#jesus just kill me now

[ai-the-broccoli]

enemies to lovers / but you'll never own my heart

@luzon-dove happy birthday, Quinn!! As a present, I decided to draw a piece fanart of your "blood in the walls of the yagami house" AU fic series, since I found it very well-written and full of super interesting ideas and concepts. I hope you like it!

[sammygender]

i’ve never been as angry on behalf of a character as i am for sam winchester

[chronicowboy]

new fic is testing my fucking patience. all of the dialogue is being birthed a fully grown human with a life and humour and deep poignant thoughts. the prose? screaming baby trying to crawl back through the vagina

[itsalmostavengers]

Ik we stevetonies love our ‘Steve pulling Tony out of a bender in the workshop’ trope but me? I LOOOOVE the other way round. A bad mission and Steve loses someone - he tried to save them but it was too late, he couldn’t get there in time. And post-mission he just holes himself up in the gym and stays there. For days. Working himself to exhaustion just so he can shave half a second off his sprint (half a second and that person would be alive), punching bag after bag until his hands are bloody and raw.

Tony is the only one who can get through to him like this. It’s only his voice that can make Steve pause, come back to himself. Sometimes Tony has to actively stand in front of whatever it is Steve’s attacking, which absolutely infuriates him, but damn if it isn’t effective in a way only Tony no-thought-to-his-own-self-preservation Stark could be. And Tony is equally as infuriated that steve is insisting on doing this to himself, but even though his tone is angry, his touch against Steve’s knuckles is impossibly soft.

He’ll drag Steve back up to the land of the living. Put him in the shower and clean him off, freshen him up, make him feel human again. Steve will already be healing, of course, but Tony still tends and bandages his hands - attentive to the finest detail, devoting every part of his mind to just making Steve feel a little bit better.

They don’t talk much throughout this. God knows Tony’s tried it before, but Steve is never in the headspace for it, and Tony never says the right thing anyway. But he’s there.

He runs his fingers over the back of Steve’s palms. Up his forearms. He strokes the sharp curve of Steve’s neck, settling against the quick pulse. Steve’s face is blank, but Tony is always surprisingly patient with him. He waits.

“I’m fine,” Steve will say every time, while his face will say the opposite.

“You’re an idiot,” Tony will respond. “I’m locking you out of the gym.”

He won’t. Steve needs it, even if it’s unhealthy, even if it’s agonising for Tony to watch. This is just how they get through.

But Steve will see the way Tony is looking at him- distressed, angry, worried - and it’ll break through the fog. The thing that always takes priority over everything is Tony, and even though Steve’s brain is screaming at him to get right back to it, he just can’t put it above Tony’s well-being. He couldn’t ever do that.

“I Guess I can take a break now.”

[crustyfloor]

i think about this part often maybe a bit too much

[quietwingsinthesky]

you cant just put a character in front of me and go ‘btw when she was seventeen, everyone she knew cut her off completely so she could be bait for the most evil company in the world to hire, and then some fucking guy swooped in and took advantage of her for years’ and expect me to believe she’s the villain here. or to ever be normal about this. what the fuck!

[queeraliensposts]

Illymation: Don't be a dick to fat people.

The internet: EWWWW SHE'S GLORIFYING OBESITY LET'S DOX HER!!!!!!!

[phantomrose96]

Obsessed with the death imagery around Sampson btw. Smelling like a dead rat, skulking like a ghost. The last survivor of a dead world, only he's barely surviving, certainly not living. The idea of these cultural ascetics is super cool but feels unfathomably sad to me.

(938 Seconds Per Second)

-slams hands on the table- YES.

YES.

Sampson is a detached limb of a dead body. He's a lopped-off finger dropped in formaldehyde and declared "See! The flesh persists!" of a body that has perished.

There are many ways to be tragically and beautifully dead in metaphor. Sampson is not that. Sampson rots. He's off-putting. He disgusts. He's isolated and alone and just... exists half-dead and half-rotten, has to exist, no one is allowing him the dignity to deboard the ship, and live the rest of his human life, and die a human death as the last death of his culture.

He dies more, rots more, when Carson steals and destroys his tome, because Sampson is nothing but the aimless vestige of his culture, alive only to keep it alive... and what is alive? No one is learning the culture. It's not spreading. It's not growing. It's not being studied and remembered and appreciated. ...It's just Sampson, whose only duty is to persist, and persist as long as long as long as possible... as if infinite persistence is the same as life...

Carson was not joking when he said Sampson would kill himself in the wake of the cargo getting ransacked. Carson was dead-fucking correct to think Sampson would kill himself. Those cultural artifacts are all that Sampson stays half-alive for. They're all he is. If they were stolen on his watch, ostensibly by his own fault... Carson was dead-fucking correct.

[gxlden-angels]

You know the Bible does go kinda hard when you start to read it like a very rough draft of a Percy Jackson-like novel with too much world-building cause there was absolutely no reason for gayboy Jesus to do all that shit

[shsl-analyzer-guy]

hey this is the opposite of what I wanted from season 6, actually. Why do these writers hate me personally

[whollyjoly]

for some reason i can't explain i know saint peter won't call my name

nothing that lives, lives forever - an immortal soldier!alton more au

(1.1k of snippets from my old guard(ish) au where alton more is old, too old, and has been living and fighting far longer than anyone should. full description/other thoughts at the bottom. tw: blood, violence, mentions of death)

Alton clicked the lighter closed, running a thumb over the silver case. The night was warm, sticky in a way that he never could get used to. He sucked in a breath from the cheap cigarette, letting his head fall back against the rough side of the barracks.

It was quiet. Typically, there would be no end to the commotion coming from the small building, one of many that littered Camp Toccoa. The wall of sound was ever-present, no matter if it was shouting or laughing or snoring. But whatever the cause, there was always noise. 

No matter if it was a blanket of noise he knew well, unchanging except for the language and the scenery. Soldiers are soldiers, and some things are a constant. It could almost be comforting, if it didn’t also mean that the need for soldiers was a constant as well.

However, tonight was a Saturday, and it was one of the few weekends that Sobel had allowed Easy the use of their weekend passes. Almost every man in the company had jumped at the chance to get off base, to travel home if they could and spend time with loved ones. The ones with farther-flung hometowns had spirited off to Atlanta, happy to spend their time drinking and dancing and fucking instead of slogging through another run, three miles up, three miles down.

Normally, Alton would have joined them in their carousing - it was easier to pass the time with the effortless camaraderie built during a training camp than bored and alone. 

But today had been a bad day. The sound of swords and the shift of sand beneath his feet followed him out of his nightmares, the humid summer of Georgia morphing itself into the baking, dry heat of the desert. 

His shouts must have been real, because when a hand came to shake him out of his dream, the first face he saw was not that of a grouchy NCO, but of a blood-caked Saracen, eyes alight with righteous fury. 

Alton didn’t think. He had grabbed the knife from under his pillow, an old thing that had been sharpened more times than he could begin to count, and was on the man in less than a breath, pressing the blade into the side of his neck. The familiar thrum of blood beat against his fingertips, the grit of sand scratched his gums. He knew what he had to do, had done it a thousand times, a thousand thousand times, what was a little more bloodshed spilled across his feet-

Alton had blinked, and came to himself in a rush.

Instead of an unnamed Saracen, the ashen face of Johnny Martin stared up at him, eyes wide behind the knife.

Alton drew back his hand, retreating almost as quick as he had lunged earlier. He mumbled a quick curse and apology as he stepped out of arm’s reach from the man. It wasn’t until Martin’s eyes widened even farther that Alton realized his tongue was slipping out Arabic of all things.

Usually, Alton was better about remembering himself, who he was almost as important as where he was. But for whatever reason, his demons had decided to catch up with him that night.

After a quick smile and some quip about the Krauts in his dreams, he managed to wave an only-slightly-mollified Martin off. The shorter man apparently hadn’t forgotten it though, if his watchful eyes during chow that morning were anything to go by.

Alton was just glad that no one else was awake to see it, at least. That was the last thing he needed.

And so, instead of joining in on a weekend of broads and booze, Alton found himself waving away the invitation by an eager Smokey and bemused Alley. When the horde made their way out of the barracks, fantasizing in bawdy terms about their planned misadventures, he felt like he could breathe easy.

Fucking finally.

~~

Alton took another drag from the cigarette. He watched the smoke curl, up and up until it faded into nothing amongst the darkening sky.

The lighter was a welcome weight in his hand, grounding him to this time, this life.

The design was worn by now, details barely visible after a half century of worrying. It still managed to amaze him, sometimes, what people could do with the smallest of canvases. Alton didn’t feel the same wonder however, wasn’t as mesmerized by the beauty man could create as he once was.

But in the quiet moments, he could still appreciate the time some French craftsman took to transform a hunk of metal into a small token carried around by a dead man.

Luz had spied the lighter one weekend, and laughed at him for using something so old-fashioned. Alton just shrugged, not caring to admit that he was still getting used to having a light at his fingertips. It wasn’t all that long ago when he was still lighting a pipe with a flintlock pistol, and not so long before that when he would carry around a flint and steel.

Time was passing all the more quickly these days, technologies changing and advancing, and everyone was obsessed with needing things to be quicker, cheaper, simpler. Alton scoffed. He could hardly find it in him to care.

He glanced down at the lighter in his hand, shifting it back and forth in a practiced motion and watched as the light skittered across the sides. 

It had shown flowers, once. A veritable garden of carnations, daffodils, and lilies of the valley, with leaves spilling across the front panel onto the back. They represent good fortune, he was told. Good fortune, luck, and hope. 

When the merchant described it to him, eyes ablaze with a passion known only to those with wares to sell, Alton didn’t try to hide the snort that escaped his throat. 

Fortune and Luck had abandoned him long ago, and hadn’t returned since waking up in a battlefield abandoned by all but the dead, sword in his chest and blood in his mouth. 

And what the fuck was Alton supposed to do with hope?

It was the quote on the back that had caught his eye, all those years ago in a street market in Reims. The beveled edges had faded with time, the familiar letters Alton traced were more memory by now than any physical mark. Une vie honorable est une vie éternelle.

An honorable life is an eternal life.

Alton couldn’t help but stare at the message, both then and now. He hated that goddamn word. Immortal. Unending. Eternal. 

They were such flowery words, used by people who craved what they couldn’t have, what they shouldn’t. The romanticized idea of the everlasting, the fountain of youth, the gift of life! Alton was sick of it.

This wasn’t life. He was a fucking dead man walking. And he sure as hell didn’t do anything honorable to deserve it.

months ago, while thinking about the absolute insanity of the almost...cavalier? attitude we see alton more have over the course of the series, an idea hit my brain: what if there was a reason nothing seemed to phase him - not panzers, not being a breath away from a car wreck, not bastogne, not speirs? what if this wasn't his first war? that thought spiraled me into a minor insanity that is this: my immortal soldier!alton more au, loosely inspired by the movie the old guard (2020). the idea is that, once upon a time, there was a soldier in a land many centuries ago. one day, he died in battle. and then, he woke up. and then he died. and then he woke up. over, and over. drawn to countless battles, conflicts, and wars, each one etching itself into the core of his soul. a never-ending cycle...until one sweltering summer, where he found himself at a training camp at the foot of a mountain. anyways. at some point, i plan on writing this as a full story, but that is admittedly a long ways away. however, in celebration of alton more's birthday today, i wanted to post my favorite scene that i've written for this au! it's set sometime at the beginning of the story, in the early days of camp toccoa. mostly, it's just a character study of this version of alton more. hope you enjoyed! and of course - happy birthday alton more!

(song insp.)

taglist: @sweetxvanixlla @coco-bean-1218 @bucky32557038ww2 @georgieluz @samwinchesterslostshoe @xxluckystrike @next-autopsy @ronald-speirs @land-sh @ronsparky @panzershrike-pretz @theredrenard @kyellin

[b1gwings]

today's dndads was so fucking good and people are making good points about the parallels and cycles of Henry not being proud of Sparrow, and then Sparrow not being proud of Normal which is all so real and heartwrenching. I also noticed something in addition to that when they came back from the past and he started to walk into the woods.

I haven't been able to stop thinking about last episode when Normal said something to Scam about "I can't be around another adult who thinks they deserve to die." The twins are the main adults in his life that think like this, especially with Lark's whole "if someone's going to die for this, it's going to be me" attitude. One of my friends told me about a really good post they saw (although they couldn't find it :( ) about how this is an effect of the adults in Normal's life not wanting to take accountability. They want it to be fixed, but they'd rather die to punish themselves instead of stick around to help fix it.

Normal is sick of this behavior and this seniment. Lark, Sparrow, and the other kiddads ROYALLY fucked up everyone's life -- even though it's their fault Normal would rather see them do something about it. Which makes a lot of fucking sense? He's been around this his entire life, and since learning about Code Purple it's just gotten worse.

Which is why him trying to just walk out into the woods struck me as so interesting. Obviously, baby Normal was not responsible for releasing the flesh monster onto D.A.D.D.I.E.S HQ just like Lark was not responsible for releasting the Doodler. The way I see it, Lark blames himself wholeheartedly for this whole mess. Sparrow too. Their self-hatred only festers into an immensely heavy guilt. It's hard to get out from under those huge feelings. And, yeah, it would be easier to just die -- to punish themselves for fucking up so bad -- than having to figure out a way to fix it. It feels hopeless.

Normal has a moment with that guilt in this episode. He fully believes that it's his fault Code Purple ever happened, and that guilt makes him feel like he needs to isolate himself. It's the same principle of wanting to avoid whatever fucked up shit comes after. Normal can't help but feel that hopelessness that runs in his family -- he's not good enough for these awesome, helpful people because all he's done so far is fuck things up. And despite resenting this behavior from the adults in his life, he falls back into it. Because what is he supposed to do? He's just a kid who messes things up no matter how hard he tries to fix it. Why would his friends even want him around anyway? They're the ones who are actually saving the world.

I just really love the way dndads works with cycles. There are so many and they're all so good (and heartbreaking).

[behold-the-daybreak]

i've got a mantra for getting through true blood s7: i'm a magicians fan and i've seen worse writing decisions

[xxplastic-cubexx]

by the time erik’s done prepping charles charles would’ve already come like 2 times that’s how long they gotta take

it aint even prep at that point it just round 1 😭😭😭😭

[rqg179]

i will say though that brennan revealing last episode that kipperlilly has been going to guidance counsellor for anger issues since freshman year has absolutely ruined me for seeing her as actually evil. i cannot believe that a teenage girl with anger issues is irredeemably evil i just can't

[nejackdaw]

Okay I haven't talked about Judas OR the Judas album in a while so I'm going to share this analysis I finally placed and I'm losing my mind about

In the song Field of Blood (song 5,) the chorus ends with a line I've never quite been able to find a suitable conclusion about. Right. (Putting my rambling under a read more, the screenshots make this long)

Oh, okay, "what is my god," he's having a crisis of faith. Why is God so cruel as to order Jesus be killed (reminder that the album is a mix of biblical and Gnostic canon, where Jesus asked Judas to be the one to betray him.)

WRONG

If we move two tracks ahead in the album to Death is Just a Kiss Away, right before the last chorus we have these lines:

Which is insane! Because this part is actually saying "you have two gods, God and Jesus" (sun and moon, as I'll get to) "and no matter which you choose" (obeying the kill command or refusing to kill Jesus) "you're going to piss everyone off"! Okay now I know, "but where did you get sun and moon/God and Jesus" and HERE I TELL YOU:

Jesus is CONSTANTLY referred to with constellation imagery! (There's a whole song about it!) The Gospel of Judas includes the quotes (from Jesus) "Judas, your star has led you astray" and "the star that leads the way is your star." The album takes this and RUNS with it. Makes Jesus Judas's guiding star. There is SO MUCH night/star symbolism going on here, mostly in Constellation, but also from A World Where we Belong:

SO BASICALLY: considering that Jesus is heavily referred to with night sky imagery and they're literally both referred to as "two moons aligned," it isn't unreasonable to conclude that the line from Just a Kiss Away is in fact talking about God/Jesus. WHICH MEANS

When Judas is about to hang himself and he pleadingly asks "what is my god?"

HE DOESN'T KNOW IF IT'S GOD OR JESUS BECAUSE HE'S FUCKING IN LOVE WITH HIM APNDOANSOANS HE OBEYED GOD BECAUSE HE'S GOD BUT HE'S KILLING HIMSELF OVER JESUS. I HAVE MANY OTHER LINES ABOUT THIS (DEVOTION TO JESUS, NOT GOD) BUT THAT'S A DIFFERENT TOPIC