#they're both fine as hell | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

Visit Blog

Explore Tumblr blogs with no restrictions, modern design and the best experience.

Fun Fact

28.6 is the average number of monthly visits per US mobile user.

#they're both fine as hell

erelavent · 1 year

Text

I saw Lewis' latest IG photo and instantly thought of Shemar Moore in Diary of a Mad Black Woman. If you didn't grow up watching Tyler Perry movies, that's a fucking niche reference. But for context, look at this side by side

#They're both fine as hell #Love me some Lewis Hamilton and Shemar Moore #f1 #formula 1 #lewis hamilton #shemar moore

8 notes · View notes

honeyypotato · 2 years

Text

Sure, a conflict between two people having romantic interest in the same person is great, and a pretty good way to drive a story imo

But man is it hard to not turn it into a poly relationship. It's literally the best outcome bc everyone is happy

I'm noticing that I use this as a conflict frequently in the WIPs I have and this is NOT the first time I've thought screw it, they all date each other ahjksdhlfskd

#imo there's no way to make a love triangle thing spicier than to shove em all together and say kiss #but I cannot do this for every story #I mean I CAN but #for the sake of variety in my writing #I don't wanna #would I absolutely be squished between Reiner and Porco?#yes #they're both fine as hell #ok yes I should find different things to drive the plot but maybe I just wanna feel wanted okay #honey rants

6 notes · View notes

whogirl42 · 7 months

Text

Okay but the reveal that not only were Ravonna and Mobius BOTH once hunters, but that they were partners????? Adds so so much depth to their relationship makes so much sense why a judge and an analyst would be so close. And that Mobius couldn't kill the child that would grow up to kill thousands so Ravonna made the hard call and did it in his place??? God that adds so much weight to earlier in the season where Ravonna spoke about how she's always made the tough choices so Mobius didn't have to😭

Truly EONS of friendship, being partners trusting each other having each other's backs cleaning up each others messes. A bond that lasted hundreds of years later even after they were professionally separated and Ravonna was promoted to judge and Mobius transferred to analysis. I just. NO FUCKING WONDER Ravonna felt so gd betrayed when Mobius got a new bestie and chose him over her. And no wonder even after Ravonna literally pruned Mobius in S1 he still wanted to try and work things out and mend bridges cause they've been through tough shit together before and after all this time they're basically each other's FAMILY and-

#God these two get me so emotional #On the whole I'm fine with Loki ending with s2 cause that was one HELL of a finale holy fucking shit #But I'll be really fucking sad if we never get to see these two reconcile and be besties again #Like Ravonna's story is clearly not fucking over she could easily appear in future movies #In fact I think it's more likely than not that she does especially with her teased connection to Kang #And Mobius's story isn't over either yet #So it wouldn't be a stretch to bring them both over to over MCU projects and do a slow-burn besties to enemies to besties again type arc #(With Mobius also reuniting with his husband cause they're literal soulmates)#Mine #loki spoilers #loki series #loki season 2 #loki 2x06 #ravonna renslayer #mobius m mobius #Mobius x Ravonna #loki disney+#Loki

43 notes · View notes

winepresswrath · 10 months

Note

I do gotta say tho, even tho I’m mad at aziraphale because he’s being a terrible boyfriend like what you said about the “I forgive you like” because WHAT. But also I really like the way the show really demonstrates the underlying cruelty of heaven and it’s angels. Really shows the hypocrisy of a group of beings who are supposed to do good, especially aziraphale who really buys into the heaven propaganda, who hurts people, particularly the person who means the most to him. Because like you said he fully just takes advantage of that devotion Crowley has for him. Insane, this shwo makes me INSANE

I missed this anon and yeah! The angels were one of my favourite parts of the season, and I think the strongest element aside from Neil Gaiman deciding he's just a simple man who wants to put his otp in situations. They are deeply awful and I kind of love them. They are the exact kind of moralizing hypocrites who are callous and cruel precisely because they think being on team good means everything they do is justified and it's actually impossible for them to be in the wrong (they're angels! is it even possible for them to do the wrong thing?).

but!! To me, they also seem like they're basically kids? Obviously they're not literally children, but there is this very consistent reoccurring joke about how childish/sheltered/immature they are. Muriel is the most obvious example, but the archangels come off like bratty twelve year olds to her sweet little kid.

Gabriel is basically teenager in love flipping off his family as he runs away with his backstreet guy. Uriel is constantly picking at Michael, Michael is playing at being in charge like it's a game, and it's ridiculously easy for both Aziraphale and Crowely to trick them obvious half assed lies. They're not allowed to ask questions! The Metatron treats them like badly behaved kids out past their curfew. At any point an old man with a beard may pop up to scold them and send them home, and they're all scared of doing something wrong by his standards and getting in trouble with this guy who is pointedly not God but who lines up exactly with the pop-culture idea of god the father, and who offers Aziraphale, among other things, a respite from the hard work of figuring out what the right thing to do is for himself. It's fine! You don't have to question the belief system you were born into or make a painful break with everything you've ever known! Aziraphale has had six thousand years on earth to grow up, but the other angels have been sitting in a sterile white box playing "i'm not touching you" games with each other and filing paperwork.

And I think that's extra interesting because this season also really emphasizes:

Heaven has Institutional Problems

Aziraphale isn't the only angel who's unhappy in heaven. Gabriel and Muriel were both completely miserable. They just didn't understand that they were unhappy because they'd never experienced anything else.

Angels who aren't Aziraphale can change and grow! There's very explicitly Gabriel being changed by love and Muriel growing up a bit on earth, and from a more fan-theory angle there's also Jimbriel, who I think is probably basically Gabriel minus the war and six thousand years of playing referee for Michael and Uriel while unleashing an assortment of plague and calamities on earth because that's God's will! Buck up champ.

We also get Gabriel and Beezelebub talking about how their underlings basically live for Armageddon, "if you can call that living." This is so bleak. They've all been on a six thousand year time out just dreaming of the day they get to beat the shit out of each other until they feel better, but it won't work because eternity is just more of the box.

Anyway I think it's going in a distinctly eden adjacent direction. Aziraphale is going to tempt those angels with knowledge and the capacity for change. I have veered so far from your ask anon i'm sorry you're right heaven really went all out on sucking this season & while Crowley and Aziraphale are both fucking it up Crowley refrains from being spectacularly cruel to Aziraphale about it and Aziraphale should learn to return the favour. I forgive you!! I forGIVE you. I forgive YOU. "you can be an angel again" is actually a worse thing to say than "you're a demon. i don't even like you." when he finally picks crowley over heaven i'm going to lose my mind.

#good omens spoilers #good omens season two spoilers #idk it makes me sad that i didn't like the humans very much this season because i think ideally they're central to this whole how to be #a person question i also hope we get to see more of hell next season because i do think they're stuck in basically the same place #with a different aesthetic! and the stick being #thrown into a torture pit instead of thrown into hell #or like. mindwiped and locked in an office for all eternity #gabriel broke my heart which is embarrassing but when he goes from not even understanding what music is to experiencing #the simple pleasure of sharing a song with someone for the very first time and almost immediately hits repeat for eternity... baby. baby bo #i would also like more crowley! this was very much the season of aziraphale #which is fine but i missed him yelling questions at god and the bits where it seemed he really wanted aziraphale's opinion instead of just #wanting aziraphale to develop better opinions #next season had better be crowley wrestles with the universe i am telling you!!!#remember three months ago when i was like eh... another good omens season #i bet it'll be cute but i'm content with my book #i don't go here i said strapping on my clown shoes #seriously though i do think crowley is scared to admit to wanting to be good both because god rejected him and he doesn't want #to be a sucker for her (he is only interested in being a sucker for aziraphale)#and like. chase after something he's barred from and has already been told isn't for him.#and that's why it's so hard for him to admit even to himself that he too would be unhappy ditching earth #in ways that parallel aziraphale's unwillingness to let go of heaven as a source of moral authority and goodness #but the way aziraphale goes oh no! i cannot trust my own judgement and desires. They are suspect!#my judgement is that crowley is good and also funny and sexy. my desires are for his company and also his body #therefore the source of these desires is also maybe bad. i mean he's a demon. he's got to be bad #right??? but no. but i saw him do a good thing. but maybe i didn't? I should probably take a stance on this.#and he makes this crowley's problem until the apocalypse but then the second he gets the chance to cram crowley and his feelings for him #back in a heaven approved box he jumps at it in a way that requires just being WILDLY insensitive and dismissive of crowley's feelings #he's not just being a dick about their relationship he is being a dick about crowley as a person. and he should know better but is choosing #not to because he wants the easy out so badly. anyway i love him he was my favourite character all season no notes #good omens

42 notes · View notes

revelisms · 7 months

Text

Excerpt: Business & Brunch

Silco and Sevika debrief before a meeting. A Councilor arrives.

Taken from 'webs of blood and gold,' a story on Sevika, Silco and Mel securing a political alliance (with some inklings of Melvika on the horizon). This takes place loosely in my scraps and doves series, somewhere between 'heron blue' and 'fire and thread'. Full story on AO3. CW: Themes around war, political disempowerment and social unrest; mentions of dysfunctional parental relationships; gaslighting, emotional manipulation.

"She's late."

Idly, a gloved hand slithers between wool dark as raven's blood: twists free a glint of silver. "Only by some minutes."

"She has us drag our asses up here on a damn Sunday, and she's late."

The tick-ticking of his pocketwatch clips shut. "Plotting your vengeance, already?"

Sevika scoffs. Slumping into the booth's cushions, she cuts her eyes across the room. A gloss of checkerboard tile reflects countless-faced prisms and too-clean light, sugardust and fluffed eggs sweetening the air: a burst of warmth diced by raucous chatter. To her left, a window bleeds a nasty draft.

Winter had always been a damned nuisance—but never worse than here. For all the ails that came with the Gray, there was one thing it was good for: this season never dared to cross their streets. A thick cloak of fog trapped the heat far into the bowels of their city, each lane waxed with a layer of mugginess and grime, enough that the touch of dry air on one's skin felt all but alien.

This many levels above the Fissures, the chill was unbearable. Worse yet, it'd laid a personal vendetta against the arm that blue-headed hellspawn had augmented for her; she'd had an ache in her shoulder all morning, clear to each copper-tamped fingernail.

Sevika rolls out her wrist, tries to force heat back into her wired veins. "I'll be plotting something, if the royal bitch isn't prancing out of her carriage by the half-bell."

Canted across from her, Silco's mouth twitches. "Then let's hope, for her sake, that she does."

"Meaning?"

He smooths the crease of his pocket with a bird-boned hand. Behind his silhouette, past the warbled glass, a myriad of streetlamps bloom in a frosted haze. "Any butcher worth their salt knows which cuts to age," he rumbles, dryly, "and which to roast on a spit."

Metal fingers lay a sharp triplet over the varnish. "Didn't know we were working the meat business, now."

Sevika loosens her palm, crooks a quick-footed server over for a coffee. "Two," Silco amends. The boy takes off.

The noise of the café sits nauseatingly between them. For a breath, she wrangles with it, watches him think, click-ticking the gilded points of her claws upon the table. His stare sits on them like a blade playing pinfinger.

The air of it all is too still—too misfitted.

She needs a drink. Needs the burn of a cigar in her lungs. Needs to sever this frostbitten stump from her shoulder. Needs him to say something.

Mismatched eyes, cold as the arctic and burning as scorched earth, flit back to her.

"A delicacy," he prowls, elbow sliding in an easy hush over the leather at his back, "requires a refined taste." He flicks his wrist, studying the dome of glass that crests past their shoulders. "I expect you may lack the proper palate."

Something unpleasant knots up in Sevika's mouth. "Topside refineries weren't made for us," she gruffs: challenging, denying.

They were the supply. Never the intended demand.

Silently, the tapetum of his dead iris leers at her. Lingers. "Weren't they?"

Two coffees clack to the table. Sevika takes the distraction like the needed blessing it is. She knocks two spoonfuls of sugar and a splash of cream in hers, stirring it until the metal sings. Silco takes his black as the Pilt.

It's not the motor oil either of them prefer—but enough to make the morning bearable.

She shakes out her spoon, slowly, and keeps her eyes averted. He's left the conversation dangling on a hook, as always: waiting to see what else will make her bite. It's the guise she expects from him, most days. A black-finned beast dormant beneath the waves, stirring the shallows for unsuspecting prey.

At some point, though, that bathypelagic creature will slip back into its cave—traded for something more human; more imperfect.

This Councilor of theirs isn't here to play bait. They've fished the deal from her, already.

Still.

For now, they have a moment of respite: to plot, poison, provoke. Two predators yet to file their fangs, trapped between the walls of this marbled palace.

Her fingers itch for a smoke. She puffs out a phantom drag. "They won't give us a seat."

"We don't need one."

"Bold assumption."

Silco hums. "They've hedged their bets on those, for generations."

She sits on that, for a moment. Squeezes her cup by the rim, sliding the porcelain aside, to nest her arms in the space it clears. "New blood ain't gonna change that," she hushes. "They've tried to change it, before. They'll try to, again—and they'll fail."

"As the barons had?"

(Before he'd come along, like some spirit lifted from the gallows; strung every family on a tether and bought their loyalty in blood, upheaving all that the Undercity used to be—all the complacency that had shackled them, for decades—with profits no Sump-child could have dreamed, in a lifetime.)

Sevika drags her thumb against her knuckle. "Topside's a different beast."

The scarred line of his mouth ticks at one side. "Same animal," he gravels. His eyes shift. "Different cage."

Instinctively, she turns to follow the line of his sight. It doesn't take long to find their target.

Weaving through the maze of the café floor are two women, heels clacking off the tile, dressed head to oil-slick boot for a political runway. Unhurriedly, the spear of his stare unwavering, Silco reclines in his seat. Sevika feels his leg shift beneath the table: a sharp knee nudging into her own. She straightens, on command.

"Lesson one," he leaves her with. His hand turns to pick at one of his gloves, tugged clean finger by finger. The leather lazes to the varnish.

It's not long before their company has found their place at his table—their office for the day; one that, for every inch of public air and Topside frivolity surrounding it, stands eerily enough as his—and, by then, the second glove has been stripped: bared fingers laced, laid patiently upon the table's edge.

"Councilor Medarda," Silco greets.

The woman who stands front-and-center before them wears a flourish of navy and moonstone, vibrant as an ocean tide tressed over one's skin. She carries the taste of winter with her. It lays an odd contrast with the fragrance that ebbs sweetly off her wrists: the cool bite of melted frost encasing a desert flower.

Sevika takes her in, with a fine-toothed comb.

Not a strand of hair stands out of place, an elegant knot of gold-stamped locs. A brush of gloss shimmers at her eyes. Her lips are kissed with wine. She watches them form around her words, giving breath to a voice incense-smoked and ambered.

"Goodness, you've drinks already." Medarda lifts a thin hand, swiftly shedding her gloves. "I do apologize—I've left you waiting. A meeting ran over, I'm afraid."

Silco gives a thin smile. "No doubt the Council is in the throws of annual planning."

Medarda clicks through the clasps of her coat. "Horrendous time of the year," she sighs. "But, alas—it's a necessary one."

"I can empathize." He gestures to the empty chairs at their table: a command wrapped in silk-lined civility. "Please—take a seat."

Even in so few words, he has the attention of their Councilor wrapped around his finger—and the companion who gawks, blatantly, at her side.

Had she been spoon-fed a life of luxury, rather than survival; raised to view every interaction as a marker of prestige and self-deliverance, Sevika may have empathized with this skittish thing's wandering eyes.

The lot of them always had a morbid curiosity, when pulled to his table. Most up here knew him only as the hell-eyed Industrialist of the Underground; his heels were lined with a shitstain of Piltie superstition so thick it rivaled the cult fervidity that shadowed his every turn downtown.

Some let that curiosity get the best of them: flight instincts wrestled down to bask in a strange, offputting charm: like this dollfaced stranger, tressed in velvet and green, does now—and were Sevika anything like those foolish, naïve things, too brazen for their own good, she, too, may have eyed the directive sweep of his palm with more intrigue; may have found the serration of his demand a dark sort of thrill, rather than a dismissal tightly-leashed; may have took more time than she needed to watch him unlace the scarf at his neck, with a loose-wristed flippancy that did nothing to match the smoked cavern of his voice.

But Sevika's nothing of the sort—not for such surface-level contradictions as those.

(There were far more than that, beneath it all.)

Instead, she claims a front-row seat for the show, pitting a scoff under her tongue when the lift of his frigid stare sends the woman's own stumbling to her boots.

The fates must be on their side, today. The little sparrow gets stuck with the vacancy to his left.

"My assistant," Mel says, settling at Sevika's right. "Elora."

Late, Sevika thinks, and with unannounced guests.

Beneath the table, the point of a boot bruises into her calf, snapping any choice words at the neck.

"Sevika," Silco trades back—part introduction, part steel-lined warning. "My right-hand."

Medarda smiles, faultless a shield as any. "A pleasure." Her coat finds a home on an ornate carving, her gloves pocketed within it. Even reduced to her thinnest layers, she is no less armored. Blue cascades here, too: a seamless flow from the high neck of her collar down to the loop of fabric that cinches her sleeves at her fingers. On one, her familial crest glints in the light: a guiding star locked in a golden brace.

Sevika takes note of the ring—and of the silence.

The board has been set.

At one head of the table, a demon reigns in a fog of shadow: the streets at his back, winter's light a harsh carving through every edge: slicked hair, sloped shoulders, eyes glowing like sea-ice and cinder. At the other, a queen lays a barrier to the bustle of her people, the clamor of her commerce, bathed in crystalline light.

Their server returns, carefully polite in his Councilwoman's presence.

The game begins.

#arcane #arcane fanfic #fic excerpt #silco arcane #sevika arcane #mel arcane #the way i can't wait to write these two let me tell you #meanwhile: the divorced energy is off the charts for sil and sev in this hoo #i have no excuse they're both just fine as hell ok #🫠#writing

17 notes · View notes

chasingxstars · 4 months

Text

in the back in the back

of my mind of my mind

you died i killed you

and i didn't even cry and i didn't

no, not a single tear even regret it

and i'm sick of i can't believe i said it

waiting patiently for someone but it's true

that won't even arrive i hate you

art cr: spookeart

#im fine :)#and they're both valid! no character bashing allowed #they both went through hell #black brothers angst #black brothers #regulus black #sirius black #marauders

7 notes · View notes

lauranalanthalasa · 10 months

Text

Aziraphale sees everything in Crowley that God could not, and that is something Crowley thought was lost forever.

They both love each other unconditionally but at they same time they have both experienced so much abuse and trauma and are so used to being secretive and wary about EVERYTHING, always under the watchful and frightening eyes of Heaven and Hell, that they never had any capacity left to really try and understand the toxic patterns of thought they were left with. They each try to deal with their own trauma exclusively because it's just so FUCKING much! Protecting the other one is what's important, there are just no damn emotional resources left for anything else. And it's so sad and devastating! I don't think I have ever felt so utterly DESTROYED by anything that has happend to fictional characters before. And I fucking LOVE @neil-gaiman for it! 😭💔