#i do wonder how fergus is doing.

[sclappin]

A zine I'm contributing to has me thinking a lot about the Couslands, so I've been drawing Fergus and Oriana a bunch just to really get the feel for what they look like to me, because their in-game models look so much like multiple other NPCs.

[cakemoney]

the way it happened is truly everyone's worst fear, and the episode puts a spotlight on what those fears are. k trying to fix something and fucking it up massively. when she airdrops all her stuff, it didn't feel like "k's still thinking about her network etc", it felt like defeat, giving up the work she was doing as itsy for someone else, cause she's lost all confidence in her ability to fix what she was trying to fix. sam tries to help with magic, and her wand doesn't work, and she's confronted with how helpless she is without it. she hosts a show with magic in the name but when she needs it, when she calls for it, it doesn't come, and without it all she is (all she fears that she is) is just being shiny on the outside with nothing on the inside. jammer having less than a minute to feel grief and fear before he just locks in on what he needs to do, where they need to go, because jammer feels responsible for everyone he cares about so he feels responsible for this, he can't face evan's shadow because he can't fail evan again because he's already failed to be there before. and then evan! having to be rescued, being inconvenient and throwing off their mission, and then coming back with no clothes, is the worst! he's so sad about how his presence is making his friends' lives worse because k and jammer can't even look at him, he tried to help sam in whatever way he can and it just upset her, and then he socially trapped sam into assuring him she cares about him. he has to ask a magic goat a question and he doesn't know how and even though the goat ends up giving him the theoretical right answer, now it's disappointed in him because he used a cop out! very bad no good day for evan. man.

[chillinglikeashilling]

Very top of the episode but I hadn't realized until Aabria was summarizing the last episode how well it speaks of Fergus that he is not on Seegenpelater.

I think because Tallulah was with him I kind of glossed over the fact that the other characters we were introduced to on Galamanis are either Namp born wizards from the school (i.e. Tallulah) or just people who's first exposure to magic was after the Pilot Program happened.

(I also just straight up confused Digsby and Axelby)

Meanwhile almost all the other Wizard born students are on this island, killing remnants of their old world in a doomed attempt to keep that world alive.

I do wonder if Digsby is on Galamanis or... somewhere else.

[aziraphales-library]

Hi there!!! I was wondering if you happened to have any fics where Crowley calls Aziraphale ‘sweetheart’? Any other pet names are amazing (including angel of course) but I’m just very in love with the idea of Crowley calling Aziraphale sweetheart

Thank you so much for all you hard work!! This blog is a lifesaver <3

Hello! We have a #pet names tag you might enjoy, but here are some fics in which Crowley calls Aziraphale sweetheart...

Four times Crowley called Aziraphale "sweetheart" without noticing (and One time he did) by TheLadyZephyr (NR)

"Sweetheart" (1290) - A person who is very dear to another; one who is loved. From sweet (adj.) + heart (n.) Over the years, Crowley has called Aziraphale "sweetheart" on at least four different occasions. He just hasn't actually noticed himself saying it.

In love, I am, with everything you do by 2ambiace (G)

Following the phone call with Crowley during lockdown, Aziraphale contemplates the letter he wrote and whether he should've taken Crowley up on his offer to 'slither over' and watch him eat cake. Aziraphale finds the courage in his love for Crowley to invite the demon over and cake and love confessions and kisses are shared.

Let Our Epilogue Be Soft And Sweet by Tenoko1 (T)

Crowley hit his palm against the steering wheel. “Of course I’d get upset, angel! Those bastards have tried to kill you twice, Aziraphale! Twice! I spend every damn day worried they might try again! Now-- Now-- your conveniently found and rescued angel is on the loose,” the road forked, and they veered off to a smaller country road, flying past a sign Aziraphale didn’t need to see to recognize, though Crowley gestured wildly to it, “in a god-forsaken national park? Well outside of London where no one can hear you scream? This mystery angel that just so happens to be leaking grace and emoting a distress signal so loud you can still sense it?” Crowley dragged a hand down his face. “Angel, sweetheart. Wake up and smell the trap.”

Waking Up Married by Caedmon (E)

"So you’re telling me that my options are either to convince this man I just met and drunkenly married to stay married to me for six months or lose two thirds of a billion pounds?” “That’s exactly what I’m telling you,” Fergus said. “Fucking shit,” Crowley spat. He hung up the phone and stared at it for a moment before rubbing his eyes with his fists. Now his job would be twice as hard. He needed to talk Aziraphale into staying married for six months. Should he try begging or bribing? This was a huge ask, and Aziraphale would be well within his rights to tell Crowley to fuck off. But Crowley was prepared to offer him pretty much anything, up to half of the trust, if that’s what it took. He didn’t care. But that was only part of his concern. Even if he got insanely lucky and Aziraphale agreed to stay legally married to him for the next six months, how the hell was he going to talk Aziraphale into dating him during that time? And was it foolish to even try? One thing at a time, he decided. First, he needed to convince Aziraphale to stay legally married to him. Then he could set about wooing his husband. He hoped.

flightless by viperinz (T)

Crowley finds Aziraphale injured and without his wings long after he stops the Second Coming all on his own. He just didn't expect their reunion to be so morose, and so final.

Sugar And Spice by ladydragona, SylWritesStuff (E)

Queer technology giant Anthony J. Crowley is just about ready to throw in the towel after relationship after relationship has failed, but there's a new barista at the company coffee shop and he's cute and sweet and Crowley's never been able to resist blond hair and blue eyes. The tabloids will have a field day, they always do, but his assistant is getting married and a temp is needed. A temp who really isn't very good at making complicated coffees, has past experience in reception, and absolutely no idea that the latest complicated coffee order came from the owner himself. Aziraphale only knows that he's handsome, patient, and was the first person who told him he was doing well. How could he refuse the temp position? Or, he soon discovers, more.

- Mod D

[bcacstuff]

With him in SF in early September I wonder if they'll shoot S8 without any break. They are filming the 6th episode, with 4 weeks/block=2 eps. + 1 week for all table reads they should be done by end of August. The end is near & 12 years in the making by the time S8 airs.

I received a number of these similar asks in the last weeks already but didn't get to answer it in the way I wanted (sorry for the delay)

First of all to avoid some confusion, as far as I know he said he was gonna receive the SWF Award at Top Shelf event in October! I don't know why people keep saying September?

Caitriona's movie The Amateur was scheduled to be released on November 8, 2024, however the release is delayed and will now be on April 11, 2025

source

I do (of course) not have a filming schedule, so the short answer on will they have a summer break is; I don't know.

But we can speculate and think about a few things I considered. No facts of course, purely speculation.

Previous seasons we always could find some little clues and hints from time to time during filming, but this season it's extra hard. I shared what I could about location, but it's not always clear if it concerns OL S8 or BOB. That goes also for the clues we often would find on IG from the crew, which it seems are switching being busy on both series. The cast from BOB posts more little hints and clues than the cast from OL. Sometimes the supporting characters do, like today Kieran Bew

Kieran Bew IGS 21 June 2024

I also considered that S7 part 2 might have been altered a bit from how it was originally planned. As we were wondering during filming of S7 that there was no Fersali on set. Lauren and Cesar both were busy on other projects. But lately we've seen them again in Glasgow, and I really wonder if they filmed some extra scenes we will see in S7 part 2. It's hard to imagine how the storyline about Claire returning to the US, Philadelphia for Henri Christian's health problems (Fergus and Marsali's child) could omit Fersali. So perhaps they added scenes to S7 part 2, hence the long delay for it? (I could be completely wrong but we will know when it airs and if we'll see Fersali in S7 part 2 we know)

Anyway, we don't know where S7 part 2 ends, but if we are still in 3 different time periods (which does look that way given Diarmaid (Buck) seems to work on S8 as well, I figure not all cast is always needed on set. I do think, well actually am quite sure, some already had some time off in May. So perhaps, depending on the characters needed they scheduled it that way that people can have a wee break. I do wonder though about crew members, but perhaps BOB, which already started filming earlier this year will be done by July or so, and crew can take a wee break as well.

As for Sam, I do have an idea why his schedule didn't fit the Highlander con in July... but I keep that for my self for now. When time comes I'll see if I was right about it or not.

[sgiandubh]

To your previous anon. When this side and mordor side are in 100% agreement about this latest stunt gone stupidly wrong, you know it's gone stupidly wrong! We don't agree on many things but with this we're all in agreement.

Dear 'Previous Anon' Anon,

Well, he screwed it up BIG time. He could have thought things better than reacting knee-jerk style in the spur of the moment. Holding hands was completely unnecessary, as it made him look as a disingenuous consumer of cheap company AND a fool.

His Mommies are, for the most part, Christian conservatives (this is a simple, but reliable descriptor, not a judgement) who came and stayed for the book first, then for that innocence. Of which they ALL wanted a part of. They wanted a part of the dream. But oh, now JAMMF (the confusion and the struggle are real, for the aging Onlies) canoodles with hookers in the streets of London. This is not 1744, there is no Bonnie Prince Charlie, no Murtagh, no Fergus and they are no Claire. I feel for them. And it is not the first time I am telling myself the whole agitation down here eerily mirrors particular book tropes - as if fiction seeped into their lives, somehow. Strange, to say the least.

How is he going to come out of it? I bet he hopes for the effective virtues of collective oblivion and prays for small mercies. But this is Season Eight in the making, already and both he and C are running out of time.

No underpants twisting from the *Ur-Troll will make this palatable to that public and the people still buying that particular brand of bullshit in shining wrap paper WANT to LIE to themselves. For the sake of the above fantasy only.

The Disgruntled Tumblrettes will snarl on. It is their moment of dubious grace, Gay Brigade included. At least Liberace had Sonja Henie, the Norwegian figure-skater Olympic champion. That woman is no Olympic champion (her discipline is not included in that club) and this will seal the deal to them.

What about us? I do wonder. Don't worry: I am not about to jump ship. I have better understanding of human nature than that and I am anything but shocked by what happened. However, I also do think that this man cannot go on like that, from blunder to blunder, from OL to LOL.

I will not post anything else about that woman. Anything about that woman, reblogs included, will give her traction and a raison d'être. My inbox is full with pleading Anons I am deleting. Go somewhere else for gossip, ask yourselves what happened to you in the process and why you are interested by a hooker.

I am still considering Landcon 7. I have not made my final decision and I think it's understandable. There is a fine line between being benevolent and being an idiot with one's own time and money. I will tell you very soon what my final thoughts on this are.

Tell yourself they are people like me and you. Good people make mistakes. This is a horrible mistake I am not finding excuses for. His problem to solve.

[thesleepyfable]

~ SWTD: Still Here AU Part 11: ~

In Times of War:

Last chapter before the official Rescue Arc begins.

TW: War, PTSD and Death.

Part 12:

'Attention, all personnel. Message from the mainland has stated that the rescue will be here by 13:00 hours. I repeat 13:00 hours. Gather your belongings and prepare closing down.'

Roper had to admit. He found great joy in making an announcement instead of Rennick.

It was a busy yet strange morning for Beria. The crew ate their breakfast as they worked on getting the rig closed. None of them had done this before. Only gotten themselves ready in swapping shifts or leaving it stable enough for another set of crew to arrive. They'd all been trained, but it was the case of remembering.

Roy, Caz, Finlay, and eventually Innes and Muir worked on moving food from the pantry and into the containers. Leave nothing purchased from Cadal's pockets behind. The last thing you want is to be in debt to them. Brodie and Raffs focused on The Stack with the help of Engineering and Pontoons. There is no need for an explosion now. Luck was on their side, and they'd like to keep it that way.

O'Connor left the Pontoons to Fergus. He accompanied Rennick to Administration to collect all the important documents Beria will need. Despite Rennick seemingly hating everyone, O'Connor was someone he always tolerated. He was one of the few who never got a verbal beatdown and knew to stay in his lane. Plus, working in the depths of the rig meant the pair never saw each other. Just quick acknowledgement as they entered the canteen. Currently, the pair sat outside the building, eating their breakfast in mostly silence.

'I can't believe we're doing this,' Rennick muttered as he chewed through the sausage barm that dripped grease and tomato ketchup. He never knew how hungry he was until his infection. Before, Rennick just survived on coffee and stress. He often wondered how he hadn't dropped dead from it all. 'Sneaking us back to the mainland and hoping they let us go.' Of course, it was McLeary's idea.

'If you have a better idea, then I'm all ears.'

'No. But...' Rennick did not have any other ideas. 'Operation Spy?' Once again, of course it was McLeary. 'We're not spies, Dónal. Look at us.' He pointed to him. 'Tinker.' He pointed to Dobbie, who was walking by. 'Tailor.' He pointed to Innes. 'Soldier.' He pointed to himself. 'Twat.'

O'Connor tried not to laugh through the sip of his coffee. Then, it hit him.

'Did you say my first name, Davey?'

'Oh get fucked, O'Connor. Of course I know your name. I know everyone's first, middle, that you don't have, and last name.' He tossed the rest of his sandwich into his mouth. 'Now, get your specks on and help me.'

Like the old fud he was, Rennick sulked towards his office to begin the search for documents. With a last sip of coffee, O'Connor followed. Good thing, too, because he side-stepped a tendril Rennick was going to use to drag the older man along. 'Alright. Alright.'

'Well, move it.'

Apart from the knocked over books, Rennick's office was practically untouched. Might be because The Shape didn't make it this far before dying. O'Connor went first, put on his round glasses, and began to shift through.

'Surely, they wouldn't need half of this?'

'You'd be surprised,' Rennick scoffed. 'They'll want all of our documents and any damage updates.' He paused. 'Which I never reported.'

'What could you even put in a report now? Beria damaged from an ancient entity we drilled through and royally pissed off?'

Okay, Rennick had to chuckle at that. Just one chuckle, though.

O'Connor continued to shuffle. From daily records to first aid and payments. All were needed. He tucked the most recent file of contracts under his arm and slid the rest of the files towards Rennick, who lingered halfway through the door. O'Connor went to stand, but a glint from a picture frame caught his eye. It sat on a shelf under the desk, and curiosity got the best of him. The resemblance was undeniable. Of course it was Rennick. He was younger. Early 30s. Leaning against a military jeep with two other blokes. They all held their issued rifles with wide smiles and dripping with sweat as they wrapped cloth around their foreheads. Rennick wasn't wearing a shirt, where a tattoo could be seen on his upper arm. What it was was hard to tell due to the angle. O'Connor glanced to his manager, who was shuffling through the files. He slowly walked over and offered the frame. 'I don't think you should leave this behind, eh?'

Rennick looked up from the paperwork, and his eyes widened. He gently took the photo and gazed at the memory. The same feeling from yesterday came back. The nostalgic feeling and the yearning to be young again. O'Connor noticed the hurt look in Rennick's eyes as he dazed off into the past.

The day was a scorcher, expected for the desert. As the soldiers could finally take a break and check their equipment, Rennick was called over by the men who stood beside him. George and Kenneth. The trio had been thick as thieves, and George was going to make sure this was a memory to keep. Rich lad from Cornwall. Always had the best technology. The camera was a birthday gift from home. He gave it to a clearly bored Officer, who had to be walked through how it even worked. Rennick remembered rolling his eyes. He was always impatient.

'Come on, whilst we're still young!'

'Young?' Geroge called as he jogged over. 'I thought Churchill dragged you out of a retirement home, Rennick?'

'By the end of this war, I'll be frog-marched into one.' The three wrapped one arm around each other's shoulder and raised their rifles with the other.

'Say Churchill!'

'Churchill!'

Click

'Africa?'

Rennick snapped back to reality. 'Yeah. We'd just captured Fort Capuzzo. What about you? I never saw you there.'

'I was never in Africa.' O'Connor leaned against the desk. 'I was in Dunkirk.'

'Oh, you poor fuck.' The pair shared a chuckle.

'What happened to the others?'

'Kenneth went to join the R.A.F,' Rennick explained. 'George and I went home at the end of it all and stayed in touch.' A pause. 'He died from a heart attack four years ago. Lucky bastard.'

'And Kenneth?'

'Haven't the foggiest.' If he had to guess, he was either dead or the one sitting in a retirement home. But, enough about that. Rennick focused his attention on O'Connor. 'Didn't agree with Ireland kicking their feet up with The Swiss and Spaniards?'

'Yep. It wasn't right. We were at war. Lives were at stake, and I had a job to do.' With a brief story to tell, O'Connor lit a cigarette. He knew Rennick wasn't a smoker. 'I was a driver. You felt so powerful driving troops across France's fields and roads, avoiding enemy fire. Younger me saw this as an adventure.' Like Rennick, a look of nostalgia washed over him. Then, the hurt look crept in his eyes. 'Until I got too cocky and sent the us into a death trap.'

The crushing pain of the jeep landing on his leg ran through his body. It was a feeling that would never leave. Some would say having a constant limp for the rest of your life was enough punishment, but for O'Connor, it was when he saw...

'Nigel? Nigel? Answer me, please. Get this jeep off me.'

'NIGEL!'

The pair fell silent. They looked at each other for some form of comfort. There was no need for clarification. War was Hell, but there were good moments. It's how you stayed sane. The toughest challenge for both men was returning to civilian life. But, here they were after thirty years. They had to be thankful for that.

Rennick broke eye contact and huffed. 'Well, let's get out of here.' No reason to dwell on the past. Rennick went to move. And he couldn't. Whenever he tried to move his head and 'arm' out of the doorway, he just lightly shook the office. He was stuck. 'One moment. Just...J...' Nope. Completely stuck. 'Can you help me?' He looked at O'Connor, who was trying with every fibre of his being to not laugh. Which lasted about five seconds. He let out a scream-laugh, leaning on his knees and sounding like a dying pterodactyl. It was the mood booster he needed.

O'Connor's laugh must be contagious because Rennick just started to laugh along. His was a hysterical cackle in comparison. Everyone on Deck heard the pair, and Muir could see what the problem was, thanks to his height, causing him to snort.

Through their laughs, O'Connor leaned against Rennick's head and helped him shuffle the arm out, which was causing the block. If he could get himself in, then he could get himself out. Once free, Rennick pulled backwards, causing O'Connor to trip onto the handrailing, but still they laughed.

When all was said and done, they began to head for the Deck.

'So, what was your tattoo?'

'That's something I'm taking to the grave, Mr. O'Connor.'

[sassenach77yle]

||COUNTDOWN ||SEASON 2 EPISODE 10 || PRESTONPANS ||

#83daysofoutlander☆

The air in the cottage was warm and noisy with breathing; not the healthy racket of snoring men, but the shallow gasps of men for whom breathing hurts, and the moans of those who have found a temporary oblivion that frees them from the manly obligation of suffering in silence. The men in this cottage were those badly wounded, but in no immediate danger. I knew, though, that death walks at night in the aisles of a sick ward, searching for those whose defenses are lowered, who may stray unwittingly into its path through loneliness and fear. Some of the wounded had wives who slept next to them, to comfort them in the dark, but none in this cottage. They had me. If I could do little to heal them or stop their pain, I could at least let them know that they didn’t lie alone; that someone stood here, between them and the shadow. Beyond anything I could do, it was my job only to be there. I rose and made my way slowly once again through the pallets on the floor, stooping at each one, murmuring and touching, straightening a blanket, smoothing tangled hair, rubbing the knots that form in cramped limbs. A sip of water here, a change of dressing there, the reading of an attitude of tense embarrassment that meant a urinal was needed, and the matter-of-fact presentation that allowed the man to ease himself, the stone bottle growing warm and heavy in my hand. I stepped outdoors to empty one of these, and paused for a moment, gathering the cool, rainy night to myself, letting the soft moisture wipe away the touch of coarse, hairy skin and the smell of sweating men. “Ye dinna sleep much, Sassenach.” The soft Scottish voice came from the direction of the road. The other hospital cottages lay in that direction; the officers’ quarters, the other way, in the village manse. “You dinna sleep much, either,” I responded dryly. How long had he gone without sleep? I wondered. “I slept in the field last night, with the men.” “Oh, yes? Very restful,” I said, with an edge that made him laugh. Six hours’ sleep in a wet field, followed by a battle in which he’d been stepped on by a horse, wounded by a sword, and done God knows what else. Then he had gathered his men, collected the wounded, tended the hurt, mourned his dead, and served his Prince. And through none of it had I seen him pause for food, drink, or rest.

I didn’t bother scolding. It wasn’t even worth mentioning that he ought to have been among the patients on the floor. It was his job to be here, as well.

“There are other women, Sassenach,” he said gently. “Shall I have Archie Cameron send someone down?” It was a temptation, but one I pushed away before I could think about it too long, for fear that if I acknowledged my fatigue, I would never move again. I stretched, hands against the small of my back.

“No,” I said. “I’ll manage ’til the dawn. Then someone else can take over for a time.” Somehow I felt that I must get them through the night; at dawn they would be safe.

He didn’t scold, either; just laid a hand on my shoulder and drew me to lean against him for a moment. We shared what strength we had, unspeaking. “I’ll stay with ye, then,” he said, drawing away at last. “I canna sleep before light, myself.” “The other men from Lallybroch?” He moved his head toward the fields near the town where the army was camped. “Murtagh’s in charge.” “Oh, well, then. Nothing to worry about,” I said, and saw him smile in the light from the window. There was a bench outside the cottage, where the goodwife would sit on sunny days to clean fish or mend clothes. I drew him down to sit beside me, and he sagged back against the wall of the house with a sigh. His patent exhaustion reminded me of Fergus, and the boy’s expression of confused bewilderment after the battle. I reached to caress the back of Jamie’s neck, and he turned his head blindly toward me, resting his brow against my own. “How was it, Jamie?” I asked softly, fingers rubbing hard and slow over the tight-ridged muscles of his neck and shoulders. “What was it like? Tell me.” There was a short silence, then he sighed, and began to talk, haltingly at first, and then faster, as if wanting to get it out. “We had no fire, for Lord George thought we must move off the ridge before daylight, and wanted no hint of movement to be seen below. We sat in the dark for a time. Couldna even talk, for the sound would carry to the plain. So we sat. “Then I felt something grab my thigh in the dark, and near jumped out of my skin.” He inserted a finger in his mouth and rubbed gingerly. “Nearly bit my tongue off.” I felt the shift of his muscles as he smiled, though his face was hidden. “Fergus?” The ghost of a laugh floated through the dark.

“Aye, Fergus. Crawled through the grass on his belly, the little bastard, and I thought he was a snake, at that. He whispered to me about Anderson, and I crawled off after him and took Anderson to see Lord George.” His voice was slow and dreamy, talking under the spell of my touch. “And then the order came that we’d move, following Anderson’s trail. And the whole of the army got to its feet, and set off in the dark.” The night was clear black and moonless, without the usual cover of cloud that trapped starlight and diffused it toward the earth. As the Highland army made its way in silence down the narrow path behind Richard Anderson, each man could see no farther than the shuffling heels of the man before him, each step widening the trodden path through wet grass. The army moved almost without noise. Orders were relayed in murmurs from man to man, not shouted. Broadswords and axes were muffled in the folds of their plaids, powder flasks tucked inside shirts against fast-beating hearts. Once on sound footing, still in total silence, the Highlanders sat down, made themselves as comfortable as was possible without fire, ate what cold rations there were, and composed themselves to rest, wrapped in their plaids, in sight of the enemy’s campfires. “We could hear them talking,” Jamie said. His eyes were closed, hands clasped behind his head, as he leaned against the cottage wall. “Odd, to hear men laughing over a jest, or asking for a pinch of salt or a turn at the wineskin—and know that in a few hours, ye may kill them—or them you. Ye can’t help wondering, ye ken; what does the face behind that voice look like? Will you know the fellow if ye meet him in the morning?” Still, the tremors of anticipated battle were no match for sheer fatigue, and the “Black Frasers”—so called for the traces of charcoal that still adorned their features—and their chief had been awake for more than thirty-six hours by then. He had picked a sheaf of marrow-grass for a pillow, tucked the plaid around his shoulders, and lain down in the waving grass beside his men. During his time with the French army, years before, one of the sergeants had explained to the younger mercenaries the trick of falling asleep the night before a battle. “Make yourself comfortable, examine your conscience, and make a good Act of Contrition. Father Hugo says that in time of war, even if there is no priest to shrive you, your sins can be forgiven this way. Since you cannot commit sins while asleep—not even you, Simenon!—you will awake in a state of grace, ready to fall on the bastards. And with nothing to look forward to but victory or heaven—how can you be afraid?”

While privately noting a few flaws in this argument, Jamie had found it still good advice; freeing the conscience eased the soul, and the comforting repetition of prayer distracted the mind from fearful imaginings and lulled it toward sleep. He gazed upward into the black vault of the sky, and willed the tightness of neck and shoulders to relax into the ground’s hard embrace. The stars were faint and hazy tonight, no match for the nearby glow of the English fires. His mind reached out to the men around him, resting briefly on each, one by one. The stain of sin was small weight on his conscience, compared with these. Ross, McMurdo, Kincaid, Kent, McClure … he paused to give brief thanks that his wife and the boy Fergus at least were safe. His mind lingered on his wife, wanting to bask in the memory of her reassuring smile, the solid, wonderful warmth of her in his arms, pressed tight against him as he had kissed her goodbye that afternoon. Despite his own weariness and the waiting presence of Lord George outside, he had wanted to tumble her onto the waiting mattress right then and take her quickly, at once, without undressing. Strange how the imminence of fighting made him so ready, always. Even now … But he hadn’t yet finished his mental roster, and he felt his eyelids closing already, as tiredness sought to pull him under. He dismissed the faint tightening of his testicles that came at thought of her, and resumed his roll call, a shepherd treacherously lulled to sleep by counting the sheep he was leading to slaughter. But it wouldn’t be a slaughter, he tried to reassure himself. Light casualties for the Jacobite side. Thirty men killed. Out of two thousand, only a slim chance that some of the Lallybroch men would be among that number, surely? If she was right. He shuddered faintly under the plaid, and fought down the momentary doubt that wrenched his bowels. If. God, if. Still he had trouble believing it, though he had seen her by that cursed rock, face dissolving in terror around the panic-wide gold eyes, the very outlines of her body blurring as he, panicked also, had clutched at her, pulling her back, feeling little more than the frail double bone of her forearm under his hand. Perhaps he should have let her go, back to her own place. No, no perhaps. He knew that he should. But he had pulled her back. Given her the choice, but kept her with him by the sheer force of his wanting her. And so she had stayed. And given him the choice���to believe her, or not. To act, or to run. And the choice was made now, and no power on earth could stop the dawn from coming. His heart beat heavily, pulse echoing in wrists and groin and the pit of his stomach. He sought to calm it, resuming his count, one name to each heartbeat. Willie McNab, Bobby McNab, Geordie McNab … thank God, young Rabbie McNab was safe, left at home … Will Fraser, EwanFraser, Geoffrey McClure … McClure … had he touched on both George and Sorley? Shifted slightly, smiling faintly, feeling for the soreness left along his ribs. Murtagh. Aye, Murtagh, tough old boot … my mind is no troubled on your account, at least. William Murray, Rufus Murray, Geordie, Wallace, Simon … And at last, had closed his eyes, commended all of them to the care of the black sky above, and lost himself in the murmured words that came to him still most naturally in French—“Mon Dieu, je regrette …”[...]

Outside once more, I thought Jamie had fallen asleep. His face rested on his folded forearms, crossed on his knees. But he looked up at the sound of my step, and took my hand as I sat beside him. “I heard the cannon at dawn,” I said, thinking of the man inside, leg broken by a cannonball. “I was afraid for you.” He laughed softly. “So was I, Sassenach. So were we all.” Quiet as wisps of mist, the Highlanders advanced through the sea grass, one foot at a time. There was no sense of darkness lessening, but the feel of the night had changed. The wind had changed, that was it; it blew from the sea over the cold dawning land, and the faint thunder of waves on distant sand could be heard.

Despite his impression of continued dark, the light was coming.

36 PRESTONPANS~DRAGONFLY IN AMBER

[notsoblackandwhite101]

Rewatched 'Crushed Out' (Ep 6B) and just wanted to talk about how it plays into my headcannons!

SOOOOO this is the episode where Dylan falls in love with Portia. It plays some impact in how I view Portia's character, but I also see it as a good look at Dante to (H'es my favourite character, can you tell?).

Dante is shown to be almost gleeful at helping Dylan be 'more goth.' by making him destroy the things he loves.

However I always found this a bit... odd. Dante seems like a good kid, who knows when things go too far regarding his siblings feelings, at least when he's mentally well (Read not 'Dante's Inferno' ep.) Yet he's causing Dylan so much emotional pain here. However the more I thought about, the more I realized that's not really what Dante's happy about. I'm willing to bet that whenever Dante hangs out with his family or even just Dylan and Dante 1 on 1, they usually do what anyone BUT Dante wants to do. Not because they don't care about him but because his interests aren't as universal as other activities. This is Dylan doing stuff Dante is into. Nihilism. Goth culture. Dante is happy Dylan is doing what Dante wants to do!

Another reason I think this is true is because what happens when Dylan finally breaks? What happens when Dylan doesn't care anymore (Or is better acting like it)?

Dante doesn't look happy about it.

I mean, he's not worried either, but he's not excited or even just smiling a little, or looking smug/pleased. He's just... this. He doesn't even change expression until the next scene. What I think is going on with Dante is that he's... mildly concerned. Maybe wondering if this is actually good for Dylan or what Dylan really wants. However I think he chooses to listen to what Dylan and Fergus are saying over what he's seeing. The last time we see Dante this episode is when Dylan shows up to dinner. Its hard to make out his expression but maybe he is just silently supporting Dylan's new look.

WHICH launches me into my next talking point. Character ages.

Its often stated in promo material and the show bible that Dylan and Dolly are 'tweens.' AKA 11-13. I never really believed that. They're in charge of how many kids? Day and night? Along with taking them out to places? Plus with the amount of dating Dylan and Dolly do, I always found it a bit odd for that age range. I do have some theories for this though. That age group may have been used just for pitching. Animation companies hate using protagonists over 14 for their main characters. (Glances at Amphibia and the Owl House respectively. Then Glares at Infinity Train.) So they just say their characters are this age and have them act older. Or this detail was left on the cutting room floor along with other stuff. I actually see Dylan and Dolly closer to young adult. 17 or a little older? Still irresponsible in places but responsible in others.

Why do I bring this up here? Well because after the dinner scene, Fergus and Dylan go to the Cat's Canal gig. You know, the goth rock event.

So the big question here is... WHY DIDN'T DANTE GO?! Its just Fergus and Dylan that went! Despite this being Dante's thing!

One theory could be that Dylan didn't want to watch him AND try to catch Portia's attention. However I think its more that Dante isn't actually old enough for and event like this. I head cannon Dante at 14 in the show. Gigs like this can have drinking,drugs and other things that Disney won't show you XD. Dylan, around 17 or 18, would be able to go and likely have safe judgment. Dante would not.

COURSE this is all just headcannons of me looking too closely at a children's cartoon! What do you guys think about this? Love to hear your ideas!

[danjaley]

Book-Blog Intermission:

Wonderful Journeys through Time and Literature with Nils Holgerson

Like most of my generation I grew up with the 1980 anime series. And, as I'll say at every opportunity, it spoiled me for pretty much any other TV-show. A good series should follow a literary original - and quite closely. It should have gorgeous aesthetics and music. A plot centered around adventure, history, tradition, loyalty and faith. Plot-decisions should never follow external factors like availability of actors or stale marketing formulas. And it should end when the story is told out.

My mother had the mad idea to try and read the book to me when I was about 5. I didn't understand a word of it. She had a very boring copy too, without any pictures.

Aged 25 I bought the cute edition on the right and made it a reading-project. After each chapter I watched the corresponding episode of the series. And I repeat: It shows the quality of the series that you can do this. Still is was super interesting to note everything they changed. Some things only made sense to me then. Like the story of the parade towards to icy mountain. As a child it just impressed me with its scariness. But in fact it's a parable of which plants can grow how far north.

Cute as it is, the left edition was so badly translated that I went ahead and learned Swedish to read it in the original (middle). In the meantime the German book-market also spoiled me with an up-to-date state-of-the-art unabridged translation (right). So I don't even need to use a dictionary :)

There is one other edition in the house and that's my grandmother's school-copy. As it is well know, Nils Holgerson was written as a reader for Swedish schools, covering geography, history and natural history of Sweden. Since it is an absolute masterpiece, it soon became a school-reader in many other European countries too.

Especially Germany in the 1930s had a fatal obsession with all things Nordic. So every school-child had to learn all about Swedish castles too. I always wondered why nobody at least tried to write a rip-off set in Germany. Only recently, in the course of my current research, I found out that someone did. Tamara Ramsay: Wunderbare Fahrten und Abenteuer der kleinen Dott (images not mine). But it only came out in 1941 and never made it to school-reader status.

My grandmother and her class enjoyed Nils Holgerson so much, they wrote collective fan-mail to Selma Lagerlöff. She replied too. She wrote that she got her German translator to decipher their letter and that she was very glad they enjoyed her book. The translator must have been the same Pauline Klaiber-Gottschau who first translated the book into German.

The original wild geese can of course be consulted at the International Youth Library in Munich. The building (Schloss Blutenburg) is the cutest little medieval castle that's been forgotten on the edge of the city. And in winter and spring you can meet the geese spending the winter in the moat. As a child I always regretted that Nils Holgerson ends just as the geese plan to cross to Germany. I'd have loved to see their Schloss Blutenburg adventure!

My Grandmother also appears to have read most other books by Selma Lagerlöff. At least she ticked them off in the list in her copy of Nils Holgerson. The only other one to survive in her collection is Gösta Berling (here in blue).

While the dated German bothered me a lot in Nils Holgerson, I deeply enjoy reading other Lagerlöff novels in as old editions as I can get hold of (here the much-mended red Gösta Berling). In old German print they just feel like they came from the dawn of time!

Those two have actually both been major inspirations for the McCarrics. Gösta Berling includes more or less the model for Fergus' dying-scene (if you ever want to see the subject treated by a nobel-prize-winner). And Herrn Arnes Schatz (Herr Arnes penningar) has the ghostly sister as well as badass Scotsmen (here unfortunately as the bad guys).

[confusedkittensposts]

Adventures of Meowley (part 1)

POV Juliet

Juliet lept from roof to roof, keeping an eye on the old miner’s ghost that had caught her fancy. She let him think he could evade her, the hound was fond of playing with her food.

She doesn’t hunt ghosts often, you can’t make a mess of them like you can of humans with flesh and blood and bones…mmm yum

But ghosts can make a small snack, the secret is, the older the ghost, the better they taste. And this one was almost a century old

Still, she wasn’t here to chase ghosts. With a graceful dive, she landed on the pavement, the ghost between her teeth. Juliet took a minute to access the old miner’s taste, it was better than she had expected.

Maybe she could look for some more, the historic town was full of them and barely had street animals she usually entertained herself with.

A sharp, inhuman whistle pierced through the air, reminding the hellhound she wasn’t alone. her paws clacked on the cobbled streets, as she hurried towards Papa.

It was a ritual between them, going on walks around the globe. Papa has taken her to many wonderful places, he lets her explore them, meet new animals and even hunt if she wants; sometimes he lets her take him to new towns and cities she found on hunts. Sometimes they are joined by other hounds

Papa is always quiet on the walks, and they don’t talk unless Juliet has a question or Papa wants to discuss something with her.

Papa smiled as she joined him, pressing herself on his side, while he stroked her dark fur. “Enjoy your snack, darling?”

“Hmmm”, the hound melted as Crowley's hands reached her neck.

“We have a small stop to make, then we can leave.” huh, that would explain why they were in a quaint old american town. She nodded, nuzzling his hand before stepping back.

Juliet followed the king of Hell to a shabby, gray building that looked out of place among the closely packed colourful buildings in the town

She could feel powerful wards around the place, which meant they were likely meeting a collector

The king placed a hand on her side and took them inside, on the fifth floor, If her guess was correct.

The corridor was dark, and it smelled like dust, rot and magic. Every inch of the pine colored door in front of them was covered in wardings.

Juliet made a face, shaking off the feeling of something being wrong. But she wasn't the only one who felt that, Papa carefully ran his hand over the door frame, assessing it.

The door opened with a getal push, smell of too sweet lavender and days old storm laced with power wafted out, making Juliet bare her fangs.

The scent was soon followed by its owner. Rowena is wearing a navy gown that hugs her body, her flaming red hair tied in a messy tie.

“Well, hello Fergus”

Juliet growled, it seemed to amuse the witch.

Beside her, Papa sighed, “Mother”

“I have to say, I didn't expect to see you here. Come to pay your dear mother a visit?”

“You know I haven't. You didn't know I would be here, did you?”

“Of course not, I would have prepared tea.”

Rowena started to move back towards the room she had emerged from, “But now that you are here, I believe there is something you want.”

Juliet followed her behind Papa, “I do, but that’s hardly your concern.”

The hound cast a cursory look around the library they had entered. Shelves full of old tombs, glass bottles and scrolls. The impressive dark wood table against the wall opposite to the door was overflowing with knick knacks. Rowena walked around it, dropping in the chair behind it.

“No need to be rude, is there? why don’t I give you whatever you want and you can leave the rest for me to sort out.”

“Or you could leave before my hound here has her lunch”

Juliet grinned showing off her sharp fangs, oh how she would love to sink them into the witch.

Rowena’s face fell, an almost sad look taking over her magically maintained face, “We don’t always have to be enemies, you know.”

Papa ran a hand along Juliet’s side, before walking towards his mother, “I assure you, mother. We aren't enemies. I just would like to kill you.”

“Besides,” Papa continued, tracing a finger on carvings of a wooden box laying on the table, “Dear old Elijah had some interesting knowledge, I can’t leave with you.”

The hound saw the dagger rowena pulled from under the table, just as Papa did. He reached for the witch’s hand and Juliet took a step back ready to pounce as soon as Papa pushed her back. But before he could do that, Rowena smashed her hand against his chest.

Juliet watched as Papa was engulfed in purple light. A small storm took over the room, papers flew and bottles crashed, powerful magic pressed against her, making it impossible to move.

By the time everything calmed and Juliet could move again, Rowena had long made her exit.

The hound looked around, “Papa?”

Faint rustling answered her.

Juliet blinked, carefully moving around the table, where the noise had come from.

There half hidden beneath torn parchments was a fairly large black Cat, but she could see Papa’s demonic form crammed in the little body.

“Meow”

[changingplumbob]

Pride Month!

I saw that wonderful OC ask post and honestly... very few of the questions apply to my sims because in my save 99% of the time sims will not be bothered by someone's orientation. But how they discovered their identity applies so over the next month-ish I'll be going through all my teenage+ sims, stating their identity and the story of how they came to be that way. Apart from Luna's brothers my sims have the orientations they rolled. Despite my settings being 50% queer I do have 24 queer sims compared to my 3 straight allosexual sims. Shout out to Aaron, Adam and Fergus because you will be ignored in this series, thanks for being allies though!

[captain-mj]

i would kill for another part to the changeling ghost/selkie soap fic. I just want ghost to rip fergus’s throat out

Here you go!! I'm going to put the rest of the story on ao3 soon for ease but I couldn't post anything earlier?? Don't know if it was down or just my internet but :P

Ghost came back inside, doing his best to look angry. It must’ve been a little too convincing because all of them seemed to flinch back from him. 

“Soap.”

He really did jump up. Ghost wouldn’t tease him for it, give the circumstances, but he did think it was funny. He turned and walked to the spare bedroom they were staying in, hearing Soap’s heavier footsteps. 

“How you can be so much shorter than me and still be louder… it’s astounding.” He turned to look at him once they were safely inside. He pinned Soap to the door and lifted his mask to kiss him. His hands rose up to cup his face gently. 

Soap relaxed after a moment. “Was worried you were actually mad at me for a second…”

“No! Course not! Don’t wo-” Ghost cut himself off, rethinking his words. “You… Fuck this is hard.”

Soap tilted his head. “What’s hard?”

“Trying not to accidentally give you any orders. Want you clear headed and normal.”

Soap jumped on him and kissed him harder. “God, you’re perfect.”

“Soap, please stop being impressed by the bare minimum.” Ghost kissed back though, putting his hands on his back. Eventually though, he pushed him away and cupped his face again. “Love, though I wouldn’t mind doing this all day, I did bring you back here for a reason.”

Soap nodded, though he was still trying to chase Ghost’s lips. “What for?”

“We have two days. Technically 46 hours thanks to the time now and when our place leaves to be exact. It’s going to be tight, but we have a mission.”

Soap frowned, trying to figure out what this was. He half expected it to be a weird sex thing, but they hadn’t even had sex yet so it seemed unlikely. 

“Okay….”

“I want to find your mom’s coat. Maybe beat up your dad.”

Soap took a deep breath before burying his face in Ghost’s chest. “Oh my God you’re so… you…” He clawed at his shoulders. “Simon Riley you’re doing a lot more than the bare minimum here.”

“Before you were my husband, you were my second in command. If you would’ve told me about this, I would’ve done it anyway.”

“I don’t get it. I don’t get you.”

Ghost shrugged. “I’m a feminist.” He said it with a grin and it managed to get a laugh out of Soap.

“Yeah, I know you are. But still. We’re not even hu-” Soap must’ve realized that saying that to Ghost, a non human, would be a bit wrong. 

“I don’t like seeing people being controlled. Least of all innocent people who can’t defend themselves.” Ghost smiled at him and gently stroked his cheek. He followed the scar over his eye gently. “Gorgeous. You know that? Just gorgeous.”

Soap swallowed and held on to him tight. “Simon. You mean this right?”

“You being pretty or that I’m going to find that coat?”

“Both.”

“Yeah. I mean both of them.” He kissed him again. “I promise it to you.”

Soap shook his head and pulled him down. He made some promises of his own that made Ghost turn bright red. Followed by a bite to his shoulder through the fabric. Ghost shivered. 

“If I hurry up and find it, do you think we can reschedule our plane?”

“Probably.”

“Thank God.” 

Ghost looked at Soap, thinking. “I don’t think just looking is going to work. I’m going to need to get closer to your dad. We’re in a bit of a time crunch. Do you have any ideas?”

Soap shook his head. “He respects tradition. You being the boss kinda stuff and…. Oh. I have an idea but you might not like it.”

Ghost tilted his head to indicate he should continue. 

“You’ve been soft with me. Laughing at my teasing and stuff. The way you left and stormed in… He probably thinks you’re mad at me because of it.”

“Yeah… so?”

“Leave some bruises on me.”

Soap wondered if the cold that swept over him was because of Ghost’s glare, an open window or if Ghost secretly had some magic he wasn’t aware of that affected the weather. “I’m not hurting you.”

“It’s for my Mam and I’m asking. Just has to be something easy.”

“Easy. You’re saying I should hurt you. What if I leave hickeys? Would that work?”

“Might…” Soap opened his collar so Ghost could see his throat. “Just… do something okay? I promise I won’t be mad. Won’t hold it against you. No different than the time you shoved me to the ground to get me out of the line of fire. Was bruised then too.” 

Ghost hated how right Soap sounded. He grabbed a handful of his hair to force his head a little further back and then bit him rather hard. Soap tensed, having not expected that. He tried not to squirm even when it started to border on pain. Instead he pulled Ghost closer to encourage him. 

Ghost pulled away and admired the teeth mark. He also showed where he had put a handprint on Soap’s wrist while he was distracted. “There you go. Think it’ll convince him?”

“Let’s hope so.” Soap smiled at him and followed him outside. He was quick to look demure, holding on to Ghost’s sleeve like a scolded child. How someone could ever hurt someone like Soap was beyond him. 

Fergus noticed the bruising. His expression didn’t change though. 

Moray called them for dinner, gently touching Soap’s shoulder as she passed. She didn’t meet Ghost’s eyes and Ghost would have to talk to her later. Explain it was not like that. But if she did, she’d probably have to tell Fergus and… they couldn’t have that. 

They all ate in silence until Rosy came. Soap’s second sister. She hugged Soap close, glaring at Ghost the entire time. She didn’t really acknowledge him or her father, sitting at her place. A sweet looking lady followed her, sitting right next to her. 

“This is my girlfriend.” She stated it like a fact. “Her name is Iris. Please be nice.” 

Soap looked surprised but made a motion towards Ghost. “He prefers Ghost.” 

Ghost didn’t really react. He was more focused on the mask problem. He could hypothetically lift his mask to eat. But his face would be revealed. It wasn’t like the tea where he could turn away or not lift his mask enough for them to see. They were also in Scotland, they’d all know what Glasgow scars were. They’d probably assume gang related. Which wouldn’t be that far off but not for the reasons they’d think. He also knew he wouldn’t be able to play it as a battle wound. They were clearly on purpose. 

Soap noticed and put his hand on his thigh to reassure him. Ghost glanced over and just fully slipped his mask off. He heard Davina’s tiny gasp but he ignored it. His hair was long enough it would cover his ears and everything else about him looked human enough. He started casually eating, not thinking about his start shaped freckles or his scarring. None of it was important. 

Soap started eating like there was nothing going on and his family eventually followed suit. Iris started at him for a moment, a little taken back. First time she meets the family and he’s here. It’s a fair reaction. 

The food is good. There’s not enough though and he refuses to ask for more or take more than his share. He’s the odd one out here, having a much bigger appetite than the average person. Soap kept his hand on him throughout the meal. 

“Ghost, do you cut your own hair?” Rosy asked and Soap hissed at her. Literally. Like a cat. It caught Ghost and Iris off guard. 

“Don’t trust people with knives around my face.”

“Yeah, I can see why.” 

He respected her a lot. However, he could not let this disrespect slide. “And what’s your excuse for your haircut?”

Her eyes widened and Soap coughed hard, side eyeing him. 

“Alright. You’re funny. I’ll give ye that.” Her accent thickened and she was clearly pouting. 

Ghost smiled and she tentatively smiled back. 

The rest of dinner went without much of a problem. Fergus gave him a nod before leaving the table. 

Ghost, mostly on instinct because that’s what he did with his mom, helped gather the plates. Fergus was gone so he didn’t think he had to play the evil human role. 

“You need help doing the dishes ma’am?” He looked down at her. 

Moray relaxed. “I can just have one of my kids do it.”

“You sure? I don’t mind helping you?”

She blushed. “You’re such a good kid,” Ghost ignored the fact that besides her, he was the oldest in the room, “Fine, I could use the help and they always leave water spots on my dishes.” 

All three of her kids immediately made excuses as she rolled her eyes. Ghost smiled at them, looking a tad smug before following her. 

Rosy looked at Soap. “Iris knows about the seal thing so let’s cut to the chase. What was that?”

“What was what?”

“One, no way that guy is a human.” Iris butted in. 

“Two, he just… changed! His whole personality!”

“Oh. Yeah he and my mom are close. They talk all the time.” Soap sipped his drink.

“He has your coat.”

“Look… you guys can’t say anything. But I gave it willing. I just didn’t want to let Dad know. I like Ghost!”

Davina and Rosy exchanged glances, frowning. “You sure?”

“Yes. He’s given me my coat back multiple times. We’re technically married but we’re taking it slow.”

“It looks like he mauled you.” 

Soap turned bright red and touched his throat. “We get handsy!” It’s not that he distrusted his sisters. Not at all. But he was worried they’d say the wrong thing to Mom or Dad and ruin the delicate balance they had going on if they knew what they were doing now. “But he’s a gentleman.”

Rosy frowned. She was never very trusting. He supposed she just did it to protect them. Usually just him. 

“Promise. You’ll like him.” 

“I doubt it. But I’ll give him a try.”

[aziraphales-library]

Helloooooo again! Hope you are doing well! I have a request for some fics and I was wondering if you happen to know if there are any where Aziraphale and Crowley get married in Vegas after a drunk night (this is a very specific niche so if you can’t find any that is perfectly ok!) and it doesn’t even have to be in Vegas, just accidental marriage fics are cool too. Thank you!

Hi! Here are some drunken Las Vegas marriage fics...

to have and to hold, probably by seventhstar (G)

They have long, drawn out arguments about this, if they can even be termed arguments; onlookers inevitably describe their tone of voice as 'fond' and their mode of communication as 'bickering'. The wine is passed back and forth between them. Marriage, Aziraphale argues, is divine. It's about love. It's about making promises, and keeping them. It's about faith and hope and devotion. Marriage, Crowley replies, is infernal. It gives two people who love each other endless opportunities to ruin it. It's about power and money and pain; it's caused more evil than it ever has good. Or, the one where they get drunk married in Las Vegas.

Waking Up In Vegas by Supergeek21 (T)

Crowley and Aziraphale wake up hungover after a night out in Vegas.

Ouroboros by FriendOfLoki (T)

“We should get married!” Crowley blurts out. His face is burning the moment the words leave his mouth and enter into the night. He’s not quite sure how he got here. Or, the story of how Aziraphale and Crowley drunkenly marry each other one night in Las Vegas.

Oops! by Mimsynims (E)

This must be a dream. A fantastic, soul-crushing dream. That’s the only explanation. Right? “Aziraphale, did you hear me?” Bugger. Not a dream. “Pardon, what was that?” Aziraphale reluctantly dragged his eyes from the simple yet perfect ring on his left hand. A ring that matched the one on Crowley’s left hand. His friend, Crowley. Best friends Aziraphale and Crowley are on holiday in Las Vegas. After a getting a bit too drunk the night before, they wake up with wedding rings on their fingers. Sounds like it should be easily dealt with, or is it..?

Veni Vino Vegas (I Came, I Got Drunk, I Got Married) by A_N_D (T)

After a whirlwind drunken evening, author Az Fell came home from Rom-Con without his heirloom pinkie ring – but with a wedding license from a 24-hour Las Vegas chapel. Elsewhere, book fan Tony Crowley woke up with a hangover, vague memories, and a brand new ring he’s only seen in author photos. Mutually attracted, mutually terrified the other one thinks it was all a regrettable mistake, they turn to their dear but anonymous online friend to vent and ask for advice. …Maybe they should tell each other their screennames someday.

Waking Up Married by Caedmon (E)

"So you’re telling me that my options are either to convince this man I just met and drunkenly married to stay married to me for six months or lose two thirds of a billion pounds?” “That’s exactly what I’m telling you,” Fergus said. “Fucking shit,” Crowley spat. He hung up the phone and stared at it for a moment before rubbing his eyes with his fists. Now his job would be twice as hard. He needed to talk Aziraphale into staying married for six months. Should he try begging or bribing? This was a huge ask, and Aziraphale would be well within his rights to tell Crowley to fuck off. But Crowley was prepared to offer him pretty much anything, up to half of the trust, if that’s what it took. He didn’t care. But that was only part of his concern. Even if he got insanely lucky and Aziraphale agreed to stay legally married to him for the next six months, how the hell was he going to talk Aziraphale into dating him during that time? And was it foolish to even try? One thing at a time, he decided. First, he needed to convince Aziraphale to stay legally married to him. Then he could set about wooing his husband. He hoped.

- Mod D

[quietwingsinthesky]

Crowley was an angel, once. It's only in his dreams that he remembers what it was like to rip out his grace and fall. Bobby can't really do anything but be there watching over him.

o7 tried something, see if this works. :3

Here's how the story goes when Crowley tells it, on the good nights where he doesn't embellish and doesn't lie: Once upon a time, there was a little boy named Fergus, whose mother could not love him and whose father may as well have never existed, and when he grew into a man, he lived and died in the mud. He twisted and warped until he became a demon, unrecognizable and untouchable, and now Crowley is the King of Hell. He hardly ever even has to get mud on his shoes anymore.

Here's the part where Crowley slips: "But it didn't matter if I never knew him. I used to scream bloody, I was so scared of my father," and then he pretends as if he never said it, as if it doesn't matter.

As if there's not a reason.

But Bobby, if only by the fact that he's one of the few hunters to keep close contact with an angel, is the resident expert on all things fallen, and more so, the expert in all things Crowley. It's a sinking stone of knowledge, and he wonders if it isn't kinder that Crowley can't remember which Father he screamed for.

[fledbeast578]

It's going around a bit (initially this was going to be an ask for @hasarjunadoneanythingwrong and then it got too long, and er sorry for the ping, your post just got me thinking a lot) but I think a lot of people are missing the point when it comes to why people complain about the lack of bisexuality in fate. It's not like everyone is completely ignorant to Rin's bisexual awakening in fsn, or you being able to go full Yuri with Nero in Extella. It's moreso that while type/moon are able to handle girl/girl just fine, they are seemingly completely unwilling to approach any male/male romances in a serious way. It's not that bisexual women aren't bisexual, that's stupid to say. But if you have an equal number of male and female servants, and have plenty of bisexual or even lesbian girls, as a bisexual male I am allowed to be disappointed by the complete lack of the opposite.

They never overtly say anything homophobic, but they do literally everything they can do avoid outright mentioning male/male pairings. They have never mentioned Patroclus, despite him being a major part of not just Achilles, but the Illiad as a whole, all while adding Penthisaela as an entire character. The only canon 'yaoi' pairing (Gil x Enkidu, and I say yaoi loosely) made sure to have Enkidu simultaneously be non-binary and take on the appearance of a woman. They quite literally demoted Nameless to side character due to Extella being more focused on romance. There's a whole bunch of minor stuff easy to miss as well, like, has anyone ever wondered why exactly they added the Trung Sisters as is, but felt the need to genderbend Pollux?

I could rant on more and more, but I think it's easy to point to one in-game event as being emblematic of what I mean, Valentines. Nearly every girl has an overtly or at least implicitly romantic valentines, comes with the territory. It doesn't change or matter if you're playing as Gudako or Gudao, it all stays the same, especially with early servants where it's just "teehee it's valentines day/oh it's valentines day" depending on how tsundere there are, they hand you chocolate, and then blush.png, they are never afraid to imply or outwardly say that at the very least Carmilla finds you cute.

Compare that to male valentines scenes, where genuinely I think there are less than 10 with any romantic vibes. A grand majority of them are closer to friendship than anything, and play out more like mini-interludes. And even of the ones that are romantic, much less than overt about it. Is Saito maybe being romantic when he says he wants to take you away from Chaldea and live alone? Probably. Is Taigong Wang trying to imply something when he takes you to the same river he took his wife too? Probably. Are they ever going to outwardly say it? Absolutely not, at least not when they're trying to take it seriously.

As you mentioned previously characters like Fergus and Bartholomew are the only exceptions, because yeah they'll call you hot and offer to fuck but that's because they want to fuck literally anything (anything with bangs for the latter), the joke is they're so horny it transcends sexuality. Genuinely the only male that comes to mind with a full on, "I have feelings for you" played straight is Oda Kippoushi (and even his gender situation is... Weird? Just a bit). Mori comes close, but even his ends with him looking at you as more of a friend, and quickly skirts away from topics of romance.

In fact, this disparity between male and female servants can be easily seen in Kid Gil's interlude of all things. In it he mentions a waterpark he was creating, and then you two fantasize about the type of servants there

It's played completely straight, just a bunch of summer servants that you and Gil fawn over. Immediately after, he starts rambling about how while he doesn't swing that way, there are all kinds of people at the park

And to show this off they... Turn it into a joke. Edison and Blackbeard as there. Compared to a bunch of servant girls fawning over you it's a bunch of men (none of which even had summer skins at the time), talking about working out and growing food, with Blackbeard yelling about how it's a bunch of servants with no story significance.

However, the absolute worst part is what Gudao can say in response to the fantasies. With the girls you get a single one, that you love the idea of it.

With the men however, you get two options, "hey that doesn't sound too bad" in which Gil just kinda disagrees and then moves on to the end. And then one where you literally outloud show your disgust towards the male choice, Gil scolds you for making him think of it, and he bans all adult men from the pools. I never really think of it but this is probably one of the most homophobic scenes in fgo lmao.

Regardless, the whole point of this was moreso that as a bisexual man myself, these kinds of things do kind of lodge themselves into my brain. Nobody has to like yaoi or anything, that's ridiculous, but when they go out of there way so often to avoid outright showing anything homosexual... It kind of just hurts. Even just a singular gay man would be nice, even if it probably would just be a joke about how they want to slobber on muscles or love femboys something. But there just... Isn't, there's a few vaguely implied mentions of gay men or bisexual men, but they will never expand on it or show it off to the same degree as they do with women, and I just wish there was more of it.