a mystery for me still 😖

Anyway, I hope this isn't something rude of me to ask and that you have a wonderful day! 🖤🖤🖤

p.s. English is not my first language, so I hope I worded this coherently enough 😅

Hello love!!! Hmm I'm gonna try to answer this in a way that makes sense lol.

People have been doing this since probably before I joined tumblr almost ten years ago. I know back in the olden days, people would send anons because they didn't have accounts or didn't want to make an account. I don't think tumblr lets you do that anymore? Or perhaps I'm wrong and they never let you do that 🤷 I just vaguely remember seeing asks on other blogs from anons that didn't have tumblr accounts.

A lot of it, I think, is just for anonymity. People prefer to keep their blogs private for any number of reasons. Perhaps they're just shy or anxious and would prefer to not be known, or maybe they follow and interact using a side-blog but tumblr won't let you send asks as a side-blog, only from the main blog or anon (if that's enabled). (We literally just got the ability to reply as side blogs on posts so here's to hoping they'll give us the ability to send asks as side blogs soon). That being said, I think it's just a lot of anxiety or preference for remaining anonymous for their own personal reasons.

I don't mind either way. I know some people prefer it and that's fine with me. I get it, I hate being perceived sometimes (I'm looking at you fart anon when I find you it's over for you 😡). I haven't had established anons since my Kpop days (shudder) but I'm fine with however people want to chat.

So yeah, that's what I think it boils down to. Just personal preference and I'm sure they all have their reasons and that's okay. Definitely no pressure on them to have to share their reasons, either.

#definitely not a rude question #just simple curiosity #answered

[itspyon]

would you mind giving a basic play by play of your au? I’ve never watched Hannibal but the concept for the au is interesting 🧐

okay i'm going to grab this ask to talk about it, hello anon and thank you

nbc hannibal is an already vaguely inspired take on the novel Red Dragon, and its sequel, The Silence of the Lambs, that talks about Will Graham, a profiler for the FBI, and Hannibal Lecter, his psychiatrist and also a cannibal. it is VERY queer coded to an almost literal sense ( never got fully confirmed by directors, but it was confirmed by the cast so it's a win to me )

the dnf hannibal au goes something like this: George takes the place of Will as a profiler for the more gruesome cases, Dream is his therapist out of the mental toll it takes on George. and this is where it completely deviates from the canon, because for those who have seen nbc hannibal, the start of their relationship is not the happiest or healthiest or even remotely romanticizable to project it onto real people. so, sidetracking

Dream ( late 40s ) is friends with Sapnap ( mid-late 30s ), the sub-director of a specialized prison in their state. specialized in what way you ask ? shrug, up to you, choose the vilest people you can imagine. Dream for [ reasons, the lore if you will ] picks and chooses the people he eats from there, Sapnap provides, these are criminals often times on death row, nobody misses them when they are gone

cue George ( also mid 30s, yes he's younger than Dream, this is important for the au ) being the new profiler in town, in charge of putting the people Dream is going to eat in prison. he gets a little fucked in the head about the whole blood violence thing, Dream cuts in as his enforced ( important ! ) FBI assigned therapist, and this is where both start forming this slightly obsessive bond with each other

the more fucked the case, the more George gets to see Dream. the more violent the criminal and higher the chance of him getting physically hurt, the more likely Dream is the one that stitches him up ( it is canon on the series that hannibal is a retired nurse ). so, he starts doing it on purpose

the more tangled George gets in a case, the less often Dream gets to pick a body because there's not enough influx of people to cover it up, since George is taking too long to catch them

the more traumatized George gets, the worse Dream feels. which he shouldn't. Dream is not sympathetic of the law or its enforcers, he's never cared, he doesn't really give a shit about anyone but himself and maybe Sapnap. cops are awful, people are awful, that's why he eats them. oh but George

he does want to eat George, but it's not the same. the more George hurts himself, the more he gets to see him half naked and bloody in his office, and he finds pleasure in it. something that he has done for decades always out of revenge, out of a remnant pain of something old and ugly, now someone makes him want to do it out of love. so he lets George keep going

this is around where i stopped having a defined lore and just, do tidbits out of vibes. most of what you need to know for the characterisation is in all that. there is somewhat later the idea that George figures out Dream eats people and he kind of doesn't care because he knows who they are, but i haven't gone too deep into that yet

i hope this was somewhat coherent feel free to inquire further

#pyon askies #stag hunt au

[katcoquette]

Two-Hour Session

Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Reader

masterlist | taglist

summary: your best friend “forcing” you to hangout with his navy friends turns into some kind of meet cute, if cute was completely normal

★ word count: 2.9k of unedited chaos, oh my god

★ tw/tags: guy friends, existential crisis, bestfriend!Mickey "Fanboy" Garcia, beach campfire, fluffy conversation

★ author's note: the aforementioned self indulgant, therapeutic fic. sorry I just realized this sounds a lot more suggestive than it is let’s call it edging. I ship Phoenix & Coyote so hard please don't tell me I'm the only one. this got me out of my covid slump, I hope it makes sense and is coherent, enjoy <3

The sky is pitch black around you, a stark contrast to the sand that still seemed to glow under the moonlight of the clear night. There’s laughter on the breeze that blows past you every few minutes, and apart from the sound of the waves crashing onto the shore, and the occasional crackle from the bonfire a few hundred feet from you, it’s a peaceful night.

You’d slipped away from the group, not for any particular reason other than to have a moment focused on the ocean, and made yourself comfortable sitting in the sand a safe distance away from the spray.

“Hey.”

Maybe you’d been a little too focused on the ocean. You jump at the voice, despite it coming from a guy that was standing in clear sight of you. “Jesus, you scared me.”

He chuckles. “Sorry, I didn’t realize you were deep in thought.”

“I’m just feeling very aware of my existence tonight.” Your eyes adjust to the darkness as he gets closer, until you’re able to see him better. “Rooster…right?”

You ask it even though you’re not even half a percent unsure of his identity. You’d committed his name to memory immediately after he’d introduced himself to you earlier along with everyone else when you’d first arrived with Mickey.

Rooster. You liked the way it sounded when you said it in your head.

“Yeah.” He confirms. “-or Bradley.” He sits down next to you, bending his legs enough that he can rest his elbows over his knees. “Is it weird for you to call us by our call signs?”

You laugh at the question, watching his movements.

So far, you’d seen him briefly in the light of the sunset, then by the glow of the fire, and now in the pale light of the moon.

You’re willing to bet that even under the yellow light of a dingy, fluorescent bathroom fixture, he’d still be handsome. He just had one of those faces.

“No.” You reply simply. He didn’t ask for an invitation to join you, and you’re grateful- it brings less attention to the fact that you’d wandered from the group.

You smile at him and decide to offer a little bit more of an explanation. You didn’t want to end the conversation before it’d even started.

“It’s just like having a nickname for someone. Though callsigns are a little more…” You trail off, gesturing vaguely with your hands. “Out there?” He offers.

You laugh. “Sure.”

He grins at you before turning to watch the water.

You pull your knees to your chest and sneak a glance over at him, then look back to the dark waves in front of you with a smile on your face at the realization that he had glanced at you right after.

“So…is this an existential crisis? Or just general, everyday, normal thoughts about your place in the world?”

You rest your head on your knees and look over at him with pursed lips, trying not to laugh because god knows you’d been doing that far too much already for a five minute conversation with someone you’d just met.

“Undecided.” You say matter-of-factly, offering an amused smile instead.

“Let’s hear it then.”

“Youwant to hear about my problems?”

He shrugs. “Why not? It’s fun to hear about other people’s problems.” He’s smirking when he lightly nudges your shoulder with his own. “Makes me feel better about my own.”

You laugh. Again. “That’s good to hear.”

He laughs with you, “No, but seriously.” He stops laughing and gives you a friendly smile. “I’m completely unbiased and totally willing, if it would help.”

You look to the waves again and sigh. You’re not sure how to explain the complicated feelings, so you summarize it the only way you know how. “I don’t know what I’m doing with my life.”

“Ah.”

“I feel like I’m stuck in an endless cycle of waking up too early and saying yes to too many things because I’m “young” and should be “excited to help” because I’m “barely starting” my career and, theoretically, shouldn’t already be burnt out by the way workers in corporate America are treated-“

You pause your rant and glance over at him, a grimace laced with embarrassment on your face. “Sorry.”

He just smiles at you, the same look on his face that you now realize he’d been staring at you with during your entire speech. “No, by all means-“ It’s as if he’s snapping out of a trance when he lifts his arms in mock surrender. “Get it all out.”

“I just thought I’d love it. When I was in college I mean. I thought this is what I wanted.”

Bradley shrugs. “People change.”

“I know but…” You pause. “Well take Fanboy-“ You chuckle at the way you’d reverted to calling him by his call sign in this instance. You raise an eyebrow to Bradley as you correct yourself.

“-Mickey, as an example. He’s known he wanted to do this his entire life. This is his calling. I remember being jealous of him, in like, third grade because he already knew he wanted to be a WSO and that never changed. I mean, come on, that’s gotta be one of the most specific dreams ever for an eight year old.”

“What did you want to be in third grade?”

You almost snort. “Well, I was also dreaming big.” You start, contemplating for a second about lying and saying something really cool for an eight year old, like an astronaut or a pirate. But the way he’s looking at you…

So you just say it. “I wanted to be a cashier. Probably at like, a craft store, or something.”

“Oh my god.” He says it like he’s in awe or disbelief of your younger self, you’re not sure. Either way, it’s completely judgement free.

“I know.” Your voice gets higher as you drag out the word, and then quieter, “I thought it would be fun.”

“Oh no, it definitely would be. All those supplies?”

You turn to him abruptly, gesturing with your hands. “Yes! And don’t even get me started on handling money.” You both chuckle before settling into a comfortable pause.

You lean back on your hands, digging your fingers into the cold sand. “What about you then? What did you want to be?”

“Don’t be mad, but…” He smiles, but it’s distant for a moment. “I’ve always wanted to be a pilot.”

“Oh Bradley, not you too.” You say with mock disappointment.

He holds his hands up again. “I know! I know.” And then the distant look is back. “My old man was a pilot. I’ve always wanted to be like him.”

He has a wistful expression on his face, and though you’re not sure what it means, you figure his dad is a sensitive topic, so you decide on a response that seems safe. “I’m sure he’s proud of you.”

“I hope so.” Your smile falters a bit, so not safe, and he notices. “He died when I was a kid. During a training exercise.” Ah.

“That must’ve been really hard.”

His smile isn’t sad per se, more reminiscent, as he takes a moment to think about his reply to you. “It was. It is, but… I like to think he’s still with me. It’s why I’m so damn good at what I do.” The smile melts into something cheekier, a smirk of some sort.

And then you’re laughing again.

“Sorry I made fun of your unwavering career choice.” You say after. He just nods, raising his eyebrows as he runs his tongue behind his teeth, shifting his jaw. It’s playful though, not at all in the usual annoyance you’re used to seeing it as from other men in your life.

“What’s the dream now?” He asks, staring at you again. He’s not doing it on purpose, of course he’s not. He’s just looking at you because he’d asked you a question and wanted to show you he was listening to your response.

But it was a stare to you, one that made you feel seen, like he’d be able to recite your thoughts back to you if he wanted to.

What a ridiculous thing to think about someone you’d just met, but it does make you feel particularly loose-lipped about your inner turmoils.

You take a deep breath in, scrunching your nose at the sequence of thoughts you’d just had, and partially because of the answer to his question. “I want to work in a museum.”

“Any museum? I’m sure the naval museum on base wouldn’t ask any questions-” Your laugh interrupts his jab, and he trails off with a smile.

You sit up from your hands, brushing the sand off of them.“No…no. I mean an archaeological museum, or an art museum. Some place filled with history where I could learn all day and be in charge of cataloguing or arranging exhibits or something. I’ve always been fascinated by that kind of thing.”

“Your face lights up when you talk about it.” He says it as an undeniable fact. You put your elbow on your knee and rest your chin on your fist. “What’s stopping you?” He asks quieter.

Another sigh.

“I almost did it. In college, I studied Anthropology. But then I started to get worried, it’s a hard field to get into, and I think then I was more concerned with the monetary value of a career. So, I dropped it into a minor and went into tech.”

He stays quiet, letting your brain catch up to your explanation.

“I loved my major, don’t get me wrong, but post-grad was really hard, and I feel like I’m back in that place where I had my whole life ahead of me and no idea where to start.”

You twist your neck slightly to look at him again, trying to smile to ease the anxiety you could feel bubbling up at even discussing being back in that time of your life.

“Anyway.”

You make a sound sort of like a chuckle that transforms into a groan as you run your hands over your face before wrapping them around your knees.

“You’re a good listener you know.” This time you nudge him with your shoulder. There’s that smile again. “I’m a good advice giver too, but I’m drawing a blank right now.”

He was good at lifting your spirits, too.

“It’s okay. It’s honestly nice just to say it out loud without anyone trying to fix it.”

Yelling in the direction of the bonfire interrupts the moment you were silently sharing with Bradley on the beach under the light of the moon.

“Hey! Get your ass over here and help us clean up!” Then a delayed second later, when you leaned forward to look at your best friend, “I meant Rooster! You’re a guest, I’d never make you help!”

Rooster waves him off as he stands up, brushing sand from the back of his jean shorts. He offers you his hand after swiping them together a couple of times. “Shall we?”

You thank him and take his hand. You appreciate the help up after sitting for so long. “That’s the nicest he’s ever been to me.” You joke, twisting around to look at your backside.

Bradley does a good job of obviously-waiting-for-you-but-casually-and-in-no-rush waiting as you repeat the motions he’d done a few minutes ago to remove as much sand off your body as you can, and then you’re falling into step next to each other as you leisurely make your way back to the firepit.

Your shoulders brush each other every once in a while, and you try to ignore the feeling in your stomach every time your skin comes in contact with his. You can easily picture yourself getting caught up in it and tripping over your own feet, or even worse, taking him down with you.

So instead, you clear your throat.

“Thanks for playing therapist. I… it helped a lot.”

“I’m glad. For the record, I think you’d be great at running a museum.” He says it so sincerely that it’s almost all you need to believe it too.

The rest of the group politely stays quiet when you rejoin them after prolonged alone time with their friend, and you know it’s the only reason Mickey doesn’t tease you either.

Ten minutes later, a chorus of goodbyes intermixes with the salty air, and then you’re splitting into smaller groups and heading off in different directions. Coyote slings an arm over Phoenix’s shoulder at the same time that Payback does the same to Rooster, though he jostles him around a bit as he does it.

You think you hear your name floating around the Rooster, Hangman, Payback, Bob group, but you can’t be sure.

Mickey links arms with you as you walk the other way. “Thank you for making me come with you tonight. I’m sorry if I was a little antisocial there at the end.”

You still feel the need to apologize after decades of friendship with the extroverted boy, even though he was used to your needed moments of alone time, and, despite what your brain told you, no one ever thought it was strange, especially not Mickey.

“Don’t be. They all loved you.” His smile shifts into a smirk. “Especially Rooster.”

You feel your face heat up. “Shut up.”

He just laughs. “No really. He asked me for your number.” Your face contorts with confusion. “When?”

“Just now, when we were cleaning up.” You’d been talking to Phoenix, it must have been then.

“And?”

He smirks. “I told him he should’ve asked you himself.”

“Mickey-“ You start to groan before he’s interrupting you. “-and then, I gave him your number. You’re welcome.” He says, sarcastically rolling his eyes at you.

Sure enough, your phone buzzes not long after you get into Mickey’s car.

Text me when you get home, I don’t know if I trust Fanboy to get ya there in one piece (;

And then in a separate text-

This is Rooster/Bradley btw

You giggle softly at the lit up screen in your hands, earning a look from your best friend that goes conveniently unnoticed by you.

He smiles to himself as he refocuses on the road, waiting until you’re done staring at the texts from his friend before deciding to verbally acknowledge it.

“Soooo…” He drags out the word. You’d darkened the screen and put it face down in your lap, which is what prompted him to speak.

“Don’t start.” You say, an unserious warning in your tone because even though there was a part of you that didn’t want to talk about it with him, there was also a part of you that definitely did.

“Start what! I’m not starting anything. I’m just asking how your conversation went, that’s all.” He defends himself.

You give in, because of course you do. It was Mickey. “It was actually really nice.” He looks over at you triumphantly. “And what did you talk about? He was with you for a long time.”

In that moment you realize you’d gotten closer to telling Bradley things that you hadn’t even told Mickey. That you had told Bradley things you hadn’t told Mickey. The thought makes your heart skip a beat, and you internally panic for a split second at the crush you were definitely developing on your best friends friend.

“We talked about you!” Not technically a lie. He raises an eyebrow. “What about me?”

“I told him how I’ve always been jealous of you knowing what you wanted to do with your life.” A look of recognition flashes over his face, and then he’s immediately asking, “Did you tell him about wanting to be a cashier in third gr-“

You drop your head back to the headrest of your seat. “Yes, Mickey. I told him your favorite anecdote from our childhood.”

He grins. “I do love that story. You were so cute back then.”

“I’m still cute.”

Another smirk. “Yeah, Rooster sure seems to think so.” You don’t humor him with a response before he’s pulling up to your driveway and putting the car in park.  

You turn to face him, deciding to be sincere for a rare moment in your friendship. “Thank you again for tonight. Seriously.”

“You don’t regret coming?” He clarifies, lifting one eyebrow. “No. You were right.” You confirm with a smile.

“Just like I always am.”

You open the door at that with an exaggerated “alright!” and a goodnight, and then you shut the car door firmly in front of you, backing away and blowing him a kiss. “I love you!”

“Love you too.” He says it in a sing-song voice as he pulls away from your curb.

It takes you almost twenty minutes after getting home to decide what to text back to him. Somehow, typing a message to him seems infinitely more nerve wracking, and though you’re contemplating it being too late for a text back, you press send anyway.

The whoosh as it sends has you exclaiming out loud and throwing your phone down on your bed. You fiddle with your lip for a second, and then force yourself to break eye contact with your phone and change into pajamas.

Your phone vibrates when your pants are around your ankles, prompting you to stomp several times to try and get them off while simultaneously hopping back to your bed.

Glad you’re safe

Can I call you in 10? You did pay for a two-hour session and I would hate for you not to get your money’s worth

You’re smiling at your phone again, and shamelessly replying immediately.

I was gonna bring that up actually

Glad to know you’re as honest as you are good at therapying

His response comes just as quickly.

Ha ha.

Talk to you then.

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#bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw #top gun maverick #bradley bradshaw x reader #rooster x reader

[s-sunnydays]

things left unsaid in artist’s depiction

i dont know if anyone checks this blog since i havent posted, but i guess i could share the things i never got to share since i discontinued artist’s depiction!

also, warning: there are trigger warnings!

iris was the one who reloaded the SAVE file and had gone insane since the mc had died in the fire. she was the one who also caused the accident, but she didn’t mean to; it was supposed to keep the mc from leaving since the machine was really close to being fixed and such.

faye had died at around six to nine years old because she’d gotten too sick and the mc couldn’t afford to enough money to keep her alive or to buy her any sort of medicine.

victor and sierra did run away because they were chased by debtors and all of that since they always messed with the wrong people in their lives. though, they don’t care about that as much, they didn’t want the others to get involved. i didn’t think much about how they died, but i would say that they ended up dying far away and no one knew since the mc couldn’t contact them – lost all contact with them.

sans never liked iris and iris never liked sans, they both just liked the idea of being in a relationship. and, sans gradually learns that iris liked mc the most – the best. even if she treated them horribly

there weren’t any sort of coherent thoughts about how the ending would go, but i assumed that there would be a polyamorous relationship with the mc and the skelebros aus where they could visit the original timeline any time they wanted since the machine and the tear was fixed.

iris’ feelings were never reciprocated

iris was mc’s childhood friend, and learned everything from them – how their life worked, how they had three siblings (never knew about oliver).

the mother ended up dying without oliver knowing – she died from overdosing on medication.

oliver vaguely remembers faye, but doesn’t know about the rest of the siblings. mc never told him until later, where he finds a picture of the other three – he asks why he looks related to victor and sierra and why faye looks so similar to the mc

the mc’s past is eventually revealed by iris or someone else, but other than that, it was basically mutual agreement to tell

the reason why oliver was taken away in the first timeskip was because the mistreatment that the mc had received ended up putting them past their breaking point. and then they started acting like a terrible brother, so they had to let him go – they had to take him to some other place; somewhere where he would be safe.

i have the next chapter, though it is unfinished.

WORK IS TIRING.

You suppose that since Iris pays you to work for her, you’ve been going to your job a lot less — within schedule, at least. Not many days are assigned to you.

“Hey, [Name],” Iris coos from her spot in front of you, sitting at the counter. “Do you wanna go shopping with me and the boys? I’m sure you’ll need something there. It’d the mall, after all! Who wouldn’t want to, like, you know — go shopping with me? I’ll pay for whatever you want.” She sings like a witch—or a siren, depending on the person—and you make a face inwardly.

At first, you would’ve said no. Just a simple no and everything would’ve been fine.

You suppose that no is also not in your vocabulary most of the time.

”…Let me ask my brother,” you mutter in response, pulling out your phone begrudgingly. You send him a message, waiting for his response.

If he says yes, you can only hope that the others don’t start causing problems with him around. You don’t mind the hate, the stares, the faces — just as long he can’t see them; hear them; you’re okay with it. As long as he can’t witness it, it’s fine. That’s all that mattered to you.

——

“Okay~”

Iris looks excited for some reason, but you don’t question it entirely.

You stare at the group of skeletons with a squint of your eyes, wondering where more came from. You should’ve known that the trip to the mall was basically restocking for the rest of the alternates stuck here — though you’re not sure if any of them really need anything. They seem to be more well off than you.

“Malls’re so big!” Your brother whispers to you, stunned by the size of the shopping mall you’re in. You have to agree. “What kind’a stores do they have in here?”

You have to agree with him.

To say that malls are huge is an understatement, you think they’re bigger than most mansions you’ve seen. Then again, you probably just don’t know what malls are like because your mother always told you that they were too expensive and a scam. You always did like sticking to every word she said to you, but that’s in the past. You could care less nowadays.

”I dunno,” you answer honestly. Your eyes scan your surroundings, squinting them when you realize just how large the building is. “Never gone to ‘em either, bro.”

“You haven’t taken your brother to the mall before?” Iris asks loudly, eyes wide with surprise. She glances between you and your brother curiously, obviously shocked — but you don’t even know how she heard you two whispering. It’s not like the others care enough to try and overhear, so why was she trying to be nosy?

Some of the skeletons turn to you, some glance at you, and the rest ignores you (out of pity, you don’t know).

”No,” your brother answers, confused. “We only go to the small ones ‘cause [Name] doesn’t like big stores.”

Well now.

Iris turns to you, frowning at you — you have to say, you don’t know why she’s looking at you like that because it’s not her business — and tells you, “You haven’t taken sweet little Oliver to a mall, [Name]? Shame on you! Malls are great, they have everything you’d need!”

You don’t know how to tell her off without calling her a spoiled brat.

”He already said why I don’t take him to big stores,” you point out, somewhat embarrassed that she had to call you out in front of everyone. “And, uh, malls are expensive… and, y’know, big — he’d get lost.”

“Are you saying you don’t trust your—“

You give her a look of irritation, and for once, the skeletons with you don’t seem too upset about it. Probably because they understand your situation or probably just—the conversation isn’t necessary.

“Are we done?” You don’t care if you interrupt her or get on Sans’ nerves because of it. “If we’re done, I can take Oliver shopping then. See you later, just call me when y—“

And Iris just loves thinking it’s her turn for everything. “We can hang out like old times! You know, when we were in high school together and stuff. Plus,” she shoots you a wink, “we have a lot to catch up on — we haven’t been, like, talking to each other at all! Come on, Sans, let’s go.” You don’t say anything when you see the flickering of his pinpricks or the not-so-subtle glances to your brother from the girl.

You stare at her, narrowing your eyes.

”It can’t be that bad,” your brother tries to soothe your vexation. “‘S okay! Maybe Red ‘n Edge can come with!”

Iris’ face twitches.

Sans’ smile falters. “since when were you buddies with ‘em, kid?”

Red grins widely, almost as if taunting the poor guy. “what’s wrong with bein’ friends wit’ a guy like me? i can come with, i got nothin’ to do anyways… maybe the, uh, boss can come with if he oh so wishes.”

“CAN IT, S—RED,” Edge catches himself and corrects himself. He ignores the looks given and clears his throat. “I SHALL GIFT THE HUMANS WITH MY PRESENCE, SINCE THEY ARE SO DESPERATE TO HANG OUT WITH ME. AND, I AM CURIOUS TO SEE WHAT SORT OF… STORES ARE IN THIS SPECIFIC MALL!”

Your brother shoots you a smile.

You squint your eyes.

Rus puts a hand on your shoulder and nudges Mutt. “‘ey, maybe we can finally get that thing wallet owed me. dunno what it is, but it’s gotta be somethin’.”

“…whatever you say, rus,” Mutt mutters and shrugs his shoulders compliantly. He looks like he just wants to sleep, and you can’t say you blame him. It’s not like you want to be here either, it was obvious that most of the monsters here didn’t want to be here either. You’re sure there’s some other meaning behind it.

”I don’t owe you anything, Rus.”

”sure thing, wallet.”

”They’re not your wallet!”

#artist’s depiction #undertale