#it's okay for some things to remain ineffable forever

[arabella-strange]

This tagline comes from the Buddy Holly song “Everyday”: 

   Everyday, it's a-gettin' closer Goin' faster than a roller coaster Love like yours will surely come my way A-hey, a-hey, hey    Everyday, it's a-gettin' faster Everyone said, "Go up and ask her" Love like yours will surely come my way A-hey, a-hey, hey    Everyday seems a little longer Every way, love's a little stronger Come what may, do you ever long for True love from me?

GOOD OMENS SEASON 2 IS COMING JULY 28😍😍😍🥳🥳🥳❤❤❤

WAHOOOOOO!

[thatlonelycactus]

I know I’m always talking about the ineffable divorce and that’s mainly because I’m not okay™️ hutbalso because, as everyine can tell theres so fucking much to talk about.

I don’t know if anyones pointed this out but has anyone noticed the change (almost switch) that occurs in Crowley and Aziraphale’s demeanor’s? Please don’t take this to mean I’m trying to support switch theory or any other theories similar to switch theory (I have discussed at a little too much length why I despise these theories) but I just find it so interesting.

Aziraphale goes into the final 15 quite cheerily- he’s happy, for obvious reasons, and remains so into Crowley’s confession. He is, for the sake of my argument, angelic. Whilst he is saddened by Crowley’s refusal to come- he still remains composed etc. Conversely, Crowley enters into the discussion almost snake like, hissing, leaning forward. He’s aggressive, reverting to his “evil” (not evil per se but what a demon is expected to act like ig) demeanor. He’s forceful, it’s one of those times where we actually see him behave like he is expected to behave as a fallen angel.

Then something changes.

Crowley repeats the line “Tell me you said no”. The first time he utters the phrase, he remains snakelike, angry. Then, he straightens, he seems lighter and more composed. He seems like an angel, fallen, maybe, but still an angel. He’s not begging Aziraphale to stay as an ex-demon, as a forbidden fruit love, as someone who is refusing being saved, or whatever one initially sees him as in this interaction. No. He’s asking him to stay as someone who has been where Aziraphale’s going. Who doesn’t want the being he loves to be subject to the same fate as him. He’s no longer concerned for their relationship alone but for Aziraphale’s sake. Aziraphale, however, becomes more frustrated as the interaction continues, especially around the good old “Oh Crowley, nothing lasts forever”. He’s getting frustrated because he believes that Crowley isn’t getting it. That heaven is their only way forward. Maybe he’s starting to question whether their relationship was ever what he thought it was. Whether Crowley was ever as good as he thought he was. He’s asking and asking and asking and no answers are coming. It all breaks apart when Crowley asks a question. A question so obvious. So trivial. That he just cracks. Crowley’s running on a completely different track to him- parallel but not the same. I think this is similar to how they’ve been traveling throughout the entirety of s2 but I think this is the first time in years some small part of him has doubted Crowley’s sense of right and wrong- doubted his need to do good. So he becomes angry- possibly the angriest we’ve ever seen him. He almost becomes less angelic- more human (I don’t really want to say ‘demonic’ but yeah). Within the span of a few minutes their roles in the conversation almost switch. I don’t really know where I’m going with this but the fact that they can switch between angelic and non-angelic dispositions like that shows how their views on the split change. It shows when they give up most of their hope. It shows how they react when they’re loosing hope. However, it also shows that no matter who is what Angel or demon or ex-demon or ex-Angel or WHATEVER they both still have a bit of good and bad in both of them; they both still have a bit of eachtother in them (that’s what they said). It shows that Crowley doesnt refuse to go to Heaven because he’s bad or evil- he refuses to go to Heaven because it goes against his sense of right- that’s why he maintains a calm, arguably angelic composure whilst Aziraphale may be being slightly selfish wanting Crowley or wanting Heaven or wanting both but he also is doing what’s right for him. Neither of them are doing the wrong thing nor are they doing the right thing.

Because it’s about shades of gray.

(Also note how Crowley remains in an elevated position compared to Azi throughout a large amount of the convo, the only time they’re really in the same level. I just love the role reversals in this scene but I suck at making sense of them lol sorry.)

[cheonjeolmi]

Ineffable Euphoria

Request Status: Open !

Pairing: Hange x GN! Reader

A/N: i hate editing on mobile, but im too lazy to use my laptop so sorry in advance- oh and i heavily suggest listening to fine line by harry styles for full effect :>>

Word count: 1257

Warning: s4 spoilers, slight angst

You couldn’t believe what was happening right now, and you truly didn’t understand how you got to this point. Though you definitely weren’t going to complain because you’d been waiting for this moment to happen forever, and you didn’t expect the rush of overflowing pleasure which coursed through your veins at this moment.

You and Hange were out on a field of dandelions under the crystalline night sky as if it was like a dark canvas painted with the incandescent glow of the stars, your bodies pressed against each other, faces just close enough to feel each other’s breath fan across each other’s skin.

You silently wished for time to just stop for forever, wanting to be left in the position in which you were in as you wanted nothing else but to be with Hange and to indulge in the feeling their touch and their presence placed upon you.

“Y/N..” Hange broke the silence, smiling against the kiss which in turn made you smile as well.

“Yes, Hange?” you spoke softly, gazing into their light-brown eyes which you believed held all the stars in the universe and more.

Hange inched closer to your face, both your lips slightly brushing against each other’s a few times, their breath fanned lightly across your face, as did yours to their own. The two of you silently waiting and hoping for the other to make a move and seal your lips in a searing kiss.

Above you, the clouds began to cover the sky as small beads of rain began to fall down, slowly but surely wetting the ground underneath your feet. Although to the two of you, it didn’t matter since the only thing which filled your senses was the person in front of you, and that was Hange.

“Can..can I kiss you?” Hange breathed out, as the sounds of rainfall fell deaf against your ears while the earthy scent of petrichor went amiss under your nose.

You stared at Hange like they were the only thing that mattered, and right now, especially right this moment, they were and you couldn’t care less what they did to you because you loved them.

A surge of confidence came flooding through your veins as you captured their lips in the searing kiss you hoped to one day have with them.

Their lips felt warm and soft, and they return the kiss in a tender yet slightly tentative movement, but then they kissed you deeper, losing themself in it, as you lose yourself in their every being. The moment etching itself into a special part of your mind that wouldd cherish this and all the feelings that came with this moment

The adrenaline, the electricity, and the fireworks you felt in your stomach multiplied which greatly added more pleasure to the fiery passion conveyed in the kiss by both of you. You felt yourself losing all rational thought as the only thing which filled the space in your mind was Hange and the kiss you were currently sharing with them. The feeling of kissing them was simply magical and you were addicted to the pleasure that it gave you, wanting to drown yourself in the pleasurable feeling that was Hange Zoe and their indescribable kisses.

The kiss had been going on for more than a few seconds, although your perception of time had vanished once you felt their soft velvety lips against yours.

Unfortunately, you were brought back to reality as you felt your body screaming to regain some air as you tried to hold on to the kiss for just a second longer, every part of you wanted to cherish every single second that was important but much to your disappointment, you pulled away to gasp for air and Hange did the same.

“That..that was..” you spoke slightly out of breath, gazing once more into Hange’s eyes as they looked into yours as well, both your foreheads pressed gently against each other as you both smiled with nothing but love and security in each other’s arms whilst the rain fell from the skies.

Hange panted before calling your name, pulling you in by your waist to capture your lips in another passionate kiss which you immediately returned as your senses were now being clouded by the feeling of Hange’s lips on yours.

“Hange” you rasped into the kiss and they smiled before deepening the kiss as their tongue swiped against your bottom lip which you opened, giving them access to your mouth as their tongue invaded your mouth and licked at every nook and cranny, before coming to meet with your tongue, a fight for dominance began which they easily won.

After a while, you both pulled away but remained close to each other, smiling in content as the world seemed to stop and all you could see was Hange who was smiling as well, their eyes glassy from tears of happiness.

“I want to kiss you and never let go, my starlight” Hange lovingly sighed before leaving a chaste kiss on your lips and you smiled once more as you buried yourself in the crook of their neck.

“I never want to let you go too, my sunshine” you said before closing your eyes, letting yourself get lost in their scent of warm vanilla and damp wood.

“You’re my world” you both spoke before looking at each other, seeing as the moonlight accentuated both your features, then looked up to the night sky silently thanking the universe for making this moment happen.

--------

You quickly opened your eyes now transported to reality, feeling tears stream down your face as you turned to face the other side of your bed, and you realize Hange wasn’t there anymore like they used to. Remembering them made you cry even more as you were left with a cold and foreign place that once held warmth and loving memories which you’d locked up knowing that if you thought about it, you’d never be able to forget the pain their absence caused you.

“The same dream yet again..” you softly cried out and turned to hug your pillow tightly, trying to give some semblance of comfort to yourself but deep down you knew it could never even compare to the comfort which Hange had given you.

Ever since that day they died, you’d felt wreckage in your heart as their loss felt like a piece of you had been gone forever and since then you hadn’t been the cheery self that you once were.

Tears streamed down your face as you hugged your pillow tightly, trying to give yourself some semblance of comfort but much to what you expected, it became another activity you did to try and convince yourself that you were okay despite already knowing you were far from it.

You wanted to say their name, wanted to remember the way their name fell off your tongue, but you couldn’t— or rather you wouldn’t due to the pain that would wash over you as thoughts of them occupied your mind. You missed them, you missed their touch, their laughter, the way they’d ramble on about their passions and experiments, the way they playfully whined as you scolded them for not eating or not showering, and you missed their warmth which you came to associate with home.

“I wish you weren’t gone, cause maybe then I wouldn’t feel cold anymore” you mumbled before crying yourself to sleep, cold and alone in a bed which used to hold many unforgettable memories of ineffable euphoria.

[sourstars]

→ title: dreams, unmeasured. (bakugou katsuki)

→ summary: Some dreams just swallow you whole and never spit you back out, so when you’re in the trade of ruthless beasts, you learn to do as they do; play hard and fight harder. Or, in other words, the story of how you overcome the ghosts of your past and how the infamous Prof. Bakugou Katsuki finds truth in a story he’s spent his whole academic past learning about, one invention and lecture at a time.

→ trope(s): inventor/professor au, slow burn, annoyances to eh you’re okay to lovers, slight pining, The Hand Touch™️. (no, there is no student/professor, personally, i do not rock w that LOL)

→ snippet: ❝Dreams are a forever type of thing, Hatsume. I couldn’t rid myself of mine even if I wanted to try, and I don’t want to try, not anymore. I want to live with them, and see what change they bring.”

She glances at you from the corner of her eye, switching her focus between you and Spice, who’s attempting to scatter away from her at the threat of the wrench to his bolts, “Even when your dreams become a person?”

“Yes, Hatsume. Even then.❞

. . .

→ title: ineffable bonds. (bakugou katsuki)

→ summary: Someone’s dead—wait, no they’re not—are they? He’s your partner in crime—actually, he’s your worst enemy and unless you want to gnaw your arm off, you can’t get rid of each other, literally. He hates you, you hate him. You’d die for each other. You’d feed each other to the dogs. You’d leave the first chance you get, you’d stay if the other asked. This is the love story that happened backwards.

→ trope(s): love at first attempt, there’s only one bed—alternatively, there’s only one chain, slow burn, annoyances + idiots to lovers, tracker + bounty hunter.

→ snippet: ❝Sorry pretty boy,” Your shoulders come up in a soft shrug, “You’re the deer in the street the car doesn’t see. Wrong place, wrong time—wrong person. Shoulda picked someone else to tie down.” Your smile is positively wicked. “Now you’ve got to go.”

He’s flinches, and you think it’s because you’ve flipped him over. You think it’s because he’s going to die and you’re not, and you think it’s because this is first time you’re meeting and it’ll be the last and that his death won’t matter because people die everyday, what’s one more?

But it’s not, because he says; “You think ‘m pretty?”

And you know it then, in your heart; you’re going to get lost and the playing field has completely shattered… because everything goes downhill from there.❞

. . .

→ title: tbd.

→ summary: tbd.

→ trope(s): tbd.

→ snippet: tbd

→ title: in the detours. (akaashi)

→ summary: Tanaka and Kiyoko’s wedding was the anticipated event amongst all your friends — a new page turned into adulthood and awaited milestones, and you couldn’t be more elated. But sometimes the past never quite leaves so easily, so as you navigate your way about the fancy clothes and traditions, you ask yourself; does one ever truly move forward? Or do they just take the longer route?

→ trope(s): lost love, right person wrong time, mutual pining, fluff, literally a hint of rom com tendencies.

→ snippet: ❝Akaashi is made of futures. It’s something you’ve known since the day you first saw him; glasses slipping to the edge of his nose, head remained buried in his novels and his textbooks and his plans—there’s never been a moment he wasn’t looking forward.❞

. . .

→ title: what we owe to each other. (aone takanobu)

→ summary: The story of how two art lovers saw the distance and built a bridge, and when the fire engulfs everything, down to its fraying ropes and your empty palms, burns it down. or in other words; it might’ve been the stories in the museum that made you visit, but it was that shy, sweet and lonely historian who made you stay.

→ trope(s): strangers to friends to ?? to lovers, slow burn, pining, gentle lovers, angst (?), historian au

→ snippet: ❝I want you to know me well enough to sense that I am enchanted by you, through and through, before I can even finish saying your name.❞

. . .

→ title: twenty-first century oracles. (oikawa tooru)

→ summary: Finding yourself stuck on an island vacation—with the best friend of the very man you’re trying to get over—was not how you intended to begin your relaxation period, but you suppose for how it is, there’s no merit in nitpicking your miracles. To make it worse? A man you’ve never met before speaks of fate, certain of one thing and one thing only; your future is set in stone. Outlandish, insanity to your ears, delusional, whatever you wish to call it, his words remain the same. He believes that, by the end of this trip, one way or another, you’re going to fall in love. Oh dear gods, if you’re listening, don’t let it be true.

→ trope(s): enemies to lovers, there’s only one bed, pining, let’s play cupid, love triangle (?).

→ snippet: ❝Here’s another prophecy you didn’t ask for but will ultimately find voice anyway, if not from me; I’m going to fall in love with you.” Oikawa says, softly gesturing to your figure, palm up and fingers spread, “If you look at me like that, and act like that, putting museums to shame, I will end up falling in love with you and there isn’t a damn thing I’ll be able to do about it.❞

. . .

→ title: the cupid podcast. (Miya Atsumu)

→ summary: ❝The only place for love here is where you hate on it. Welcome to our little corner where we, a hopeless romantic—emphasis on hopeless—and a sensible skeptic try every week to convince each other that love is either pointless or the point to everything. I’m here with my co-host, Miya Atsumu, and you’re listening to The Cupid Podcast.❞

❝You can’t seriously be considering making that our intro, you make me sound like I need professional help because I believe in the power of love.❞

❝The fact that you called it ‘the power of love’ alone proves that you very much do. You snooze you lose, lover boy.❞

Love is everywhere, and people say things like; the relationships you grow up with are how you define it. They say things like love can conquer anything, love cultivates, love protects, but there’s always that hard truth they leave behind; love can end, anywhere, at anytime, and sometimes when you dive in head first, no one comes back unscathed.

Which is why it was meant to be a joke, nothing more than a one-off, but one bedroom-turned-studio and a couple of knuckleheads later, you’re facing off against Miya Atsumu to prove just how pointless love can be, while he promises that love is, in fact, the answer to everything. You’ve never been fatally shot by Cupid’s arrow, thanks to your impenetrable heart, but… is that Atsumu outside with a boom box—and why does he look that good in the rain? What is this, a 2000’s movie?

Must be spring allergies.

→ trope(s): once upon a podcast, there’s only one mic (eventually), opposites attract, best friends/friendly rivals to lovers, “i can’t believe they’re not married.”, temporary fake dating, pining in disguise, casual intimacy, trials of fire, slow burn.

→ snippet: ❝I’m going to be a shark,” You said. “You can believe in love all you want, but I know; hearts bleed, and I’ve learned it’s only a matter of time before one finds out exactly what lurks in the water, wanting a change in the tide.❞

the quiz will be updated occasionally, like the rest of the page! be sure to check in to give your input! <3

wip title form.

[ineloqueent]

talk to me

Joe Mazzello x Reader

hi regan your gifs are amazing okay

synopsis: Joe’s been quiet for a while. you think it’s your fault, but it isn’t. if only you could talk to him.

warnings: feelings of worthlessness, drowning allusion, straight angst (but it’s a nice ending, so don’t worry :))

word count: 1.5k

a/n: as usual, i have no self control. inspired by the fucking stupid state of the world, and this song. 

⭒

2020

Nighttime. It seemed like it was always nighttime.

You got up before the sun, you only came home once it had set, once the world had been swathed in darkness once more, and the hopelessness sank more heavily without light to keep it at bay.

The world around you was in pieces. Aflame. Gone to madness. Possibly ending.

At least, that was how it seemed.

Dying, that’s what people were, and if they weren’t dying, they were sick, or vulnerable to an extraordinary degree. And if it wasn’t sickness, then they were dying as victims of violence, of hatred, and there was so much of it that you wondered if anything would ever change.

And there was nothing you could do about any of it.

Sure, you could wear a mask and stay six feet from people, and sign petitions and donate money, but you couldn’t stay home from work, and your increasingly sparse budget meant that you couldn’t keep donating forever. The one thing that helped the most, and you couldn’t fucking keep it up. You felt so useless.

You felt so stupidly selfish, so ridiculously privileged, when you sat down in the evenings, at the wooden dining table you were lucky enough to call your own, because you’d held onto your job with nothing but chance; you had a place to come home to. Some people didn’t even have that.

And you had Joe.

For all the despair and the grief, you had Joe.

He was at home— home, home, it belonged to you both— and could be found around the apartment at any given hour. He was curled up on the bed with a mound of books he intended to read, typing away at the new screenplay he swore you’d inspired him to write, or humming as he cooked up a storm in the kitchen using a recipe borrowed from one of his relatives in Italy, not often with the best results, but always with the best intentions.

Always.

He was always there when you came home, ready to slip your jacket from your shoulders and ease you into his arms, after he’d ensured you’d washed your hands at least twice. He was there as you sank into the sofa, cooing to you softly as he kissed away the lines the mask had left on your face, brushed the hair back from your eyes so that he could “see that beautiful smile of yours.”

But, you knew that these ‘unprecedented times’, to quote every email you’d received since March, were just as hard on Joe as they were on you.

Sometimes you would find him hunched over your shared desk, his head in his hands and his fingers in his hair, slumped in an utterly dejected manner. You would wander over to him and begin rubbing his shoulders until he lifted his head and you could press a kiss to his crown. Sometimes, you would find him sprawled on the floor, in front of the television, multi-tasking an existential crisis with an episode of Queer Eye. Wordlessly, you would make your way over and fall down beside him, and after a few moments of silence, he’d pull you to him and cuddle into your side, and the two of you would simply lie there, holding one another until the wave of darkness swelled and slowed, and a smattering of light shone through the water to reach your hearts, your minds.

But he was never quiet.

Not like this.

And he’d been like this for a week.

You’d been giving him some space to breathe, but perhaps that was not what he needed at all. Perhaps he needed you.

You resolved to find out.

It was already nighttime when you came on Friday, running through your usual routine of handwashing, mask removal, clothing-changing, a pitiful glance in the mirror.

You hadn’t yet seen Joe, which was odd, because he must have been home. You supposed he was in the living room, in his favourite corner of the sofa where the walls were close and hid a cosy nook from the view of the rest of the open-plan apartment.

Once you were dressed— in pyjama bottoms, a loose t-shirt, the knitted green cardigan Joe said made you look like a forest nymph— you armed yourself with a stack of take-away menus and shuffled toward the living room.

“So, what’s it to be?” you said, raising a couple of the menus. “Italian for my favourite Mazzello?” you smiled. “Or Indian, Thai, Greek?”

But then your smile faded, when you looked at Joe.

Normally, he had the opposite effect on you, but how could you smile when he lay curled up like that, his arms wrapped around a pillow, his face gaunt and his eyes watery?

The take-away menus fluttered to the floor.

You were next to him within seconds, pulling him up into a sitting position, prying the pillow from his arms to take his hands in yours.

“Joe?” you asked softly. “Talk to me.”

His eyes were on your hands. His own were shaking. You tightened your grip.

Then he looked up at you, and the air left your lungs, like being pushed under a wave without even a chance to inhale before the weight of the water set in.

Or maybe that was just how it felt to have your heart broken without losing someone first, because Joe’s expression broke your heart.

“Will it always be like this?” he murmured, and the tears spilled from his eyes to stain his cheeks.

You couldn’t stand to see him like this, so forlorn and lost.

Cupping Joe’s face in your hands, your eyes flickered between his, and you thought for a moment, about everything. About all the misery and the hatred and the stubborn stupidity, about the tiring precautions and the people putting their lives on the line even more than you did every day, about the ignorance and the passivity, about the lasting effects of everything that had happened and would still happen in 2020.

Hindsight is 20/20.

So look back.

This was not the first time humanity had faced horrors.

There would always be carelessness and obstinacy, apathy and greed, and there would always be the selfish bastards who could do more but preferred to live in their high castles, away from the troubles of the world.

But there would always be doctors and scientists too, activists and ordinary people alike who banded together to fight for good in the world, people who had so little but gave what they had because they thought to suspend their wants for the needs of others.

“No,” you answered firmly, and pulled Joe into your embrace. “It will not always be like this.”

He buried his face in your shoulder and you felt him sigh as he wound his arms around you, as you brought one hand to his hair, which had grown longer and even more unruly than usual, subject to his maintenance of isolation. Joe was always saying that he looked tired, spent, weary, worn, but you thought he looked as beautiful as ever, with his soft smiles and softer eyes, with the way he padded toward bed in the evenings before he crawled beneath the covers beside you and lavished you with kisses, ones that were happily returned.

Now, he pressed his lips to the little bit of skin exposed by your t-shirt and cardigan at your collarbone. And when he raised his head, you brushed your thumb over his tears until there were none left, until the whisper of a smile warmed his expression and you leaned forward to gently kiss his mouth.

“You’ll always have me,” you said. “Whether you like it or you don’t.”

He did smile at that.

“You and I, forever, huh?” His eyes crinkled at the corners as he sniffed back his remaining tears.

“Cry all you want, Joe. I’m not leaving you.”

He laughed, shook his head, tugged you into his arms again.

And so the evening was spent, in the corner of a sofa as the darkness outside grew thicker, one shaft of light in the gloom of the world, one little corner of solace, of happiness, as you laughed and talked, bellies full of the best pizza the city had to offer, hearts full of an ineffable warmth that eventually lulled you to sleep in each other’s arms.

And all around the world, these corners glowed in their solitude, until the glow spread and banished all bleakness, and the only darkness was night.

You would make it. You would all make it, because as terrible as everything was, people had a way of finding a little hope, even when there should have been none of it at all.

As terrible as it all was, it would always be you and Joe against the world.

⭒

a/n: i now recommend listening to ‘dear friends’ by queen, because it’s the lullaby we all need. love to you all x

[theflikchic]

Things I Love About “Good Omens” (From A Christian)

I read the book a year ago but only just watched the show because of a fluke that made us get Amazon Prime. And now that I’ve gotten to watch it and really absorb it (and not be on a ton of painkillers, since I was recovering from surgery when I read it), I realized there were SO many things I love about it, most of which come from the fact that I...am Christian. 

(So heads up: I’ll be referring to all this stuff as if it’s real since...it’s my belief system and I feel “Good Omens” is an awesome show so yaaay, celebrate that darn adorable angel and demon with me) (WARNING- LONG POST AHEAD)

- First and foremost: Jesus’ death. The way that was HANDLED so well just blew my mind. I have anxiety so I’ve tried to avoid all crucifixions scenes but I’m glad this was the one I saw because it was so respectful and heartbreaking (i was sobbing). 

- It was also cool to see Jesus’ death from the perspective of people who aren’t Christian and to see that although they don’t believe him to be the Son Of God, they still recognize it as a tragedy.

-  Frances McDormand as God. Okay, I was iffy on it at first but I was reminded that God is supposed to be the mix of masculine and feminine and He presents himself as Father to us so we can get a better idea of who He is. So although I refer to God as a man, He is supposed to be reflective of both so having a woman voice Him is a really interesting viewpoint........And I just like Frances McDormand.

- Newt’s casting. Just...so perfect. Exactly the way I pictured him.

- The fact that the angels mention how they’re celestial and not organic because HEEEELL yes,

- Adam and his friends ringing their bike bells just to tell everyone how they got into the airbase. Iconic.

- The fact that they toned down the Famine sequence. Reading that part made me feel so sick so I’m glad they toned it down for the screen.

- Michael Sheen’s terrifyingly accurate David Tennant impression.

- The angels, though seen as more aggressive than they probably are, are militant and that’s...kinda what they’re meant to be.

- The fact Heaven is filmed to be nauseating because (in my theory), we as humans find being good to be incredibly hard and stressful so we can’t imagine what it would be like to constantly be good.

- They defeated Satan with a MEME.

- Bonus: They defeated Satan and we got to SEE IT.

- Michael McKean. Bonus points because he’s one of my mom’s favourites and he made us all so happy.

- I’ve read Revelation TWICE and it wasn’t until I saw this that I learned 666 is an actual thing and not just a meme.

- The moment when Crowley prays. Biblically inaccurate but I sorta saw it as us in sin, as humans, praying to God because I have BEEN THERE. The amount of times I’ve asked God- “What do I do. I don’t know what to do,” is wild and I did it just earlier. And that moment hit me.

- “Oh.........FUCK,” *heavenly jingle intensifies*

-  THE FACT THAT REVELATION KINDA HAPPENED

- The fact that, besides Crowley, there are no redeeming qualities in the demons. That’s a hard thing to write and they nailed it.

- *to the Doofenshmirtz Evil Inc jingle* Demons are holding a buuuuckeet!

- Although Aziraphale is genuinely a bad angel, he’s a pretty good representation of what we should try to be as Christians: loving, trying to help everyone, not kill kids, etc.

- “Tickety-boo,”

- The fact that they literally got ALL OF THE HOLMES SIBLINGS TO BE IN THIS LIKE WHAT-

- “We are Satantic nuns,”

- BOOK ACCURATE DIALOGUE

- I will praise Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett on this forever but the fact that the kids talk like kids. Because kids talk like adults. Because kids are little adults. Love it.

- The moment when Aziraphale at the sword and said to Adam- “We’ll be right beside you,” was like a hardcore guardian angel moment and I was SHOOK.

- The casting of literally anyone to play the angels, demons, and supernatural beings because- as Neil Gaiman and the Bible say- they’re genderless. They’re angels and demons. 

- When Madame Tracy just screamed at that woman and she screamed back. That must’ve been so much fun to film, my goodness.

- The narrative creates a flawed way to try and talk to God and recognizes that it’s a flawed way, whereas the real way in the belief system isn’t because we as humans find it difficult to fathom that you can just...talk to the Big Boss.

- The little add-on that that one angel was from Sodom and Gomorrah. Which made me laugh but then made me sad.

- NOT ONE HUMAN BIBLICAL FIGURE WAS WHITE. NOT. ONE. AMEN.

- Those crappy camp chairs being in Hell because of COURSE they are

- The sea monsters. I just really like the sea monsters in Revelation so that was cool.

- Got to see Death ride that motorcycle because that’s the closest that we’re probably getting to a live-action “Soul Music”.

- War’s jacket.

- The fact that I had an existential moment when I realized Death being an actual...being is Biblical.

- Every “Doctor Who” reference.

- The hint that God planned everything because...just up.

- The repeated emphasis on how supernatural beings aren’t the reason behind every choice or event in history. Because they really aren’t. WWII happened because of humans. Supernatural beings can influence but they aren’t the REASON for everything.

- The pushing of the idea that the plan is “ineffable” but it constantly contradicts this idea because even in real life, God’s plan has never been ineffable.

- “He was waving,”

- God narrates so He/She knows everything which kinda gives Aziraphale and Crowley a Jonah-feel since they’re trying to outrun an almighty being. And obviously failing.

- Aziraphale’s gasp when he got betrayed. Legend.

- Agnes Nutter’s prophecies being insanely specific like the actual prophecies in the Bible. (I read a verse and Jesus said- “Remember me when there’s anger in the streets” and I was like WAIT)

- The emphasis that most- if not all- witch killings were rooted in sexism and superstitions. Also, that whole scene gave me “Holy Grail” vibes which is always a win.

- And most importantly: “Good Omens” has fun with the creatures and supernatural beings in the Christian belief system but never ONCE makes fun of the religion itself or the people who believe in it. The book takes an extra step and mocks organized religion (which, YES, do that, please) but it’s never mean-spirited. While flawed and inaccurate in some Biblical aspects (like the basic plot), it’s so funny and witty while remaining accurate in other aspects to the source material of the Bible such as the supernatural beings being genderless. It’s basically like- “Woah...it says in Revelation that there are giant sea monsters! We get to write giant sea monsters, awesome! What can we make the sea monsters do? OOooh, what if they took down a whaling ship?” It also gets the message of Christianity down: love others, forgive others, give second chances. And I feel that’s why it’s so effective, because it’s fun and cool but still hits those perfect emotional beats that resonate with everyone because they’re true. Love each other. 

And go read more Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett. They deserve all the love.

[lady-divine-writes]

Insecure

When gaggles of women start flooding his shop on their lunch hours just to gawk at his sexy husband, Aziraphale begins to succumb to the new doubts and fears that come as a result of going native.

Luckily, Crowley has a cure for that. (2260 words)

(AO3)

Aziraphale has noticed a disturbing trend in the customers who come into his shop lately. No longer do they seem to be interested in purchasing one of his many immaculate and prized first editions (thank God), but, instead, they come to gawk at his husband, who spends a great deal of his time draped over a chair in the corner reading. Or pretending to read. He’s mostly there to annoy Aziraphale – make suggestive remarks when the angel bends over, persuade him take long lunches and close up early, rearrange the books by random indicators like whether there’s an animal featured on the cover or not, the author’s hair color, or their perceived sexual orientation. Since Aziraphale can’t afford to waste miracles, that means he has to spend all day reorganizing his shelves.

Or leave them as is, which is Crowley’s aim really.

But the gaggle of teenaged girls who come in before and after school, and the business women who stop by on their lunch hour, annoy him more.

He’s tried to juggle his times of operation to avoid them – open later, close earlier, take off Mondays. But they don’t seem to mind being late to where they’re going just to catch a glimpse of his demon.

And it’s beginning to wear on him.

Crowley doesn’t seem to notice the attention. Aziraphale brought it up to him once over lunch, asking how it felt to be objectified by the female clientele that his presence has been attracting day after day after day (in part because he was irritated and in part because he was genuinely curious), to which Crowley said, “You’ve been getting customers? When was that? Last week?”

Since Aziraphale can usually tell when Crowley is lying, and he wasn’t this time around, that was the end of that discussion.  

But this influx of admirers has begun to spotlight certain doubts in Aziraphale’s mind that have been hiding there for some time.

Do they belong together? Are they really a match?

He’s not even talking about the angel/demon dynamic. A lot of people would say that opposites attract and well, you can’t get much more opposite than good and evil.

Then again, they’ve come to discover that Crowley isn’t completely evil, and Aziraphale isn’t necessarily 100% good.

And that’s part of the point.

So many things have changed for Aziraphale lately, ever since he and his demon became husbands. Changes in life, changes in his shop … changes in him. Inadequacies, doubts, fears, no longer simply about himself or his job efficiency as an angel, but about this relationship – a relationship that had been a constant in his existence, one he didn’t have to think too hard on or worry too much about. Perhaps it’s a side-effect of going native, but being married to a sexy demon on a planet that values youth and beauty over wit and intelligence makes him question a lot of things, things he hadn’t thought to question for all the years they’d been friends.

If Aziraphale has begun to notice these things, will Crowley begin to notice them, too?

Will they become important to him?

Crowley is a demon, bound (for the most part) by demonic rules. When one takes into account the seven deadly sins - a page straight out of the demon playbook - technically, they already should be.

The door to the shop opens and a new wave of women walks through. Aziraphale rolls his eyes mentally but confronts them with a smile. He walks straight up to them, effectively blocking their way further than the counter unless they admit to wanting a book, which, at this point, he may just be willing to sell them if it means they leave without the requisite drooling over his husband.

“Good morning! May I help you young ladies?”

The three of them do their best to get around him, but with the only entrance into the belly of the shop being the narrow aisle behind him, it would be impossible to do without shoving him to the side.

Which one lady in a houndstooth jacket and blonde bob looks fully prepared to do.

They try to peek over him but to no avail as the chair his husband lounges on has been moved out of sight of the door. All three women deflate when they realize their trip to this otherwise dull and dusty little shop has all been for naught, and they sigh in unison.

“Uh … no. No, we’re … okay,” one of them says, and they turn and leave the shop, grumbling about the pudgy old troll popping out from under his bridge to ruin their fun.

The door slams shut and Aziraphale sighs, returning to his task of restocking the shelves.

“Now what was all that about?” Crowley asks, coming up behind his angel, having caught the final few seconds of that unfortunate interaction.

“Nothing,” Aziraphale replies, doing his best to try and smile as he tosses books onto shelves, barely paying mind to where they belong.

“Is that so?” Crowley rescues the next book, which had missed the shelf, before it lands on the floor. “The way you’re abusing these poor books, it doesn’t seem like nothing. What has …” He glances at the cover of the one he’s holding before sliding it into its place on the shelf “… Allen Ginsberg ever done to you?”

Aziraphale stops. Full stops. Stops stocking the shelves, stops smiling, stops trying to pretend. In the grand scheme of the universe and God’s ineffable plan, Aziraphale’s problems seem shallow and petty. But they are his problems, and right now, they’re bowing his back, weighing his shoulders down.

“Why did you ask me to marry you, Crowley?” he asks, staring down at his husband’s snakeskin shoes and hugging the remaining three books to his chest.

Crowley smirks since he knows full well his husband can’t see. “Well, it was about flippin’ time, wasn’t it?”

Aziraphale’s head snaps up, his eyes, full of angelic fire, meeting Crowley’s behind his dark glasses. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

But Crowley doesn’t fear that fire. He welcomes it.

“It means I’ve loved you forever, Aziraphale. And the second I got my head out of my arse and figured it out, I wanted to make it official.”

Aziraphale nods and goes back to the task of examining his husband’s shoes. Crowley takes the books out of Aziraphale’s hands and places them on the shelf so he can wrap his husband up in his arms.

“Tell me. What’s this really all about, hmm? Does it have anything to do with that wench that called you a troll?”

“Don’t say that. I’m sure she’s a perfectly nice young woman, all things considered,” Aziraphale murmurs, not sounding all that convincing.

“Well, she’s a perfectly nice young woman who just dropped her lunch, missed her bus connection, and now has a huge runner in her stockings, so hopefully that makes your day a little bit better.”

Aziraphale smiles softly into the fabric of his husband’s shirt. “No. But I thank you for the effort.”

“What do you care what these mortals think of you?” Crowley squeezes his husband tight, hoping for a giggle. “You’re an angel! You’re Mr. Holier-than-thou! You perform miracles! You fight for the greater good! You’re not concerned with those things, right?”

“No.” Aziraphale clears his throat and straightens his back in an attempt to pull himself up from his bog of self-pity. “Not at all. At least … I wasn’t. I don’t know. This new life of ours … it’s doing things to me.”

“Well, I should hope so,” Crowley growls.

This time, Aziraphale does giggle. “That’s not what I mean.”

“Look …” Crowley leans back a few inches to look into his angel’s eyes “… you chose your human form, right?”

Aziraphale’s head bobs left to right, giving that some thought. “More or less. There were parameters.”

“And if there was something you didn’t like about it, you could change it?”

“I guess.”

“So, why haven’t you? I’ll tell you why. Because deep down inside, you like yourself just the way you are. You like your face because it’s kind. And you don’t mind the shape of your body because you feel your favorite clothes suit you. You’ve never had a single negative thought about yourself that wasn’t put into your head by someone else. You love yourself. And so do I. Because you’re not your body, Aziraphale. You’re your heart and your soul and your mind. You also happen to be one hell of a, as they say, bad ass.”

“Really?” Aziraphale says with a bitter little hiccup. “And how do you figure that?”

“Aziraphale! You wield a flaming sword! You stood in front of Satan himself, ready to defend the world! Humans who walk into this shop every day should genuflect and worship you.”

“That would fall under the category of false idols, so that’s a no-no.”

“Plus - and this is a huge plus - you’re the only being I know who’s looked Beelzebub in the face and asked for a rubber duck! Do you think there’s anyone else on this measly little planet that even compares to you? Because, to be honest, if there were, that would be terrifying!”

Aziraphale rests his head against his husband’s chest, melting into his words of praise. He’d never considered any of that, which proves how native he’s actually become. Humans, he’s noticed, do the same thing. What do degrees and accolades and charitable works matter so long as you’re aesthetically pleasing to any and all sexes? But he can’t allow his husband to lead him into the sin of pride. He knows Crowley isn’t trying to tempt him. He’s being supportive.

But as a demon, leading Aziraphale astray would fall under the umbrella of an occupational hazard.

“Would it make you feel better if I made a few alterations to my form?” Crowley asks. “Give myself a bit of a pooch? Perhaps a double chin?”

“No! I know how much you like the form you’re in. I know that you’re afraid to lose it. I don’t want you to go changing yourself for me.”

“Now that’s funny, because I feel exactly the same way about you.”

The clock on the wall strikes the hour and Crowley looks up. Through the window, he sees another wave of women heading for the shop, huddled together as if they’re embarking on a secret quest. “Do you really want to stop those women from coming in here all the time?”

“Not that I’m purposefully trying to drive away business …”

“Of course not.”

“… but it would be nice.”

Crowley pinches his angel’s chin and gives him a wink. “I’ll handle it.”

The bell over the door tinkles as it swings open. This time, instead of the shop’s portly proprietor greeting its customers, the tall, slender man they’ve been coming to see – the one who fills out a tight fitting shirt and black jeans like no one else in the world - does, and they’re instantly delighted. Their collective eyes brighten when they see that the object of their lustful gazes has finally risen out of his chair, and is now standing in front of them to see.

“Hello, ladies,” Crowley says to the obnoxious tittering of all, and Aziraphale shakes his head. How this is supposed to keep the birds out of the roost, he had no idea. This will probably make them stop by more.

“Hello.”

“Hi.”

“We didn’t realize you worked here,” one woman says, her eyes glowing with the possibilities.

“Ah, yes, yes. Alas, I do. Is there anything you ladies need? Something to tickle your literary taste buds?” Crowley meets them glasses to eyes, flashing the most charming smile he can conjure. “Some Shakespeare, a little Whitman … some Wilde, perhaps?”

“Why, yes,” one brave woman dares, taking Crowley in from head to toe, not even being subtle about it when her whole head moves, which makes the smiling brood beside her titter even more. “As a matter of fact, there is.”

“Well, well, well. One second and my husband will help you.”

It takes a moment for those words to hit, but the fallout is precious.

First comes the silence, then the confusion, followed by the disbelief.

“Husband?” Aziraphale hears one of the women say before Crowley grabs him around the waist, pulls him against him, and kisses him hard.

The gasp from their lips is positively delicious. Aziraphale would guffaw if not for his husband’s mouth on his, his serpent tongue slipping between his lips and giving him the most inappropriate things to think about in public. By the time Crowley lets his husband come up for air, the women are gone – vanished as if in a puff of smoke since Aziraphale never heard the bells over the door ring to announce their departure.

Of course, that could be because of the thoughts his husband had been projecting into his mind using a soupçon of his demonic power.

His sexy serpent has one vivid imagination.

“So, that’s the solution you came up with?” Aziraphale fixes his vest, tugging at the hem, pretending to act scandalized by the whole process even though the smile he can’t suppress begs to differ.

“Yup. I’d say it worked a treat, too. Besides, the best part about it is …” He slaps his husband playfully on the ass before he finishes “… we get to do that again for every lot that comes in.”

[elizabeth-234]

The Hourglass

Previous Chapter Twenty: Home 

Hi all. Hope you're doing well. Happy New Year and Holidays. This is the penultimate chapter!

Chapter Twenty-One: Turning Back Time 

“I’m Spiderman.”

He paced back and forth in front of the couch overcome with an odd wave of déjà vu. Peter couldn’t bear to look at them once the words spilled forth from his lips. Would Tony’s eyes crinkle at the corners like when he was trying to solve a tough problem? Would Rhodey smile despite the tension in his forehead? He shoved his hands into the pockets of his pants, thankful despite the anxiety surrounding him that they had thought of getting him new clothes.

Tony spoke first and Peter’s breath held, pent up in his chest. “Kid, you’re full of surprises but a tad too late. Nice first suit though. Way better than mine.”


“Shut up, Tony.”

Peter turned to stare at them all wide eyes and gaping mouth. They chuckled but motioned for him to move closer. He settled at the end of the couch, once again touched by their thoughtfulness and speechless waited for them to talk.

“We know you, Peter. We’re family and we’re going to help.”

His throat burned under Rhodey’s concerned appraisal and at Tony’s admission. How could he have forgotten? The word family, the concept of family was just as foreign to him as the apartment was on his arrival back to 2017, but he should’ve known they wouldn’t let him forget for too long. They were a family, a team, and Ross was threatening to take it away from him. Peter couldn’t let that happen. To have something so previous torn away once he’d just gotten it back would ruin him forever.

“We need to get him.” His shaking hands mirrored the tremors in his voice. “He has to pay.”

Peter remembered the first time he saw Ross, the eerie way he entered his apartment, the disdain and hatred in his eyes piercing into him. Bile rose in his mouth as he remembered the careless way he nudged May’s side as she lay on the ground. But then his eyes turned to Tony and Rhodey who staring at him not with pity but understanding, acceptance. Peter thought of their lives what they could be and what he wanted his to be. No grand fight with Ross was included. Somewhere remote and safe with the three of them is all he wanted. More than revenge, more than his fear and hatred. Peter just wanted to live a normal life.  

“Wait,” He whispered. “I don’t care about that. We need to run or go somewhere he can’t find us. I want to be normal. I can’t even remember what that feels like now but is it too much to ask for?”

“That may not be possible,” Tony replied in slow intervals. “See, we haven’t been sitting around on our laurels for 25 years. We’ve been trying to pinpoint Ross’s motives and reasons. Why he was targeting certain people and what his next moves are.”

“He found you from the hospital because of the blood loss you had.”

“You actually got the blood of one of the Hulk progenitors. We did some digging at the hospital, thanks to a donation, and found out that only that would work with your… shall we say arachnid leaning blood. Ross, the bastard he is, found this out as well and traced you through time. He found out the connection between us and the future. So, it’s all because of you”

“It’s always about me.” Peter gripped his knees until his knuckles were coiled tense.

“No, don’t listen to him.” Rhodey said. “Your connection to us certainly added to the intrigue but it’s hard to say if he would have stopped you from going back for any other reason. We really don’t know that yet.”

“But we will.” Tony said and nodded at his friend serious and solemn until a tinge of excitement entered his eyes. He turned to face Peter fully. “But we’ve found him at long last. Of course, it was too easy to find him after all this time so we know he revealed himself on purpose. He probably knows you know everything. We hadn’t planned on coming back here so our attempts to neutralize his surveillance is mediocre at best.”

“Sorry I was hypothermic and not thinking straight.” Peter said sarcastically while his eyes roamed around the room as he could spot any hidden cameras. “Okay, so when do we turn him over to the police?”

Tony snorted before raising an eyebrow. Both of them hold similar expressions that made Peter’s neck heat up.

“What? Have you hit you head harder than we thought?” Rhodey said in a quiet tone.

“Kid, we don’t need the police and Ross probably owns them anyway.”  

Peter narrowed his eyes at them, trying to gauge how apt they would be to a fight but he couldn’t get the winkles on their faces or the small bits of grey hairs out of his mind.

“But you guys are old now and, no offense, probably couldn’t fight them the same as when you were younger.”

“Ouch Peter. That’s harsh, isn’t it Tones? I think we’ve got some fight in us left.”

“Kid, you do know who we are, right?” Tony’s eyebrows were raised so high and Peter could tell he was on the cusp of full-bellied laughs, but it do anything to jog his memory.

“Tony and Rhodey?” He said with an uncertain waver.

“Holy shit. Holy shit you will never live this down. I will never let you live this down. Rhodey remind me to remind Peter about this every day for the rest of our lives. I forgot you have this weird homeschooled vibe going.”

“I was not homeschooled!” Peter said hotly wanting to get the conversation over with.

Tony nodded at Rhodey who leaned over the arm of the couch and picked up the hamburger phone. They ignored him when he muttered a demand for them to tell him and expletive.

“We told you, Peter. We haven’t just been sitting around these years.”

Rhodey finished dialing on the phone and hung it up. Nothing happened for a moment and another curse was on the tip of his tongue when the wall moved. His jaw dropped. The wall opened up. Peter couldn’t help but wonder if he was in the bat cave or something like it because there inside the wall in fancy, gleaming glass cases was the Iron Man and War machine suits.

Maybe he had hit his head or maybe Peter was out of touch because it was like the fog had cleared in his head. How had he never connected that? How had he not seen through it?

“Holy shit. You’re…What… Really??? I’m a dumbass.”

“You said it not us.”

Peter thought back to when they first met, the ease at which Tony broke free from that place with him in tow. Their means financially and knowledge of himself. It all made sense in a strange way but Peter couldn’t help the awe he felt. The strange fate he’d seemed to have fallen into. His family was special. They were heroes, something Peter always wished he was. But they were special not because of that but in addition to that. They had found Peter, cared for him from nightmares, sleeping and waking. He’d journeyed across time for them and they had waited for him.

Peter smiled and grabbed their hands squeezing tight. He felt the stirring of sand across his skin but ignore it. He was here now and nothing could stop them.

“Let’s do this.”

-

The tension hummed between them at all hours of the day, followed them and cloaked their actions in an ineffable awareness of what was to come. Instead of eating breakfast like they used to with a full table and laughter at every course, the table was laden with plans, serious discussion, and too few waffles. They whispered about that place; painfully went through their time there although that particular conversation left them all with damp eyes and heavy hearts.

The apartment, twisted with time and now with a new unfamiliarness, left Peter at ends with himself. He wasn’t moving through time anymore but time was moving through him. Plans were made and contingencies were cemented, and all the time Peter felt like he needed to fight, to let out a scream. They were so close but the biggest hurdle was left in front of them.

It unfolded like so many things in Peter’s life. In a blink of an eye they were in the suits they spent hours fixing.  Red, gold and silver stood on the hill overlooking the lake. It was fitting, he supposed, to have the final showdown be there overlooking the icy waters holding the sand he’d fallen into.

They’d woken up to an alarm blaring through the apartment, invading the halls and the living room where they had taken to sleeping in sleeping bags on the floor and couch. With cold precision they got into their outfits hoping the suits would bolster their nerves and create an impenetrable strength.

Ross stood at the base of the hill, looking with a cool detachment at them. His white mustache stood out in the dust light along with the hordes of men on either side of him.

“You would do well to abandon any hope of success. You know you can’t win this fight. I know you can’t win.” Peter fisted his hands at his sides and took a step forward. Tony placed his in front of his chest.

“Careful now, Peter.”

“As my mother used to say,” Tony said projecting down in his confident airy manner. “You’re too damn stubborn for your own good. You won’t get away with what you’re planning.”

“Time works mysteriously, doesn’t it? Maybe I already have.” Cold pooled in his stomach. Ross knew about the time travel but did he know how? Peter didn’t even know how it happened. They all tensed at the implications. Was their fight lost before it had even begun?

Tony growled under his breath. But it was Rhodey who remained silent in his calculations, almost too still until with a burst of movement his blasters ignited and he was off toward Ross.

“Rhodes! Shit.” Tony yelled. He was down the hill following his friend. Peter was frozen where he was. Heedless of his nerves and the will to fight, fear pooled in his stomach. It didn’t matter how many times they went over plans, how many hours they spent in anticipation. Something held him back for a moment. But a second was all it took. Rhodey impacted with the first man who protected Ross and Tony was right beside him before too long. They used every weapon and trick in their arsenal including the teamwork they’d honed through the years. Person after person rose up as they fought the previous down. All the while Peter saw that Ross was smirking.  His cool, grey eyes watching with a sick glee as Tony and Rhodey fought on, tiring themselves out.

Peter realized he was playing with them. Using their battle for his pleasure. Ross’s eyes flickered up to where Peter was standing and then he pulled something out of his pocket. The metal glinted with the light of the setting sun and chaos around them. It looked familiar in its shape but Peter couldn’t quite place it until it was put into us. Ross moved like a feline, confident and strong. The men parted around him and razor fast he was in front of Rhodey. He plunged the device in his neck and Rhodey coughed, sputtering blood before falling without anytime to counter or defend himself.

Tony turned his head and let out a strangled scream. He swore at Ross and fought harder to get where Ross was standing. This time Ross let his opponent come to him with a smile on his face. Tony, emboldened by anger and despair, ran toward Ross not noticing the others were letting him through, not caring this was the plan.

Peter felt a shift of the sand around him and tugged against it harder, willing himself into movement. It was giving way against his efforts and as Tony stood in front of Ross, he was let free. Peter began running down the hill, breath stammering in his chest. He watched as Tony punched Ross, got the upper hand, and then witnessed as Ross smiled again, cold and deadly, before he spun Tony around and pressed the metal device against his neck. He whispered something to Tony before pressing it further into his neck. Blood ran down the corners of his mouth. Tony clawed the hands squeezing his neck. Ross pressed harder. Peter ran faster but he was too late. Tony’s eyes rolled back into his head. Iron Man suit and all, slipped out of Ross’s arm and fell to the ground.

Peter fell to his knees in front of his friends. Their eyes unmoving in unnatural stillness. He reached out his hands and placed them on their cold metal suits. How could they be down so easy? They were Avengers, they were fighters and they were gone.

He glared at Ross burning with anger. Ross’s smile moved not an inch. He stepped toward them and nudged Rhodey’s side causing his arm to flop over. Flashbacks of May’s apartment, f that day rose in his mind.

“Leave them alone! Leave me alone!” He screamed and tried to gather them away from Ross. Ross bent forward and plucked Peter up, too easily for any normal human. He sneered at Peter heedless of his flailing arms and dragged the metal down his side. Burning pain erupted in his stomach. His hands clutched at the wound, the blood beginning to drip down and staining his red suit dark maroon. Ross twisted the metal device in his gut before dropping Peter to the ground next to the two fallen Avengers.

“I don’t want you. I told you, Peter, death will always follow you. Time and space are no concern because of who you are and nothing will ever change what is to be. Have all your efforts ever changed anything? Look what happened,” He said motioned to them in his arms. “Your friends are dead and there is nothing you can do to stop it. I knew you were the key. We had planned for it to be done so much earlier, when Stark was going to die by suicide and James would fall and freeze in this damned lake but then something happened. You happened and nothing we did would change the outcomes. They lived despite our plans. But then we discovered you. It’s ironic you led them to their demise at the end when you worked so hard to save them earlier. I told you to remember those words, Peter Parker.”

He stared at the man’s grey eyes. The cold glint in them tinged with glory for his cause. To rid the world of two good men, two men who would do anything, including give their lives for their friends and the world. But Peter wasn’t the same boy he’d been in the apartment with May all those years ago. He had spun through time itself to get back here. He had traveled years and space to be right here. The sand spun around him and he knew it he could win. Peter believed everything had led to this moment.

Peter knew time now. Could see the hourglass in the reflection of those evil eyes. It was within his reach. Sand particles gravitated toward him like an old friend. The lake completely iced over behind them seemed to hum in Peter’s ears.

He hugged his friends closer for a moment. Staring at their empty eyes and faces devoid of a smile. Ross laughed at him, basking in his triumph and Peter took a deep breath. He held his stomach and felt the blood seep out of him. Death indeed did follow him through life, dogging his steps and shadowing him but he had to do something before it could take him as well. His time wasn’t over yet. He could save them.

Peter concentrated on the sand pieces around him, falling and settling on his person, and stilled it around him like a cloak only he could see. The sand floated there before he closed his eyes and concentrated on reversing its direction. The sand began falling upward. Peter poured everything of himself into the motion and prayed it would be enough.

He opened his eyes and could see as time reversed. Ross was laughing and walking away from him. He was standing and moving toward the bodies of Rhodey and Tony. And their bodies moved, they got up from their resting spots. The fight began again in knew. Peter watched himself run back up the hill before he walked to were Ross was, invisible to all in the cloak of the sand. He waited with a strange calmness until the sand stopped rising. He smiled when it fell down again and Peter let go of his concentration.

The urge to kill Ross grew strong. He stood behind the man who was unaware of his presence. The act would be so easy. It almost consumed him but then he remembered Ross’s words. That wasn’t the life he wanted to lead anymore. Death would follow him no longer. Peter drew back his hand and brought it forward with as much strength as he could muster.

Not even seeing who brought him down Ross crumpled on impact. Undignified and ungraceful, he fell to the ground. All the men froze where they were as their boss was suddenly not awake. Rhodey and Tony blinked as he, for a moment, was in two spaces at once. They jerked to look at the top of the hill where he was still frozen before, in a blink of an eye, he disappeared.

Tony punched the man in front of him before smirking.

“And I thought one Peter was enough.”

“The fuck is this?” Rhodey said finishing off the people around him with ease. Their confusion led to an easier fight and soon there were none left standing.

They ran toward him, each taking a side of his face in their hands. Their thumbs wiped under his eyes and Peter realized tears were running down his face.

“What happened Peter?”

“Are you okay?” They said at the same time.

“I’m okay, guys. I’m…” He gasped as his side pulled. The wound felt hallow and full at once. They all glanced down at his stomach. He peeled his hand away and felt a wave of dizziness overcome him. The blood was still there. It hadn’t been erased after all.

“You are not fine. We need to get him to a…”

Their words filtered out of his ears and something was weighing him down. Peter took a step forward. His knees crumpled but there was no impact. Arms enveloped him and the burning in his side disappeared. He smiled and sent a thankful thought to the lake behind him.

They were safe and alive, and for now it was enough. The sand cloaked him in a thin layer and Peter fell into darkness.

Thank you!

Next chapter Twenty-Two: Finale

[maswartz]

IN THE PROGRESSIVE COLLEGE TOWN where I live, one sees a lot of “Bernie” bumper stickers on a lot of Subarus. Probably these are remnants of 2016, when the Independent from Vermont masqueraded as a Democrat, dividing the party and hobbling Hillary Clinton’s campaign just enough to fuck up the final tally. Although I held with HRC then as now, I don’t begrudge anyone who supported Bernie Sanders in the primaries four years ago, when we first became acquainted with the ugly font and awful shade of blue on his campaign merch. But to support him today, after Trump, after Mueller, is akin to insisting, on Christmas 2019, that despite ample evidence to the contrary, Michael Jackson is innocent, because you really dig Off the Wall.

“Don’t they know?” I scream when I see these Bernie stickers. “Don’t they realize who he really is?” Apparently not. But then, to them, and to most on what Sean Hannity might call the “radical left,” Bernie is not a person as much as an ideal: A sort of liberal Santa Claus who will come down our collective chimney to deliver free healthcare and free college, and, with the aid of his ineffable North Pole magic, break up the banks, slay the patriarchy, eliminate racism, end income inequality, and tax corporations into insolvency—all while raising the minimum wage for his workshop elves. How he plans to actually accomplish any of this he only hints at—Bernie rarely deigns to answer process questions and usually gets grouchy when pressed for details—but it all sounds so wonderful we want to believe, just as we every year insist that yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus.

Unfortunately, the flesh-and-blood Bernie Sanders, if elected, would not have the requisite power to fulfill his lofty promises—any more than the tipsy Macy’s Santa will leave the mall on a sleigh driven by flying reindeer. Bernie is a real person, and he is deeply, perhaps fatally, flawed. He would be a horrible candidate in the general election—like, McGovern-in-’72-level bad—and, more urgently, his nomination would ensure that, whoever won, the White House remained in Russian hands.

The Bernie extolled by the bros is a myth, just like the Trump that MAGA adores—just like Neverland, and just like Santa Claus. We need to face some cold, hard truths, before Sanders scolds and finger-wags his way to a second term for Donald Trump. We cannot permit this egomaniacal fraud to spoil yet another election.

Bernie is a socialist—but of the Union of Soviet Socialists variety.

Hey, there’s a reason Santa Claus wears red!

Bernie is a self-styled “socialist” who has bought, hook line and sinker, the Stalinist propaganda about Marxism and the glories of the Soviet Union. This was understandable if you were Dalton Trumbo in 1947. After all, the governing philosophy of communism is “let’s share everything so there is no want,” which is kind of appealing, especially next to the “fuck you, pay me” mantra of unvarnished Trump-variety capitalism. Seven-plus decades later, alas, the naïveté borders on delusional.

From the Young Peoples Socialist League to his membership in the Liberty Union Party, which sought to nationalize (and not just “break up”) the banks, to his time at the Kibbutz Sha’ar Ha’amakim, which extolled Stalin—who slaughtered more people than Hitler—as “Sun of the Nations,” to his hanging a Soviet flag in his Burlington mayoral office, Soviet boosterism is the thruline of Bernie's career.

Bernie took his wife to the Soviet Union for their honeymoon, as one does. For years, he extolled the virtues of the USSR. Rather than grok that it’s all KGB-fed propaganda and lies, he’s been a staunch Bolshevik apologist for his entire adult life.

I mean, the guy has a dacha, ffs.

Look, our healthcare system is flawed. I’d love some sort of universal coverage like they have in every other developed country. But the best person to promote the de facto nationalization of the healthcare system is not a Soviet apologist who once wanted to nationalize the banks, too.

Bernie is unpopular with Black voters.

To be fair, Sanders (likely) really does want equality and all those nice things he talks about. Good for him. The problem is that his vision of “socialist” utopia is absolutist and focuses too much on the (white, male) working class that he, like his beloved Marx, idolizes and idealizes.

Despite some high-profile Black supporters, Bernie remains unpopular with Black voters, particularly Black women. This, and not “the rigged DNC,” is why HRC kicked his ass in the primaries. Could it be that Black voters have made Bernie as a BS artist? Those are his initials, after all.

The failure of the United States to properly examine and make amends for slavery contributes mightily to the country’s enduring racism, on which MAGA feeds. Not to even discuss reparations is madness. Unsurprisingly, Bernie does not understand this:

Marcus H. Johnson@marcushjohnson

Bernie Sanders thinks reparations is "just writing a check" instead of a redress for state sanctioned terrorism, violence, and being shut out of the economic, political, and legal systems for 250+ years. How is reparations "just writing a check," and free college not?

Aaron Rupar@atrupar

Bernie Sanders on reparations on The View: "I think that right now our job is to address the crises facing the American people in our communities, and I think there are better ways to do that than just writing out a check." https://t.co/FXso34iSbs

March 1st 2019

470 Retweets1,065 Likes

To win the resounding victory necessary to defeat Trump and the Russian hackers threatening to sabotage yet another election, overwhelming African-American voter turnout is essential. Black voters are more likely to turn out in big numbers for Joe Biden—especially if he runs with Kamala Harris, as we K-Hivers hope—than yet another elderly New Yorker who makes pie-in-the-sky promises he can’t possibly keep.

Bernie is lazy.

Sanders spent the early part of his career flitting between low-paying odd jobs:

He bounced around for a few years, working stints in New York as an aide at a psychiatric hospital and teaching preschoolers for Head Start, and in Vermont researching property taxation for the Vermont Department of Taxes and registering people for food stamps for a nonprofit called the Bread and Law Task Force.

Then as now, he was more given to talking the talk than walking the walk. In 1970, the 30-year-old Liberty Union Party socialist was kicked out of a Vermont commune for not doing his share of the work. His days there were instead spent in “endless political discussion.”

Sanders’ idle chatter did not endear him with some of the commune’s residents, who did the backbreaking labor of running the place. [Kate] Daloz writes [in her history of the commune] that one resident, Craig, “resented feeling like he had to pull others out of Bernie’s orbit if any work was going to get accomplished that day.” Sanders was eventually asked to leave. 

Eventually, Bernie found a career that would allow him to talk a big game but accomplish precious little: politics. For the decades he’s been in Congress, his record is pretty scant. Seven bills in 28 years, including two that name post offices, is nothing to write home about (unless you’re writing home to one of those post offices)—although Sanders has been a quiet champion of gun rights for most of his Congressional career, as well as a dependable “nay” vote on Russian sanctions, so I guess there’s that.

But hey, I’m sure a guy who has avoided labor as assiduously as possible for 78 years will magically turn into a workaholic as an octogenarian. That heart attack no doubt jump-started his engines. Speaking of which…

Bernie is old, and he just had a heart attack.

Okay, maybe it wasn’t actually a heart attack. Maybe it was just a life-threatening cardiac issue that required emergency surgery. We don’t know, because Sanders has not yet released his medical report. But he has promised to do so, just as he promised to release his taxes and then waited a million years to make good. Will he bring the receipts before next week, as he said he would?

The Speaker's Basilisk⚖️@PelosiLegatus

Why hasn’t @BernieSanders released his medical records yet? He just has a heart attack three months ago, which he lied about. What is he hiding from the American people? Why is the press so afraid to dig into his dishonesty?

December 23rd 2019

173 Retweets444 Likes

Even if his medical report checks out, I mean…there’s ageism, and then there are actuarial tables. A President Sanders would turn eighty in 2021, his first year in office. That would make him the oldest first-term president by a significant margin. He can’t live forever; in that way, he’s not like Santa Claus.

Bernie is a misogynist.

That Bernie Sanders is some sort of radical feminist, a paradigm for how men should be in the post-Third-Wave world, is almost as ridiculous as his stubborn refusal to comb his hair.

Before he launched his political career, he was a deadbeat dad. Remember, Bernie was a graduate of the prestigious University of Chicago, in an era when college degrees were relatively rare. Instead of putting food on the table, he was running quixotic political campaigns as the standard-bearer of a barely functional party. As Spandan Chakrabarti writes:

In 1971, Vermont was debating a tenant’s rights bill. One of the testimonials to Vermont’s State Senate Judiciary Committee came from one Susan Mott of Burlington, who said the legislation did not go far enough in prohibiting discrimination against single mothers and recipients of welfare benefits. Mott had one child and was on welfare. That one child…was Levi Sanders, Bernie Sanders’ son. Which begs the question, why did Bernie Sanders’ (former?) girlfriend and his son have to be on welfare? Where was the University of Chicago graduate’s considerable marketable skills? What was 5-year-old Levi’s father doing that he couldn't afford to support his own child? It turns out he was too busy coming in third with single digit votes.

To be fair, Bernie did bring home a little bit of bacon writing stuff like this:

A man goes home and masturbates [to] his typical fantasy. A woman on her knees, a woman tied up, a woman abused.

A woman enjoys intercourse with her man—as she fantasizes [about] being raped by 3 men simultaneously.

Even if those lines were intended as a provocative rhetorical flourish to be shot down later in the essay, I mean…what feminist ally would write something like that?

And then there’s the more recent sexual harassment issues that seem to be pervasive in his campaign offices. He missed one of the Russian sanction votes because he was busy dealing with it:

The only one to miss the vote was Sen. Bernie Sanders, I-Vt. He was meeting with women who had accused his 2016 presidential campaign of sexual misconduct, his spokesman, Josh Miller-Lewis, told CNBC.

As if to confirm his misogynist bona fides, Sanders this month endorsed the candidacy of Young Turks founder Cenk Uygur, no feminist ally—before the bad optics forced him to reverse course:

“As I said yesterday, Cenk has been a longtime fighter against the corrupt forces in our politics and he’s inspired people all across the country,” the Vermont senator said. “However, our movement is bigger than any one person. I hear my grassroots supporters who were frustrated and understand their concerns. Cenk today said he is rejecting all endorsements for his campaign, and I retract my endorsement.”

That Cenk is running for the California seat vacated by rising star Katie Hill, a victim of criminal revenge porn who was shamed into stepping down, makes the gaffe even worse.

Bernie is not a Democrat.

Of all the idiotic narratives spewed by the “Bernie bros” about 2016, the most asinine was that the process had to be rigged because the DNC clearly preferred Hillary Clinton to Bernie Sanders. Um…why would it not? Just as a New York Yankees fan club would want its leader to be a ride-or-die Yankee fan rather than a waffler who rooted for either the Bronx Bombers or the Red Sox depending on which was doing better that year, so the Democratic National Committee wants an actual Democrat to be its nominee. Duh.

And this was not any nominee. HRC was practically funding the operation herself, to help with the down-ballot races Bernie could give a shit about. Anyone can scold the country about big banks and wage inequality, but to actually, you know, govern requires working well with other people, a skill that seems to have eluded Sanders for the last 30 years.

Alas, the incorrigible Senator has learned nothing from 2016. He’s still playing the hackneyed “rabble-rousing outsider” card:

The Hill@thehill

Sen. @BernieSanders: "We are going to take on the Democratic establishment."

December 22nd 2019

426 Retweets1,930 Likes

The election of 2020 is, or should be, a referendum on Trump. It’s not about taking on the Democrats. That sort of internecine divisiveness is exactly what Putin wants. Which makes perfect sense when we consider that…

Bernie is (at a minimum) a Useful Idiot for Putin.

The bots go on the offensive whenever I tweet that Bernie is a Useful Idiot for Russia. But he is Useful, in that he operates as a divisive force in the Democratic Party, which aids Putin. And he’s certainly an Idiot, in that he doesn't realize the damage he’s done. But does he really not know?

The Mueller Report makes it clear that Russian IC was helping the Sanders campaign. Either Bernie didn’t realize this, and is an idiot, or he did realize it and played along, and is a traitor. Either way, the guy who hired former Paul Manafort chum Tad Devine to run his campaign cannot be trusted with standing up to Putin and the powerful forces of transnational organized crime, no matter how passionate his anti-Wall Street screeds.

(Sidenote: Tad Devine is now peddling his Kremlin-y wares for Andrew Yang, which perhaps explains Yang’s recent remark that he is open to granting Donald Trump a pardon. This, needless to say, is disqualifying).

Put it this way: Are we sure that a Nominee Sanders—an almost-eighty-year-old who just had a heart attack—would not pick the Russophile cult member Tulsi Gabbard as his running mate? The “anti-anti-Trump Left,” as Jonathan Chait calls it, is alive and well, sharing, “in addition to enthusiasm for Bernie Sanders, [a] deep skepticism of the Democratic Party’s mobilization against the president.” So: traitors, basically. Would not Sanders, if given the chance, throw meat to this rabid fan base, if only to generate more adulation? Do we really trust the judgment of the guy who can’t ensure that his own campaign headquarters is not a hostile work environment?

Bernie still, years after the fact, cannot understand that he contributed to HRC’s defeat—just as he can’t see that his ideas about the Soviet Union and communism have been debunked. He doesn’t have it in him to realize, much less admit, he was wrong. And why should he? As long as well-meaning people—especially young people; especially young women; especially pretty young women—keep “feeling the Bern,” he will continue to happily soak up the attention, like the insufferable narcissist he is. Why Millennials support the guy instead of OK-Boomering him to oblivion is a head-scratcher. Maybe it’s because he was born two months before Pearl Harbor and is therefore older than the Boomers?

Bernie Sanders is the Trump of the Left. Repeat: Bernie Sanders is the Trump of the Left. He’s an egomaniac who believes his own hype, like Trump. And like Trump, Bernie is selling snake oil; we just happen to like his brand of snake oil. He’s a bad mall Santa, promising everyone a pony, when all he can deliver is a lump of coal. And make no mistake: far from assuring a worker’s paradise, his nomination would bring about the end of the republic.

It’s not a “revolution.” It’s a con job. And it’s got the full support of the Russians.

[bunny-wan-kenobi]

Bunny’s GOT Top 10

So I’ve been re-watching old GOT episodes this week as a bit of a cleanse (believe me it’s been good for the soul) because while things soured in Season 8, when GOT has been good, it’s been AMAZING. And it’s been encouraging for me to revisit the episodes that struck a chord in me and stayed with me because as I said before, NO ONE can take that away from me. So here’s my personal favorite episodes: 

10. Kissed By Fire (3x5)

This episode lingers with me because it’s a character-driven one with a bittersweet quality to it that pulls you in. It’s an episode about choices and their consequences, and the choices alluded to and made here leave a significant mark on the characters’ lives. It’s also an episode that adeptly balances action, intrigue, and rich dialogue-heavy scenes. 

Highlights: Jon and Ygritte consummate their love, introduction of Davo’s first and always #1 adopted child Shireen, Beric vs The Hound, Robb makes the fatal error of executing Karstark (I love the score for that scene)

Favorite Scene: Jaime revealing why he killed Aerys to Brienne at Harrenhall. Both actors were captivating in the way they carried this profound moment, and it’s one of the best GOT monologues. 

9. Fire and Blood (1x12)

After the shocking and climatic death of Ned Stark, this episode manages to draw together all the characters’ threads into an emotionally compelling season finale. This is where all that time investing in these characters pays off as we see them both mourn their losses but prepare for their next move, perfectly setting the stage for Season 2.

Highlights: Robb crowned King in the North, Tyrion is made Hand to the King, Arya meets her new crew of Gendry, Hot Pie, and Lommy

Favorite Scene: Dany rising from the ashes with 3 dragons. It doesn’t get more hopeful and iconic than that.

8. Hardhome (5x8)

It was tough not ranking this one higher because it’s really an exceptional episode that hammered in just how much of a threat the White Walkers are to the rest of humanity. Not only that, but we get rewarded with some long-awaited character interactions, some painful to watch and others simply engrossing. 

Highlights: Dany and Tyrion’s first meeting (so GOOD seeing the interplay with these two), Jon slays his first White Walker, Sansa and Theon reunite, Karsi the Free Folk chieftainess 

Favorite Scene: The Night King raising the dead as Jon and the remaining Free Folk flee in diminished numbers. It’s a game-changing and tragic moment with a haunting final image, even as it spawned a slew of new memes.

7. A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms (8x2)

This one ranks higher because of the way it emotionally resonated with me, and it’s one that doesn’t lose its introspective power the more I re-watch it. It has a play-like elegance honed in on these intimate scenes between characters simply working through their tensions as well as reflecting upon their pasts. It truly is a love letter to these characters, honoring their journeys and their relationships as they quietly await the dreaded Long Night. 

Highlights: Jaime’s trial, Jaime and Tyrion’s conversations about family and “self-betterment,” Sam gives Jorah Heartsbane, Jon reveals his parentage to Dany, the “Fireside Club” (honorable mention to everyone’s reactions to Tormund’s ridiculous tale), the gorgeous marriage of melancholic imagery with Daniel Portman’s rendering of “Jenny of Oldstones” 

Favorite Scene: Brienne’s knighting by Jaime. One of the rare moments of pure light and joy on the show, and a beautiful tribute to Brienne’s idealism and honor as well as her transformative and magnetic relationship with Jaime. 

6. Rains of Castamere (3x9)

I remember how devastated I was when I first saw this episode. The set-up to it was so well laid out that it was inevitable, but the almost-Shakespearean sense of tragedy still hurts to this day. The performances here are raw and powerful, and from the moment the ominous strains of the Lannisters’ song begin, you can’t look away. 

Highlights: Jon leaves Ygritte and just misses a reunion with Bran and Rickon, Jorah’s epic team-up with Daario and Barristan Selmy in Yunkai, Bran and Rickon say goodbye 

Favorite Scene: The massacre at the Twins. I mean...what else could it be? This entire sequence is heartbreaking, from Arya realizing her family is being slaughtered to Greywind’s death to Catelyn’s final wail. 

5. The Watchers on the Wall (4x9)

This episode stands out to me as one that testifies most to Jon’s journey. It illuminates his strengths as a leader, the fire-forged loyalty of his friendships, and the poignancy of his first love: Ygritte. There are some spectacular action pieces here, and even the deaths of minor characters heft an emotional punch. It’s also one of the few episodes to be grounded in one location, and that adds to its depth.  

Highlights: Grenn’s last stand against the giant, Sam defeats a Thenn, Ygritte dies in Jon’s arms 

Favorite Scene: Jon taking command on the ground level. There’s an elemental ferocity and resolve in the way he carves his way through the battle, turning the tide in a way everyone bears witness to. 

4. Baelor (1x9)

The episode that changed everything. I wept when I read the chapter where Ned dies in the book, and I still wept here seeing it onscreen. His execution is so abrupt and unjust and horrific that the impact of this moment reverberates throughout the story forever after. There’s actually a LOT that happens in this episode, and it’s all riveting.

Highlights: Robb defeats and captures Jaime, Dany tragically loses her child to save Khal Drogo’s life (it’s weird calling this a highlight but it’s a deeply sorrowful and important moment), Jeor Mormont gives Jon Longclaw 

Favorite Scene: Ned’s death. It’s still hard to watch because it’s so painful.

3. Battle of the Bastards (6x9)

Brilliantly shot, edited, and acted, this episode is one of the most memorable of the GOT battles. It works because it doesn’t lose sight of the characters, conveying the horrors of warfare to a visceral degree. The ending is also one of the most satisfying in the show, cathartic even as the wounds of battle linger. 

Highlights: Dany’s triumph in the battle at Mereen, Sansa’s “Riders of Rohan” rescue with the Knights of the Vale, Dany meets Yara and Theon, Sansa ends Ramsay with his own hounds 

Favorite Scene: Jon draws out Longclaw to make a final stand as the calvary races towards him. It’s just one of those shots that becomes emblematic of the show and the character, and Djawadi scores it beautifully. 

2. Blackwater (2x9)

This episode is teeming with amazing character moments and splendid visuals. But I love it most because it’s the peak of Tyrion’s leadership arc within the first two seasons. He commands the troops and the screen, and it’s hard not to root for him as he amasses the full force of his cleverness and resilience to fight against looming odds. 

Highlights: Bronn lights it up with wildfire, Cersei and Sansa’s conversations (some great Lena Headey moments here), Cersei’s lion story to Tommen on the throne, the Hound leaves the battle and Kingsguard after seeing flames

Favorite Scene: Tyrion’s speech. It embodies the character so well: irreverent, pragmatic with a good dose of “to hell with it!” 

1. The Winds of Winter (6x10)

I have re-watched this episode so many times I’ve lost count. It contains all the best of what GOT represents to me: rich characterization, well-cultivated storytelling, and rewarding plot payoff against a backdrop of exceptional score and cinematography. More than that, it’s the kind of episode that I leave feeling like I’ve experienced something truly special, something ineffable. 

Highlights: Jon revealed as the son of Rhaegar and Lyanna, Dany proclaims Tyrion Hand of the Queen, Arya gets revenge on Walder Frey, Davos confronts Melissandre about Shireen’s death, Jon made King in the North 

Favorite Scene: THE WHOLE EPISODE. Okay, I’ll just cheat and share just two scenes. The first is the entire Light of the Seven sequence because I just think it’s the perfect scene. It’s builds up its ominous tension so brilliantly and brings everything to such an explosive climax so incredibly supported by the music that it’s a work of art. The second is the ending, which I also think is perfect. It’s what so much of the story has been working towards: Dany sailing to Westeros, and every visual, from her standing proudly on the ship to the combined forces of several houses to her dragons soaring above her, culminates in this triumphant moment that is simply unmatched. 

[lilithmedium]

The Demonization of Lilith

When we talk about the “life” of a spirit, or the “history” of a spirit, we have to divide it into two categories. The empirical history of that spirit’s relationships with various human cultures is first. The second is the mythology itself, which varies enormously from culture to culture and should in no way be taken literally.

Right now, we’ll have a look at how Lilith figures (or rather was forced) into Abrahamic mythology. This experience led to her becoming a patron not only of independent women, but of women abused for their womanhood. It also made her a bitter enemy, not of the Abrahamic God, but rather of patriarchy.

Lilith As Abrahamic Demon

Was Lilith literally abused by the domineering Adamah and driven to leave him, defying God’s plan and accepting a curse in the process? No. But she was defamed, demonized and cast in the role of victim, outcast, demon-lover and child-murderer by Abrahamic male religious authorities for centuries. Her spiritual children were slaughtered or enslaved, and the concept of woman as man’s equal partner was eradicated from that part of the world.

Those are enormous crimes. But they are crimes committed by patriarchal men, not the Most High. Lilith despises and defies patriarchal men, not the Most High. The problem is that patriarchal men can’t really see the difference. The argument is made that by refusing to return to Adamah, Lilith defied God, and thus became a demon.

However, this whole idea hinges on the supposition that the Most High is a complete dick who would send Lilith back to such a miserable situation. Does this sound like something a perfect, loving deity would do to their child, especially if they just had to rescue that child from the same situation?

The idea that she is a demon in defiance of God who is responsible for many plagues against women and children is an attempt to shoehorn the archetypal free woman into a narrative that defies its own internal consistency to make her into a villainess.

If we read into the account in The Alphabet of Ben Sira, we notice that Lilith’s last act before suddenly growing wings and being whisked off into the wilderness is to call out the Ineffable Name. According to the account, she used the Name without permission to steal some of God’s power so she could escape.

...despite the fact that nobody, not even Lucifer, had ever been able to pull that trick even with a lot more power and motivation.

The idea of her misusing God’s power is the root of a whole lot of Lilith’s demonization, but it’s also one enormous reach after another, with little to no connection to older stories. 

Let’s go back to basics. What is the number one reason that you would call out the name of an omniscient deity?

To get the Most High’s attention, of course.

The Name is forbidden to mortals save for when the High Priest speaks it once a year within the Temple. But neither Lilith nor Adamah were mortal then. Her ability to escape, and to remain separated despite the original plan of the Most High, had a much simpler explanation than a theft of power.

She was calling for help.

The idea that she could steal and use the cosmic power for herself without the Most High’s knowledge or permission is ridiculous. The idea that she would call upon the one power who would let her leave if there was desperate need fits the situation much more. The idea that she would cry out to God for help and receive it is much more in line with the concept of the Most High being both a powerful and watchful Deity, and a just one.

Once Lilith was separated from Adamah, she could no longer be part of the plan for Adamah and had to remain remote from him and his wife and descendants. This was not a problem for her, nor a source of shame; what is considered an exile was an escape. The Abrahamic religious and occult scholars, all men of course, gave it all their own spin, since after all framing Adamah as the hero of the story instead of the one who first transgressed (and would go on to transgress further) was extremely important.

But what is convenient for those in power is usually not fully true, whether to the narrative itself or to the beings depicted. What was convenient in Lilith’s case was to turn her into a monster, a particular enemy of women and children, and a being who existed in defiance of God’s law. This became a part of the propaganda that kept “good” women in their place.

She is none of those things. She is not a pure and peaceful spirit, but unlike Adam and his new wife Eve, she didn’t screw up and get herself exiled, either. She remained immortal, free of Original Sin, and though unmated, she was also free. That bit about her constantly mating with demons and giving birth to thousands of dead babies a day...okay. How does the average guy depict his ex after she’s left?

Yeah. Let’s all take a moment to notice how post-Garden Lilith is depicted as the slutty abortion queen who is somehow both giving birth to a billion demon babydaddies’ bastards and is completely infertile and hates men and hates women and wants to strangle little babies in their cribs. Or why she still comes back to Adamah in his sleep to screw him because she can’t get enough of this dick and everybody knows it, dammit.

Hilariously, the description on Lilith’s activities after dumping Adamah sound like an amalgamation of every single insult tossed at every single woman who has ever realized her true worth and left a subpar boyfriend in the dust. The Alphabet’s authors and the rest of those boys had some serious ex issues to go along with their terror of independent women.

To the sons of Abrahamic traditions, Adamah’s desire to be the boss when the Most High had created him and Lilith as equal halves of a greater spiritual whole was not hubris or a defiance of God. It would not be viewed as any crime by men with a vested interest in furthering the idea of a male-favoring God in support of patriarchy. But we can see the glaring issues in their narrative very easily in modern day.

So consider instead a new approach to the narrative: that Lilith left the garden not because of exile, but because like an abused woman’s home, the haven for humanity had been made dangerous to her. This was thanks to Adamah’s refusal to acknowledge the equality that the Most High had gifted her from the beginning. Because of this, she was allowed to leave, and live away from the world that Adamah and his sons were making.

The various holes in the stories told in the Alphabet and similar texts as well as Abrahamic folklore provide a very weak argument for Lilith being a demonic force that attacks women. In fact, it’s pretty clear that even by the rules of those trying to demonize her, Lilith is not a demonic enemy of the Most High, and is certainly not responsible for what is now recognized as crib death and deaths from early child abuse.

So what is Lilith in the Feminist reading of the Abrahamic myths?

Lilith is the wild woman. She is the woman who will only love a man as an equal, and will walk away if he tries to dominate her. She is the abused woman breaking free. She is the battered woman fighting back. She does not despise all men, nor love all women, but she will always favor women.

She is not the enemy of Eve. As the serpent in the garden, she returns to a dangerous place in order to bring the bitter gift of knowledge to her sister. She does this out of sympathy for Eve, who loves a man but suffers time and again because of his bullshit. In doing so, in making Eve self-aware, she is not betraying or corrupting her, but instead allowing her to make free and conscious choices instead of blindly remaining an appendage of her husband.

Interestingly, Eve is not immediately banished for eating the fruit, for Adamah had neglected to warn her against it, and so had God. She had to know that something was forbidden to act against God. But when she offers to share the knowledge with him, Adamah takes it while knowing fully that it’s not allowed. Only then are both banished and made mortal. 

If Eve had not shared, or if Adamah had refused, would they have been banished? If Lilith had instructed Eve and empowered her with knowledge, but she had not then passed on the gift to her beloved but egotistical mate, what would have happened? Would Eve have lived on an immortal life in the garden, forever more enlightened and powerful than her dull-witted mate and their offspring? Was that what Lilith was shooting for--Eve’s empowerment? Perhaps even in the hope of creating a more suitable companion than Adamah?

There’s a lot that can be done with the bits and pieces of the Abrahamic narrative that Lilith appears in, if you strip it of its soul-crushing misogyny and attempts at demonization. Ultimately, though, it all leads to the question: why were the descendants of Adamah so desperate to demonize any example of womanhood that demanded equality?

I think we all know the answer. 

[thatswhatwaterslidesoff]

I love your Gabriel/Raphael meta! And we never actually see Gabriel in the book so it kind of makes sense? or is Aziraphale a sort of retired archangel - choosing a sort of self-imposed exile on Earth and working from there after the First War made him too uncomfortable, and letting some minor Heaven upstarts jockeying for favor up in Heaven?

i’m just sort of winging this in a tired haze here, so here goes

honestly, we see time and again that aziraphale isn’t entirely happy with what heaven does, but he does believe in heaven, in god, and in an ineffable plan. he’s more like that employee that has loyalty to a company whose policies are shady but are easily ignored as long as he looks at the positives

and now i’m imagining david tennant during the tadfield manor scene grinning about how guns are a moral argument.

crowley and aziraphale’s conversation about heaven is basically the same thing

but aziraphale is so used to things, he just doesn’t want to leave. he’s got a massive 401k and there’s a great dental plan. he’ll just take the traveling position so he doesn’t have to deal with office politics. he takes a massive pay cut and a step down, but he makes sure they let him keep his benefits in the renewed contract.

gabriel is pretty active with humans for a long time, so it stands to reason that after he’s done with all the major things he was sent to do that he just stays on earth. he officially changes his name when he’s no longer required to give messages directly to humans

the above is more book-meta than show

for the show, that aziraphale is somewhat different, he’s actually actively afraid of heaven- which.. jesus, considering how uriel and sandalphon treated him in the script, i am too. what the fuck, aziraphale was bleeding

their hyper focused ire on aziraphale and their certainty about crowley really does make you wonder if aziraphale could have been gabriel

i mean.. neil gaiman said in an ask that crowley would have liked The Good Place tv show, where the Archangel Michael is an absolute bastard. that makes me wonder if Michael just took some random angel and said “yeah you’re going to be gabriel now for some nefarious reason i’m not gonna explain” and that random angel was like “yeah okay as long as i get to rag on the real gabriel, i’m game”

aziraphale in the show is wounded and while he still wants to desperately believe in who is essentially supposed to be his family and wants to remain loyal to them, every time they do something he drifts more away from them. as gabriel, he is god’s messenger, but he’s starting to realize that doesn’t equate with being heaven’s messenger, too

so in the show, he’s a tired, terrified, wounded war vet who just wants to get away from a traumatizing past to lick his wounds, has been busted down in the ranks because of his injury. thing is, yeah, raphael fell. he’s currently crowley. aziraphale has been deeply in love with him forever and can’t stop, won’t stop, and down right refuses to stop despite his fears. maybe they can’t touch and hold each other close the way they did among the stars, back when things were simpler, but they can at least be there for each other, talk and confide in one another again.

this really makes the scene at the bandstand hurt that much more. crowley is asking him to run away to the stars they made, run away to before, when things were simple, when we could be in love without all this baggage. they both know it can’t be like that again, and it’s breaking aziraphale’s heart. so he pushes and crowley persists. they can’t live without each other. their souls are far too intimately entwined.

[allofthisnonsenseplease]

R76 SEP/Crisis era drabble alternate canon kinda thing

three towels into folding a load of laundry, this idea hit me and i had to stop what i was doing and come upstairs to get it typed up.

Gabriel is a teenager when he first sees Death. It walks the neighborhood he lived in, blond hair and blue eyes and a gentle smile, talking softly to people, touching a shoulder here, a leg there. Gabriel watches Death kneel next to an old woman half crushed by a toppled building, and he can't hear the words Death speaks, can't hear the sirens or the fires or the distant gunshots as the last of the omnics are driven away from the city they've just decimated. He sees Death smile kindly as his touch draws out the old woman's soul, freeing it from the agony of her slowly dying body, and he knows that Death is merciful.

He never speaks of this to anyone. It would sound crazy.

He does not expect to see Death again except for in the mundane way, so he is surprised when a familiar face appears in the ranks of the experimental Soldier Enhancement Program. Death calls himself Jack Morrison. He is personable, prone to making bad jokes, and terrible at poker because so much of what he thinks shows up on his face. Gabriel approaches him in the lounge, heedless of their audience.

“Can you actually kill people?” he asks and the others laugh low and unsure, thinking its posturing, thinking Gabriel is making sure Jack knows who's on top. But it's not. It's not that at all. And Jack, with his old, old eyes and his brittle-bright smile...Jack realizes it.

“No. I'm only here to help.”

Jack follows Gabriel into the hall. His smile is pleasant, bland, not entirely surprised.

“Are you here because of the war?” Gabriel asks.

“In a way.”

He swallows hard, skin gone clammy with fear sweat as a suspicion he'd buried comes to life.

“Because of the Program?”

Jack looks back toward the room full of candidates, of light and laughter and life. “I think so.”

“Do you know who? How many?”

“No.” He looks at Gabriel and smiles, and there's regret piled atop of regret in that expression and his eyes are the blue of ocean depths, ancient and ineffable. “I'm sorry.”

Gabriel shakes his head and manages half a smile. “You're just here to help, right?”

They become friends. Jack rarely has opportunities to linger near those who know him for what he is, and Gabriel can sometimes almost forget that the gregarious farm boy is more than what he appears to be.

The Program has nothing on the omnic attack that led to Gabriel's first encounter with Death, but it decimates its own ranks, and Jack sometimes vanishes without notice, sometimes comes back to Gabriel's side quiet and withdrawn shortly before word spreads that the Program is down another candidate. He can feel it when they're close. He does his best to be quick to save them the suffering. The waste of life cuts him deeply. He hungers for it in a way that Gabriel does not understand, given that he seems so human, himself.

They graduate from the Program and into war. Jack is busier than ever. He is ferocious when he fights, protective of those that are left, and of the un-enhanced soldiers they lead. Whether he has pulled some strings, or if it's simply a stroke of luck, he and Gabriel are not separated. Gabriel is grateful. Soon, he has even more reason to be so.

The awareness kicks in during a lull in the battle. He simply knows suddenly that Friedricks is dying. Just like that moment years ago, the rest of the world loses meaning. Gabriel knows what to do even as he reaches out, calls to Friedricks' soul, gives a little tug to snap the tether and stop the pain.

When the hunger kicks in, it's too strong to hold back.

Gabriel devours the soul before he knows what he's doing. He feels a rush of strength. His own pain fades. His weariness is gone. He is jubilant, alive...and terribly hungry. He looks up, searching, and Jack is there, scant yards away, watching him. There is no happiness in his smile. It's painful to see, and the fear crashes in over Gabriel's mind, wiping out even the hunger for a fleeting moment. Shaking, Gabriel looks down at his hands, filthy with dirt, oil, and char, but untouched by blood.

“What.... What have I...?”

Jack is there next to him, familiar, steadfast, gentle as he grasps Gabriel's shoulders and presses their foreheads together.

“Shhh. It's okay. It'll be okay. I'll help you. I'll be here for you, Gabe.”

He trusts Jack. Jack will know what to do, will know how to fix him. Jack will protect him from this.

He is lying to himself and he knows it. Jack isn't the same. SEP isn't what made Jack what he is. Gabriel shakes and lets Jack hold him through the panic. He is something new, but he will trust Jack to be there as he learns what.

He wonders

fleetingly

if he is enough like Jack to remain at his side

forever.