#it needed its own separate post

[sualne]

posting some op art i hadn't posted, there's a Lot more.

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

"i have to go to sleep" i say

"i really have to go to sleep" i say again, four hours later

[crayonverse]

cw abuse implications

been awhile since drawing anything canon adjacent lmao anyway heres ein and his manipulative father figure who hates him

wanted 2 go with some holy imagery bc of that line ein has in s6 where he says the only person worthy of respect is Michael n yeah. he has some issues

[buried-in-autumn-leaves]

My favourite thing about writing Louie and Della's dynamic is the complexity, trying to find the line between truly familial energy and platonic energy. Because I really don't see younger Louie being able to accept a maternal figure (WHICH EVERYONE ALWAYS TAKES AS ME LIKE THINKING THEYRE WORST ENEMIES WHICH I DONT THINK, THEY LOVE EACH OTHER BUT ITS COMPLICATED) but he looks up to her. There's this aura of respect and understanding, but it's tainted by bitterness knowing the distance between them was caused by something that was preventable.

[the-clay-quarters]

(tags from @neathyingenue @zeebreezin)

hang on have I not mentioned this enough- Hi! Yes! Vincent is Catalan, from Barcelona! I usually talk about them as being/using Spanish but that's honestly just because I know that's what most people would recognise/understand, compared to how relatively niche Catalan is unfortunately. A lot of the time it's more important in the moment to connect somewhat even if it's not entirely accurate "^^ (and they do use Spanish, it's just their second language instead).

Being Catalan specifically is a key part of Vin as a character because, well... I'm projecting, honestly! I live in Barcelona! I may be British, but I've lived here for most of my life now and it's an equally important part of me as a person. Writing about Vin is an excuse to write about the experience of immigrating (though admittedly in reverse of my own) as well as Catalan language, culture, politics, history...

One day I'll sit down and write out some of this stuff and approximately nobody will know the cultural/historical context <3

[alienorchids]

ALL I NEED - Beauty Maniac

WU-6332

1997

[codacheetah]

I am thinking of mal du pays on this mal du mfriday

[tsyvia48]

Genesis 22, Good Omens style

Avraham was nervous. God had sent angels to speak with him before, but never this many. And the one in the center was frightening. He seemed to be in charge, but from his posture to his eyes—the color of a wine stain—there was nothing kind or welcoming about him.

Avraham’s eyes moved from face to face. None of them were kind and welcoming. They looked…bored? But wait, there near the back was Israfel. They met eyes and smiled at one another. Avraham hadn’t seen him since that hot day in Mamre. He’d been the only one of the three who actually ate of the cakes Sarah had labored over. Israfel had enjoyed the food heartily, and it had brought comfort to Sarah.

Avraham relaxed. If Israfel was here, surely all was well.

“Avraham” boomed the head angel with the wine-stain eyes and the sharp jaw line.

Avraham looked around. They’d been standing there for quite a long moment. Avraham was the only human there, but the angel said it as if he was commanding attention. “Here I am” replied Avraham. It was the correct answer to the divine call of one’s name.

Continues after the break.

“Take your son,” the angel continued.

“My lord, I have two sons.”

The angel looked at him, seemingly for the first time. “Your favorite one”

“Begging your pardon, my lord, I do not have a favorite,”

The angel looked a bit annoyed. Avraham tried to find Israfel’s eyes in the assembled. Israfel was looking down and wringing his hands.

“The one that you love, then,” said the angel, frustrated, looking at his companions with indignation.

Before Avraham could protest, Israfel shuffled meekly to the head angel and whispered in his ear.

“Yitzak!” Said the frightening angel as Israfel returned to his place at the back of the small formation.

Avraham nodded.

“Go to the land of Moriah, and offer him there as a burnt offering on one of the heights that God will point out to you.”

A burnt offering? Yitzak? Surely this was a mistake. God had never requested human sacrifice. Never. Avraham searched their faces. There was nothing there but cold indifference. His eyes found Israfel who averted his gaze. Avraham thought he saw tears in Israfel’s eyes.

“It is a test.” The center Angel declared. The others broke out in polite applause.

Avraham choked back a sob.

x

Aziraphale paces in the Judean night. He mutters softly to himself. “Surely Gabriel misunderstood the Almighty. Human sacrifice?”

“Alright, Aziraphale?” growls a familiar voice.

Aziraphale spins quickly, surprise and relief on his face. “Crawly! Oh, dear. You’re here. Tell me, do you know Avraham?”

“Hmm, I do. I convinced him to tell people his wife was his sister,” the demon grins. “Twice, actually.”

“You what?” The Angel stares in disbelief.

“Well, I -“

Aziraphale cuts him off. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter, look, Gabriel’s delivered a ‘test.’ Avraham is meant to offer his son as a burnt offering.”

“Ngk.” Crawly scoffs. “It wasn’t enough to send my side to kill Job’s kids. Now She’s making them do it themselves?”

“Oh, I don’t think She wants the boy killed. I can’t believe that.”

The demon looks at him, eyebrows raised over wide eyes. “I mean,” Aziraphale stammers, “I’m sure She told the host to test Avraham. Part of the ineffable plan…” he falters… “oh, Crawly, I feel just awful about it. I was the one who blessed Sarah so she could have a baby at all! She was 90 years old!” The angel meets the demon’s eyes, forehead creased in worry, “I’m supposed to accompany Avraham to Moriah. And report back on the results of the test,” the angel wrings his hands.

The demon purses his lips. “I could come along and try to thwart you, I suppose,” he says nonchalantly, looking away from Aziraphale to punctuate his indifference.

“Oh, would you?!” Aziraphale smiles, starts to reach for the other’s hand, thinks better of it, and clasps his own hands together.

“I’m a demon,” Crawly says, shrugging and suppressing a smile, “it’s what I do.”

“Quite right,” Aziraphale beamed. “Avraham will be taking two servants on the journey to Moriah. We leave in the morning.”

“Right,” says Crawly, looking around. “I’ll disguise myself. Not sure old Avi will be glad to see me again. Shall I be Bildad the Shuhite, once more?”

“Oh, yes!” Aziraphale beamed. “I quite liked Bildad.”

“Good. That’s settled, then.” With a wave of his hand, Crawly conjures a small campfire and settles himself on a small boulder, which conveniently scoots itself near the fire. “Might as well get comfortable.” He gestures for the angel to sit on a miraculously placed second rock. “I trust you don’t mind if I have some wine,” the demon is pouring wine from ceramic jug into ceramic cup, neither of which were there moments ago. When the cup is full, he sets the jug down near his feet, between himself and his companion.

“Would you like a taste?” the demon quickly glances at the angel who sits on his rock, straight-backed.

Aziraphale looks at the cup in Crawly’s hands. His own hands are clasped tightly together in his lap. He doesn’t answer.

“In my opinion, it’s better than ox meat” the demon says quietly, not looking at Aziraphale as he takes a small sip. The angel makes a barely audible “oh” and Crawly tries not to smile. He slouches into his rock, robes pooling around him, and sips again, rather more audibly than is strictly necessary. He smacks his lips in satisfaction.

“Surely it wouldn’t hurt to taste it,” the angel says quietly, “to know what the fuss is about.”

“Surely,” Crawly repeats back, seriously. “It is your job to understand humans, isn’t it, Principality?”

“Quite right,” Aziraphale nods. His face quickly clouds. “You aren’t tempting me are you?”

“Aziraphale, we’ve established angels can’t be tempted, haven’t we?” Crawly is already pouring wine into a newly-formed second cup. He holds it out to his companion. “You’re doing your job. You’re understanding humans and their experience, so you can better serve Heaven…as far as you can.”

Crawly doesn’t wink as Aziraphale tentatively reaches for the cup.

“Well, just one cup. To know what it’s about.”

“Of course,” says the demon, “just one.”

Several hours later, the fire is mostly embers. Angel and demon share conversation and silence by turns.

“What’s with the name change?” Crawly asks, apropos of nothing. “I thought Avram was a fine name.”

“Oh that!” The Angel brightens, “that was my idea, actually. I thought a new name would help really convey the new relationship between the human and the almighty.”

“But it’s so close? Why bother with such a small change?”

“My dear Crawly, sometimes the small changes are the most profound, don’t you think? It was the almighty Herself who suggested adding a letter from her NAME for Avram and Sarai’s new names. I thought that was delightfully clever.” Aziraphale wiggles happily and looks into his cup, which should have been empty hours ago, given all that he’d drunk. Finding it still half full he smiles into it and takes another sip.

Crawly brows knit together. “What did you say just then?”

“What, that the almighty is delightfully clever?”

“No, no, before that. Something about small changes.”

“Hmm, yes. Small changes can be the most profound.” Aziraphale takes another sip of his wine. “This is quite pleasant,” he says, pointing to the cup. “I don’t know why I was so averse to it.”

Crawly doesn’t respond. He is now sitting on the ground, using his rock as a backrest, and sprawling in impossible angles. His foot waves absently.

“I say, Crawly. Are you listening?”

“What? Oh.” Crawly refocuses his reptilian eyes on the decidedly tipsy Angel. “Of course I’m listening. This is Pleasant. You are Averse.”

As the sky lightens, Crawly sobers up. Aziraphale watches with bleary eyes and, after one failed attempt (and a rather loud passing of wind), the angel manages to expel the wine from his corporation.

x

With the breaking of dawn, Avraham saddles his ass and takes with him two of his servants and his son Yitzak. He splits the wood for the burnt offering, and he sets out for the place of which God had told him.

They set out in two pairs, Avraham and Yitzak flanking the donkey and Aziraphale and Bildad following behind. Yitzak tires after several hours of walking. He’s only a boy, after all, and not used to this kind of exertion. Bildad offers to carry some of the donkey’s pack so Yitzak can ride. Avraham looks at him with gratitude as the redhead shoulders a heavy pack. When Yitzak falls asleep in the saddle, Bildad helps Avraham tie the boy into his perch so he won’t fall out and get hurt. They walk on either side of the beast keeping an eye on the sleeping figure as it sways above them. Their talk about goats and sheep eventually turns to Avraham’s sons. Bildad smiles as Avraham tells stories about the boys making one another laugh and generally making mischief. Aziraphale walks quietly behind, smiling to himself.

In the evening, after Yitzak and Avraham are asleep, Aziraphale and Bildad sit by the fire and drink wine.

As the night drags on, Bildad sinks lower and lower in his slouch until he’s lying on his back looking up at the sky. Aziraphale glances over at him and then up at the night’s sky.

“They are beautiful from here.”

“Hmm? Wassat?” Crowley rolls his head drunkenly toward the angel.

“The stars,” Aziraphale says, pointing and looking up, “they’re beautiful.

“Are they?” Bildad asks, wistfully.

“Well, look at them!” Aziraphale replies, breathless, “they’re gorgeous.”

“Tell me,” Bildad turns all of his attention on Aziraphale. “Tell me, Angel? Please?” His voice is quiet, wistful.

Aziraphale stares back, incredulous. Bildad looks expectantly over the rims of the dark glasses. Aziraphale meets that golden gaze and his breath catches. “You can’t…you haven’t…all this time” he whispers, trails off, looks up at the sky and back to Bildad.

Bildad waits, watching, inebriated but patient.

“Well, I…” Aziraphale looks away from Bildad’s face again and lies back, fully prone. He discreetly wipes away tears. “There are so many of them.” He starts. Bildad settles back down, face toward the stars he cannot see. “From here they appear as white lights, twinkling and sparkling. They are pin pricks in the darkest black,” Aziraphale points, “right now I can see the Milky Way just there, and the Argo Nevis skimming along it.”

Bildad smiles and sighs. He closes his eyes and listens as the angel describes the constellations.

x

The second day of travel, Aziraphale and Avraham walk together talking quietly as Bildad and Yitzak walk ahead with the donkey, playing games and laughing.

“Surely God doesn’t want me to actually hurt him,” Avraham whispers so only Aziraphale can hear.

“Yes, well. It is not for me to know what God wants,” Aziraphale whispers back. “This is meant to be a test, but be not afraid.”

“Be not afraid? I’m afraid, Israfel. I’m very afraid,” Avraham’s whisper edges toward anger. Bildad looks back at them and quickly looks away.

“Shh,” Aziraphale places one hand on the patriarch’s arm. “It’s a test, and surely there is more than one way to pass a test. We will figure something out.”

Avraham allows himself to be placated. Israfel has that effect. He doesn’t know how this will be alright, but he trusts that the angel doesn’t want to hurt him or his son.

The afternoon is spent in silence, all four travelers tired and lost in thought.

x

On the third day, Aziraphale hears the heavenly trumpet and sees a beam of light streak on to a mountain in the near distance. He points it out to Avraham who looks up and sees the place from afar. Avraham sighs, frowning.

“You stay here with the donkey,” he says to Bildad and Aziraphale. “The boy and I will go up there. We will worship and we will return to you.”

Avraham takes the wood for the burnt offering and gives it to his son Yitzak to carry. He himself takes the firestone and the knife; and the two walk off together.

Before they’ve walked more than five paces, Yitzak says to his father Avraham, “Father!” And he answers, “Yes, my son.” And he says, “Here are the firestone and the wood; but where is the sheep for the burnt offering?”

Avraham looks back toward the two man-shaped beings with the donkey. He finds Aziraphale’s eyes as he replies, “It is God who will see to the sheep for this burnt offering, my son.” And the two of them walk on together.

Aziraphale and Bildad tie the donkey to a tree, and follow father and son. They blink themselves further up the mountain. They watch the two approach, careful to remain unseen.

“So the test is whether or not Avraham is willing to kill his kid, right? It’s about the intention, not the, um, execution?” Bildad cringes at the pun, his attention fixed on the two figures walking up the side of the mountain.

“Well…that is to say…the instructions were less than explicit” Aziraphale replies. “But, yes, one could argue, that it is the intention, the willingness, that is being tested.”

“Hmmngh” Bildad scoffs.

Between the humans and their watchers, a shaft of sunlight illuminates a spot in Avraham’s path. Avraham builds an altar there. He lays out the wood. Crying, he binds his son, Yitzak.

“Father, what are you doing?” Yitzak’s eyes are big with confusion as fear creeps in, but he does not resist his father’s hands.

“May God forgive me,” Avraham whispers as he lifts his son and lays him on the altar, on top of the wood.

With tear stains on his dusty face, Avraham picks up the knife to slay his son.

“Surely he’s passed the test!” Bildad hisses at his companion with urgency bordering on desperation, “Stop him, Angel!”

“He’ll need a substitute offering,” Aziraphale spits it out quickly and strides toward Avraham, hand outstretched “Avraham! Avraham!” He calls out.

“Here I am!” Avraham cries with relief.

With a wave of Bildad’s hand, a ram appears. As it wheels in confusion, its horns catch in a thicket. Its nostrils flare and its eyes widen with fear.

Bildad places a hand on the animal’s head. “You don’t deserve this,” he says, “I can’t save you, but I can make sure you don’t die afraid.” The animal’s breath settles. Bildad slinks away, hiding behind an outcropping of rock.

Below him Aziraphale is radiating a full body halo. He’s turned on all the theatrics.

“Do not raise your hand against the boy, or do anything to him. For now I know that you fear God, since you have not withheld your son, your favored one, from Me.”

Avraham backs away from his son who stares in disbelief at the knife. They make eye contact, and Avraham knows he and Yitzak will never be the same. He looks down, away from his son, and resists the urge to curse God.

When Avraham looks up, his eye fall upon a ram, caught in the thicket by its horns. So Avraham goes and takes the ram and offers it up as a burnt offering in place of his son.

Inspired in part by this post about the significance of Crowley’s name.

[aestophobia]

songs on my good omens playlist that are so good omens

the last time - taylor swift

halloween - noah kahan

snake eyes - mumford and sons

shampain - marina

illicit affairs - taylor swift

constellations - the oh hellos

allies or enemies - the crane wives

the prettiest star - david bowie

georgia - phoebe bridgers

chemtrails over the country club - lana del ray

buy the stars - marina

false god - taylor swift

reckless driving - lizzy mcalpine

mr crowley - ozzy osbourne

last words of a shooting star - mitski

as the world caves in - matt maltese

[dalliansss]

Hiiii <<333 would u tell us more about your thingol and finwe verse? U just made me discover this ship and I’m kinda into it even if Miriel for the win 🤍

Also just thought this would work for them ? ❛ i thought you said you never wanted to see me again. ❜

&. 𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐥𝐬 (𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬?) 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬.

In truth, Elwë did what he did out of concern, prompted also by Fëanáro's concern that Finwë had been getting a bit too...wide in the girth these days. Not that Elwë can blame his husband; since arriving in Valinor, the Noldor king had indulged himself in many things, particularly in food, their hard life in Cuiviénen manifesting itself in this way, where Finwë will not, shall not and can not suffer anybody going hungry during his reign, particularly his descendants and his people -- and also, himself.

They had been busy, of course. Setting in Valinor, ordering the realms of the Eldar, choosing their leaders and their noble courts, exploring their new lands. Finwë, upon whom the burden of the leadership of the Noldor fell on, focused more on the administrative side of things, and so his physical activity fell to the wayside. And the food. Food in abundance, rich and sweets -- Finwë was just eager to eat them all. He soon developed habits of stashing snacks: in the cupboards and drawers, in his pockets, in baskets in the councilroom--

But lately, even a little horse riding made Finwë short of breath, and Elwë knew it was time for action. He had been introducing physical activity back into Finwë's days while only slowly reducing his food portions, but Finwë, ever emotional took offense and booted him out of their bedchambers. This despite Elwë explaining he does what he does keeping in mind Finwë's health, just to make sure his combat skills does not fall to the wayside.

Still, Elwë gets exiled. Oh well.

So he takes himself to his seaside house at Alqualondë, and there he busies himself with sailing and fishing every early morning, even before the Mingling of the Lights. He trusts Fëanáro to take up where he can't, and Finwë will find that more difficult, because Fëanáro does not compromise and imposes his discipline with a harder hand that Elwë does. There will be no coaxing from Fëanáro, that is certain. Do or don't.

Elwë has just finished his rounds selling off his catch at Alqualondë's famous seaside markets. He walks home, and is surprised to find Finwë already there, waiting for him, the Noldorin king dressed down to sleeveless tunics fit for the hotter climes of Alqualondë. Finwë sees him approaching, and he stands, beaming-- and then as if he remembers he is the one who exiled Elwë in the first place, his smile falls, and he wrings his bejeweled hands.

Elwë Singollo draws close and quirks an eyebrow as he hangs his fishing net by the rack. "Well? I thought you said you never wanted to see me again."

"You know I don't mean that!" Finwë cries out, anguished. He is the one to close the distance and throw his arms around Elwë in a hug. He whines. "Elwë-- my heart, song of my fëa, come home....please?"

Elwë lets out a long-suffering sigh, but he does wrap his arms around Finwë. Look at that. In years that seem so long ago, he could hug Finwë and feel his ribs. Nowadays, it's all fluff. It's not a bad thing, but Finwë needs to reteach his hröa how to keep moving. It is for his own good.

"Fëanáro got you good, huh?" Elwë snipes, sly. "Alright, how many laps does he make you do before he's satisfied?"

"Twenty every early morning," Finwë complains, pouting. "And I haven't even eaten my scrambled eggs yet! And no coffee yet! No orange juice! Ai, he's so mean, Elwë! And-- and he he also got Nolofinwë joining in! Two of them! They're horrible! Can't leave their old father alone..." Now he pretends to sniffle. Dramatic elf, this one.

"But you exiled me, remember?" Elwë points out.

"No!" Finwë cries out. "I take it back! Go home with me! I rather take the long walks with you and the horse riding with you! At least you let me have breaks and you let me relax and--! Elwë!" Finwë pouts. Lower lip quivering.

Elwë rolls his eyes with such a great, exasperated fondness. He bends to kiss the pout away. "Very well. I will go home with you. But I hope you know the walks and the spars and the horse riding won't stop, nor go away. Understood?"

"Yes, yes, yes. I love you, Elwë!" Finwë hugs into his hold again, happy now.

Elwë shakes his head. Ai, this elf...so silly. The silliest of the lot!

[good-beans]

The thing that gets me about Mahiru is how they sneak in her tragedy, as opposed to some of the other characters. Like a lot of them have really blatant horror/tragedy from the beginning, but Mahiru's tale is hinted at until it smacks you in the face.

Aw, she's in love and blinded by love and would do anything for it, okay! Aw, she copies everything her lover does, even if it doesn't serve herself, like the silly scene with the bread, or the running, or the smoking, huh! Aw, she's willing to forgive someone that almost killed her because she feels so strongly that people should stick to acting on what they believe, wow!

And you can tell somethings a little fucked up but all at once it hits you like,

She's blinded by love and would sacrifice anything -- wait, anything? She copies everything.... so if her lover suggested he wanted to..... then she'd want to.... oh, oh no...... Surely she'd talk him out of-- unless she believes people should do what they have their heart set on, oh fuck.... But she's so full of life and excitement! Surely she wouldn't have made the decision to join h-- except, wait -- she'd do anything for love

[grapecaseschoices]

UP TOP: Is the Tadpole Consumers! Sometimes being 'Power Hungry' means eating an actual worm.

Kendis Wolfcrossing (left): Bearbarian (Druid and Barbarian), She/They (nb). Romance Rolan [Maybe Minthara. Maybe Halsin. I'm just fucking around in the PT]

Kaeliana (right): aka The Dark Urge, Soradin of Kelemvor (Sorcerer and Paladin), She/her (trans). Romance Wyll.

BOTTOM DOWN: The Parental Trauma Cleric Sibs (and potentially both technically undead).

Amryl Shadowhoard (left): Ranger/War Cleric of Bahamut, They/It/She (in order; nb). Romance Wyll/Lae'zel/REDACTED [yeah that's the polyam!]. Is, technically, Isyl's younger sibling.

Isyl Shadowhoard (right): aka The Dark Urge. Cleric of Light [hhaha] of Lathander, ???? (trans and nb). Potential Romance Barcus. Is, definitely, Amryl's older sibling. Isyl remembers that fact and Isyl remembers Lathander. Everything else is secondary. Right?

[kerorowhump]

ive talked in the past about keroro's desire to keep things as they are, static, because it's the only way he can have both keron and earth, but while rewatching ep140b I realized it shows the opposite side of this struggle

that no matter his efforts, it's a futile attempt and nothing is improving because everything is staying exactly the same. he spent a week racking his brain for a solution but the episode ends by showing us that he doesn't find one. could it be because the whole time he was fighting alone?

(his voice breaks in the first screenshot...) this to me feels like the same motivation he would have for invading. wanting to leave a mark, making something of yourself, mattering.

chibikero is in shadow, like the gunpla's shadow. he's not real anymore but he represents all the expectations and lost potential on his shoulders. while the small gunpla is in light like keroro. that's the reality of it. but that's also how he feels. small. he hasn't achieved any of his goals. he hasn't lived up to anything he said he would, everything he based his identity on. he's a "pitiful invader". his desire to matter perfectly encapsulates his abandonment issues too.

this collection will outlive him. it will speak of his greatness when he's gone. it's as much his identity as the invasion. it's also his tomb in the exact same way.

he's so happy for a moment organizing his whole collection on the shelves that he thought were gonna solve everything, enjoying the moment as it was, but in the end nothing changed.

is it because he's expendable? easily replaceable, like by a clone? is it because he doesn't see his own worth, so he has to get some (the keron star, his collection, the invasion)? because if he's not useful, he'll be thrown out? or because he doesn't want to be forgotten and left behind?

and yet

he remains insignificant and his fight is fruitless.

[numbuh]

sorry your child got frozen in a devastating ice cream explosion. yeah the puppies can't lick them out yet. yeah the doggies. yeah. yeah we don't know when we're going to get them out if at all. it might take ten years. maybe more. yeah. Sorry

[vivitalks]

guys i genuinely don't know what to do. my quirky little destiel fic which was already far too long to begin with now has a second smaller fic nested inside of it and somehow the second smaller fic is the absolute crackfest of this supernatural/tazamnesty crossover where dean lowkey hooks up with barclay the bigfoot and i don't KNOW what to DO. do i cut the scene. do i post it separately. do i post it separately but ALSO leave it in the fic. do i just pretend like barclay is an OC i made up and all the references to the fictional town of kepler west virginia are incidental. WHAT IS THE MOVE HERE

[shortfeather]

And today's "deeply distracting au while i wait for my wrist to calm down from attempting to write for too long" iiiiiiiiiis Subnautica! an inevitability for every fandom i'm in after a certain point tbh i just LOVE Subnautica... would love to actually play it myself one day when i have a better computer

ANYWAYS I'm spicing it up this time by mashing both games together and also really mixing up the hermits.

The premise is that the Hermatrix Convoy (HC), a trio of spaceships that travels together in a group as a defense measure against outside dangers, is on its journey. When they have to reroute to slingshot 4546-B, they don't think it's going to be a problem. Knowing the planet is uninhabited and that no other ships are nearby, they all go for the slingshot at the same time, separated by mere seconds.

The gun, of course, gets them all.

Hermatrix-1 crashes in a shallow part of the flooded surface in the subtropics (the setting of the first game) and completely loses the ship, though a dozen survive. Hermatrix-2 crashes in the arctic (Subnautica: Below Zero); their ship remains habitable for survival, but barely, and eight survive.

Hermatrix-3, the smallest of the convoy, manages to switch to planetside navigation and mitigates the damage from the crash. If they want to get off-planet, they'll need some serious repairs, but in the meantime they can still move through the water like a particularly clumsy and slow submarine. The problem is figuring out where they are besides "deep, deep underwater," and what exactly the giant lifeforms the scanner insists are out there are...

Of course, there's groups within each ship as well. The friend groups of HC's staff and passengers does not necessarily correlate to ship assignment, which only adds to the stress of crashing on a supposedly-safe planet's anti-spacecraft gun.

Hermatrix-1's survivors: BDubs (architect, passenger), Zedaph (theoretical physicist), Pearl (janitor), Beef (psychologist), False (metallurgist, passenger), Etho (navigator), Scar (actor, passenger), Hypno (gov't agent, passenger), Iskall (athlete, passenger), xB (xenohistorian, passenger), Jevin (communicator specialist), Keralis (doctor)

Hermatrix-2's survivors: Ren (captain), Xisuma (cybersec specialist), Gem (ambassador, passenger), Impulse (chemist, passenger), Wels (bodyguard, passenger), Joe (teacher, passenger), Cub (CEO, pasenger), Grian (shipwright)

Hermatrix-3's survivors: Doc (spacecraft engineer), Mumbo (architect, passenger), Stress (pharmacologist), Tango (mechanical engineer, passenger), Cleo (acting captain)

If it doesn't clarify them as a passenger, then they are a member of the ship's crew. Loosely based on s9 roles, if that wasn't clear - though some of these are definitely going to change because I don't know some of these Hermits well enough yet.