#and what that has meant for the past 6000 years

[fearandhatred]

me trying to explain to my friends, without spoilers, why i'm losing it over any image ever from good omens: no it's not just about the photo itself. it's about. there's the layers. it's about the connotations... the connotations and the incidences surrounding it. it's like- no bc the fact that

[minervas-hand]

Right to fear, wrong to believe

Just had a horrible realization and needed to meta it out.

How different they were before Edinburgh, when Crowley was sucked down into Hell.

Look at this flirty babygirl in the Bastille:

I mean could he climb that tree any faster?

(This is why I really like fics that place a more physical relationship here, pre-Bastille or just post-Bastille, because c'mon look at them. )

In S1 the next thing is 1862 and Crowley asking for insurance (with a cane ffs). And Aziraphale freaking out with his "fraternizing" BS. It's jarring, until we get 1827 filled in for us in S2.

@takeme-totheworld notes in this post:

Crowley sure went from "our respective head offices don't actually care how things get done" and "nobody ever has to know" to "walls have ears" FAST after Edinburgh. And Aziraphale went from looking at Crowley with hearts in his eyes to "I've been FrAtErNiZiNg" just as quickly. I'm more convinced than ever that Edinburgh was the first time Crowley ever actually got caught and punished for fucking around with Aziraphale/doing good deeds/whatever it was they yanked him back down to Hell for, and it scared the absolute shit out of both of them and changed the whole tone of their relationship after that.

Yes! - it's clear to me as well that the Edinburgh graveyard was a very bad turning point, where they both saw that Hell was listening and would intervene. And it did change their relationship drastically, for over a century and a half (really, until looming Armageddon loosened up the stakes for them).

But what about Heaven?

See the thing is, we know Azi's been worried about Heaven watching him for the past 6000 years.

But they haven't.

[GIFs posted by starrose17]

All this time, and Heaven had not seen them together. Hadn't noticed. Had not even LOOKED.

I want to mention what @starrose17 says about this here in this post:

What I love about this is her choice of words, “went back through the Earth Observation files.” This implies that these photos were already filed somewhere meaning somebody had to have been watching them which meant somewhere in the depths of the bureaucratic heaven there’s an underpaid angel clerk tasked with watching angels on Earth, and he’s been hording photos of his favourite Angel/Demon couple not reporting them to Michael because he wants to see what happens.

And that's exactly what this fic covers!: Spying Omens by @ednav

(Give this a read, it's fabulous.)

While I am here for this being exactly how that happens, the other scenario is colder and worse - there's no one watching, at all. It's just filing automatically and never seen until some Scrivener is called to pull a file.

From @fuckyeahisawthatat's comment here :

I found this scene to be quite chilling, actually. Not only is the idea of Heaven as a surveillance state brilliant (way to make “God is always watching” sound way more ominous) but this is exactly how modern surveillance states work. They don’t actively watch everybody all the time. That’s not physically possible for humans, and even if it is metaphysically possible for Heaven, it’s not a very efficient use of resources. Surveillance states watch people they deem “suspicious.” And once you’ve been put in the category of “suspicious,” they have massive amounts of data that they can comb through to collect a lot of information about you–to retroactively build a case justifying why you’re suspicious, to collect information about where you go and who you associate with, etc.

Yes.

So we either have secret collusion in the rank and file, or we have a surveillance state that is constantly reinforced to its subjects for fear's sake, for control.

(Well, it obviously could be both.)

BUT my point is… Up until Edinburgh, Hell has not been watching (or caring at least). And up until near the end of Armageddon't, neither has Heaven.

Oh, my poor Angel. Thousands of years, of denying yourself, of pushing Crowley away, of carrying around a tension that is it's own constellation.

After 1827 you might have reason, but for the 5000+ years before that?

Thousands of years and Heaven was not watching nor cared.

You were right to fear. And you were wrong to believe.

And that just breaks my heart.

[57sfinest]

theoretical entroponetics: the post

okay. LONG post incoming. i have summarized all available information on the pale, separated into confirmed objective truth & in-canon speculation that may or may not be true, and then appended my own very detailed theory on the pale! this post is meant as a resource; please feel free to add things of your own in replies/reblogs (please tag me if you do!) or point out any errors i may have made. you’re welcome to use any of my personal theory in your own work but please credit me if you do!! (and tag me in that/send it to me, i really want to see what you do with it!)

Here’s what we *know* about the pale, according to in-game and concept art: 

It erases data, at least the kind stored on radiocomputer filament and magnetic tapes.

It has no dimensions of its own- pale latitude compressors serve to force dimensions on raw pale and allow navigation. 

The pale is referred to in the context of entropy

It arrived with mankind, but not immediately- there are 8000 years of written history, but the pale was first recorded 6000 years ago, implying that pale either didn’t start forming immediately or that it was so insignificant/distant that it went unnoticed for 2000 years. 

There exists a group of people who are actively trying to expedite entroponetic collapse; the ideology is called entropolism

To this point, pale isn’t immediately visible. Pale has molecular structure, but manifests as a waveform, and only becomes visible at a certain distance from the origin, once wave frequency is sufficiently high. 

During pale exposure, people experience “sense objects”: visual or auditory hallucinations and/or vivid physical recollections of memories. These hallucinations may originate from their own consciousness or someone else’s. c

People require physical and mental examinations before interisolary travel and are allotted a certain number of days per year as their pale exposure threshold. 

Overexposure results in a pale “addiction”- these individuals crave pale exposure, and it’s unclear if this addiction can ever be broken. It’s also unclear whether there is a point at which pale exposure becomes lethal, but given that it dissolves matter, we can be fairly certain that a given length of continuous exposure will kill. 

Radio signals, cold plasma torches and anodic sound are all used to manage the pale to permit travel through it. Plasma torches destabilize the molecular structure of the pale to create gaps, anodic sound widens and maintains these gaps, and radio signals rationalize the pale into recognizable dimensions.

Radio signals are, in return, susceptible to corruption by the pale, resulting in entroponetic crosstalk, where signals from the past or the future are transmitted to the present. CCP is one such phenomenon and is directly related to the formation of new pale through magpie interpretation.

There is a dedicated Union for people who work in and with the pale (the Pale Workers Union). They have two slogans; “The light purifies; The sound absolves; The pale no more” and “Son et Fureur” (sound and fury)

Here’s what we may choose to believe about the pale, based on the thoughts and beliefs of in-game characters:

In conversation with Soona, the pale is described as a “curdling milk” phenomenon: “repulsive, but natural”

In this same conversation you can theorize that the churches were meant to contain the pale origins; out of the seven churches, six were destroyed during the suzerain or the revolution

The phasmid and whatever other lifeforms it’s communicated with believe that entroponetic collapse is comparable to an oxygen holocaust (i.e. the great oxygenation event), implying mass extinction due to a toxic overabundance of sapient thought

Harry refers to it once by saying “The wolf is at the door. It’s going to eat the sun.” so take that as you will

It’s likely that Tiago’s “Mother” is some manifestation from the pale, if you choose to believe that the 2mm hole is in fact a pale origin point (the concept art does confirm it’s a pale origin, but the game offers other explanations, so I won’t say it’s the only answer)

Inframaterialists believe that revolutionary action (NOT thought) may create a counter-force that will prevent the spread of pale; it’s unclear if any reversal is possible.

The world will be fully consumed by the pale in 27 years (I put it here because you may or may not believe that shivers and harry are reliably sourcing this information)

And now my personal speculation about the pale:

A quick and easy point: it’s confirmed that the pale has a measurable EMF “exhalation” frequency that varies with proximity. Strong enough EMF pulses can actually tamper with magnetic storage- radiocomputer filaments! Electronics! Fortress Accident data loss! This gives us a tangible explanation for why pale can delete data :)

This may also explain its ability to cause radio interference- radio frequencies are just a subset of EMF frequencies, so it’s possible that pale exhalation on *just the right frequency* is what’s responsible for the entroponetic crosstalk we get on radios sometimes

The pale canonically has an atomic structure, but it also has wave properties, so it’s possible that the pale has wave-particle duality on its subatomic level, like photons do

Based on this, entroponetics is likely a very similar field to quantum mechanics, which might be an interesting source of ideas for anyone (like me) who wants to explore pale-related possibilities

The pale could be a manifestation of raw patterns. That’s why math “forces dimensions” on it- it rationalizes or “tames” the patterns, which allows it to be manipulated to a certain degree.

There are several references to the pale that refer to mathematical concepts and patterns, saying that the world dissolves into “a tangle of azimuths and cosines” as it blends into the interisolary pale- more on this later

Steban comments that the pale is commonly theorized to be nostalgia or “historical inertia”, but it’s largely agreed that it’s “the past” in a broad sense. Thinking about the idiom that history repeats itself, it could be that history/the past is part of the pattern that comprises the pale, and that it’s also the type of pattern most readily perceived by people (people don’t viscerally *perceive* math, for example, but we experience memories)

To first define entropy: Chemically speaking, “the measure of a system’s thermal energy per unit temperature that is unavailable for doing useful work. (per encyclopedia britannica).” Physically speaking, it’s a measure of randomness or disorder in a system. Less work/less order = more entropy; it’s a physicochemical “winding down” of a given system

It’s commonly thought that pale is the entropic force, but what if it’s the opposite? (Keep in mind the chemical definition: less ability to do work = more entropy) Consider: the pale as less entropic, a cleanup force, recycling the potential lost by death and destruction in the universe. This in part explains why a dead person’s memory is present in the pale- their potential has been recycled into the pale in the form of their memories (their life’s *pattern*)

Enthalpy is a related concept to entropy and is defined as the total energy contained within a system. Holding the system enthalpy constant- saying the universe will always have the same amount of total energy, no matter what, according to thermodynamics- results in an entropic tug-of-war between the pale and the world. The pale wins through sheer inertia (again, inertia is mentioned specifically in game)

Overall: think of the world as “cooling”, losing heat and energy through war and death and complacency. Think of the pale as steam and heat, melting down old materials to start it all over again. (Kim says, *through entroponetic interference*: “it’s been a long, cold winter.”)

Consider: the pale as a sinusoidal function, eternally repeating. The pale recycling the universe to start a new cycle, “spending” itself, resulting in pale not being present in the beginning. Then, as the new things begin to settle- with the advent of the human mind, specifically- the pale reforming, slowly reclaiming potential, eventually ending the cycle to start again.

In comes CCP and magpies. Consider: CCP as a backwards transmission from the next “cycle” (after all, pale has no sense of time). Magpies as *pattern-sensitive* people who are able to decode CCP into something useful called novelty. They reach into the potential of the next cycle to build the potential in their current one- this paradox could be what creates more pale, because (and this is where it gets weird, I apologize) doing this retroactively increases the total amount of energy/work/potential in the current cycle to have been reclaimed by the pale for the next one.

Think of the pale as the compost bin for every single thought in the universe. The pale is the exact right size to compost every little atom and thought in the universe, and can hold nothing extra. But magpies reach into the future, the next cycle, and bring in extra. This paradox forces the pale to grow to accommodate the additional material, which also increases the starting potential of the next cycle. This process allows each cycle to accumulate minor changes from the previous one, which can snowball over many cycles.

Furthermore, to the inframaterialists’ point: revolutionary action would be such a radical shift in inertia that it would increase the potential in the world, forcing the pale to pause/shrink to “balance the equation” in terms of pale-vs-world thermodynamics. So maybe they’re right after all :)

And some diagramming, to explain the utter bullshit I’ve just dropped:

[the-writer-arrived]

Who... are you?

Synopsis: oh no! you got into an accident and now you don't recognize him. Will he tell you he is your lover? Or will he keep it a secret?

Characters: diluc ragnvindr; zhongli; alhaitham.

Warnings: gender neutral!reader; angst (i guess?? but not fluff either?? smth in between); not exactly hurt/no comfort, but whether you regain your memories of him or not will be up to your imagination :3

A/N: i can't believe my first fic is already past 2k notes what the hell 😭 thank you all so much!

When news reached him that you got hurt, he dropped everything that he was doing to find you at the Favonius Cathedral.

He is so incredibly relieved to see you awake, to see you alive.

However, his relief is short lived when you utter those three words...

"Who... are you?"

You... must be joking, right? You've always loved to play pranks on him to see him flustered or exasperated with your cute antics.

Please, for the love of Barbatos, please be joking...

But when Barbara says his name and the look of recognition doesn't appear on your confused expression, his heart falls to pit of his stomach.

You... forgot him? But how? Why?! Who--

No... No, none of this matters right now.

With a forced smile, he introduces himself.

"I'm Diluc Ragnvindr. You may not remember, but I'm your... friend."

He's thankful for Rosaria stopping Barbara from saying the truth.

He doesn't like having to lie to you, but he convinces himself it's for your own good.

Diluc feels so guilty for putting you in danger. It doesn't matter if your accident was simply an unfortunate situation or a premeditated attack towards you.

He has an inkling that it's probably the second option, knowing how many enemies he has...

How many more innocent people will have to get hurt, for him to understand he has to stop allowing others to get close to him? That he is just like his pyro vision, a flame too bright that burns everything it touches?

After he takes you to your previous house, Diluc goes straight into investigating the circumstances of your accident.

Even going as far as to ask for Kaeya's assistance, just to get to the bottom of this as quickly as possible, so he can assure your safety.

Going back home isn't the same anymore. The mansion doesn't feel like home anymore, not without your presence there.

You've gone back to when you didn't know him, but he can't do the same.

How could he, after experiencing something so sweet, so soft and perfect like your love?

Diluc's longing for you is nearly painful for his heart, to see you so close yet so far away...

...But he also can't bring himself to get out of your life completely and alleviate his suffering.

So, he settles on having pleasant but painfully platonic conversations with you as Diluc Ragnvindr, and protecting you as the Darknight Hero (the title you loved to utter just to tease him).

"...Maybe we were never meant to be, my love."

Xiao was the one who told Zhongli about you getting hurt.

The Vigilant Yaksha was doing his usual patrols, clearing out monsters and other evil spirits, when he spotted your unconscious form.

Dread filled his veins, fearing for the worst, but the thumping sound of your heartbeat inside your chest told Xiao you haven't departed from this world.

So, he took you to Wangshu Inn, asking Verr Goldet and Huai'an to call a doctor, before he went to find his old master.

Zhongli reassures Xiao that he shouldn't blame himself for what had happened to you and that he's extremely grateful to the young adeptus from taking you to safety.

The two enter the bedroom Xiao had left you to find you looking a bit disoriented, but awake.

"Xiao, there you are! I wan-- Oh? Who's that next to you..?"

The expressions on their faces would be considered comical, if the situation weren't so severe...

In all his 6000 years of living, there weren't many situations that has rendered the Lord of Geo speechless like he is right now...

No, he isn't an archon anymore, he is Zhongli, a consultant for the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor, a mortal just like many others now.

And, as Zhongli, he's had his fair share of unexpected moments that has left him at a loss.

Especially when it comes to Director Hu's way of advertising their services...

But with you, Zhongli always had something to say: a piece of knowledge about the simplest of objects, an ancient tale from the begginning of time, a declaration of love he never tires of repeating to you...

So, to have him not knowing what to say is certainly a feat although not one you would be proud of, if you were aware..

Even so, the ex-archon doesn't let that affect him for too long.

"Greetings, my dear. It seems that your memories are a bit hazy, so allow me to remind you. I am Zhongli, your lover."

After your initial shock and bewilderment of having such a hot and sophisticated man claim that he's your lover at the information the tall man shared, your doubts are eased when Xiao confirms everything that was said.

If your adeptus friend, who isn't known for his fondness of humans, is standing by this man's words with such certainty, then this Zhongli must be telling the truth...

For a being that has being alive for a millenia, Zhongli always considered the passage of time to be something hard to keep track of.

In fact, that was one of the many challenges he had to face while adapting to the ways of the humans: he would blink and the newborn child of the couple he had seen the other day is already an elderly person.

This time, however, he feels that the time must be dragging its feet just to mess with him.

Each day that passes without your memories of him returning to you makes Zhongli restless...

He can't help but be reminded of that wretched thing called erosion...

The thought of you, his dear beloved, slowly forgetting everything and everyone precious to you... To become a shell of your self and to be plagued by anger and pain... He won't be able to bear to witness this happen again.

He knows humans age at a much faster pace than him, he knows that you won't be next to him forever like he so dearly wishes... But it's not time yet.

He still has time to hold you in his arms, to enjoy your affection, to marvel at your existence.

And Zhongli will not let anything get in the way of his happy years with you, not a temporary memory loss nor the erosion itself.

"Oh, you wish to know the story behind this object? I gifted it to you on our fifth date. Don't make that sad face, my dear, you're still in the process of recovery. I will gladly tell you about that day in great detail."

Usually, when someone receives news that their lover was found unconscious and is currently being taken care of at the Bimarstan, people expect to see them rushing to be at their beloved's side.

But Alhaitham takes the news with his usual straight face and leaves the Akademiya at an almost leisurely pace.

The Scribe is wildly known by his near excessive rationality that drives his behavior 99% of the time.

Therefore, it would be quite out of character for him to make a huge fuss like the matra who gave him the news expected. After all, letting your emotions take control at a moment of crisis doesn't help anyone.

That is what Alhaitham repeats to himself like a mantra while he makes his way to the hospital, his steps a bit quicker than usual, his eyebrows slightly more furrowed.

Has the Bimarstan always been so far from the Akademiya?

After finally reaching his destination, his eyes find you right away, laid in bed with a few scrapes and your head bandaged.

The doctor explains to him you don't have any grave injury, but, considering you hit your head, they can only be sure after examining you again after you wake up.

Alhaitham sits down on the chair next to your bed and opens his trusty book while he waits for you.

Unless they are either shameless or brave to stare at his face for a long time, no one notices that he's barely paying attention to the words written in the book. His eyes frequently switch to your sleeping form, before going back to the same paragraph he's been reading for the past thirty minutes.

The anxious Scribe is quick to notice the slight twitch of your eyelids and change of your breathing, signs that you are slowly awaking.

"Ah, finally decided to wake up? I was begginning to think that you find the Bimarstan's bed more comfortable than ours. If so, you truly have poor taste in furniture."

The tiny smile he has on his lips vanishes when, instead of your usual eye roll and smile peeking at the corner of your mouth, you frown at his teasing.

"First of all, rude. And second, who even are you to casually offend my taste in furniture? You don't even know me!"

...Of course things wouldn't be so simple.

Turns out that your head injury affected your memories, more specifically, the ones about Alhaitham.

The doctor said that it should be a temporary thing, even so how troublesome...

Even more troublesome is the fact that Alhaitham had to get Tighnari, Cyno and even Kaveh to convince you that he isn't lying when he says that he is your lover!

He supposes it's a good thing you have a sense of self-preservation and don't blindly trust everything that people say...

Still, it kind of hurt seeing you so skeptical at the idea of you two being in a relationship.

After bringing you home, he is quick to do and adapt his routine to make you as comfortable around him as possible during your recovery.

You feel awkward sleeping on the same bed as him? No problem, he'll take the couch for the time being.

You have a headache? Here's your medicine. Don't worry, it doesn't have the bitter taste that you hate.

But, no matter how much he tries to avoid that, there are moments when his old habits slip up and make things a bit awkward.

Like when he wrapped his arms around you from behind while half-asleep, causing you to flinch or when he leaned to give you a goodbye kiss before going to work and you leaned away in embarrasment.

While with you, Alhaitham never makes a single complaint or shows his frustration about this complex situation, none of this is your fault and he can see you working hard to remember him.

Away from you, though... He has never been more grumpy than before. Snarky comments at anyone who utters a single dumb thing (in other words, all the time), butting heads with Kaveh even more frequently and more distant than ever.

Alhaitham doesn't necessarily hate when unexpected things occur. Sometimes they brings good things, like you, in his life.

However, this situation is definitely something that brought nothing but headache for you both.

He can't keep on living without waking up with you in his arms, without your kisses, your banters... You made him addicted to you and now he's suffering from withdrawal symptoms.

He doesn't like the term "memory loss" for your current condition, because it implies your memories of him are lost forever, which they are not. They are simply misplaced in your mind, and he will do everything to help you find them again.

"Hm? Why am I following you around like a lost puppy? You misunderstand, I am simply testing my theory that if I spend more time with you, there is a higher chance for you to remember me more quickly. What about my work? The Akademiya can survive a few days without me. Besides, I have a much more important matter to focus on right now."

[shcyc]

! ETERNAL DEVOTION

synopsis: zhongli finds you worshipping him and offers you a contract

cw; sub fem! reader, god / mortal dynamic, fingering, vaginal penetration, size difference, age gap, mentions of mind control, also slight monster fucking

controlling a mortal was as simple as a snap of his fingers, you'd be under his spell doing everything his way — but one look at you tells him he doesn't need to do that because you'd succumb to him the moment he appeared in front of you, just like you were born to be his, body and mind

zhongli's eyes follow you as you place the last piece of offering beneath his statue; the young rex lapis would have asked for more, for you to kneel and pray, but he's aged, he's no longer at his peak and he’s tired of all the arrogance he once had

however, you, this young and innocent girl with such a strong devotion to your god, has that part of him vacillating once more, a part of him determined to make you his, to feel greater again

he is selfish when he reveals his identity to you one night, handing you a contract on what he wants out of this ‘relationship’ — and you were so quick to oblige, so obedient, so good for him, just like how he predicted the moment he laid eyes on you

zhongli feels like he’s ascending to celestia when he pulls you onto his lap, ass soft and plush on his aching dick, giving it just the right amount of pleasure like you knew what it needed

his clawed hands finally appears after years of hiding in the facade of ‘the human zhongli’, and he sighs in pleasure at the feeling, leaving light scratches on your already naked body — he thinks the way your moans and whimpers spill from your mouth is downright sinful, but he can't deny that it makes him want more

when you nod meekly and bring his hand to your dripping core, he tells you that it'll be okay, that he'll make you feel good if you give him the chance — and he's grown bigger without his knowledge, so big that he thinks if he pushes himself in, he'll split you apart

his fingers work magic on your pussy as he frees himself from the restraints of his pants, letting the leaking tip press against the crevice of your ass, golden cum smearing on your untouched body, burning into your skin; a sign that your god is marking you as his

he deems you ready when you cum around his fingers for the second time, body spasming in his embrace — his eyes roll involuntarily the minute he presses his dick into you, so wet, so tight, so warm and perfect, squeezing him so deliciously that he may cum on the spot

no mortal or celestial being had ever made him feel this way; it made him realize what 'making love' really meant, rather than just ‘sex’ which he had been doing for the past 6000 years of his life

zhongli effortlessly flips you around, forcing you to face him as you struggle to adjust to his sheer size, the stretch painful yet addictive — you're clinging on for dear life as he bounces you on his cock, hands holding you in place to prevent you from fleeing, not when you're both on cloud nine — so you allow yourself to sink deeper into the feeling, relaxing and surrendering your body to morax, allowing him to show you his promise from the start

“gonna cum—”

warnings sputter from you as you bury your face into his chest, and he groans at the view; the size difference along with the way your gummy walls spasm around him pushes him closer to the edge as well

his fingers wrap around your neck to force eye contact with him before kissing you roughly, his longer dragon tongue dipping into the warm cavern, tangling with your own

“cum. cum for me, mortal.”

white surrounds you the moment you hear the command, body freezing up at the orgasm that knocked the wind out of you — zhongli’s own high has him seeing stars, something he’s never experienced before

it took him sometime to regain consciousness, his gaze immediately trailing to where the two of you are connected as he watches golden streaks of cum drip out in amazement

for a while, he let himself become vulnerable, allowing the two of you to stay like that as you fall asleep on him, bathing in the silence of the night and the warmth of another, something he hadn't had in a long, long time

[badaziraphaletakes]

Today's catch, fresh from TikTok

Okay this one actually hit one of my pressure points.

(Content warning for hell and religious trauma and so forth).

This is the thing I'm most afraid of. That Crowley running off to Alpha Centauri wouldn't mean he would die.

Huh, I hear you say?

Well, you see, there's a fate much worse than death. The book of revelation says that "Satan's angels" will be tortured forever in a lake of fire after the second coming.

Cheery.

Now, that book doesn't appear to be the sourcebook heaven's working from (though they certainly have followed it pretty closely thus far). So Idk if that's what Aziracrow think is going to happen to Crowley if heaven lose the great war. (Side note: I have no idea what hell's plan is if they win, but I'm sure it isn't pretty, lol. But I digress.)

But it is POSSIBLE that throwing the demons into the eternal lake of fire is part of the Metatron's plan/"the Great Plan". It is possible Aziraphale thinks that's what's going to happen to Crowley.

It's possible that Azi thinks Crowley hates heaven so much that he is risking the possibility of eternal torture to turn them down, and thinks that he, Azi, is the only one who can possibly save Crowley from that. I am HAUNTED by the thought that Aziraphale thinks that if he doesn't succeed in stopping the Second Coming, that Crowley will be thrown into the lake of fire forever. That's gut-wrenching.

I hope, for Azi's sake, that he thinks that "all" that will happen to Crowley if he fails to reform heaven is that Crowley will die. That's bad enough. The other thing is simply too horrible to imagine.

The thought that Azi has spent the past 6000 years dreading Crowley being tortured forever, and thinks Crowley turned down a chance to escape from that.

That thought makes me physically sick.*

All this is to say, their being immortal (side note that they're not *completely* immortal - they can die by hellfire/holy water respectively, and some angels and demons died in the Great War, and, as discussed, it seems like a safe bet that when the universe melts, Crowley will die) doesn't mean they have a greater chance of being safe and happy together.

In fact, pretty much the opposite is true: being immortal means the kind of fate they could suffer is (literally) INFINITELY worse. It would make Azi having to go back to heaven to try to arrange a good outcome for Crowley even more necessary.

Okay I've traumatized everyone enough for today. This has been a lovely tour of my fundamentalist childhood and subsequent extended mental breakdown. Have a lovely evening.

_____________________________________________

* I have to hope it's not this. Because personally I don't think Crowley would let Azi think that, even at his most angry. (The thought of Crowley letting Azi walk away thinking he preferred death to going back to heaven with him, rather than pointing out to Azi that the offer to go back to heaven was a trap and he was going to wind up dead either way, was bad enough as it is - my God! Seeing that absolutely gutted me.) And I don't think Crowley would have risked their ever associating *at all* if Azi falling meant he would potentially be tortured forever too.

[anika-ann]

Cracks in Foundation (S.R.)

Type: one-shot, standalone or part of Love on the Brain series

Pairining: Steve Rogers x reader    Word count: 6000

Summary: Dating Steve Rogers is a curse and a gift. Even as it was always a privilege, right now, it feels like the former. You really want to smack some sense into him so this never happens again, but you know it will – after all, that’s half the reason you love him.

In other words, Steve is stupidly brave on a mission and it has consequences neither of you could foresee. But maybe you should have; because now you’re here alone to pick up the pieces.

Warnings!!: Steve being an absolute dumbass, mentions and images of death, hypothermia, PTSD, flashbacks, probably not an ideal treatment of a flashback, canon typical violence, language

A/N: reader is called “Agent Jones”, works for the Avengers Initiative; you do not need knowledge of Criminal Minds or Love on the Brains series to read this, but it will, of course, make more sense. I imagine this taking place much later - in about a year after the events of Love on the Brain; divider by firefly-graphics

In my body I fight fire With the snow, my hell is cold (SYML – Body)

This shouldn’t have happened. This nevershouldn’t have happened but it had – of course it had. You should have seen it coming, both the action and the reaction. All of you should have known better, but you in particular.

Unfortunately, sometimes, despite your ability to profile people, you still failed.

Sometimes, despite your best knowledge of Steven Grant Rogers, you still managed to underestimate him. His literally unhuman body. His profoundly good heart. His incredible strength in both muscles and psyche. His ability to have you burn for him with a single touch. His ability to touch your heart in ways no one ever could.

His extraordinary dumbassery.

You really should have known so much better.

If you had, you wouldn’t have him here, face ashen, lips turning blue, eyes wide and unfocused; he looked like death itself.

You swallowed your tears and tried to battle the ever-rising panic crawling up your throat, closing your eyes for a moment as if it could erase the terrifying sight.

“Steve? Stevie? You’re going to be okay… I’m here. You’re going to be okay…”

You repeated the mantra so many times you weren’t sure anymore whether you were saying it to him or to yourself.

The craziest thing was, it wasn’t even the worst sight of the day you were offered by your exceptional dumbass of a boyfriend; no, that had been what your own mind had shown you. Now that image was going to haunt you forever and despite knowing yelling solved nothing and it couldn’t change the past, you were going to scream your lungs out when you’d get the chance. Later. Right now, you had more pressing matters to attend to.

Like making sure Steve Rogers, your GG, would come back to you.

You needed to get to work.

It was a routine mission really, if such things as routine existed within the Avengers Initiative. It was rather routine in terms of involvement of the actual Avengers; Steve and Natasha joined missions like these – sweep a base, gather intel, make some arrests if lucky enough – on a regular basis. Tony Stark coming with? Less so. Still, one could call it routine enough, even when located in the death of tundra in Russia around 100 miles from the border with Finland.

Besides the cold and Tony, there was nothing extraordinary. Just another mission.

And it had been; until the agents scattered and you heard several voices in the comms reporting they were in pursuit of the enemies. Until you found out they were chasing them through the tunnels and suddenly found themselves outside of the base. Until you learned that outside meant the landscape of the very frozen lake Natasha had purposely avoided landing the quinjet on for the fear of the heavy aircraft destabilizing the already risky environment.

Until you heard agent Smith was down. And by down, they meant under the ice, because a thinner layer of it cracked and broke under his feet. Until Steve fucking Rogers, two hundred and forty pounds of muscle and zero brain power at the moment had the wonderful idea to rush to Smith’s aid.

You had made it out of the base just in time to see his navy-blue suit disappear and your sleep for the following nights probably with it. You had stood there holding your breath as if you were the one in the icy water, as if subconsciously testing how much oxygen – as if that was the only concern – you had left before you’d have to make it to the surface for another breath.

It was long. It was too long. You had taken at least two breaths in the meantime and you weren’t sure the panic rising in your chest with every frantic beat of your heart, with every second they did not appear above the surface, was to blame.

Your hand flew to your comms and you cursed yourself for not having done it moments ago.

“Tony-“

“I’m onto those idiots, Squirt, don’t worry,” his voice sounded in your ear, not quite easing your worry in fact.

Steve was still under. Still in the water. Even though you were aware that he survived much worse than a few seconds of icy cold water – try decades – you’d rather he was still conscious when Tony would get his stupid ass out. And the second Steve would be able to hear you, were going to yell, very loudly and probably more than a little hysterical, because what the hell had he been doing beside tempting fate to give him another involuntary icy nap. You were going to chew the hell out of him, your fists curling in your thick microfibre gloves, because you felt like punshing him too, anything, just so you could stop holding your breath.

But you needed him to get out first.

“And get to the jet, your bae will need some warming up,” Tony added, causing you to grit your teeth, even as you were grateful; not a second later, the whoosh of Iron Man’s suit flying above your head blew the few stands of hair that escaped your hat in your face.

Completely ignoring Tony’s inappropriate comment and his sound advice, you remained right where you stood, gaze transfixed where you had last seen Steve, slipping under the surface. Your pulse thundered in your temples as you watched the red and gold of Tony’s suit fly like a flare above the flood of white surrounding you all, nearing the break in the ice, no doubt searching the heat signatures you assumed were fading with each passing moment.

And then the Iron Man himself performed an obnoxious superhero-like landing, complete with fist on the ground and your anger, gathering since you saw Steve dive into a fucking ice soup without a second thought, exploded, your vision turning bloody red for a split second. What the fuck was Stark doing that for?! Did he really just feed his ego while on a rescue mission?! You were going to-

And then the fist landed again. And again and again and then it hit you. You didn’t have the capacity to scold yourself for assuming and assuming completely wrong; the realization stunned you, blood freezing in your veins having nothing to do with the snow and harsh wind hitting your face.

The ice had frozen over. Steve jumped in and before he could emerge, the ice had frozen over his head. The image of a him under water, holding Smith, the fucking moron, to his chest and fighting to punch his way through the solid surface, swinging his arm heavily through the icy water stinging every inch of his skin, losing oxygen by the minute, that was an image that would haunt you forever, even as you had never set your eyes on it.

Then again, the arm of Tony’s suit diving into water and pulling out two men as easily as if they were helpless kittens was etched into your brain just as effectively, arriving with overwhelming relief. With a wordless prayer on your lips, you squinted against the snow blowing in your face to search for a lump of beloved and hated navy blue suit contrasting against the endless white of the plain surrounding the incident.

You’d swear you could hear him coughing, hungrily drinking in air in between when he doubled over as soon as Tony dropped him off in a safe distance from the crack. In the back of your mind, you were aware of the red and gold figure carrying the motionless body of Agent Smith, flying it to the quinjet, the medical team having prepared on the ramp with a stroller and equipment, but your eyes were transfixed on the dark mass of a supersoldier good hundred feet away still. You were almost certain, even from the distance, that he also managed to empty his stomach to make him feel even more miserable. Not that you blamed him; it had to be, apart from really fucking cold, extremely terrifying. It definitely was for you. Just the memory made your feel throat as if squeezed in a vice.

“Yeah, yeah, don’t worry, pick-up number two happening right away,” Tony assured you face-to face, uncharacteristically humourless now that he had set eyes on the momentarily lifeless body of Agent Smith.

You thought you uttered a thank you, but he couldn’t hear it as he was already off to carry your exceptionally idiotic boyfriend along. And so you ran to the jet, boots heavy with snow falling in and biting coldly into your calf and shins, legs stiff from the shock of the experience still.

When Tony finally brought Steve after what felt like a lifetime, you certainly didn’t speak a word of complaint when he also hauled him further into the quinjet into one of the medical cubicles sans a team. You followed, painfully aware of every single muscle in Steve’s body trembling, the tips of his fingers having turned white.

“You can yell at him first,” Tony told you graciously, shooting Steve an ugly look before glancing at you entering just behind them.

“Gee thanks,” you snarked back automatically, tone softening when you met his genuinely worried eyes. “Thank you, Tony, really.”

“Whatever,” he scoffed, but a small smile passed over his lips. “Jarvis, heat up this room for our Capsicle, will you?”

You rolled your eyes at the nickname. Steve wasn’t going to live that down any time soon, probably ever, not after attempting to became an icicle for the second time.

“Certainly, sir. Gradually heating up to 25 degrees Celsius, as recommended in the medical manual,” the AI chimed helpfully, the wave of heat washing over you instantly. The air felt almost tropical after the arctic wind outside, but you were grateful. Steve would need that.

“Thanks, J,” you said, throwing off your gloves, hat and parka as quick as you managed with your fingers freezing, not bothering with more as to help Steve strip his soaking garments as soon a possible.

The silence that settled after rang a sudden alarm bells; it dawned to you at last that during the whole exchange, Steve remained quiet. Way too quiet.

You’d expect the sounds of zippers and Velcro as he was tearing off his uniform, the fabric dripping icy cold water despite the best engineers and designers having worked on the material. You’d expect his teeth to clatter in doing so, colourful curses on his blueish lips, especially when in company of only you and Tony. He had been coughing out water, quite violently, barely just having been dropped in the jet, so you’d think his air-ways would still fight spasm and the biting intrusion of ice, the raspy wet cough not ceasing.

But Steve was doing neither of that, tripling your worry for him in the process.

You moved to round him to get a look at him with an urgent whisper of his name, stomach flipping in fear when he didn’t answer.

The lack of any action or sound was incredibly disconcerting, because it could mean two things: either, he was absolutely stunned, the weight of what could have happened finally falling on him, or he had been already struck by hypothermia severe enough to be acutely in danger despite being a far cry from what Smith had looked like when Tony dropped him off.

When you finally laid your eyes on Steve’s face, your heart nearly stopped. His skin was scarily pale, his lips turning alarming blue, but that, while worrying, wasn’t surprising at all. What shocked you was his eyes; his pupils were blown wide, unfocused, misted over to the point that had he been lying on the ground, you’d swear he was--

Do not even think it. You can’t. He was going to be fine, he was alright, he just needed to warm up, he was not—He was very much alive, you were sure of it, he had to be. But the fact was, Steve couldn’t see you. He wasn’t seeing anything.

With horror, your gaze fell to his chest and in a split second, you realized that his whole body was still. Way too still. He wasn’t moving at all; he wasn’t even breathing. And yet, he was standing upright, almost as if his feet simply froze to the ground and that was the only reason why he hadn’t collapsed yet- But you knew, you knew that wasn’t possible, and despite the panic clawing at your throat, you were hundred percent certain that he wouldn’t be standing upright had his heart stopped, so how was he still standing?

It would be baffling if it wasn’t absolutely terrifying. Why was he so still? It literally looked as if he was frozen, as if-

He was frozen.

When it finally clicked, a choked noise erupted from lips, your heart shattering into thousand pieces; but your mind snapped into action, already working on solutions.

“Tony, get us as many of towels, blankets and those small heat packs, as you can manage  and give me full access to J. Make sure we have complete privacy. No one needs to see this.” Your throat was too tight for you to be able to speak on normal volume, but that was the least of your concerns, truly. You were sure Tony heard you just fine.

At least someone did.

“Kinky-?” Tony uttered, confused by your sudden escalated panic and the look you shot him – if looks could kill, he’d already be lying in a pool of his blood.

“Tony, get your ass fucking moving or I’ll swear to god I’ll strangle you in a way that will make Sam McDowell look like an amateur.”

Whether he knew the name of the prolific serial strangler or simply understood the urgency in your tone, he had enough wit to take his leave without further protest and with relative hurry, leaving you focus fully on Steve. Oh Steve. The absent brilliant blue of his irises had your stomach make another unpleasant somersault, your eyes filling with tears, nose tingling in anticipation of a full sobfest.

You so couldn’t afford that now. You couldn’t afford screaming either, but good god, did you want to – you wanted to stand in front of a mirror and scream your lungs out because how could it have not punched you straight in the face right away? How could you have not seen it coming?! You only had years of experience in profiling, with dealing individuals struggling with PTSD among other things. You only known Steve for years, knew what he had endured. You only learned about the sacrifice of Captain America in high school, several years ago.

God, the icy water. Could there be any more obvious and deadly trigger?

Of course Steve’s gaze was absent, his whole mind was. He wasn’t here with you, not in time and not in space; he was in the water. In a water so icy it was turning solid, trapping him for decades to come. People couldn’t breathe under water. People couldn’t breathe when frozen in a mass of ice.

Now you understood the reason for the absolute stillness of his whole body including his chest. Steve’s mind was locked so firmly into the memory that it either shut his body – because logically, he wouldn’t be able to breathe, let alone move in the prison he found himself in – or it latched onto his survival instinct, screaming at him not to breathe to prevent the water flooding into his lungs.

You fought your instinct to gag when the iron fist that realization hit you square in the stomach and sent bile up your throat.

So not the time. You needed him to snap out of it. And you needed it fast before you’d lose any more precious seconds.

“Steve?” you called out lowly, giving zero shit about the crack in your voice. “Stevie? You’re going to be okay, but I need you to breathe. Can you do that for me?” you pleaded.

Grimacing, you released an involuntarily whimper when you got zero reaction. You pushed through the lump in your throat, forcing yourself to repeat the words in normal volume. The only response you got was the ever-present unnatural stillness; and Steve’s lips gradually turning bluer.

Your thoughts whirled in your head, mind desperately trying to latch onto any knowledge and experience you had with dealing with PTSD. You had never encountered someone with similar problem, never dealt with a flashback of this magnitude; Gideon had once taken the lead with a soldier trapped in his mind, murdering civilians for he believed them to be enemy soldiers, but that was Gideon. Jason Gideon, with his mind of steel and twenty-five years of experience. Jason Gideon, one of the founding fathers of the Behaviour Analysis Unit himself.

On your own, you were at loss with someone so far gone; but what you knew had to be enough. What you knew was that the only way of breaking Steve out of the prison his mind had created was to anchor him in reality, to appeal to all his senses.

The problem was that the majority of stimuli Steve was receiving from his senses matched the very environment of his flashback. The reality you would try to ground him in was his clothes soaking wet in freezing water and him being on a planewith a voice of a woman in his ears, trying to sooth his suffering. In other words, the reality was how he ended up buried in the ice in the first place.

Aware that you were shaking like a leaf yourself, jaw set so tight it was beginning to hurt, you were also painfully aware you couldn’t just stand there doing nothing with cheeks wet with tears and stare at the strongest person you had ever knew involuntarily depriving himself of oxygen. You had to do something.

Touching him was, frankly, a terrible idea; touching anyone with a flashback would be, because you’d be risking triggering a fight or flight response instead. Touching Steve and triggering the fight part in a supersoldier however, get him run on pure instinct? Now that could result in your broken neck or crushed windpipe really quickly. That idea truly didn’t sound appealing to you; and Steve would never forgive himself. You’d rather avoid that.

You took a deep breath, releasing the air shakily as your mind raced. Alright. Time. If you couldn’t ground him in space, you needed to ground him in time.

“Steve, GG, look at me. I’m Agent Jones – I’m Sparkles,” you said urgently, taking care to voice every syllable, daring to step an inch closer to him, hoping to fill his field of vision completely. “And I’m right here with you. There’s no water. Nothing’s stopping me or you from breathing.” You exaggerated an inhale and exhale, the warm air washing over his face, but without any effect. “There’s plenty of air, GG, for both you and me. Please.”

You dug your nails into your palms when nothing happened but your love staring back blankly, unnaturally stiff.

Steve could hold his breath for a long time – much more than an average human, his lung capacity unmatched – but he had also been drowning, so you really couldn’t count on that. You were running out of time. He was going to pass out. Sure, his breathing would kick in then and hell, maybe losing consciousness would be a blessing compared to this, but that sleep would not be peaceful and there was no telling what the wake-up call would look like other than really fucking unpleasant. The idea of him escaping one nightmare only to be find himself in another and then another until he woke up to the reality just as harsh, as if freshly having lost the whole world he knew all over again, chased fresh tears into your eyes.

“What’s wrong?” Tony’s voice snapped you from your focus, your heart nearly bursting through your chest.

Jesus, how long had he been standing there?

Not important; and you didn’t have time to explain. Without thinking, you spilled the truth in as few words as possible, in the very same breath you tried to appeal to Steve again, your gaze never shifting from his pale face.

“He’s having a flashback, please leave, thank you for the blankets-- GG, please. Breathe with me, there’s nothing to be afraid of, I promise. I’m right here. Trust me. I can breathe just fine…”

You could not. You felt as if someone smashed your ribs with a crowbar for laughs and hit and hit until you couldn’t breathe in without blinding pain, but you knew, you knew it had to be nothing compared to what Steve was facing and you needed to get a grip, you couldn’t wallow in it and you couldn’t let the biting fear consume you. Not with Steve like this.

You were out of other options. Gulping, you oh so slowly lifted your trembling hand, settling it against Steve’s ashen cold cheek. You only got as far as your skin brushing his when a vice-like grip on your wrist stopped you, tearing your touch away and completely immobilizing your hand in the process.

He didn’t look at you as you hissed in pain; he was still far, far away, not moving an inch more than strictly necessary to stop you. But the jolt of pain into your wrist was accompanied by a loud gasp for air, his ribcage expanding right in front of your eyes.

A wet laugh escaped you. “Oh thank god.”

His fingers might as well be made of ice, just as freezing and just as rigid, clutching at you with all the might his body was probably capable off and it hurt. But at least it wasn’t your throat in his grip; you could both breathe. That was a tremendous win.

You still needed to anchor him further and actually bring him back, but the door to his mind were unlocked at least. Now you needed to appeal to all his senses, talk him through it, so he could open the door himself.

“Agent Jones? Do you require assistance?” Jarvis asked warily, no doubt reacting to your physical distress.

Rightfully so, because it was growing – if it was possible, Steve’s fingers dug further into your flesh, already making for a bruise, you were sure. Your fingertips begun to tingle, strange numbness spreading through your hand, but you were far too gone to give up now. You could handle this. You’d get Steve release you on his own.

“Not for now, J, thank you. We’re good—actually, Jarvis?” you called out lowly, the artificial intelligence instantly letting you know he listened. “Can you play me a song? I need to get Steve in the modern times.”

“Certainly. What would you like me to play, Agent Jones? Something contemporary?”

“Yeah. Contemporary and irritatingly ear-worming,” you muttered, mind racing.

A song Steve would hundred percent know, one his mind would without a single doubt identify as something modern. It was the biggest assholery of your mind to push the melody of Let It Go into the forefront of your overstressed brain before anything else, but a hysterical chuckle escaped you anyway, forcing you to lick off tears from your lips. It was the stupidest thing and the worst irony ever – because yeah, the cold really fucking bothered you now and it sure bothered Steve.

“Something way too overplayed on a radio, preferably without the words cold, snow, ice and such in it, J.”

It was only half a second later, when Taylor Swift’s Shake It Off came out the speakers.

Despite yourself, you snorted, fresh tears springing out. This time, you appreciated the irony. That was what Steve needed, right? He just needed to shake it off. He’d be fine.

Taking a deep breath, smiling through your tears and the growing pains in your wrist, you got to work.

You told him what he was hearing. The engines, the song, the heating running, your voice. You told him what he could see, your hair, the colour of your eyes, the Avengers logo etched onto your uniform and not an SSR one, the high-tech equipment you knew he could have never seen in his original time. You told him about the heat washing over his face and hair, your hand in his.

The owlish, painfully slow blink you elicited was a victory, bringing a smile to your face, drying your tears, bringing a softer and softer tone to your voice as you continued speaking.

“Steve? GG? I know it’s cold and I want to help you,” you said gently, trying to meet his gaze as it began to slowly roam to room; still absent, but not misted over anymore. “I could help you by taking off that wet suit, taking away the cold. But for that, I need you to let go of my hand so I can-“

You gritted your teeth and squeezed your eyes shut when the response you got was the exact opposite, as if he was mad at you for even suggesting it; you stifled the whimper at the prickling his grip sent through your arm. It was hard to tell whose hand was paler now; he definitely cut off your circulation and it was not a pretty sight. But you only had yourself to blame and you promised yourself you’d never do otherwise.

It was only when the numbness replaced the pain that it dawned to you where the problem might be.

“GG, please? I promise I won’t leave. I’ll stay right here with you. But I need you to release my hand so I can take that cold away. Only the cold, I swear.”

You nearly cried when the pressure on your wrist gradually eased, a shaky exhale sounding a lot like a whine escaping you. That was most definitely more than a bruise; you allowed yourself a few seconds of deep breaths, fighting off the dark edge in your vision.

Then, you grabbed after one of the small heating pads, snapping the thin metal plate inside to initiate a chemical reaction; in an instant, the thick liquid began to solidify and warm up. You placed in into Steve’s still open palm, hanging loosely by his side, enclosing his icy fingers around it despite the gloves getting in the way. You winced at the sharp pain shooting through your arm. Definitely more than a bruise. You repeated the process to warm up his other hand, finally going for the Velcros and zippers on the front of his suit.

Thankfully, the temperature Jarvis had set melted the microcrystals of ice around the metal, allowing you to undo it relatively easy. You felt Steve’s eyes on your now, his body slowly, oh so slowly getting on with the programme, fists unclenching when you needed to pull the sleeves over his hands without dropping the pads.

“You’re doing so good, Stevie, so good,” you praised him softly, loud enough to speak over the second playing of the song in the background. You were going to hear it for days, you were certain. And you’d hate it forever, too. “You’re a great help, GG, thank you.”

When he dropped the pads, you made a quick work of undoing his gloves too, before pushing new pads into his hands. His thick pants followed; the boots though, those were trickier.

Fuck this. You swiftly searched the transparent cabinets for scalpel, slicing the material through as carefully as you could with your still trembling hands. The water was still brutally cold against your fingers; and your wrist was beginning to throb. Almost there, you soothed yourself, wondering whether you’d manage to make Steve sit down so you could take off those boots and the pants… and underpants. You’d rather have him keep his dignity, but his boxer shorts were soaked through as well and way too close to his core… maybe if you placed enough heating pads around…

The truth was that despite your instincts screaming at you, you knew you didn’t have to worry that much about the physical effects of the low temperature on him. As awful as it sounded, you knew he could take the icy cold – that was part of the problem. It was the numbing memory constructing the perfect trap for his mind, the dissociation, that took precedence, as unusual as it was. And if you weighted the pros and cons…

Well. It wasn’t like his dick was going to freeze right off.

You stood to your full height, licking your lips as you faced Steve again. He was watching you now with surprising intent; you tried to give him a reassuring smile, raising your unharmed hand slowly enough for him to register and placed it on his ribs, almost under the armpit, ready to support him in case his muscles didn’t quite respond to his command as expected when you’d ask him to sit down.

What you didn’t expect was for him to crumble under your touch.

Over two hundred pounds of muscle was too much for your body to carry. When he leaned onto you without a single warning, his knees giving way, dropping his whole weight on your shoulders, you tumbled to the ground as you were without a real chance to slow down the fall. Your hands instinctively attempted too, but you knew you could add bruised backbone and your other wrist to the list on your injuries.

And while pain briefly shot through you very bones, you soon didn’t give a damn.

Not when Steve buried his face in the crook of your neck, arms gripping onto your body like as if it was a lifeline, harsh breaths and heartbreaking sobs escaping his lips, shaking his usually strong frame; but maybe that was just shivers from the cold. His skin was still almost icy to touch, his nose like an icicle as he pressed to your collarbone over your thermals, wet hair tickling your chin; his pants at his ankles, his boots, barely keeping together, still as his feet. You let them be as they were. Instead of stripping him further, you managed to reach for at least one of the pads and throw it into his lap, the blankets and towels too far away.

You enclosed Steve in a hug, achy hand carefully resting in his hair, the other running soothing circles on his back in a poor attempt to console him. His tears seeped into your shoulder and you never cared less for anything in your life; yours in return disappeared into his hair. Sweet nonsenses were spilling from your lips, drowned in his ragged sobs; you whispered his name over and over, his name and all endearments that came to mind and even remotely fit him. I’ve got you, love. Sweetheart, I’m here, sweet, I’m here… oh GG, my gentle giant, giant heart, I’ve got you, this will pass, I’ll help, I’ll help, I’ll help you stand up again. You’re doing so well. I’m so proud of you, baby, so proud…

The song, thank god, stopped playing as soon as Steve broke.

You could feel his body weighting a ton, every muscle weary, strung and feeble at once, and yet, it was his mind making for most of the weight he couldn’t bear. Feelings he normally hid behind a wall as tall as Tower of Babel so he could lead others into battle with a brave face now oozed off him and soaked your skin and mind. You could only imagine the onslaught of emotions and memories, reminders of all he lost, the ghost of having woken up in the new millennium for the first time looming over him.  

The way his fingers dug into your forearm, clutched at the flesh of your waist, it would hurt later; but at the moment, those long agonizing minutes that felt like an eternity, you barely felt it, instead consumed by overwhelming grief for the kindest and strongest soul you had ever met. The best man, breaking in front of your eyes and in your arms.

It took long minutes before you dared to move, just enough to reach for the blanket and strip him off the pants and shoes at least. You never went too far. The volume of your voice decreased along with Steve’s, along with the tremble of his exhausted body. He melted into your frame, falling asleep right there, held in your considerably weaker arms and you were grateful.

In a low voice, you asked Jarvis to notify Steve’s therapist – and yours, even if with less urgency. The worst of it was over, but you weren’t naïve as to think that just because the storm was over, there would be no damage and no need for restoration.

For now, you held Steve and tried to keep him warm, not blind to the fact his body combined with Jarvis’ service was already drying off the last piece of clothing he wore. You ran the fingers of your unharmed hand through the golden damp strands of his hair, pressing a kiss to his forehead every now and then, hoping his sleep was dreamless.

Minutes or hours later, Natasha was the one to find you still curled one into other, gently telling you that everyone had already left the jet and that she’d send medics over in a few. You gave her a brave smile even as you were feeling everything but, your adrenalin wearing off and leaving you on the brink of breaking yourself.

When two medics rolled Steve away and you followed, refusing to move an inch farther from Steve than necessary just in case he’d unexpectedly wake up, a third one forced you to take an x-ray as your hand was already swelling.

As it turned out, there was a crack in both your ulna and radius, the mass, however strong, having been unable to withstand Steve’s strength. The swelling was bothering your nerves and your veins, hence the painful tingles and numbness; but in the end, they were just cracks. They’d heal.

Cracks actually usually hurt more than complete breaks, Doctor Jackson told you. You thought it was quite fitting. What Steve had experienced was not a break, for he was never broken; you weren’t certain he could be. It was but a crack; the foundation of who he was had so far been strong enough to withstand horrors unimaginable. And even though the cracks hurt like a bitch, you’d be there for him to help him through the pain.

The cracks in your bones could be solved by a few pills and rest; his would be a little more complicated.

But you’d help build him up again. You’d help him stand tall. Not for the sake of Captain America, the shining beacon of hope, the façade that could be speedpaint with shines of red, blue and white with ease. No, you’d help repair the real cracks for Steve, the gentlest of giants you knew, even if it would take more time and effort than an icon.

He was worth the trouble; even as you suspected that once he’d wake, he might have a thing or two to say about that. You’d convince him otherwise; you wouldn’t be alone.

And neither would he.

With a splint all over your forearm and wrist and a promise you would do a session in Doctor Cho’s cradle to speed the healing, you settled on the bed by Steve’s bedside, the surprisingly serene expression on his face and the gentle beeps of the heart monitor making for a warm hum of satisfaction in your chest.

You’d heal together. Of that, you were sure.

I was hearing words in black and white Twisted up inside my broken mind Outstretched dirty hands just like a child Hungry little fool, but you were mine (SYML – Body)

Steve Rogers masterlist // Love on The Brain masterlist

Notes (because the first aid trainer in me screams and severe hypothermia is a bitch): normally, first concern would most definitely be the cold, hypothermia and the impending arrhythmia (can be caused by the cold), but a) it was established Steve’s body can take it (proved the hard way) and b) his suit probably kept the absolutely worst away… PSA over.

ANYWAY. I hope you – well – liked it ("enjoyed" feels like a little too strong of a word for Steve’s suffering) 🥰 Thank you for reading! Feedback is life.

P.S. – this will likely be followed by a second part called Restoration, but I make no promises.

P.P.S. - if you wish to read a fluff about "Steve fell through frozen lake" situation, I recommend Frozen by @tilltheendwilliwrite 🥰

P.P.P.S. -  if you are a CM fan, know that the title is a loose reference to Emily's issues in the second half of season seven when she tries to re-settle down with the team and at Quantico.

[death-limes]

tbh i don't think i would even be suprised if it turned out the playbills were never even produced in the first place and were just part of a scam by spindlehorse and viv to make fans spend even more money on the merch package then they already would've w/o it by making it look like the merch bundle would have more than it really has.

yeah thats partly what i meant; i was also thinking maybe they WERE gonna make it but stuff went pear-shaped in the process and they realized too late that it just aint gonna happen, but they cant refund everyone cuz tbh they probably already spent the money

but yeah i also would NOT put it past them to have just planned this from the start, like youre saying. the super-dedicated fans have shown how easy it is to treat them like garbage & then placate them with cutesy bullshit; someone as greedy and unprofessional as v*vz*epop probably sees dollar signs at the mere thought. time for a fourth cruise this year, or a third taxidermied peacock to match the first two she bragged about buying at over $6000 a pop

[cassiecasyl]

Bildad the Shuhite Sunday on Nov 5, huh? I wrote a little something.

The dust stuck to every crevice in his vessel’s clothes. Having found its way underneath, somehow, it even stuck to the softer parts of his vessel. A demon had called it sand, laughing at him. Castiel had struck him down, burning out its eyes. Uriel had reprimanded him at the action—after all, they were only here to observe. The demons were to do as they wished with Job—short of actually killing him—and they were to document the whole ordeal. To see if Job ever strayed from faith. 

The wind swished sand right into his vessel’s face, obscuring his human sight. Furiously rubbing at his eyes, Castiel wondered, for surely not the last time, on how weirdly weak human bodies were. While strong wind might not knock them over, simply staying in water too long could condemn them to death—even if it was rain God had sent to flourish the lands. It seemed like a major oversight. 

A figure on a hill caught the angel’s attention. Their hair flowed down the side of their head in soft waves, auburn like leaves in autumn in a different part of the world; Castiel couldn’t tell if it was burning or calm. The man stood over goats, tiny and crying. Was he a man? Something about their aura was wrong. It was shimmering, as if Castiel was meant to see someone else beneath—celestial or occult. Squinting his many eyes, Castiel stepped closer. Still nothing but a flickering veil.  

“You should know why you’re about to die,” the being announced. “God has abandoned you. The God who claims to love you, who demands your praise, has given you up to be destroyed. Bad luck.” With a wave of their hand, they summoned a star to tower over them all. The globe of burning gas was just big enough to fill the canyon beneath, and it did not exude any gravitational properties. It was magic unlike any Castiel had ever witnessed. Certainly not magic anyone could cast, neither angel nor demon. 

Something about all of this was very wrong. 

If God loved Job so much, why would he subject him to all this pain, just to test his faith. Why would he still demand praise, after all of this? And why would he personally come down to destroy his goats, of all things? 

Castiel could feel where the doubt seeped into his grace through a crack. It was like blood flowing out a wound; it would flow, no matter what. It would flow until it itself blocked the treacherous opening. Doubt was never good, this Castiel knew. 

6000 years later, he couldn’t recall this episode past a thrumming pain in his frontal lobe. There was the faint shimmer of burning red hair, and nothing else. If the memory had remained, maybe he would’ve known better. If the memory had remained, maybe he would’ve seen the end sooner. 

[absolutewodka]

I wanted to say something out loud (not doing it, as I'm obviously writing)

I absolutely disagree with the people's interpretation of Aziraphale's character as a naive one (he sure is in his own way), especially during the scene where he responds to Crowley's crushing "you can't leave this bookshop" by his own terrible "nothing lasts forever"

I do think Aziraphale clearly understood the "You can't leave this bookshop" as "You can't leave me" (This guy has been reading all Jane Austen's books, please) and I absolutely think his response was exactly how he wanted to respond to that. He can leave him, and he will a moment later actually.

He says it because nothing does last forever, as he spectated this particular humanity truth for 6000 years. And I think at this one moment, he thinks he might be one of the people who can actually make it last a little bit longer. (Which is an absurd idea of course)

I really like to think about this line as an imagery of one of Aziraphale's huge ego-trip. He, with arrogance blended in love and tenderness and sadness, also 'forgives' Crowley as he can't love him before making a difference upstairs. And Crowley, in Aziraphale's mind, surely doesn't understand all of this better than himself, or else he would have accepted Metatron's proposition.

And he makes the assumption that 'making a difference' might be more important than everything, as he naively (as I said, he is naive in his own way) truly thinks he could make a difference in Heaven, Metatron did choose him after all ? (I'm also quite sure he does fully realize how ironic that might be in context of season 1)

That of course doesn't change the fact he loves Crowley deeply, more than everything even if he doesn't realize it at the moment. Or maybe he does, because he asked again and again that Crowley joins him in heaven, almost crying that he needs him despite knowing that of course Crowley can't, won't, never will join him upstairs.

My point being : I truly think Aziraphale knew exactly what every word meant as he let them all out of his mouth carefully or not. Maybe he regretted them, maybe not. I also think he refused to kiss Crowley back (he kinda did kiss him back tho, in his own way, as everything he does) for a million reasons and none of them were particularly naive, or even pure or whatever.

In conclusion, in my own interpretation of season 2, it's all about Aziraphale not being naive, being in control, making choices, lying. We're past the cute angel can't-take-his-own-decisons phase. Doesn't mean he's mean or cruel.

Means he never made such a human decision in 6000 years before the day he chose to do something else than truly love something, someone. Even if he thinks he had made the decision to do so.

quick edit : I wanted to add something : I'm absolutely in love with Aziraphale's character in S2, the joyful cute angel he remains the whole 6 episodes, and my point (Aziraphale being in control of his complicated negative responses to Crowley) is extremely specific to the lines I talked about in the post, extremely specific to those scenes in particular and absolutely isn't about the whole season (except the part I'm talking about S2 Azirpahale's character evolution about lying, having his own opinions etc) and all of it that I said is my own point of view, my personal opinion and could be very wrong of course <3 and ofc I think Metatron is the bad guy and probably threatened Azirpahale on way or another. My point remains valid imo

[aziraphales-library]

hi hello! I adore the blog, thanks for all the work that you all do !! May you recommend any good multi chapter fics that have a really great plot/storyline? Something not explicit or nsfw. thank you dearly!

Hey! You can check our #plotty and #long fic tags for more recommendations like this. Here are more to add...

something wretched about this by IvyOnTheHolodeck (T)

You might wonder why Aziraphale can't seem to enjoy his retirement in peace. You could ascribe his distress to the series of terrifying thoughts that haunt his days, or the only book he wishes he'd never read, or even the wound that still hurts after six thousand years.

Really, though, you should blame the fact he's never learned to talk about his feelings.

in the study with the lead pipe by paradoxicalpockets (T)

The year is 1845, and Aziraphale, a rare books dealer, would like to retire early. His plans are scuttled when a mysterious letter is dropped on his stoop - a threat of blackmail from one Lord Gabriel, a wealthy American living out in the English countryside. An already tense dinner with 5 other blackmail victims (one of which is the famous actor Anthony J. Crowley) takes a turn for the worse when their host reveals that they are locked in the mansion, the blackmail materials are in the mailbox outside, and the police are set to arrive in 24 hours.

The only way to truly protect your secrets is to send them to the grave. Aziraphale and Crowley must find the front door key and escape...or die trying.

World Enough And Time by Stephquiem (T)

For Aziraphale, there were always two Crowleys: the First Crowley, the one he met in the Garden, the one he's spent 6000 years meeting across human history. And there is the Second Crowley, the one who comes to him across time, again and again, propelled, it would seem, by some unknown tragedy. Both, his hereditary enemy. His dearest friend.

For Crowley, there is a Before, and there is an After. Before, he spent 6000 years as Hell's agent on Earth, seeing Aziraphale occasionally, working together where they could get away with it. After... After, he's drawn back over and over, like he's attached by a tether that just won't let him go.

Not that he wants it to let him go. The alternative...

Binary Star by TriffidsandCuckoos (T)

After abandoning the Earth in the wake of a more environmental apocalypse, humanity has taken to the stars. Crowley stayed behind to restore the Earth; Aziraphale followed the humans into space. After almost two centuries, the latest prophet arrives in Aziraphale’s archive, determined to rectify this.

So Much Discounted by WanderingAlice (T)

After asking Aziraphale a strange question, Crowley disappears. Can Aziraphale work out what happened to him? And more importantly, can he save him before it's too late?

---

“No.” Aziraphale sat up, throwing his senses wide, searching, seeking, all the way to the edges of the world. “Crowley!” His frantic cry, amplified by his angelic power, rippled through the minds of every being with even the slightest occult sensitivity. Miles away, Anathema sat up in bed, and reached in panic for her lover when she felt the new absence in the world. Down the street from Jasmine Cottage, Adam Young tumbled from his covers, reaching out himself with what remained of his power. What he found was so terrible he fled from it, running to climb into bed with his parents like he hadn’t since he’d been very small.

“No,” the angel said again, his voice small and lost amid the stacks of lonely books. “No.” He pushed himself up with trembling hands, climbed to his feet, and didn’t stop running until he stood outside the door to Crowley’s Mayfair flat.

stalwart sun, wily moon by dustnhalos (M)

Anthony J. Crowley is a world-class art thief with a complicated past who, until now, had been pretty content with going through life as part of a prolific black market art trafficking ring. He enjoyed the thrill and danger of the hunt, especially if it meant he got to travel the world, play with state-of-the-art technology, and make enough money to afford anything he could ever want.

That is, until a simple logistical hiccup leads him straight into the path of one Aziraphale Fell, former Head Conservator of the British Museum turned antique repair shop owner.

Suddenly, there's a space in Crowley's life that only Aziraphale seems to fill, but his clandestine life of crime paired with Aziraphale's industry connections and indomitable penchant for good seems like a relationship doomed to fail.

Little do they both know, the strands of friendship, morality, and deception in their shared circles of the London art world are interwoven in even more complex ways than either of them could have expected...

- Mod D

[theravenmuse]

S1E1 meta post 2 - the second half of the opening scene

Aziraphale is the reason for (at least some of) Crowley’s pesky questions

Crowley is gushing about his nebula, explaining what it does and how amazing it will be. Creating stars. (Just like he does.) 

Possibly mirroring the drunk scene from S1E1, Crowley explains, with elaborate arm movements: “Boom! Stars everywhere!”

Aziraphale starts to look uncomfortable here and breaks the news that it’s all going to end in 6000 years and Crowley isn’t going to get the millions it needs to do its work. Here, Crowley’s joy, which has been so vibrant, falls to not only disappointment, but also to confusion and doubt. “But that’s nothing!” he says. The pain in his voice is heartbreaking. “Oooh. What's the point in creating an infinite universe with trillions of star systems if you’re only gonna let it run for a few thousand years? The engine won’t have properly warmed up by then.”

Aziraphale, relieved to have an answer but also, I think, doubting that it’s the right one, explains about Earth and the people and how all of creation is for them. Crowley remains unconvinced. “But that’s idiocy! It’s the universe, it’s not just some fancy wallpaper! Millions of galaxies, trillions of stars, oodles of… everything! It’s not just put here to twinkle!”

Crowley also makes another very good point that I think could use a meta post of its own, but that’s for later after quite a bit of theorizing. “Most of it won’t even be visible from Earth. Why don’t you put Earth in the middle of the universe so the view’s better?” For this post, I’ll just say that he’s absolutely right, and I suspect that the reason for that is because it isn’t actually all meant to end in 6000 years and it isn’t just for the people of Earth.

Now Aziraphale is getting truly uncomfortable. “It’s not our job to advise The Almighty on the details of creation.” He means it as a gentle dissuasion. Crowley is not dissuaded. He fires back with, “Well then whose job is it? I mean, someone has to say, “Look boss, this is a really, really terrible idea.””

Now Aziraphale is getting even more upset. He calls Crowley’s suggestion inappropriate. Crowley is still not dissuaded and suggests further that The Almighty should consider a suggestion box. Aziraphale is very, very upset. His upset, I think, is not actually that Crowley would suggest these things, but that he (Aziraphale) cannot logically find fault with them, putting himself at odds with what he’s been told is right and his own rationalizations. In his very, very upset voice, Aziraphale continues: “I don’t believe The Almighty has actually created a suggestion box. And furthermore, I don’t think it’s our place to start suggesting that there should be a suggestion box.”

Here, Crowley takes it the whole mile. “Well, y’know, if I was the one running it all, I’d like it if someone asked questions,” he says. He says a few other things, but I don’t think Aziraphale is listening past this. He’s even looking over both shoulders as if to check that nobody else is around to hear this. In a desperate bid to hold on to his sanity, Aziraphale points out the nebula again. He doesn’t actually care about the nebula. Well, he does, but not in this moment. Luckily, it works. Crowley goes back to smiling, though it isn’t the broad, unrestrained joyful smile from before and doesn’t ask anymore of those difficult questions.

Still shaken, but on somewhat firmer ground now that Crowley’s onslaught of suggestions has stopped, Aziraphale adds: “Um, but look, word to the wise, I’d hate to see you getting into any trouble.” Crowley tells Aziraphale not to worry. “How much trouble can I get into just for asking a few questions?” Oh poor innocent angel.

Then there’s the meteor shower. Crowley covers Aziraphale with his wing, mirroring the scene in Eden from season 1. Note that Crowley is still on the left throughout this scene despite the fact that he’s not a demon yet.

[kaelyx-zac01]

Hot take: Crowley and Aziraphale are aromantic.

Okay, look, I get it. I'm pretty much sure the majority consensus concerning the nature of Crowley and Aziraphale's relationship is romantic. And I have nothing against it. In fact, I enjoy viewing them as a romantic couple. I know the significance of the nightingale song and its lyrics (although I still think it still applies even if Aziraphale and Crowley's relationship is alterous or platonic). And, given the ending, it really adds a certain pain when you know that they are both romantically into each other. And yet, character flaws and forces around them hinder them from getting together, something that we all have been hoping to see since the beginning.

HOWEVER, I would argue that viewing their relationship as a platonic or alterous bond between two aromantic, asexual, agender beings makes more sense and creates a different depth to their relationship. For starters, they are angels (well Crowley's a former angel). And, as hammered throughout the second season, they seem quite unsure about how human romantic love actually works --- a shared aromantic experience, honestly. We may know that it happens or understand the scenarios that can spark said attraction. After all, we see them in fiction and real-life stories. But, we don't really GET it, y'know.

Remember Nina and Crowley's conversation about him and Aziraphale being romantic partners? Crowley denies, of course. I don't think he has never seen their relationship as romantic. But, he knows they have a deep and intimate bond. And this conversation leads him to rethink his relationship with Aziraphale, hence his concerned look after their conversation.

First off, he cares about Aziraphale. Deeply. He can't see a future without them. Aziraphale is the only being he can be himself with these past 6000 years -- the only one who made him forget how lonely it is to be a demon who just goes along with Hell as far as he can. Aziraphale --- a bastard worth knowing and liking. Their partner. The only one who saw the goodness beneath the cool demon bad boy facade they've had for all these years. Without a doubt, he loves him. Is it romantic or not, who knows? But, he loves him. And he's worried about losing them, especially as he involves himself with Gabriel.

Now, fast forward to the end of the whole Gabriel-Beelzebub affair. Metatron comes in and speaks with Aziraphale. He's worried about them of course. But, more importantly, something bubbles inside him. Seeing Gabriel and Beelzebub choose each other reflects how he feels about Aziraphale. Because for the last 6000 years, this demon has been choosing Aziraphale time and time again. Aziraphale may be a bit hesitant at first to accept how bonded they are. But, for Crowley, his side is with Aziraphale --- always have and always will. And in his heart, he's hoping that Aziraphale confirms that he feels the same. And with Nina and Maggie's talk about how he should share his true thoughts, he gains the courage to let his bubbling feelings spill out for the first time in millennia.

And then, Aziraphale brings up Heaven's offer. He pushes through with his confession with all vulnerability he has to offer, hoping desperately that his feelings will push Aziraphale to choose him. But, Aziraphale still chooses his former side. "Nothing lasts forever", Aziraphale says and Crowley took that and applied it to their 6000 year-bond, evidently breaking his heart. Thus, as a desperate plea to make him stay and convey how much he loves him, he does what he's seen humans do in similar situations -- he kisses him . He and Aziraphale love humanity, understand humanity in a way. And here, Crowley uses it to convey how much Aziraphale meant to him.

And yes, I know it can be seen as a desperate romantic gesture, that Crowley's been suppressing his romantic feelings all this time and pours out 6000 years worth of romantic pining in one kiss as a way to tempt him to stay. I've seen people talk about how the kiss reframes or starts the transition of their relationship from a platonic to a romantic one. And although perfectly acceptable explanations, for me, it feels lacking. Worse, it also undermines how deep and meaningful platonic or alterous love can be -- that it isn't possible for them to be "just" friends since they are each other's special person.

I think it feels more accurate and meaningful to think of it in an aromantic perspective. Do they get the human romantic attraction and feelings behind kisses? Probably not. But, do they get that humans kiss the people who mean a lot to them, the person they love? Yes. And that shared understanding of humanity becomes a shared language they can communicate with. The kiss becomes more meaningful as Crowley uses it to express the depth of love he feels for Aziraphale in a way only the both of them can understand. Which makes it MORE painful when Aziraphale continues to reject him nonetheless.

In the end, Good Omens is a love story. The depth of their love is evident from the way they look at each other to how they look out for another. However, I just don't think it's a romantic one. I get how it can be interpreted as such. But, personally, given they are angels, I honestly find it more plausible for them to be aromantic: two aroace idiots who deeply love and care for one another. I can't wait to see what Neil Gaiman has in store for them

[a-love-like-yours]

Good Omens S2 SPOILERS

After season two, I want Crowley to be so absolutely devastated by what has happened that he just couldn’t be bothered with anything anymore.

Not even with the damn plants he totes around in his precious car and cares for so lovingly,

just as god so lovingly cares for the rejected souls she sends to hell.

But anyway-

He couldn’t be bothered with anything anymore. Not the Bentley, not the bookshop, not wine or whiskey or Heaven or hell, or even existing at that point.

And then I want him to turn angry.

To turn angry and mean and demonic, just the way he was meant to be from the beginning,

from the fall.

And I want him to be so devastatingly horrible that he almost seems irredeemable.

But then,

squished between all the horrible moments and demonic acts,

you see the spots of the light he used to have,

the imagination god so lovingly shot him down for.

You see small little things coupled with moments of complete desperation and crying out for the Angel that left him behind.

And then I want Aziraphale in heaven to be pushed further and further past what he wanted and more and more uncomfortable.

I want to see that he’s keeping tabs on Crowley and trying to see where he is,

what he’s doing.

How he’s doing.

Because,

even though he can’t show it in Heaven,

he still cares so much for his friend

and is filled with so much regret

that it eventually just pours out of him and he abandons heaven.

He comes falling and crawling and pleading back to Crowley.

But Crowley won’t have it.

He’s still so angry and hurt and devastated

and so he lashes out,

sending the Angel running for his life.

But Aziraphael doesn’t give up on him.

How could he?

Crowley wouldn’t give up on Aziraphael for the past 6000 years, so how could he now, after what Aziraphale had done?

So he is on his knees, apologizing such profuse apologies, that all but falls upon deaf ears.

Because Crowley thinks he is too broken,

too far gone. Too fallen to be who he was back then, to be what they could be.

But Aziraphael takes his hand, raises it to his lips, and gently says that,

this time,

he will be the one to rescue Crowley.

To reverse the roles after 6000 years

and be the one to pull him out of the darkness.

Because he loves Crowley.

Because Aziraphale has loved Crowley all along.

Because he will love Crowley beyond when there is nothing left of anything but a puddle of goo.

And fuck Heaven, fuck hell!

(Crowley is shocked at the Angel’s language.)

They’re toxic and we don’t need them!

(Crowley recognizes that line from their last devastating conversation before he fell, on purpose)

and then Aziraphael pulls Crowley in for a kiss

so forceful,

so desperate and powerful,

that for a moment

the breath of the world seems to catch in her throat

Because FINALLY

FINALLY

These idiots admit their feelings

@neil-gaiman

[drivelikeaminister]

An Eye for an Eye

The following is a post from a UCC colleague and friend in Ann Arbor, Michigan (here's her church). Thank , Pastor Deb and Church of the Good Shepherd, for your loving presence in the world.

Dear friends-

When I started seminary at Pacific School of Religion in 1995, I took a class called The Bible and the Near East from a visiting Israeli scholar (Dr. Shalom Paul).  He approached the Hebrew Bible from a comparative literature perspective, and we read other ancient writings from other religions/ethnic groups from around the same time.  It was an interesting approach for sure.

One lesson that has stuck with me was about “an eye for an eye” that is found in Leviticus:

19 If someone injures a fellow citizen, they will suffer the same injury they inflicted: 20 broken bone for broken bone, an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. The same injury the person inflicted on the other will be inflicted on them. (Lev. 24:19-21, Common English Bible).

We have all heard this saying even if we weren’t clear about where the saying came from.  You also might remember the famous Gandhi quote “an eye for an eye makes the whole world blind.”  I have seen that on numerous bumper stickers over the years.  Dr. Paul spent an entire class session talking about what this verse has meant to our Jewish siblings over the millennia as well as how this law was quite unusual in its ancient context.

According to our Israeli professor, an eye for an eye is not about revenge as one might guess.  An eye for an eye was about setting limits to revenge.  In an ancient context where “justice” was meted out in radically disproportionate ways (i.e. someone stole a piece a fruit and they would lose their whole arm), an eye for an eye was commanding that punishment fit the crime.  It was about a proportionate response to whatever crime or misdeed had happened.  While I do not believe in capital punishment, an eye for an eye regarding killing a human limited the response to only executing the person responsible for the death. Many other laws in that historical context would call to execute the whole family, or destroy the whole village.  Even if it can feel brutal in our context, an eye for an eye was about limiting the retribution, and that was a radical thing in the ancient near east.

Now, I cannot say with confidence that this interpretation is indeed the dominant interpretation in most Jewish contexts.  As we know, Biblical interpretation can vastly differ from community to community.  But I have carried that lesson with me for almost 30 years and I have been thinking about this so much in the last 10 days…the devastation in Israel/Palestine brings this question up for me in profound ways.

I have heard many people say, “This conflict is so complicated.”  I have said it in the past as well.  But it is becoming clearer and clearer to me that it is not that complicated.  The Israeli response to the Hamas massacre is beyond an eye for an eye.  It is beyond a proportionate response.  It is beyond “defending” itself.   The government of Israel has dropped 6000 bombs on Gaza in 10 days.  For context, the US dropped 6000 bombs in a year during an active war in Afghanistan.  6000 bombs have been dropped on 2.2 million people living in an area the size of Las Vegas, but with 3 times the population.  Gaza City is more densely populated that New York City.  And unlike any other city in the world, there is nowhere to flee.  Nowhere.

Yesterday in Washington DC, hundreds of people, mostly American Jews, protested in the capital.  These protesters were lamenting the loss of innocent lives in Israel and those who remain in Hamas custody.  But all of them were calling for a ceasefire.  One protestor said, “Killing Palestinian babies won’t bring back the murdered babies of Israel.”  Israel cannot kill its way out of this conflict, but the right-wing Zionist government of Israel is showing no signs of mercy.

I have no idea how we get beyond this terrible place. But I do know that a genocide of indigenous people in Gaza and in the West Bank is not the answer.  An Apartheid state for Palestinians is not the answer.  Western colonial expansion is not the answer.  The answer must be rooted in human dignity and agency…or we will never find our way out of this mess.

Not in our name.  That is what the protestors said yesterday.  Not in our name.

In love and solidarity, Deb

[machimachilegends]

𝕐𝕦-𝔾𝕚-𝕆𝕙! 𝔼ℕℂ𝕆ℝ𝔼

Important Multiverse-related Questions, Answered:

Who created Duel Monsters? Aerick Estenson, a historical physicist who sought to develop the cards after an unprecedented encounter with a Duel Monster Spirit crippled him.

Who currently oversees Duel Monsters? The Nirvana Foundation, an organization responsible for collecting data and redistributing the resources necessary to Duel globally.

How are Duels held? Using Solid Vision, Duels can take place just about anywhere thanks to the invention of Duel Disks.

Who is the current King of Duels? By technicality, a new King of Duels has not been crowned since the boom of Duel Monsters. However, the current World Duel Champion is Dan Freis.

What year is it? While the year 20XX is a catch-all manner to look at things, it should take place sometime between the 2027 and 2035, if necessary.

Where does ENCORE take place? In Ippon City, where the skies could never be any brighter and new duelists bloom in preparation to challenge the Lunar Duel Tower. Nearby is Marble Island, a home to various talents in search for Estenson’s treasure among many others in an attempt to unravel the mysteries of the world through, of course, Dueling.

Are Legendary Duelists present akin to Arc-V? While dimensional-counterparts could be fitted in by the nature of the concept, it will probably be done on a verse-by-verse basis unless said otherwise, since the ENCORE dimension is meant to mirror the mainline anime and manga continuities.

However, because Arc-V is one of those series being mirrored, albeit a bit spoiler-y, I do intend to utilize video game-only characters in their place as there are peculiar characters and concepts I feel like I could have fun with given the AU nature of ENCORE.

Important In-Universe Questions, Answered:

What is Ippon City, really? As you might have expected, Ippon City is effectively the main city and hub world of the setting so-to-speak. It is based off both DM’s Domino City and Arc-V’s Miami City, boasting a very lax atmosphere and a lot more sand than both by far.

Historically-speaking, it has close ties to Clover City; its sister city that was simultaneously built after a cataclysmic event shook the region to its core and devastated the original city, whose name has faded with the passage of time as the highly advanced Clover City (based on 5D’s New Domino City and VRAIN’s Den CIty) and port-happy Ippon City cast their past self in their shadows. Which is to say, Ippon imports a lot of Dueling Tech from Clover, while Ippon exports whatever extra goods Ippon needs to sustain itself due to the lack of farmland in Clover.

You could say that Clover City is more of a busy industrial city while Ippon City is closer to a tourist town despite having its own Duel Academia.

What is Marble Island? Marble Island is similar to Duel Academy Island in the way a plethora of skilled and gifted duelists are present indirectly on the whims of a large corporation, except any students that are present on the island were roughly handpicked and permitted by their academia’s authority figures to join the hunt for Estenson’s treasure and uncover the secrets of Duel Monsters both on-and-off the island.

While interns/assistant and various big-shots may pop in-and-out as they please to either Duel other talents or join expeditions - apart of the appeal of unraveling the mystery behind Estenson is the lack of evidence he ever died and the nonsense speak in his notes that led curious researchers to a tablet made of unearthly materials and decorated in currently indecipherable symbols that rose from the ground after boredom struck and a custom game gave birth to what is called Expedition Duels.

Expeditions Duels functionally being special duels that uncover and/or decipher runes upon meeting certain conditions. The general rules being a raised Life Point total of 6000, the absence of Main Phase 2, and a double draw at the start of every turn.

What is the Lunar Duel Tower? The Lunar Duel Tower is a mobile variant of other Duel Towers seen in select Yu-Gi-Oh! series (think the Battle Pyramid from Pokemon), specifically designed to break challengers’ limits in their effort to consecutively climb all 13 floors and defeat their respective Duel Masters.

For plot-related reasons, duelists have rarely made to the 5th floor - never mind past the 5th floor, but it is rumored whoever climbs all 13 floors will have their deepest desire granted. And, as such, is seen as a beacon of sorts for duelists worldwide.

What significance is there to the title of Duel King? To be the King of Duels in ENCORE is a complicated matter, but it generally means to carry the prides of everyone you have and ever will face in a Duel. And since the title is typically claimed in a tournament where many of the strongest duelists meet, but the last time anything like that was held was when Dan Freis was in his youth.

Therefore, between his absence in the competitive scene upon becoming World Duel Champion over the decades and the Duel Masters feeling it would be inappropriate to let challengers bypass the gauntlet with a bracket system so soon, the title of strongest is up in the air between both parties and among a plethora of rising duelists.

But it is very likely whoever becomes Duel King will define what it means in the current era.

Are there any monsters world renown in ENCORE? Yes, there is Crimson Tierra, Sophia Gold and Azure Avida: the Star God cards, powerful standalone monsters that borderline guarantee victory when summoned successfully.

The Duel Academia of the ENCORE dimension uses them to similarly divide the ability of duelists as Slifer Red, Ra Yellow and Obelisk Blue, except the color of ranks are rarely referred to in favor of class.

Are there any “Numbers” monsters? Due to Astral and by proxy Yuma’s absence from the main story (which is still a work in progress) no character present I play will have them, since the 1 through 100 Numbers come straight from Astral while the rest are tethered to other characters. Although in a Duel Links variant of the world, that could change depending on how they expand upon the Anna Kaboom event in later entries.

But to kill two birds with one stone, Pendulum Monsters do exist in ENCORE, however the “how” as to how that is possible will be tackled based on a head-canon I have for the Arc-V Manga utilizing a very specific OC to either be involved in their creation or to introduce them themself.

Will Duels use Anime/Manga Cards, Effects, and/or Custom Cards? While I tend to double check any cards in a Character Deck I made to see if an Anime/Manga Effect is present, I also go as far to see when it was last played albeit using the yugipedia to avoid complications between verses.

Which is to say, if it appears in the anime/manga but is later shown again with its IRL Effect, I will use the latest rendition of the card such as using the pre-errata version of Future Fusion for Ryo Marufuji opposed to the equip version shown earlier in GX and the errata we have nowadays. However, I will typically try to avoid using them or writing them in to try and make my character’s choice of cards stand out just a bit more, since spamming Pot of Desires for modern players or Mirror Force for old school players can get rather repetitive after like ten duels.

And while I could easily go on a tangent about Character Deck Creation to explain why Soulburner’s Deck is OP due to how it thematically works compared to someone like Ghost Girl & Go when it comes to how consistency numbs the spice of Duel-writing. It is better I say this:

Custom Cards can be cool, but they can get out of hand very fast, so I would need to implement them on a case-by-case basis, typically with the prior knowledge my partner wants to use them as I otherwise tend to use a lot of IRL cards for the sake of reenacting written Duels on EDOpro without too much worrying about rulings.

So, with that, I hope I’ve said just enough to give a rough picture of how things will go with me pertaining Yu-Gi-Oh! RP stuff, at least on my side of things.