#but we could if we start at the ground level

[angelsndragons]

so my forever gm needed a break. given that this was my only in-person game and i wanted to retain that connection to my community, i volunteered to run the next campaign so she could take a break and just enjoy playing.

i decided to go with a module i knew, having been a pc in it a few years prior: storm king's thunder. i took her copy of the book and started reading.

and nearly threw it through a window in frustration.

for those of you who don't know, the core giant races in the book are very star trek hat-esque. they have Their Thing and that's it. almost all of the giant npcs are evil and out to destroy the world of smallfolk using their delegated hats. there was a shakespearean drama happening at certain points behind the scenes but nothing else in the book supported that level of complexity with the giants or with the scripted encounters in the book. okay so you're telling me a small goblin tribe has holed up in a cave system and when a bunch of villagers flee into said cave, they...take them all prisoner and go raid their village? after learning that the villagers were fleeing from a giant attack on said village? after learning that most of the guards are still in the village proper, defending the broken keep? really? nah, man, that's just not engaging with the goblins as a culture and people.

i think the worst offenders are the hill giants. they're given heinously low soft stats, are treated as nothing more than glutinous sacks of hit points, and they're the fucking butt of the joke. two hill giants can't navigate their way back to their home base after an attack (meaning that the players can't use said hill giants to scout and find the place either). they're tricked at every interval. the big hill giant plot is for the chief to eat literally any and all food her minions can bring her so that she'll grow to be the biggest giant in existence. yes, she too is treated like the butt of a joke for daring to think that that plan is good or viable. she's so fat (and the book goes into this over and over) that she can no longer walk and the wagon she's seated on is broken and hasn't been repaired. she is in fact so fat and so stupid that she forgets that she has a macguffin the party needs. oh and the book goes into great detail about how slovenly and disgusting her place is and then has the nerve throw in a "overbearing wife beats and bullies her husband" joke in there just to round out the misery. this whole ass culture of bad guys is treated like they are goddamn animals, not people.

needless to say i have chucked a great deal of this. the goblins are practical survivalists (we are small and easily squished, if we can't hide we go along until we can escape) and when ogres and giants moved in, they decided to follow orders to gather food right up until the party gives them a legitimate out. thanks to their intervention, this group of goblins are off the board as future enemies and will in fact be appearing as occasional help (one of my players decided they liked the goblins so much that they created a new character to be from that group).

the hill giants now have traditions surrounding food preparation and preservation that go back thousands of years and much of the small folk's current tech in that department is based off of hill giant innovations, which the party is learning about. their ancestors sleep in the hilly regions of the world, growing and growing together, their sometimes living bodies make up the very ground that the small folk walk on and find nourishment from. the hill giants, along with their stone and cloud brethren, are the only giants who remember that giants become one with the land. one amongst many slowly dying giant races and they choose to, well, not embrace it but find peace in it. they're still gullible and still view size as incredibly important but one's skill in the culinary arts can propel them to leadership. chief guh is a culinary visionary who perfected the art of preparing dragon meat and as giants and dragons are enemies beyond memory, that is quite the feat. will the party come to blows with her? i mean, maybe. but at least she and her people won't end up as 'dumb, slow, fat' person jokes.

framing is so important you guys. it's work but it is so worth it. i had my players spitting nails at the racist, isolationist elves whom the village the party was helping were counting on for survival. i had them tearing up as they decided to knowingly walk a group of orcs to their deaths at the hands of the racist, isolationist elves because it was the only way the elves would agree to supply the village through a brutal winter after the village lost everything. one elf, just one, was curious, if completely incorrect, about the outside world and mostly respectful to the pcs. one of the players is now penpals with him and has sent him a history of the sword coast he otherwise doesn't have access to because his people Do Not Care about the world beyond their borders. the campaign is richer for delving deeper into these cultures and people

Putting all tabletop players into a college level ethics class and forcing them to turn in a paper on moral philosophy before buying a new book

[antinousletmehit]

˚₊‧꒰ა Chapter 23 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

⋆˚࿔ Book 2 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

୨୧┇pairing: Telemachus x reader

୨୧┇I’m gonna get killed for this chapter, character death…

────୨ৎ──── ────୨ৎ──── ─── Telemachus paced furiously through the ruined village, his hands clenched into tight fists, his breathing ragged. The fires still burned around them, the scent of blood thick in the air, but he didn’t care. All he could think about was him. Raphael had been right there. Right there. Wounded. Weak. He could have ended him. He could have killed that bastard and taken her and Adonis back where they belonged.

And yet—he had let him slip away. Again.

“Damn it!” Telemachus roared, driving his fist into the nearest wall. The wood splintered beneath his strength, but the pain did nothing to soothe the rage boiling inside him. His chest heaved, his body trembling with frustration, with regret, with an overwhelming sense of failure. Florus and Acrisios exchanged a look before stepping forward cautiously.

“Telemachus,” Acrisios started, his voice level but firm. “Enough.”

“Enough?!” Telemachus spun on them, his blue eyes wild with fury. “I could have killed him! I could have ended all of this tonight, and now—” His breath shuddered as he ran a hand through his sweat dampened hair. “Now he’s just going to run back to her, to my son—” His voice broke on the last word, rage giving way to something rawer. Florus placed a steady hand on his shoulder, but Telemachus shrugged it off, his body still thrumming with barely restrained anger.

“I should have finished it,” he growled, his jaw tightening. “I should have killed him right then and there.”

Acrisios sighed, crossing his arms. “And what then?” he asked, his tone calm, almost weary. “You think just cutting him down would have magically fixed everything? You think Skiaphos would have just let you walk out with y/n and Adonis without a fight?”

“I don’t care!” Telemachus snapped, stepping toward him. “I would’ve fought them all if I had to! I—” His breath hitched, his body shaking with barely contained frustration. “I’m tired of waiting. Tired of sitting around while that bastard plays house with my family.”

Florus sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose before stepping in front of him again. “Telemachus, I get it. Gods, I get it. But going in blind is going to get you killed, and then what?” He gestured vaguely at the smoldering ruins around them. “You want y/n to trade one captor for another? You think Adonis needs to grow up knowing his father got himself killed because he couldn’t think straight?”

That hit like a punch to the gut. Telemachus exhaled sharply, his shoulders slumping just slightly. He turned away from them, his hands still shaking as he tried to force himself to breathe. “I can’t keep waiting,” he murmured, voice raw. “I won’t.”

Acrisios placed a hand on his shoulder this time, firm and grounding. “Then we plan. Properly this time. No more reckless fights. No more wasted chances.”

Florus nodded. “We’ll get her back, Telemachus. Both of them.”

Telemachus swallowed hard, his jaw tightening as he stared at the distant horizon—the direction Raphael had fled.

Next time, there would be no escape.

——

The Greek camp was alive with the scent of burning wood and the distant sounds of wounded Skiaphian prisoners being corralled together. But none of that mattered to Eurymachus—not when he was admiring his prize.

She was a young Skiaphian woman, terrified but silent, her dark eyes darting between him and the others as she sat stiffly near his tent. Eurymachus smirked, crossing his arms over his chest. Finally. After all the bloodshed, the long campaigns, the endless nights of fighting, he earned this.

Cassander, however, had other thoughts. “Oh, come on,” Cassander groaned, throwing up his hands. “This is bullshit.”

Eurymachus arched a brow, turning to him with an amused smirk. “Excuse me?”

Cassander jabbed a finger at him, then at the woman. “I did the most fighting today. Who was the one holding the front line? Me. Who took down three Skiaphian warriors while you were fumbling around with some half dead old man? Me.” He gestured wildly. “By all rights, I should get her.”

Eurymachus scoffed. “Oh, please. You got lucky. And besides, you already have a bad habit of losing your war prizes, Cassander.” He smirked, jabbing him in the ribs. “Maybe I should hold onto this one for safekeeping.”

Cassander looked deeply, personally offended. “Excuse me?!”

The two of them started bickering, voices rising as they shoved at each other, completely forgetting about the war prize in question.

And then—Druses arrived.

The moment his towering form loomed over them, both Eurymachus and Cassander immediately shut their mouths. Druses crossed his arms, his purple eyes narrowed with deep, exhausted irritation. He let the silence hang for a moment before finally speaking.

“What,” he said slowly, “are you idiots fighting about?”

Cassander and Eurymachus both started talking at once. “She should be mine—”

“No, I deserve her—”

“I did the most killing today, obviously—”

“Oh, shove it—”

Druses sighed through his nose, his expression darkening as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Gods above, I hate you both.” Then, without another word, he grabbed the war prize by the arm, yanked her to her feet, and started leading her away.

“Wait—what the fuck?” Eurymachus sputtered. “Where are you—?”

Druses shot them both a sharp, withering glare. “You’re grounded from war prizes. Maybe if you two learned how to shut up and act like warriors instead of spoiled children, you’d earn them back.”

Cassander blinked, his mouth opening and closing like a fish before he turned to Eurymachus. “Did—did we just get grounded?”

Eurymachus groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Un-fucking-believable.”

——

Eurymachus and Cassander were sulking.

It had been hours since Druses unfairly took their war prize, and neither of them were handling it well. They lingered near Druses’ tent like stray dogs, watching as he kept the woman near him—their woman, mind you—as if she was some fragile thing that needed protecting.

“This is bullshit,” Cassander muttered under his breath, arms crossed as he scowled. “We earned her.”

Eurymachus nodded vehemently. “Exactly. Druses didn’t even do anything. He just walked over, took her, and now he’s acting like he’s her fucking guardian or something.”

Cassander scoffed. “We should just take her back.”

Eurymachus grinned. “I like the way you think.”

The two of them strutted toward Druses, who was standing with his back turned, arms crossed as he kept an eye on the war prize. The moment they got close enough, Cassander reached out to grab her wrist— And was promptly kicked straight in the chest.

Cassander let out a wheeze as he was sent flying backward, landing in the dirt with a pathetic grunt. Eurymachus had just enough time to blink before Druses swung around and kicked him too, sending him crashing down right next to Cassander. Druses glared down at them, unimpressed. “I told you two idiots to quit it.”

Eurymachus groaned, rubbing his chest. “Gods, you kick hard.”

Cassander groaned in agreement, still sprawled in the dirt. “I think he cracked a rib.”

Druses rolled his eyes before turning away, clearly thinking the conversation was over. Cassander and Eurymachus exchanged a look. Then—

“Alright,” Eurymachus whispered. “New plan.”

They scrambled up, lunging forward again— Druses elbowed Eurymachus in the face without even looking, sending him straight back down. Cassander managed to get a hand on the woman’s arm before Druses grabbed him by the back of the tunic and threw him like a sack of grain.

The two of them groaned on the ground, again, glaring up at Druses, who merely crossed his arms, looking deeply unimpressed. “You’re both pathetic,” he deadpanned.

Before they could launch another complaint—

A tense, heavy silence fell over the camp.

Eurymachus and Cassander froze. Druses tensed slightly. Even the war prize shifted uncomfortably. They didn’t need to turn around to know who had just arrived. Slowly, they looked over their shoulders—and there stood Telemachus.

And he looked furious.

His jaw was clenched, his blue eyes stormy, his posture rigid as he stalked toward them. His sword was still strapped to his hip, his hands twitching like he was dying to use it. Eurymachus and Cassander immediately straightened up, all traces of their whining gone.

Druses exhaled sharply through his nose, giving them both a look before stepping forward. “Something happen?” he asked, his voice the only one daring to break the silence. Telemachus’ gaze flicked to him briefly before settling back on Eurymachus and Cassander. The two of them stiffened under the weight of it.

“Get your shit together,” Telemachus ordered, his voice low, dangerous. “Now.”

Neither of them hesitated.

“Y-yes, sir,” Eurymachus stammered.

Cassander nodded quickly. “Of course, boss. You got it.”

Druses just sighed, rubbing his temples. “Idiot children,” he muttered.

——

The camp was quiet, save for the crackling of dying fires and the occasional murmur of restless sleep. The scent of blood and smoke from their recent raid still clung to the air, but exhaustion had forced even the most hardened warriors into slumber. Telemachus lay on his side, one hand resting on the hilt of his sword, his breaths deep but never fully relaxed. He didn’t trust the silence. He never did.

And then—

A sharp whistle.

A second later, a flaming arrow slammed into one of the tents, setting it ablaze.

Then another.

And another.

Shouts erupted as men jolted awake, confusion twisting into panic as the fires spread.

“AMBUSH!”

The warning cry barely had time to leave someone’s mouth before Skiaphian warriors surged into the camp, blades gleaming under the firelight. The Greeks scrambled for their weapons, still sluggish with sleep, as the enemy descended upon them like vultures. Telemachus was up in an instant, sword drawn as he narrowly dodged a spear aimed at his chest. He swung, cutting the enemy down, his mind snapping into battle mode.

A few feet away, Cassander was still wrestling his way out of his bedroll when a Skiaphian soldier lunged at him. “Wait, wait, I’m not even awake yet—!” He barely managed to roll aside, grabbing his shield and bashing it into the attacker’s face.

Eurymachus, on the other hand, had simply punched the first guy he saw, still half-asleep. “Who the fuck—” He finally registered what was happening, eyes widening. “Oh. Oh, shit.” He grabbed his sword just in time to block another strike.

Druses, already on his feet, was grinning. He twirled his twin daggers in his hands, purple eyes gleaming under the firelight as he dove into the fray. He cut through the enemy with brutal efficiency, laughing under his breath. “Oh, Enyo’s going to love this.”

Florus had woken up swinging, his movements precise and controlled, but there was a deep-seated frustration in his eyes. “I knew we should’ve set up more defenses,” he muttered, slashing an enemy down.

Acrisios had barely gotten his helmet on before he was forced into a clash, his strikes heavy and merciless. “Where the fuck did they come from?!”

“They must’ve followed us from the last raid,” Telemachus gritted out, driving his sword into another soldier’s gut before turning to scan the battlefield. The camp was in chaos. Tents were burning, men were shouting, the sound of metal clashing filled the night air.

And then—

From the trees, more Skiaphians emerged. Telemachus’ eyes narrowed. They weren’t just here to fight. They were here to finish them. And he’d be damned if he let that happen. “Everyone—hold the line!” he roared, gripping his sword tighter. “We end this now!”

And with that, they charged.The camp was hellfire. Smoke and ash filled the air, mixing with the scent of blood and sweat. The Greeks fought viciously, their initial sluggishness from sleep now fully burned away by the raw instinct to survive. But the Skiaphians weren’t relenting. They pushed harder, their numbers greater than expected, their blades seeking Greek throats, their arrows finding flesh.

And then—

A roar cut through the chaos.

Antinous.

He stormed into the fray like a wrathful beast, his sword already drenched in enemy blood. His long red cloak billowed behind him as he slammed his blade through a Skiaphian’s chest before violently ripping it out. His eyes were wild, teeth bared in a snarl. “Oh, finally!” he growled, cutting another enemy down.

Cassander, still mid-fight, snorted. “Late as always—” He had to duck as Antinous swung his sword a little too close to his head.

Antinous smirked. “Whoops.”

Telemachus was cutting through enemies with precision, his face grim, focused. “We need to push them back!” he called out. “They’re trying to surround us—”

Then a Skiaphian spear whizzed past his face. His eyes snapped to the source—Florus, standing his ground, striking down an enemy, his movements fluid. But then—

It happened too fast.

A blur of motion.

A blade—jagged, brutal—piercing through Florus’ stomach from behind.

For a moment, it was like the battle paused.

Florus stiffened, his breath catching as blood dripped from his lips. His green eyes widened—not in fear, but in stunned realization. His sword slipped from his fingers.

Then—

The Skiaphian soldier twisted the blade. Florus let out a strangled gasp, his body jerking forward. Pisistratus turned just in time to see it happen. “FLORUS!”

But before anyone could react, the enemy ripped the blade out and shoved Florus forward. He collapsed onto his knees. His breath was ragged, uneven. Blood seeped through his armor, staining the ground beneath him.

Antinous, who had just cut down an enemy near him, turned—then froze.

Florus’ body swayed.

Then—he fell.

“No—!” Acrisios dropped his weapon and lunged forward, catching Florus just before he hit the ground. His hands pressed against the wound, desperate, shaking. “Florus, stay with me—stay with us—”

Florus’ lips parted, but no words came out—only a weak, shuddering breath. Telemachus was already hacking his way toward them, eyes dark with fury. Antinous, silent for the first time—just stared. His grip on his sword tightened so hard his knuckles turned white.

Cassander and Eurymachus, who had been bickering just moments ago, stood frozen in place. Druses, blood dripping from his daggers, glanced over—and his expression darkened.

The war still raged around them, but in that moment, none of them cared.

Florus was dying.

And the Skiaphians were about to pay for it.

@procrastination20 @jackiepackiee @barrythestrawberry041 @blessedbyahuntress

@f3r4|frOgg3r @permanently-nothere

@eyuunho @jackintheboxs-world @simpingmyassoff @sunshinewhosketches

@sugarlillycookie @kaguraaaa @doodle-with-rhy

@0anodite0 @cocosparkel @tati-the-fangirl

@dazedemery @tsmaruchan @xo-cuteplosion-xo

@galaxygurIll @pjopinkk @h0ne4bee

@minteaspoon @zendoesstuff @yuvany @i-liketoast

[genderkoolaid]

saw your post from an hour ago (about lowdosing estrogen) and just wanted to say that i have read it several times, including the attached screenshot, and couldn't find where in the og post you saw anything that would imply that the med industry loves transmascs (unless existence of transmisogyny implies it). the og post was pretty focused on transmisogyny as a main issue (with one mention of tme at the end - which i assume you focused on) and I just wanted to clarify what other possible interpretations could have led you to a comment focused on tme? because other than that I think your comment aligns with og post about transmisogyny and misogyny

i just got a bit confused and wanted to clarify your thoughts, thank you

I was being a bit hyperbolic, but it was this paragraph:

Anon starts by bringing up how trans men are correctly dosed in order to compare that trans women being underdosed, and uses the language of "systemically" and "medical establishment" to emphasize that this is part of a wider system of oppression. Which is true! But the fact that they start by bringing up trans men's supposed better treatment, and end with saying that the medical establishment is invested not just in harming trans women but "making TME believe estrogen is weaker" is what ticked me off. I've seen a lot of people emphasize that trans men aren't just treated better by systems, but insisting that any anti-transmasc bias happens on a solely interpersonal level while transmisogny is systemic, which is why it is supposedly worse and more serious.

Trans men & nonbinary people are ALSO systemically harmed by the medical establishment, which has a vested interest in harming us in many ways. There was simply no reason to bring up trans men or TMEs when talking about the actions of cis doctors in a cissexist industry which also harms trans men & "TMEs," and which we do not benefit from on any meaningful level. There is no reason to do this other than a bias against transmascs and the need to use every instance of transmisogyny as a chance to prove that trans men don't have it as bad. It's especially strange since, again, the notion that estrogen is "weak" is something I have seen specifically trans men talk about a lot. What is being described by that anon is, if anything, grounds for solidarity because we are all affected from medical misogyny around estrogen, albeit sometimes in different or opposing ways. Choosing to frame it as as a "TME vs TMA" issue is unnecessary and divisive in my opinion.

[vidavalor]

re: dust-- etymologically tied to words also relating to smoke/mist/vapor. Dust in the 'ashes to ashes' sense but also dust in the sense of you have to dust to clean/preserve/start fresh. Idioms related to dust are about revolution and sex-and-death.

To "bite the dust" is to be killed, used as one of the most famous examples of sex-and-death/destructive sexual metaphor by Queen in "Another One Bites the Dust" (aw, take it/bite the dust/bite the dust, yeah...). It's a sex-and-death metaphor in a song that is also about a very literal, deadly problem that was related to sex during the very long earlier days of the HIV pandemic.

To "kick up the dust", though, is to cause an uproar. It's to disturb the settled order of things, which is necessary for things to change. You kick up dust when you're dusting. Without Gabriel kicking up the dust in Heaven and in the bookshop, nothing would have ever been able to change. Dusting is saying nah to Armageddon just as much as it's, uh, literally dusting the books in the bookshop. 😂

Another idiom we say that means basically the same thing as to "kick up some dust"?... "To upset the apple cart." The tomato, known in England until the 18th century, as "the love apple"...

The Oslo Revival album:

Come On Over to Our Third Floor Apartment

We’re Having a Party

Just for You

Four in a Bed

Have This Drink

It Doesn’t Taste Weird

We’ll Take Care of You

We Love You

You’re One of Us Now

Together Forever

Couple of different ways of looking at this, though I absolutely agree with your impression of the creepy feel to it. Like you said, it can go in different directions with wildly different meanings, and both the story and the etymology of the words chosen supports that.

For instance, the same set of words in these song titles that gives us the creeps because it sounds very much that it relates to ideas we're having about love bombing and Crowley having fallen into Satan's web also can be interpreting using the same words to have different meanings, including a much more positive one, and all interpretations are likely correct at once.

So, first, there's the positive meaning of how this relates to Gabriel's story. When you say it aloud, "Oslo Revival" actually sounds like "Our Slow Revival", meaning a return to trying to go more slowly after the anxiety of Armageddon (even if that anxiety is still present in S2). A revival can also be an awakening, which would then kind of refer to all of the angels and demons as a whole.

What is offered in our slow/oslo revival? The album title-- to "come on over to our third floor apartment." As you pointed out, this is a very American way to put this. "Come on over" is American in rhythm and Americans say 'apartment' rather than 'flat.' America can be symbolic of freedom and liberation in the story so we could say that the lure of those things is what draws people in. (Would be helpful if we were living up to that irl but I digress. *sigh*)

Depending on who is doing the inviting, this can be good or it can be awful. You can have a positive experience-- like Gabriel being safe in the bookshop-- or you can have the worst kind of experience-- like Crowley and Beez did with Lucifer. There's also the different floors thing that "third floor apartment" brings up that has to do with a difference between how the U.K. and the U.S. measure floor levels. Since we have all this stuff with lifts/elevators, it seems especially relevant in S2.

In the U.S., we have a thing that I understand doesn't really exist much in the U.K. known as "the ground floor," which is what is just known as the first floor in the U.K.. The idiom "getting in on the ground floor" comes from this-- it means starting with a project or a business from its inception.

I bring it up because this means that what a "third floor" is in the U.S. is different from what one is in the U.K.. In the U.S., it can go: ground/1/2/3, etc., while, in the U.K., it would be more like: 1/2/3, etc. The third floor in the U.S. is what the U.K. would call the fourth floor.

In some countries, there's actually no recognized fourth floor at all. It's considered unlucky so it's skipped entirely and the third floor is then beneath the fifth floor. So, hidden in the third floor/fourth floor apartment thing might be a nod towards the deception present in the creepy way this is all phrased because the idea is that the offer to "come on over our third floor apartment" is really that it's a fourth floor apartment that doesn't exist. Might go along with the idea of the offer in The Final 15 being as bullshit as it seems.

On the other hand, if you take it just as the third floor in an American sense? And in a residential sense? Sometimes, basements are counted as a floor in a house so a third floor apartment would be one floor up from the street level floor of a residence. It's essentially the upstairs in the bookshop, like where Gabriel was staying in S2.

So that brings us to the rest of the song titles. What is being offered? To "have this drink" that "doesn't taste weird." While the love bombing take on this is chill-inducing because of the connotation that the drink is laced, one, other meaning of the word weird is supernatural, stemming from The Wyrd Sisters of Macbeth, who are inspired by the goddesses in control of fate.

Ironically, the same word that very much does have a creepy connotation that is implying that the one who drinks the drink is going to experience a loss of control actually also comes from a word related to the supernatural that is historically related to control.

If you apply that bit to the Gabriel scenario, then a drink that doesn't taste weird is the hot chocolate. It doesn't taste supernatural-- it's a bit of the human world and a relief to Gabriel. It also doesn't taste strange or gross to him. One of the first things we see in his first scene is how put off by tea he is. Aziraphale offers him something else, instead, and he loves it. In this take, the same words that echo something dark are also underscoring something that is not creepy but sweet. Both Crowley and Aziraphale give Gabriel hot chocolate during S2 and it's just cute. It's Gabriel experiencing some of the joys of the human world and getting free from the oppression of Heaven.

We can also apply this a bit to the scenes relating to offered drinks and how respecting a person's choice over them illustrating who places an emphasis on autonomy and consent and who doesn't. Our main characters all do.

Gabriel is emphatic about making sure that Beez doesn't feel pressure to drink and Crowley is fine with Aziraphale not wanting wine in Uz. No one forces Muriel to drink tea, just offers it. Same with Gabriel and the hot chocolate. This is all healthy and provides a contrast to the scene that isn't towards which the season builds-- The Coffee in The Final 15, when there is an implicit pressure for Aziraphale to drink it, further suggesting who Our Villain might be. It's framed as a choice but we can all feel a sense of Aziraphale being trapped.

This is when the wording of the rest of the tracks on the Oslo Revival album comes in, too, because what's the benign result of the offered drink being accepted in these cases? We love you/You're one of us now/Together forever, per the album track titles.

The same words that feel eerie when we're on the love bombing track of this are also sweet if we're taking more the Gabriel-like track with it. The reassurance of we love you-- which, when genuine, is lovely. We love you, you're not alone, you can have a rest and some food and drink here, we'll take care of you. We'll help you. We'll all be a team-- we'll be friends, together forever. That's awfully literal, too, for the supernatural entities 😂 They've got Gabriel now for eternity. What else is in the tracks?

How about the "four to a bed." One original meaning of bed is a garden bed. Etymologically, the track title is also saying that being friends puts you all in the garden together and, since the garden can be paradise, it means that it's nice to be there with people you care about and not alone but... since a garden can also be a bit of a trap if you can't figure out how to get out of it, it can refer to letting in friends and helping each other get out of each other's Edens, bookshops, and M-25 burning rings of fire.

I think that the "four to a bed" part also refers to how if you let someone in, you bring with them the people they have let in, too. All season long, an element of Beez is literally flying around the bookshop because Gabriel brought them along. Giving Gabriel the hot chocolate when he came on over to the two oslo revival's third floor apartment means that there's now four in a metaphorical garden together-- Crowley and Aziraphale and Gabriel and Beez.

So, that's the positive take on it, right? But then there's also that a bed was also a word for a grave at one point-- four to a bed, as in everybody's in the same boat and they're all in trouble. (It's also in keeping with a lot of the sex-and-death happening in the wordplay in different spots throughout.) There seems to be a sense in there of getting into how someone's struggles can affect those around them?

There's also the "We're Having a Party." Party is a funny word because it means a gathering of a group of people but, etymologically, it's actually related to dividing and separating people. I'd say that's definitely what Our Villain was trying to do in The Final 15 but a party in The Meeting Ball sense of unity-- something more positive-- is then the same words working in the story of our main characters. As you pointed out already, the "We'll Take Care Of You" that means just that when we're talking about our kind main characters also has the level of being mafia speak for killing somebody.

What do you think is happening in the scene when Crowley falls to the ground in pain in Tadfield?! I find your thoughts about Satan and Crowley really interesting and sorry if you've already mentioned it but I think I've gobbled up all your metas on the subject and didn't see it. Thank you 🤗

Hi there! 💕 Thanks for reading & asking. I have an assortment of Christmas cookies to share. *gets the plates* Sugar feels extra necessary for Satan-related Crowley meta...

Let's talk about that 1.06 scene you mentioned where Crowley is dragged to the ground by Satan in Tadfield, what it has to do with a motif throughout both seasons around a thing known as proskynesis, and how all of that is relevant to The Final 15 in S2.

TW: rape (mentions of the non-consensual possession-as-rape allegory).

Note: Themes of bodily autonomy and its relationship to freedom overlap between Good Omens and Terry Pratchett's Discworld and that's the main reason why some of us are still here, not giving up on this rare, A+++ survivor story, despite also wanting to hurl a certain, other person once involved with it into an active volcano. Considering the topic, I felt the need to just mention that at the start.

Sooo... let's talk about what the scene in your ask has to do with a bunch of other ones, including that scene in The Final 15...

Good Omens has a few scenes that are dealing with a thing known as proskynesis. If you're unfamiliar with this, it's a word describing rituals of reverence and worship in royal courts, as formed originally in various parts of the ancient world, like Persia, Greece, and Rome, as well as rituals involving religious worship across many different religions.

Aspects of proskynesis exist into the present in different ways in different cultures. For societies that are monarchies, proskynesis is at the root of rituals regarding how subjects in those societies address royalty. Everything from kissing the ring of high-ranking clergy in some churches to doing the same with some mafia leaders has historical ties to this. Things like bowing and curtsying customs in Victorian England can also be rooted back to proskynesis.

There are also elements of it in everyday manners and customs in societies that you wouldn't think would have any connection in the modern world to things like this. In many democracies, for instance, as in many other countries of the world, the custom of getting down on one knee to propose marriage is actually rooted in proskynesis, even if the partnership is (hopefully) more equal in today's societies.

The Japanese, who have an intricate system of bowing as part of the social expectations of their society, are a great example of how proskynesis elements have evolved to not necessarily be related to royalty or religious worship but also form the roots of manners between people throughout all classes of a society.

The rules of proskynesis in a society or a religious group varied in details a bit between cultures but has always had the same, general, wide gap between different types of actions.

As a general rule, there's a polite head bob of a bow on one end of the spectrum of proskynesis, with different bows then getting progressively lower and more intense, until we're closer to the other, more extreme end of the spectrum. That end involves kneeling at the feet of the king or in worship of a deity. The absolute, opposite end of that spectrum from that polite, head nod/bob of a bow is fully prostrating, which is lying fully on the ground, and what of this is tied to the scene in your ask, as we'll look at here.

The sketch below is a good, simple visual of what I mean:

[User: Arseni on Wikipedia]

What's interesting to note here is that when you look at the above sketch and see different movements in it that are associated with different religions, these things came to those religions by first being associated with the royal court of ancient Persia and then being adopted, in part, into Greece and Rome. What physical worshipping in a religious way looks like to this day was adopted into different religions from how humans were showing deference to other humans as royalty.

One, big debate in Christianity is actually what kind of proskynesis was given to Jesus. The word is found in The New Testament but Jesus is the perfect example of the blurred lines here between venerating a human being and treating one like a god.

There are different levels of proskynesis for religious figures, with saints and the like being ok to venerate but proskynesis involving full worship supposed to remain only for God. What kind of treatment Jesus received or should have received and what he thought about it is a matter of debate. Is he a carpenter or is he a king of kings, right? Is he human or is he supernatural... or is he both?

Crowley and Aziraphale struggle with this, too, but what they wind up doing is not technically proskynesis but it's arguably a lot better. They bear witness to Jesus' suffering and murder. They show him empathy and respect. The scene we see shows them talking about him a bit, as two people might do at any wake or funeral or the like for ages to come.

When it came to royalty, what kind of proskynesis you would perform would be dependent in different courts on your rank and your relationship to the king. You might be expected to grovel with some really low bows if you were of low rank or to have a more modest bow or to kiss the king, if you were of higher rank. The lower ranked people were expected to go lower in their bows and do more work with all of this, in order for even the chance of being recognized by the king or another high-ranked royal.

When Crowley mocks Beez, addressing them formally as Lord Beezlebub, he does a formal bow, complete with the proper foot positioning-- you can see him step into it from how his hips move. He bows almost to the waist, complete with flourishing hand gestures that are showing mock-fealty and deference to the Grand Duke of Hell by sarcastically treating them as if they were a king.

This scene which, as we'll see, is related to the one in your ask, is only one example of a couple of Crowley sassing the fuck out of someone, specifically by using proskynesis. It also adds to the chilling nature of the scene in your ask by having occurred just a matter of moments prior.

Beez lets it pass entirely because they're really only Lord Beezlebub in an attempt to project power enough to try to survive Hell. Their title is more about self-protection than it is about an expectation of deference-- which is something that Crowley also knows and is at the heart of the mockery.

Like Aziraphale, with his respectful bowing to his friend in gratitude for the sushi in 1.01, Crowley has no issue with a polite, non-religious, non-royal version of proskynesis. If worshipping the humans is wrong, Crowley and Aziraphale don't wanna be right. They don't revere individual humans as kings or gods but they do revere humanity itself as a whole in that way. They show polite respect to those sharing that with them or educating them in it.

They also do that with one another. Crowley's soft, polite nod of a bow to Aziraphale when they meet in Eden is gentlemanly. It's respectful but not in a way that isn't just treating Aziraphale as an equal. Nina gets a similar treatment when they meet in S2.

Crowley still does something similar into the modern era with Aziraphale-- note the little nod/bow when Aziraphale accepts his lunch invitation in S1.

This is all very much on the egalitarian end of proskynesis; it's in where it basically formed parts of the foundation of gestures related to having good manners in different societies. It's respect and acknowledgement between people who view and treat one another as equals, as is the case with Crowley and Aziraphale.

Their relationship is one that is built around equality, free choice, and consent. Therefore, when Crowley apologizes in S2 in another scene that is related to the one in your ask by being an intentional, totally opposite contrast to it, Aziraphale can barely contain his laughter at Crowley's mock-submissive dance. The dance, in many ways, is really a satire of proskynesis.

Crowley is doing this "yes, my king" dance for Aziraphale with tongue firmly in cheek. The dance is poking fun at the difference between general submissiveness, which Crowley loathes and likes to mock, and voluntary sexual submission with one another, which different scenes have shown us that they both periodically enjoy as some light fun from time to time.

Aziraphale is desperately trying not to laugh long enough to reply with equal humor in his dry, self-aware, soft dom voice. He can't resist smiling a bit and mimes a kiss at Crowley-- seeing Crowley's droll mocking of proskynesis-- which is etymologically linked to words related to kissing and which can involve it in different stages-- and replying by bestowing upon Crowley a kiss.

Aziraphale is intentionally doing something that isn't really the result of proskynesis when in the royal circles that Crowley is referencing with The Apology Dance. The subject is meant to seek the king's favor and would be the one, if ranked high enough to warrant such a relationship with royalty, who would kiss the king-- not the other way around. By miming a kiss at Crowley, Aziraphale is meeting Crowley's mocking of inequitable aspects of proskynesis with some mocking of his own by being miming a kiss at Crowley, who is his equal and partner.

There's also a droll joke in there where the only royal subject of a king who could reasonably have expected a kiss from the king, if maybe not always in a public setting, was the king's queen. So, Crowley's whole mocking Apology Dance has a joking, "yes, my king" vibe to it and Aziraphale's response is to show equal humor towards and affection for the person who is-- in all senses of the word-- his queen.

The end of Crowley's dance is a combination curtsy and what's known as a bow-and-scrape-- the thing from which the phrase "to bow and scrape" comes. The scrape is the movement of the foot behind a person across the floor, done to be able to go lower to the floor on the bow.

To "bow and scrape" was to basically grovel in this really overly demonstrative way for favor with the king, in the hopes that he'd be impressed by your humiliating submission enough to bestow favor upon you. The phrase now refers to doing a large amount of work or groveling to someone in a position in authority, usually with the suggested reward likely not forthcoming.

The second word in the phrase-- scrape-- also contains the word for the thing Crowley has survived at the hands of that fucking monster, Satan, who lives for the demons to bow and scrape for his favor. That's intentional on Crowley's part-- the end of this apology dance is also a visual pun on the word scrape, which contains the word rape, and this while he's doing this mocking dance that is a perfect example of how completely different and very healthy his relationship with Aziraphale is by how he is free to be this hilarious, sassy shit with his partner versus the forced subjugation by his assailant.

You might think that wordplay-- visual or otherwise-- involving the word rape is a bit dark. I won't disagree with that but I just want to briefly show you other examples of it that I've noticed so you can see what they're showing as the rationale for it between Crowley and Aziraphale. It's actually more of an empowering thing when you see other examples of it that are in other scenes.

Crowley and Aziraphale's cant vocabulary-- their invented hidden language-- uses a lot of words-within-words, just like how rape lives within scrape. If you consider that, you might also notice a couple of foods that recur in Good Omens that also are related to this. In Crowley and Aziraphale's language and in their life together, food is food but food is also figurative language for sex. Their healthy relationship and all the food and sex that is part of their life together is their answer to the traumas they've both suffered.

It's sensual, mindful living that focuses on healthier, positive experiences that help them to provide one another with a quality of life that the pain of Heaven and Hell does not. As a result, some frequently mentioned food and drink is held up between them as examples of the loving, enjoyable, pleasurable relationship with one another that they have that stands in contrast to Heaven and, especially, Hell.

Crowley enjoys wine, right? Which is made from? Grapes, as Aziraphale orders in 1601...

The opposite of the rape-related issues that Aziraphale unintentionally triggered in Crowley in 1793, for example, is what he then offers him for lunch-- both figurative and euphemistic crepes.

Not coincidentally, that's also what Aziraphale suggested the day after Crowley was assaulted by Satan on the night Armageddon began-- the crepes of Paris, 1793-- and Crowley, as we could see, was all for it:

Another covert reference to this is Aziraphale's magic trick of changing a turnip into an inkwell. It's a metaphor on a couple of different levels but one of them is that the word rape overlaps with a type of plant that is also called that and is the category name for a group of plants and vegetables, the most famous of which is the turnip.

Turnips are also a pretty clever food metaphor for rape. They have been in existence for forever and are, horrifyingly, really common, but no one-- no one lol-- has ever really wanted to eat a turnip. They're not a terribly appealing food and I would wager that if you lined up every person on the planet and asked them to name a delicious food no one-- at all-- would say the turnip.

So, adding that into the etymology of the vegetable being tied to the word rape, then turning "the common turnip" into "an inkwell"-- when sea creatures, like octopi, are often sources of ink, and 'well' meaning both healthy and a flowing source of liquid? It's Aziraphale making a magic trick that is a metaphor for him helping Crowley heal from the rape-related inorgasmia referenced subtly in a few, other scenes, and which is the subject of the Fish meta, if you're interested in that.

Anyway, the healthy, humorous, proskynesis-mocking apology dance is one of the scenes that serves as a direct contrast to the scene in your ask where Crowley is forced to the ground by Satan in Tadfield. That scene involves the other, more extreme end of proskynesis, which is number 6 on the sketch near the start of the meta: prostration.

To be clear: how people want to worship in any way, if they do, is no one's business, so long as it's not harming anyone else. There's nothing inherently wrong with any of this if it's of someone's free will. The scene in your ask, though, doesn't involve free choice, it involves forced subjugation, which is from where the horror of it comes.

Prostration involves lying flat and face down on the ground with your arms outstretched. It involves kissing the feet of the king or the ground that you believe belongs to the deity you're worshipping.

Prostration is complete submission. It's basically a rejection of any sense of self in full deference to the king or the deity.

In Hell, all the demons are seen as belonging to Satan. Several of them, like Hastur and Shax, refer to Satan as "our Master." They are all seen as Satan's subjects and his property-- all known as a collective referred to by Hastur in S1 as The Fallen, as we also looked at in relation to Aziraphale being Mr. Fell in this meta.

In Heaven and Hell's view, The Fallen do not belong to themselves but to Satan. Crowley's sense of autonomy and his relationship with Aziraphale are secrets he keeps because of how they conflict with Hell, where he's not supposed to have any other desire but to live to serve his rapist, who believes that he owns him.

All of Crowley's mocking of anything more than a polite nod when it comes to proskynesis is more than just being generally anti-royalty and anti-authority. The root cause of all of it is Satan.

In the scene in Tadfield, Satan is forcing Crowley to first kneel and, then, to prostrate, before him.

When Crowley clutches one hand to his chest and uses his other hand under him to keep himself an inch or two above ground, he's doing so in an effort to resist fully prostrating.

He's trying to keep his hands from being pulled out in front of him and to keep up enough to keep his lips from kissing the ground in forced subjugation to Satan.

This is probably the darkest scene in the show-- even darker, maybe, than 1.01's scene of Satan attacking Crowley in The Bentley-- because this is a whole new level of horror here. Crowley is shaking with the pain of fighting for enough control over himself to keep from prostrating any more than he is being forced to. This is happening with other people present-- including Aziraphale and kids, including Satan's own kid-- with the obvious humiliation factor being part of the attack.

Unlike in 1.01, when Satan took complete control of Crowley to a point that he couldn't speak, he's left him that ability in this scene, getting off on hearing Crowley protest. This scene shocks because the 1.01 scene of Satan attacking Crowley, and subsequent scenes reinforcing the non-consensual possession-as-rape allegory throughout the story, lead the viewer to believe that this is how it will always be referred to in the story. It lulls us into a sense of complacency where we think we know what the show will do, which has the desired effect of making this scene, in which they shift that tone pretty dramatically, all the more impactful and terrifying.

Furthering the allegorical here is that Crowley is outmatched, power-wise, for the most part, but is putting up a fight. He's moved by an assailant against his will, quite violently. He's dragged to his knees and then pushed forward to the ground. He's in pain and distressed, he's lost control of his body, his legs end up splayed, he pulls in on himself as much as he can, and he's repeatedly saying the word no. I think it might be pretty much impossible to make a scene full of more direct correlations to rape than this scene. They're doing so to really underline this survivor story with Crowley that is running through so many of the other scenes.

Crowley grabs his right leg when he is forced down to the tarmac, presumably because that's the side that is being forced to move by Satan to drag Crowley to his knees. It's possible, though, that this might be also be an allusion to the aftermath of 1827.

When we saw Crowley in 1862 in the scene that functions as him still trying to deal with what happened in 1827, Crowley was carrying that cane that many think was more than a fashion statement. Something that could cause Crowley periodic pain, while also still allowing for other scenes in which he pretty clearly isn't in any pain, is the possibility that, in the 1827 aftermath, Satan broke one or both of Crowley's legs.

As any of us who have ever broken a part of our human corporations know, they can often be painful long after they heal and frequently subject to weather and stress. It's possible that Crowley had recurring pain for decades and might still into today. This is all speculative but why else might this idea also fit?

Possibly just because there are so many scenes in Good Omens that are nothing but Crowley just walking freely or hopping, owning his human body by sauntering around on the legs that are often symbolic of his life as a human of Earth, as he very notably doesn't have them in snake form... and his snake form is something that he associates negatively with his fall and Hell.

Crowley's walk at any given time is related to his sense of empowerment and, sweetly, there are also a bunch of scenes of Aziraphale just gazing at Crowley as he walks around. Including, darkly, the one that was happening when Crowley was dragged to Hell in 1827:

The scene related to this that I like best, though, is when Crowley and Aziraphale both get one over on Satan and The Metatron by successfully hiding Gabriel in S2. They grin at one another as Crowley hops down from the chair, fully in his body, landing gracefully and happily on the legs that, whether once broken or not, we have seen in 1.06 ripped out from under him by Satan before.

Hell also has some Godfather-referencing, mafia-like nods in different scenes in the series and breaking someone's legs is kind of classic mob stuff but, really, I think it's more tied to the whole forced subservience snake thing. Crowley, telling Aziraphale that he'd changed his name to one we learn in S2's Job minisode is associated for Crowley with freedom, autonomy, choice, and Aziraphale...

...from one that is "a bit too squirming-at-your-feet-ish" to Crowley. It's a comment made more horrifying when 1.06's scene in Tadfield makes it clear that this isn't just a metaphor here-- Crowley's unwillingness to be Crawly and his discomfort with being a snake makes even more sense once we have this scene in Tadfield that sees Satan knock his human legs out from under him and force him into literally squirming like a snake at his feet.

No wonder why Snake!Crowley has a tendency to prefer roaring like a lion when transforming into a snake-like monster, like he did in the paintball scene...

Crowley and Aziraphale working to reframe and claim The Serpent from Crowley's negative associations with being a snake is something I talked about in the other meta I posted recently, should you also be interested in that.

The other thing of note when it comes to this scene of Satan trying to force Crowley to fully prostrate is then the fact that, while we've looked at the horror that Crowley is experiencing here, there are some other scenes that are subtly referencing positive life experiences that can be associated with this same type of position, if the situation is consensual and of someone's free choice.

They're also the exact types of things that can be complicated by having been assaulted. Lying face down are obviously both common sexual and sleep positions, for instance...

In S1, one of the scenes that got cut was supposed to be Crowley waking up from a nap in his flat. The script book says it was supposed to be that Crowley was sleeping on the ceiling in his bedroom, which also looks to be how they were filming it from the picture of it that exists. DT filmed it standing up, presumably so that they could flip the shot around and make it look like Crowley was sleeping on the ceiling. In addition to the heat-seeking snake aspect of this, there's some interesting psychology that may be at work here.

Crowley's flat in S1 was not owned by Crowley-- Hell owned it, as we can see even more in S2-- and he was not technically safe in it. Hell isn't great with boundaries and, although Crowley had structured the flat to make it so that he might have some warning if someone were to come through the front door, there was no guarantee that they would do that. Crowley sleeping on the ceiling in the bedroom in his flat might suggest that he did so, at least in part, to try to have an advantage over someone who might show up in his flat.

It might suggest that Crowley likes to sleep on his stomach but he felt too vulnerable to do that in the bed in his flat so the only way he could make that happen there was to sleep on the ceiling, where his position would potentially be a bit more advantageous. Where Crowley likely does not have that issue is in the bookshop, as he's much safer there.

In another area of life? After 1.06 showing where the proskynesis theme was leading in that season, this scene below is then retroactively given another layer:

As looked at before, Aziraphale's hand gestures here are actually massage movements. His dialogue is also full of massage-related puns-- need/knead, back, practice. Probably also not coincidentally? In addition to just being fun and relaxing, massage is also often suggested by therapists working with couples where one or more partners has been assaulted, as it can be therapeutic on a variety of levels. The scene is suggestive of Crowley being comfortable with a variety of different kinds of pleasurable prostrate positions with Aziraphale, which stands in obvious direct contrast to the horrors of Satan.

So, here's where we're going to end this by talking about some mirroring to the scene in your ask with The Final 15, especially through using etymology. The word proskynesis comes from the Greek and is a combination of pros (meaning: towards, in this case) and kyneo (meaning: kiss). Some translations of it actually wind up being less "towards the kiss" more along the lines of "to kiss in the presence of."

Yeah... There's a word in the mix in this story that means "to kiss in the presence of" and that feels pretty relevant to the last few minutes of the most recent episode we've seen, no? 😂

In the S1 finale, the season's recurring moments of proskynesis lead towards the Tadfield scene, in which we watch Crowley wind up forcibly prostrated before Satan and resisting a kiss with everything he's got. While he'd do that anyway, what's the biggest reason as to why he was in that moment? Aziraphale, right?

It's because Aziraphale is right there and this is all already more than horrible enough. Crowley does everything in his power to retain enough control to resist this kiss because he is absolutely not kissing the Earth Satan claims is his, in forced deference to him, with Aziraphale watching.

Poor Aziraphale can't do anything about this in the moment that it's happening. He can't go to Crowley without giving away that he's Crowley's partner. They've been terrified for a long time that Satan would kill Crowley if he found out about them and, based on what we've seen of how violent and dangerous Satan is, it doesn't seem like that fear is at all unfounded.

By S2, Crowley and Aziraphale are becoming a bit less of a secret but the people who they are letting in are ones they feel are trustworthy. None of them have any affiliation with Hell or Satan. The one person around them each a bit that does have affiliation with him-- Shax-- is the one they're both still attempting to fool.

The S2 mirror of the proskynesis/"kiss in the presence of" moment from 1.06 of Satan attacking Crowley in Tadfield and Crowley resisting the kiss in front of Aziraphale involves these same three characters again... but some aspects of it are-- as they would be with a mirror-- shifted around a little.

In 2.06, it's Crowley with a kiss again-- but, this time, it's Aziraphale that he's kissing. Instead of being the person who is watching the kiss be resisted, Aziraphale is the recipient of a kiss that Crowley is actually willing to give.

Aziraphale, like Crowley in 1.06, is mostly resisting the kiss. While Crowley pushed to resist it entirely in S1 for obvious reasons, Aziraphale isn't put off by the idea of kissing Crowley in general but, in S2, is resisting it as much as he's able to do so.

Why?

Because Aziraphale knows with almost complete certainty that it's Satan watching them through the window.

[veritasrose]

If y’all really want viable third party candidates in the US, we need to vote in the smaller elections. We can’t just swoop in with a democratic socialist president. We need to have third party senators and governors and freakin school board members! Build up the presence from the ground up and then, then there might be enough support structure for a third party president.

I know everyone is hung up on the big ticket this year, but look into the smaller races and start backing those candidates. Find who is starting their political career and boost them, so they have a chance to get their foot in the door.

Seriously y’all, we need to start paying attention to these ballots. My city has a more progressive mayor, and she has declared, with police backing, that no one in our city will be charged with any crimes related to abortion. They are refusing to prosecute despite the state laws.

That is the difference your vote can make. Especially in smaller elections!

So do some research, find representatives who you actually want to support, and then do that! They all have to start somewhere, and in smaller tickets, we can essentially decide which seeds we want to water.

(I mean there is also the Burn It All Down option but that always leads to most the damage falling on marginalized communities. And I don’t think people relying on social programs should pay the price for revolution. We should at least try a more social based change first.)

[skeletalheartattack]

[screamingay]

somehow these current roommates we have are the worst that ive known yet and last semester we literally had a girl who smoked cigs IN her bedroom. list of grievances below lol

[aeide-thea]

#if you Really wanted to you could say ‘chat when there is not in fact a chat’ as invocation to an absent third party is apostrophe #but that is its whole own thing (via catilinas)

I keep seeing the "chat is a fourth person pronoun" post and it's getting increasingly hard to avoid starting discourse in the notes of it. chat I don't think they know what these linguistics terms they're using mean

[oceantornadoo]

inspired by a dramoine fic i read! simon riley x f!reader

it’s the third time today someone has handed you simon’s paperwork and you’re starting to get confused. in fact, there’s the distinct feeling that you’ve missed a memo.

first, it was the visiting captain, so you couldn’t blame him for confusing lieutenants. but then it was johnny turning in his mission report, muttering something about “cannae be late this time if ah give it ye, lass.” which was odd, considering you weren’t his direct report (you were gaz’s). but what really sent you over the edge was getting called into price’s office and being met with a load of folders addressed to one Lt. Ghost (Confidential).

“sir, i’m a bit confused as to why you can’t just give these to him yourself.” price looked up from his desk, eyes flickering from under his boonie hat. “hav’ you seen ‘im today, lieutenant?” you nodded immediately while trying to scoop all of this paperwork (that was not yours!) into your arms. “yessir, i saw him before breakfast and then during training and then…what?” price had silently quirked an eyebrow, his beard echoing the movement. “i haven’t seen ‘im all day, so i figure it’s faster for you to deliver since you’re more well-versed in his movements than i am.” huh. “i’m sure he’s just doing his ghost thing, y’know? slipping into shadows and…”, price patiently gave you an exasperated look, “but i’ll get these to him, sir. see you later!”

the problem was, you knew exactly where simon was. in your office.

his own had an unfortunate ground level window near the track, so he was always complaining about nosy recruits until you offered to share some office space. temporarily, of course. it’s not like you were using all the empty space anyways and it made it much easier to get the opinion of your fellow lieutenant on a report by walking over to his desk, rather than going up and down stairs. that was the second point he made, and who were you to say no?

after pushing open your office door, you beelined for simon’s desk, dumping the stacks of folders on his desk. “wot’s this?” his mask was off so you could see his eyes widen at the mess of papers. “everyone now thinks i’m a drop off box for your paperwork, so i got burdened with all of this when i was doing my rounds.” he nodded thoughtfully, taking a sip of his tea. “cheers, love.”

“what do you mean, cheers? don’t you think it’s odd for them to give me your paperwork? and why do we even have so much paperwork? i swear im drowning in it this week.” he snorted at your last sentence, opening the first folder in front of him while you rounded your desk, sitting in your comfy chair with a hmpf. “yer out an’ about more than me, tha’s all.” well, that was true. the infamous ghost was not known to be a sociable person on base. “i guess…” you turned to your old radio, passed down by a retired captain, and turned on simon’s favorite classical station.

“ya want mess or the pub tonight, love?” another great thing about being on base with simon - you never had to pay for dinner. “actually, that thai place we like is doing a special tonight.” he gave you a half-smirk, one cheek ticking up. “bloody raccoon. we had thai two nights ago.” you didn’t respond, instead blinking your best impression of puppy dog eyes at him. simon sighed, then shook his head at his desk. “olrigh’. the things i do.” you smiled and winked, dipping your head back down to your desk. “thanks, si.”

-

two weeks later, you were prepping for a duo mission with simon. price had been grilling the two of you for the past three hours, making sure you had everything memorized. satisfied, he leaned back in his office chair and rubbed his temples, the feeling of a headache coming on. “one more thing.” both of you snapped your head up at price, desperate to leave and eat. you’d already missed dinner and your stomach was complaining.

“the safe house is pretty small, basically a shack. one bed, no couch. i assumed ‘s fine since y’r datin-“ “‘s fine, captain.” simon cut him off, an out of character move that had you frowning. “it’s fine, cap. not like ive never slept on a floor before.” now price was frowning at what you said. he turned to simon, who shook his head imperceptibly before becoming still again. price’s brow furrowed but he didn’t push further. he got up from his chair, eyes flitting suspiciously between you two. “i’ll see you at 0600.”

“what was that about?” you whispered to simon after as you walked down the hall. “‘s nothin’.” you were missing something but it was so unclear what. “he thinks that we’re datin-“ “said it’s nothin’, sweetheart. he’s an old man. let’s get some food in you, yeah?” you nodded, letting him guide you to the kitchen. price wasn’t that old. and you were not dating simon riley.

-

the mission was beautiful, your best one in years. it was the first duo mission between you and simon, so the nerves of pulling your own weight had settled in hard. thankfully, your skills balanced each other out and you’d gotten the target in record time. now, all you had to do was wait in the safe house for exfil.

“you were so good.” you whispered once he’d locked the door. he only hummed a response, checking exit and entry points while you set up your packs, scrounging up MREs and testing the shack for electricity. price wasn’t kidding - it was practically a studio apartment. one bed, a bathroom and a decrepit stove. the soldier part of you was fine with it, but that small soft part of you ached for the warmth of your apartment. memories of yelling at simon for using all your shampoo even though he didn’t live there, of him running you a bath after a long day of training.

“you were good too, baby.” he snuck up from behind your spot on the floor and lifted you onto the mattress that had definitely seen better days. you hadn’t even checked it for bed bugs yet. “c’mere.” he pulled you into his lap, unbuckling your tac vest as you pulled off your bandana. you tugged off his mask - the hard shell since you were on a mission - and ran your nails through his short haircut. simon started kissing your neck, wet and sloppy like he couldn’t get enough. the unrestrained want he displayed sometimes scared you. the respective pulsing in both your chest and cunt scared you more.

“so are you sleeping on the floor or am i?” he flipped you over, your back flush with the mattress as simon loomed over you. there was still eyeblack around his eyes, caught on his blonde eyelashes as well, and you couldn’t help the hand that reached up to brush some of it away. “y’r funny, sweetheart.” you grinned at that - a real toothy smile. he bent down to kiss you, scarred lips caressing your own. simon bit your lip and you moaned, sliding your legs out from under him to wrap them around his torso. when you tugged him in he went willingly, grinding into your clothed cunt. his tac vest was still on, scraping against your shirt, hardening your nipples.

“keepin’ you in this bed all night.” cold fingers dipped past the waist of your pants. you were already wet, his fingers sliding easily up and down your slit as they warmed up. that’s when you realized he still had his glove on, his movements harsher than normal. wide eyes met his own, and simon stopped so you could make a decision.

it didn’t take much as you dug your heels into his back harder, meeting him in a sloppy kiss as his gloved thumb played with your clit. “fuckin’ made for me.” he whispered, and you chalked it up to dirty talk because obviously, you weren’t together. he just knew exactly what to do, giving your clit the right amount of pressure as his other fingers teased your hole, the stretch burning more than usual. it only took a few flicks and you were off, your orgasm settling through your bones like a warm cup of tea. “jesus, si.” he grinned, his scarred lips pulling up to show a beautiful smile. “know ya like th’ back of my hand, huh?” you shook your head, capturing the idiot in another kiss.

-

after the mission, after debrief and a hot shower, you made your way back to your base office. thankfully, paperwork had only slightly piled up. one envelope stood out though - a thick card-stock with glossy, swooping letters. an invite to london’s military gala, addressed to a Lieutenant & Lieutenant. simon’s name was next to yours, connected by a singular symbol. you turned to him in disbelief. simon had been going through his own backlog, but his head snapped up under the focus of your glare.

“simon, are we…dating?”

-

this was fun!!! check out the fic i linked it was so good and i couldn’t put it down.

[aethersea]

another thing fantasy writers should keep track of is how much of their worldbuilding is aesthetic-based. it's not unlike the sci-fi hardness scale, which measures how closely a story holds to known, real principles of science. The Martian is extremely hard sci-fi, with nearly every detail being grounded in realistic fact as we know it; Star Trek is extremely soft sci-fi, with a vaguely plausible "space travel and no resource scarcity" premise used as a foundation for the wildest ideas the writers' room could come up with. and much as Star Trek fuckin rules, there's nothing wrong with aesthetic-based fantasy worldbuilding!

(sidenote we're not calling this 'soft fantasy' bc there's already a hard/soft divide in fantasy: hard magic follows consistent rules, like "earthbenders can always and only bend earth", and soft magic follows vague rules that often just ~feel right~, like the Force. this frankly kinda maps, but I'm not talking about just the magic, I'm talking about the worldbuilding as a whole.

actually for the purposes of this post we're calling it grounded vs airy fantasy, bc that's succinct and sounds cool.)

a great example of grounded fantasy is Dungeon Meshi: the dungeon ecosystem is meticulously thought out, the plot is driven by the very realistic need to eat well while adventuring, the story touches on both social and psychological effects of the whole 'no one dies forever down here' situation, the list goes on. the worldbuilding wants to be engaged with on a mechanical level and it rewards that engagement.

deliberately airy fantasy is less common, because in a funny way it's much harder to do. people tend to like explanations. it takes skill to pull off "the world is this way because I said so." Narnia manages: these kids fall into a magic world through the back of a wardrobe, befriend talking beavers who drink tea, get weapons from Santa Claus, dance with Bacchus and his maenads, and sail to the edge of the world, without ever breaking suspension of disbelief. it works because every new thing that happens fits the vibes. it's all just vibes! engaging with the worldbuilding on a mechanical level wouldn't just be futile, it'd be missing the point entirely.

the reason I started off calling this aesthetic-based is that an airy story will usually lean hard on an existing aesthetic, ideally one that's widely known by the target audience. Lewis was drawing on fables, fairy tales, myths, children's stories, and the vague idea of ~medieval europe~ that is to this day our most generic fantasy setting. when a prince falls in love with a fallen star, when there are giants who welcome lost children warmly and fatten them up for the feast, it all fits because these are things we'd expect to find in this story. none of this jars against what we've already seen.

and the point of it is to be wondrous and whimsical, to set the tone for the story Lewis wants to tell. and it does a great job! the airy worldbuilding serves the purposes of the story, and it's no less elegant than Ryōko Kui's elaborately grounded dungeon. neither kind of worldbuilding is better than the other.

however.

you do have to know which one you're doing.

the whole reason I'm writing this is that I saw yet another long, entertaining post dragging GRRM for absolute filth. asoiaf is a fun one because on some axes it's pretty grounded (political fuck-around-and-find-out, rumors spread farther than fact, fastest way to lose a war is to let your people starve, etc), but on others it's entirely airy (some people have magic Just Cause, the various peoples are each based on an aesthetic/stereotype/cliché with no real thought to how they influence each other as neighbors, the super-long seasons have no effect on ecology, etc).

and again! none of this is actually bad! (well ok some of those stereotypes are quite bigoted. but other than that this isn't bad.) there's nothing wrong with the season thing being there to highlight how the nobles are focused on short-sighted wars for power instead of storing up resources for the extremely dangerous and inevitable winter, that's a nice allegory, and the looming threat of many harsh years set the narrative tone. and you can always mix and match airy and grounded worldbuilding – everyone does it, frankly it's a necessity, because sooner or later the answer to every worldbuilding question is "because the author wanted it to be that way." the only completely grounded writing is nonfiction.

the problem is when you pretend that your entirely airy worldbuilding is actually super duper grounded. like, for instance, claiming that your vibes-based depiction of Medieval Europe (Gritty Edition) is completely historical, and then never even showing anyone spinning. or sniffing dismissively at Tolkien for not detailing Aragorn's tax policy, and then never addressing how a pre-industrial grain-based agricultural society is going years without harvesting any crops. (stored grain goes bad! you can't even mouse-proof your silos, how are you going to deal with mold?) and the list goes on.

the man went up on national television and invited us to engage with his worldbuilding mechanically, and then if you actually do that, it shatters like spun sugar under the pressure. doesn't he realize that's not the part of the story that's load-bearing! he should've directed our focus to the political machinations and extensive trope deconstruction, not the handwavey bit.

point is, as a fantasy writer there will always be some amount of your worldbuilding that boils down to 'because I said so,' and there's nothing wrong with that. nor is there anything wrong with making that your whole thing – airy worldbuilding can be beautiful and inspiring. but you have to be aware of what you're doing, because if you ask your readers to engage with the worldbuilding in gritty mechanical detail, you had better have some actual mechanics to show them.

[foldingfittedsheets]

In my household growing up scaring each other was like an Olympic level sport. We’d wait around corners, we’d hide under things. We took it seriously.

My mom started it. She loved scaring us. She has a cherished photo of me screaming that she took one Halloween night after jumping out of a dark bush at me. But my quickly brother latched onto the game with abandon. Mom quickly regretted teaching us to do this as turnabout did not seek like fair play to her.

At one point my sister was given a life size cardboard cutout of Legolas and the second we realized that thing was an instant jump scare we’d move it all over the house. The scream from the bathroom at 2am was my crowning achievement but Legolas tragically went missing shortly after. Read: my mom burned him.

Now, as the youngest I was at a severe disadvantage. I spooked the easiest after my mom. I was exceptionally sneaky and patient so I typically got my revenge but I quickly learned that if you didn’t jump then it was less fun. Thus began my campaign for nonreaction. Every time someone jumped out at me I startled a little less as I stamped down on the reflex.

After a year or so I would just blink at my brother when he popped out from a closet. Don’t get me wrong, I was still scared. The spike of adrenaline and panic still happened internally but I didn’t react anymore. My brother soon gave up on me and the game died to our mothers intense relief.

I largely forgot about that period of my life but every so often someone tries to scare me and is extremely disappointed.

My favorite of these attempts was at Red Robin. Servers loved to spook the hosts when they could, it was a fun pastime when they didn’t have enough to do.

The hosts were meant to open the doors for people when it was slow. The door we opened had a single seat beside it on the left, then a blind hallway that led to the bathroom.

One evening I was on door duty. I was facing slightly away from the seat on my left. A server buddy of mine snuck out of the bathroom quiet as could be. He waited for the perfect moment, then leapt over the seat to land in front of me with a huge, “RAH!!!!!” It was a feat of fear and athleticism.

Panic shot through me like a lightning bolt but grounded itself quickly. I didn’t outwardly so much as blink in surprise, and after a quick beat I turned to look at him calmly and said, “Hey, Joe.”

He deflated and all the other hosts jaws dropped. “How did you see me?!”

“I didn’t,” I assured him.

He scoffed in disbelief and slunk away defeated.

He hounded me for a week about how coolly I’d greeted him, asking if I’d heard him coming or if another host had tipped me off. “No, you scared me,” I told him. He never believed it and no further attempts were ever made on me.

[timmydraker]

Tim begins to distance himself from his family after Damian becomes Robin.

It was obvious in the way he ran off to rescue Bruce, but that was more of a physical thing at the end of the day. He was desperate and had lost any kind of safety net and support he had after Dick threatened Arkham and how badly he hurt Alfred with his instance that Bruce was alive.

Either way he was going to get Bruce back, if not because he felt like he was an aimless, nothing human being without Batman then there was that he wanted to be believed.

Then Dick handed over Robin to Damian who at that point genuinely despised Tim, though there was also a level of jealously in the young Wayne’s mind at the intelligence and analytical Tim.

It was then that Tim decided he would bring Bruce back and then do his own thing, outside of Robin and outside of Batman.

He clearly had done his job hadn’t he? Sure Bruce was dead, but Dick was acting as Batman and that Batman had a Robin, so his reasoning for being Robin was extinguished.

Tim brings Bruce back and the older man praises and thanks him for several days and then, like everything else, the attention moves away. It goes to him connecting with Damian on a vigilante level and catching up on the last several months of him being ‘dead’. It goes to Jason who, now that he’s lost his foster father has decided that maybe he could try a little harder after all.

It goes to everyone and anyone other than Tim and this time? That’s actually the plan.

Tim isn’t as good of a hacker as Barbara, but she’s basically a god at it so compared to others he might as well be master level, just not against her. This he uses to shift around peoples schedules so Alfred has no choice but to let him go to school on his own (Tim may have also invented an early morning ‘club’ that was totally legit and not at all a fabrication). He makes it so when Dick is over or Jason takes the rare opportunity to visit he had to work at WE or DI, something important he can’t neglect.

He never has to walk Ace or Titus because he’s busy with his team mates.

Team mates who think he’s busy helping out Batman.

Tim still does work as a hero, but it’s entirely through his businesses after a while. A few times he has no choice but to go out in a boring black suit with a full face mask and hoodie. It’s got nothing on it, no symbols or gadgets. Nothing to connect him to anyone.

He starts with the homeless, dishing out vaccines like candy without even doing a campaign to showcase it.

Then he changes Bruce’s rather naive approach to orphanages and makes it so every single child who is put through is given a small amount of funding. He makes it so kids have more chance to stay with siblings, makes sure everyone who even so much as enters the ground of a orphanage have a real background check and sure the adoption rate drops, but so does the missing kids and DV cases.

Tim steals over fifty million from people like Luther and Penguin and all kinds of corrupt rich assholes for the majority of the funding and not even a cent of it is traced back to Wayne or Drake businesses. Whiles he’s digging into Lex be manages to get enough evidence to put a sizeable dent in his reputation, even if Lex manages to smooch a fair bit of it back.

He’s manages to take out a large sized trafficking ring and helps get the victims into a real recovery home that he hand picks out security for.

Later, as in a few days afterward, he discovers a dog meat farm and everyone medical veterinary student suddenly finds themself free of student loans and debt and with multiple work opportunities available and volunteer work being down right pleased for.

Tim knows he’s being noticed but given that he basically lives in his office in the heart of the city, he isn’t there to hear his old teammates and ‘family’ talk about the mysterious Dread.

Dread who was named that after a report came out about a theory of an unknown hacker or ‘cyber vigilante’ who was stealing money and information from rich folk and giving it to the poor, giving all of the 1% dread that he would hit them next.

The exact quote was ‘Those with money deeper than their pockets dread the hackers next moves. And they should feel that dread as a warning for this Robin Hood like legend seems to be getting braver.’

Dick was sure the hacker would have been called Robin if he hadn’t chosen that name already, to which Barbara responded with grumbles and growl because she couldn’t find anything other than holes and traps left by the hacker. It was like they knew her every move before she even made it!

Tim, obvious to his growing reputation until it fully took off, hadn’t even considered that his actions would be framed a threat by Batman. He would say it was because he didn’t think Bruce would ever really target him like that, but in actuality it’s because he knew Bruce was one of the few good rich folk. Surely he would be on the side of a secret vigilante hacker trying to use horrible people to do good? He embraced Dread quickly and was happy he make the rich squirm and brought a sense of hope to people, it was just like Robin but instead of them being safe and given light they were given a peace of mind in a mix of revenge and justice.

What Tim doesn’t know is that Bruce is still too far into his whole image of black and white, good and evil, that he tends to forget there’s grey areas.

At least Jason is on the side of Dread, even if he still thinks the myth of a story is just that, a myth.

It’s when Tim blows up a bank when everyone has gone home for the night just so people will find the underground money ring that and he visits the manner to get a few things that he hears them talking about it.

By that point it’s been around two years since he dropped Robin and as usual Dick always greets him with a look of a desperate puppy, “Tim! Hi, you’re here. I haven’t seen you in months, how have you been?”

Tim smiles at Dick even if he hasn’t gotten over his anger at his oldest brother and moves to sit at the breakfast table with everyone (Alfred, Bruce, Jason and Damian).

“Good. Busy, we’ve had a lot of donations lately.”

Jason snorts, “No shit. Isn’t Wayne Enterprise one of the few ones not hit by Dread?”

Bruce grumbles and shakes his head, “I wouldn’t say that. They’ve managed to get into our system and completely changed the Jason Project.”

Jason grins and laughs happily, “you mean improved! Crime Ally is doing great now. Not the best, but still a fuck of a lot better.”

Smiling at the man who once beat him to an inch of his life, Tim takes a sip of his tea and casually says, “You’re welcome.”

The whole table goes quiet as Tim continues to casually sip his tea.

The silence carries for a total minute before Bruce puts down his cup and leans forward with a slight growl in his voice, “Explain.”

“Explain what?”

Bruce stands over his son even from halfway down the table and very obviously tries to calm himself with a deep breath, “What do you mean ‘you’re welcome’?”

Tim makes an ‘oh’ expression before cocking his head to the side in confusion, “I was the one who fixed the Jason Project? Wait, did you guys not realise I’m Dread?”

Damian shouts out a ‘what?!’ That makes Titus jump and Tim laughs under his breath, “What did you think I was doing?”

“Running the business! Not stealing from people and black mailing politicians!”

It’s Tim’s turn to growl now and he stands up himself with a glare at Bruce that is as close as any of them have gotten to the famed Bat-Glare, “Are you fucking kidding me? Like are you a Tully kidding me with that horse shit?”

Bruce looks stunned and Alfred doesn’t even tell him not to swear.

Tim slams his chair into the table.

“What the fuck else would I be doing, Bruce? I’m not Robin, that was taken from me, so what else was I gonna do? I finished my job, not only keeping you from killing anyone but bringing you back, so I had do pick something else. I’m not stealing from the rich, I’m stealing from selfish cunts who ruin peoples lives for no reason and giving it to people like Jason. So, don’t you fucking yell at me and don’t try to make me feel bad for this, not when I’ve done more in two years than you ever have and- don’t you fucking speak Dick, not when you were the one who took my place here away from me! Now, I have a trafficking ring I need to expose so good. Fucking. Day.”

Jason is the only one who follows him.

[chuluoyi]

✎ daddy-to-be

- gojo satoru x reader

in which you're worried about how he'd react to you carrying his baby

genre: fluff and comfort, mentions of pregnancy and dizzy spells

note: i feel soooo warm writing this *sigh* thank u anon who asked this!

a part of gojo's love entries

general masterlist

"Gojo-sensei! Must we do this?"

"For real?!"

"Okaka..."

"Yoohoo! Hehehehe~"

You sighed at the sight of your tall paintbrush of a husband. Satoru was supposedly teaching his first years—Maki, Panda and Inumaki—and yet, from where you were standing, it looked more like he was bullying them into following his whims more than anything.

A kind reminder that… this silly man is the father of your unborn child.

He didn't know that you were pregnant yet, because you had discovered it just a few days ago and chosen to keep it a secret for the time being.

In theory, this was normal. You two were married and engaged in a high level of sexual activity—something Satoru made sure of—and therefore, conceiving a child was bound to happen sooner or later.

Admittedly, accepting the fact that you were carrying his baby wasn't as easy as you thought, even knowing that. You hadn't seriously talked about having kids, and sure, your husband might have just taken a young cursed boy Yuta into his care—and way before that, Megumi, but it wasn't the same with your own child. It can't be the same.

And not to mention that you two were jujutsu sorcerers. Where would raising a baby fit in this bloody, cursed world you lived in?

...and above all, as things stand now, does Satoru even want a baby?

You released another sigh as you walked away, but then your vision tipped and you had to grab the wall for support. Right, you hadn't even been feeling well these past few days. You got queasy easily, and you experienced sporadic bouts of vertigo too.

"Sensei?" Yuta's worried voice greeted you, and you forced yourself to remain upright. "Are you okay?"

"Ah, yes, I'm fine," you assured him with a smile.

"Should I get Gojo-sensei? You seem pale..."

"No, no, that's—"

"Ooh~ Wifey!"

You cursed his impeccable timing as the striking white hair of your husband came to view. A mischievous grin adorned his face, a bundle of sunshine and trouble as always, as he wrapped an arm around you.

"Don't you have to teach the second years? My pretty wife, you can't be slacking—"

His smile abruptly fell when you subconsciously leaned on him and he noticed your shallow breaths. Satoru promptly tightened his grip on you.

"Yuta," his tone had taken a sharper turn. "Go to the training grounds and train with the others. Class ends after that."

As Yuta nodded and proceeded on his way, he immediately turned to face you. "What's wrong?" he asked with genuine concern. "Are you not feeling well? Can you walk?"

"I'm fine," you insisted, even though the edges of your vision started to blur.

Satoru pursed his lips, and you could tell even with his blindfold on, he was staring at you hard. "Don't be stubborn. Come on, let's get you home."

In an instant, he teleported you back to your shared home, his arms securely under your knees. You didn't know when the dizziness started to ramp up, but you were sure to fall if he didn't have a secure grip on you.

"How long have you been feeling unwell?" he inquired as he carefully lowered you onto your bed.

Realizing there was no point in hiding it any longer, you squeezed your eyes shut as your head rested on the soft pillow. "...since this morning."

Satoru expressed his dissatisfaction with a grunt. "In that case, you shouldn't have gone to school. From now on, you're on leave."

He fussed over you—removing your shoes, fine-tuning the air conditioner, and ensuring you were snug in bed. "What is causing you to feel this bad? Is it something you ate? We had dinner together, and I feel perfectly fine..."

You raised your gaze to him just as he tore off his blindfold, his eyes locking with yours. The blue of his eyes scrutinizing and assessing you, and suddenly, you felt insecure as he quirked an eyebrow, seemingly suspecting something. “Is there something you aren't telling me?”

This is it. You couldn't keep this from him any longer. This was his child as much as yours, he had to know for you to be able to decide on the next steps.

You exhaled. "I'm… pregnant."

Silence. For the next five seconds, you could've sworn that Satoru held his own breath.

"Pregnant?" he repeated, stunned, widened cerulean marbles blinking several times. "You...?"

You sat up, reaching for your nightstand and retrieving the five pregnancy tests you had stashed in the drawer, handing them to him.

Satoru fixed his gaze onto the two red lines on the sticks, examining them and then shifting his eyes between you and them several times. You didn't dare to look at him, feeling your hands starting to shake and your gut twisting.

But contrary to your dread, before you could blink, he pulled you into his embrace. Your heart melted as he softly murmured, "Dummy, why didn't you tell me sooner?"

"I... I was worried. I didn't think I..."

He nuzzled into your neck, breathing in deeply. "Silly... I'm supposed to be your safe space. You can and absolutely should tell me these kind of things..."

A lingering fear persisted in your gut as you croaked out, "Are you... okay with it?"

Satoru snapped his head so quickly, his brow furrowed. "What do you mean—of course I am! Why wouldn't I be?"

You didn't know why, but his impromptu and steadfast declaration brought tears to your eyes.

"Stupid," he chided, his voice tinged with slight giddiness and overflowing fondness, and doubled with the wide grin on his face, you were starstruck. Holding your hand, he pressed a tender kiss on your knuckles, and then on the wedding band resting on your ring finger.

His sincere, warm eyes spoke volumes as he said, "You are my beautiful, lovely, and amazing wife. And now you're about to make me a daddy. Why wouldn't I be thrilled about that?"

You had given him love that saved him in countless ways, some of which you might not even realize. And now, you were about to gift him another piece of you to love—his own family to cherish. Satoru was convinced he couldn't love you more than he did in this moment.

You cried even harder, wiping your face sloppily as you pouted at him, voice clogged with tears, a mixture of relief and happiness overwhelming you. "Why are you so s-sweet? You're u-usually... such a menace..."

"Hey! That's slander! I'm always nice to you!" he protested with a mock frown, trying to lighten the mood.

Satoru brought you into his arms again, affectionately stroking your hair. His excitement was palpable as he chuckled gleefully at the very idea of becoming a father to a mini-him or you in a not-so-distant future.

With that sentiment in mind, he genuinely meant every word of what he softly uttered in your ear:

"I love you, sweetheart. And mark my words—with everything I have, I won't let anything happen to you or our baby… I swear it."

[bunny-jpeg]

kink-o-ween - day two

max verstappen & charles leclerc - threesome

cw: smut/pwp, threesome, enthusiastic consent, breast play, fingering, doggy style, oral sex (charles receiving),

you didn't expect for this to happen. when you fell in love with charles leclerc, you didn't expect to end up in max verstappen's orbit. you knew that you'd be in the spotlight regardless. the prince of monaco, it would be impossible not to have your face in the tabloids.

while you were on charles' arm at events, smiling up at him with love in your chest, you could feel the heated gaze of max's blue eyes on you. your world became of green and blue, lingering gazes of your boyfriend and the rival he held dear. it was only a matter of time before it all came to a head. when you ended up in the sheets with the prince of monaco and the lion of the netherlands.

this was a position many would die for. in between two and three of the dutch grand prix, they both had their eyes on something different. while the trophies were nice, but they'd end up in storage and long forgotten. but you were fresh like summer fruit, perfect to put between their teeth.

"i see how you eye her, mate." charles said as he leaned against the back wall, a cigarette between his fingers, "i think you should be more subtle. or people will talk."

max took the cigarette from him and took a drag, "then stop dressing her in outfits that make the whole garage stop and stare.

"she dressed herself. she's been hoping to catch your eye. we've been thinking. a week away. you, me and her. something to keep us busy."

max took another drag and chuckled, hidden from the eyes of the press. he went over to charles and grabbed him by the chin, their gazes remained leveled with one another. he chuckled, "are you whoring out your girlfriend to me, mate?"

"it's not whoring out if we all want it."

it came about weeks later, a break in the season. not a long one like the full summer break. but enough that the two men could spend hours being in bed with you. it was in a hotel outside of austin. where you really felt the heat of the texan sun. it was a small place, a little shady, but you paid in cash and the bed with big. not too many questions were asked, they didn't even ask for your passport. they simply took the cash and handed you a key. and once the door to the room was closed, you felt hands coming from behind to unbutton your shirt.

you looked over your shoulder and saw max's gaze on you and when you looked back, you felt your boyfriend's front against you. charles was getting your jeans off. there really was no time like the present.

"insatiable." you sighed as you aided max getting your shirt off.

"we've waited long enough." charles said as he pulled your shorts down to your ankles. you moaned a little as he rubbed your cunt over your cotton panties. but the noises didn't last long as max captured your lips in his.

you aided them to get you naked and eventually ended up on the squeaky mattress. both men looked down at you and you swallowed a little. you tried to turn your body in a way to hide even an inch of skin. but charles stop you as he climbed into bed with you. he kicked his socks off as he pinned your wrists to the bed.

"no hiding for us, beautiful. you made a promise to be good for us." his voice was heat in your brain as you started to pull at his t-shirt, but max was close by helping him get it off. eventually the two men were stripped naked. expensive shirts were tossed to the ground. charles calvin klein's were over the edge of the bed. the covers were rough and unlike the soft bedding back in monaco. but this would have to do given the circumstances.

the three of you naked with each man on either side of you. their hands roamed your figure. max even went as far as to pinch the softness in your stomach before he pulled you in for a kiss. he tilted your head back to get access to your lips while charles' mouth was on your breasts. his tongue dragged across your nipples.

"she has the prettiest lips." max said as he held you throat gently.

"you should feel her breasts. she's perfectly soft, it's like heavy. she's flexible and is able to take cock like a champion." he chuckled. as he continued to silently worshiping your breasts. leaving wet kisses and small bites across the skin as max kissed you deeply. it all felt so good for you.

when they were done caressing you with kisses, you ended up on your hands and knees in front of charles' cock. your boyfriend was propped against the headboard.

charles grabbed a condom from a new box he kept in the nightstand and tossed it to max, "you're a good friend, max. but, i'm not letting you get that close to her."

max nodded before he put it on. he was on his heels and his cock in one hand while he got the condom over his length. your bare, wet cunt was enticing to him. he said, "it feels like i've lucked out quite a bit."

the other man replied, "yes you are. i don't get too angry about not getting podium sometimes because i know she'll let me do anything to make myself feel better."

max looked down at your bareback, "anything' huh?" that was curious to him.

charles' combed his fingers through your hair, you could feel his rings against your scalp as he looked at you with those dazzling green eyes. he said softly, "you're going to be good for our guest tonight? be good for our world champion." he chuckled before he pressed your mouth up against his cock.

you happily accepted it into your mouth and moaned loudly when max pushed his cock deep inside of you. max's eyes went wide for a moment of how sweet your pussy felt.

oh my god.

charles noticed and chuckled, "yeah. she feels good doesn't she." he looked down at you, "she's a real piece of work. i'm thankful that she is mine."

"except for tonight."

charles replied, "don't get too attached, max. you can have any woman you want." and looked down at you. he stroked your cheek, call it a little possessive but who would want to constantly share their slice of paradise. you continued to suck him off.

max started to work his hips against yours. he watched how you moved under him. the sight of his rival and you in front of him was painfully hot.

your sweet noises came from your lips and were muffled by charles' cock inside of you. the three of you moved together. you were getting it from all angles. letting these men have their way with you. it was all consensual, but it did feel dirty.

"do you like that?" charles asked as he gripped your hair.

you nodded rapidly and could feel your lover's cock in your throat. he was quite big, even after all the time together to take him in your mouth was a little bit of a struggle.

charles took your mouth off of him and jerked his cock rapdily, "use your words, my love. tell max and i how you feel."

you whined, "please, charles. max! it feels so good. like nothing else." you arched your back a little and moaned before your lover grabbed your by the back of your head and onto his cock once more.

the three of you moved in a steady pattern, the bed squeaked under you and the covers were rough against your knees and chest. this little motel in texas where no one asked questions was your little getaway for the night.

to run the course of your sexual fever as both men stayed inside of you. it felt so good. it made you drool in more ways than one as you felt max's cock nudge inside of your slick pussy and charles' cock up into your throat.

you held onto his strong thighs and moaned against his cock. max's cock in your pussy was making you feel a deep lust in your gut. he was similar size to charles, but his methods of fucking were much different. charles fucked like an inferno while max fucked with more methodical movements. regardless your head was spinning from it all.

to be between these two men, some of the toughest rivals in a long time. it made you hot all over, you loved charles but to spend a night with max as well added something that made you feel painfully turned on.

"she's beautiful. where did you find her?" max asked as his pace became a little more erratic. he was trying to chase the high of pleasure.

charles chuckled a little. his hand in your hair, "that's a secret, max." he rocked further up into your throat and could feel the heat seep into his blood.

max would give a lot for a woman like you, even outside of the bedroom he was captivated by you. how you giggled and smiled at the paddock, your knowledge of cars.

you whined a little bit and arched your back as you felt it all zip through your body. you felt alive between the two men and it made both of them very pleased. you were enjoying this despite working so hard to make them finish. you were a perfect woman.

max gave it a few more heavy thrusts before you came quickly around his cock which only made him push further into you. it was ticking all the boxes in his sexual depraved head. his chest against your back with your hips tilted to get the perfect angle for his heavy thrusts.

"please tell me where you got her, charles." max sputtered as he felt the draw of orgasm pull through him as he looked up at his longtime friend, "raya? snapchat? through a friend? does she have a sister?"

charles chuckled and patted his friend on the cheek, "that's a secret, max." he licked his lips, those green eyes gleamed with mischief. he wouldn't give away the secrets of how you met charles. it was too much of a funny story for the bedroom, plus charles may like it whe max is a little desperate.

max held onto you as tight as he could, almost bruising the skin. he finished inside of you and made the pleasure curl through both of your bodies. it was all so much for him but it felt good even while using a condom. it briefly made him wonder if he could ever try it bare with you. to get a better feeling of you sweet pussy.

"now help me out." charles said as you continued to suck him off. he almost felt the wind out of his gut as he felt max also lick his cock in the parts you couldn't reach without deep throating his cock too much. his choked out a groan before he came down your throat and you swallowed it eagerly.

charles looked down at the both of you and it excited him. to see his loving girlfriend and also his rival by his bare cock. he tried to shift off the bed to get settled for the night. but you held his hips to the bed.

you looked over at max and chuckled. you were still in a post-climax haze, "i think we should thank charles for tonight." then giggled at max.

max licked his lips and said, "of course. you take his cock, i'll take his mouth." which made heat rise to charles' cheeks as he was moved from the headboard.

everyone was going to get theirs tonight. charles only worry was, that he might have created a sexual monster out of you and max. and that tonight wouldn't be the last time this happened <3

[silverspectre51]

Summoning the Boy King

Darkseid was rampaging through Metropolis, Superman was injured, and the Justice League was desperate. As the League hid between fallen skyscrapers, John Constantine prepared a last-ditch effort to save the Earth.

The Hellblazer drew an intricate sigil on the ground; its circular design stretching over six feet in diameter. Most of the symbols within were space-related, while the others were themed to royalty. Batman, one of the few heroes in-the-know, grunted.

"Are you sure this king ghost can help?"

Constantine sighed and pinched his nose.

"He's the High King of the Infinite Realms, Bats, an' he's bloody powerful. He'll stop Darkseid, alright, but what he does afterward is anyone's guess. Believe me, I wouldn't be doin' this if we had a choice."

Batman sighed and glanced at the smoke-filled horizon.

"Alright, get on with it, then. We're running out of time."

Constantine nodded and placed a single offering in the center of the sigil: a squishmallow of Disney's iconic blue alien, Stitch.

"I beg your finest pardon," Batman sputtered, "What on Earth is that?"

Constantine sighed again as he took his position at the edge of the sigil.

"Mate, the book was very specific. Unlike his predecessor, the new king requires a single offering of space or alien theme that is suitable for children. It's bloody strange, but beggars can't be choosers."

Batman just shook his head and looked on. Constantine raised his hands and started the summoning chant. An eerie, green glow spread across the sigil, and light fog gathered above it. Little white orbs floated up from the ground and spiraled together, forming the slowly spinning visage of a spiral galaxy.

"Incredible..." Zatanna gasped, "This summoning is on a level all its own. This king of yours is on the level of Gods."

Finally, something began to form over the small galaxy. Batman's expression quickly softened, much to the surprise of his teammates. It was mere seconds before they understood, as a black blob full of white stars formed into the shape of a boy. The blob had spiky 'bangs' if you could call them that and eerie, glowing green eyes.

The squishmallow floated into the boy's arms and he squeezed it excitedly. At the same time, he took on a far more human form, with pale skin and snowy white hair. His eyes had whites now but still glowed green. He was dressed in black and white, royal attire with green accents, a black crown floating in a green aurora, and a black ring with a green stone. A black cape flowed down his back, its underside looking as if it were cut from a clear night sky.

"Awesome offering, dude! What can I do for ya?"

The voice was a reedy tenor in the throes of puberty, and its owner was more than a little geeky. The boy's smile was infectious, or it would have been were it not for the specific circumstance.

"How old are you?" Batman asked, his tone soft, "We weren't expecting a child."

The boy waved him off like it was nothing.

"No one ever does. And, um... technically I'm fifteen. I know, I don't look it."

Constantine cut in, clearly out of patience.

"Look, this monster Darkseid is destroying our world. We need you to stop him."

The boy turned in the air and took in the destruction around him. Somehow, he seemed to understand the situation immediately.

"Okay, but I gotta get permission first. This'll take a lot of power." He paused, taking a breath, and then yelled in a strange language. "Mom!"

Constantine paled and the other heroes shrank back as a green portal tore into existence. A young woman, barely an adult herself, floated out. She had waist-length blue hair and the same glowing, green eyes. She wore a royal outfit in white and maroon, complete with a glittering, silver tiara studded with rubies.

"What's the matter, Danny? Are you okay?"

Danny nodded.

"Mhmm! These guys need me to take out this Darkseid guy, though. Can I use my full power?"

Constantine snuck a drink from his flask. He did not sign up to deal with the fucking Queen Mother of the Infinite Realms, nor had he known she existed. God, he needed a smoke...

The Queen Mother smiled softly and pressed a kiss to her son's forehead. She spoke whilst taking his new plush.

"Yes, Danny, you may. Let me hold onto this for you so it doesn't get dirty."

Danny nodded and turned away.

"Okay, thanks mom!"

The Queen Mother vanished through and with the portal she had created. Moments later, Danny shot off into the city, with the remaining able-bodied heroes hot on his trail. The young king reached Darkseid rather quickly, engaging him while the Leaguers looked on from cover. Darkseid was foolishly amused.

"A child dares oppose me? Flee, whelp."

Batman tensed as Darkseid unleashed his Omega Effect. Two red beams shot from his eyes, and yet the young king floated firm. Two eerie, green beams shot from his own eyes and, to the shock of everyone, overpowered his foe's. Darkseid shattered into many tiny pieces which then vanished into thin air.

"Man, he really wasn't smart!" Danny grinned, "Who fires a death beam at the king of the dead?"

He received no response, as the heroes were too stunned to speak. Smiling, he saluted the group before tearing open another portal.

"Oh well; villain gone, carry on. Later guys!"

Batman glared at Constantine, but the Brit had already absconded. Heaving a sigh, he resigned himself to this new reality. Darkseid was gone, but there was an incredible new power to worry about.

(Note: My only source of information is DP canon, DP fanon, and the Justice League cartoons from the early '00s. I apologize for any inaccuracies with Batman's or Constantine's behavior.)

[evilminji]

Okay but? We of the DPxDC? Are COMPLETELY Sleeping on DPXBNHA?

And not even for the Main Plot Shenanigans!

Just?? It has ALL of DC's super powers? But MORE OF THEM. And like 80% of the population has um! Danny can?? Finally achieve his DREAM of being???

JUST SOME DUDE™!

Yeah, he's in Japan. That's a bit of a learning curve. And YEAH, there was a cataclysmic war like a few centuries back that sorta... fucked everybody up. No one wants to talk about it. There may be mass graves and Never Forget memorials. But?

On the SURFACE!

This place seems utopian!

No ghost hunters! Advanced technology! Robust social services*!

Wait... what was that asterisk? What do you mean "corrupt shadowy government organizations"? What do you MEAN "Immortal Supervillians"? NO SPACE PROGRAM!?!? AaaaaAAAAAAAAAAH?!?!? I'M IN HELL!!! This is ACTUALLY THE BAD PLACE, THIS IS HELL, OH GOD NOOOOOOO-!!!!!!

Cause see?

There are SO MANY REASONS he'd end up there?

Think about it! Wish that he lived somewhere his weird biology wouldn't exclude him from becoming an astronaut? In Quirks having Bnha Japan EVERYBODY has weird biology! Y'ain't special! You could TOTALLY be an astronaut!..... if we HAD those! We do not. Shut down that program during the Quirk Wars and never really started it again. (And somewhere, Desiree LAUGHS)

Or MAYBE? Things are getting a little hot on the ground? Bit TOO spicy. The Family Fenton and Friends have fallen back, behind the barely holding shields. Not even the Mansons considerable political maneuvering could stop the inevitably of human fear and blind unthinking hatred. Money can't buy everything, in the end. There is only ONE(1) way out.

Through the Zone.

Plan: Strangers In A Strange World is a go.

They're all Limnal enough to fake it. Sam with her plants. Tucker with his technology and persuasion. Jazz with her limited empathy. Their parents with their... well, weirdness. And with a touch of ghostly assisted meddling? Well, they've always BEEN there! Haven't they?

And that's not to MENTION the random 4 year olds with no control! JUST coming into their powers! With all those big emotions in tiny bodies? Startling events and tantrums? Villian attacks? What could THEY possibly hope to do to control or guide that fresh new power? It does what it does and the rest of us are just along for the ride!

If Danny happens to be minding his business and gets accidentally kidnapped by a VERY distraught 4 year old? Well, that's hardly the KIDS fault, now is it? They're FOUR! That is basically a toddler! Tiny child! They are upset, confused, and didn't mean to do ANYTHING. He's a hero. And Heros don't blame little kids from accidents, no matter HOW stressed it makes them.

No, the curse like a sailor INSIDE their head. Like an ADULT.

Just? Imagine~☆

The slow transition from *starry eyed shoujo sparkles* "This is SO COOL~!" to "huh, that's... kinda weird. And Sus. Weird Sus. Maybe nothing... oh! A distraction!" To "okay, this KEEPS happening, that was shady. You all saw that right? You realize that's not NORMAL, right? That that's fucked up? Not cool?" To "oh god, oh God, OH GOD! I'm in HELL! This is actually HELL! I'm trapped in HELL!!! WHAT THE FUC-"

Like? This kid LOVES space. LOVES the stars. And this is one of the few Superhero Cannon that SPECIFICALLY MENTIONS that IN CANNON? Thanks to Quirks? As in Superpowers? That VERY THING got fuckin SCRAPPED. Gutted. Consigned to be a relic of the past so they could all focus on punching each other Real Good.

He would weep BLOOD. Chew the WALLS. The LEVEL of unhinged this child would unleash? Not as Danny Phantom... but as DANNY J. FENTON? Beautiful. Vaguely psychotic. Definitely doing the Fenton Name proud. God, the NOISE HE WOULD MAKE would be inhuman and yet somehow? Come entirely from his human half.

They👏 Would👏 Hear👏 BOSS👏 MUSIC👏

I don't even know if he'd CARE about the main characters. They'd be tangential at best. The man would be in a one man war with I-Island over their lack of space program and hoarding of scientific progress. Probably living out of an abandoned building or forgotten subway station. Just? The MOST bedraggled, feral genius to ever haunt Japan.

As opposed to the REFINED feral genius. Who is Nedzu.

I bet Danny stands outside his school at one AM waving his scientific papers at a camera and YELLS. Like a deranged lunatic. Mismatched slippers and a "haven't slept in a week" crazed glint in his eyes.

He's Nedzu's new best friend. They GET each other.

And, yes, Nedzu COULD let him in... but it's faster to just let him yell and read the papers through the camera. Who CARES if they both seem insane! Let's shout about advanced physics and engineering at 1 am! Over the speakers!!! Oh? You need to physically SHOW me the notes? Well I COULD unlock the gates... OR just wait for you to finish scrambling up the walls like a feral Racoon, to then throw yourself OVER them.

Either, Or.

I'm just SAYING! We are SLEEPING on this! There is so, SO much fun to be had! Danny breaks rules and minds! His outrage over injustice and the complete lack of SPACE! His protection instincts going BUCK FUCKIN WILD. The INDESCRIBABLE hate boner he would have for Mr. "Lemme just rip parts of your soul out so I can collect your powers like pokemon cards" AfO.

There? Is SO MUCH, guys. SO MUCH!

@hdgnj @the-witchhunter @babbling-babull @hypewinter @nerdpoe @lolottes @dcxdpdabbles @mutable-manifestation