honestly no wonder harrow forced ianthe to lobotomize her so she could save gideon. listen…LISTEN…if i was a secret-war-crime cult nunlet princess worshipped by my entire planet and the only person that (barely) kept me in check was my childhood nemesis—a butch a year older than me, towering over me in stature and physical prowess, and so hot it made my teeth hurt from how hard my jaw clenched in her presence, who wielded a two-handed seven-foot sword and had irritatingly huge biceps and told very lewd stupid jokes and also learned how to wield an entirely new weapon and be my bodyguard with startling accuracy in three months—only to have us finally learn to trust each other because we got invited to a magic murder mystery and then before the bubble burst i spilled the worst secret about myself that i was born because my parents murdered an entire generation and tried to Kill Her along with them and she just wouldnt die, and i told her this expecting a swift death i believed i deserved, only for her to fucking cradle me in her big butch arms and kiss me on my forehead with her soft butch mouth and just. forgive me for a shameful weight ive carried my entire life and then MAKE AN ACTUAL NECRO/CAV VOW with me despite every evil thing i have done to her……to have her tell me, in the end, bleeding and broken after putting up the most beautiful and glorious fight of her life, that she understands purpose and she understands duty and she knows loyalty more fiercely than ever now, that she knows who she is to me, that there is no her without me….to have her backed into a corner and make the ultimate sacrifice…..for me…..to recite scriptural wedding vows of eternity to me in her last wisps of soul-consciousness…..if i thought there was even a snowflake’s chance in the pyre that i could save her by turning myself into her very own locked tomb, i’d be begging ianthe tridentweirdius to crack my skull open and turn me to mush too, goddamn. i understand you harrowhark girl you don’t have to explain a thing to me. god said you couldn’t undo the lyctor’s bond bc it’d kill you. you told god and his angels that not even a lyctor’s bond could outshine the power of female spite and lesbianism and they didn’t listen. they didn’t believe you. but i heard you loud and clear and i was 17 and hormonal and hopelessly romantic not too long ago unlike those fucking dinosaurs and i’m saying it’s valid it’s what i would have done and really everyone should be thanking you for not being worse and more wretched about it, all things considered
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If we DO ever get a Good Omens season 3 (and fingers crossed we will) then using the Second Coming as the narrative device to facilitate the final culmination of Good Omens' ideology and message is brilliant, actually.
Because the Second Coming IS NOT another Adam situation. And, contrary to the misconceptions I've seen, It IS NOT about Jesus being born again as a baby, etc, etc.
THE SECOND COMING. QUITE LITERALLY refers to THE LAST JUDGMENT.
As in. The SAME Last Judgment Michelangelo painted on the walls of the Sistine Chapel. As in - THE JUDGMENT of the Living and the Dead. THE LAST, FINAL, ETERNAL JUDGMENT.
It's the WHOLE thing Armageddon was leading towards. Book of Revelation speedrun: the world ends, everyone dies, and then they get resurrected again to be judged by JESUS himself. He will flick through the Book of Life (WINK WINK WINK DO YOU SEE HOW LOUDLY I'M WINKING AT YOU???), and if your name is there he will go "oh nice you deserve eternal paradise! :D" and if your name is ERASED from the Book of Life he will go "oh no, sorry, you go to the lake of fire for eternity now D:" (except apparently in Good Omens lore it'd just DOOM YOU TO NON-EXISTENCE FOREVER???)
And if you THINK about it, The Last Judgment is the ultimate manifestation of moral absolutism. No shades of gray, no chances. Just BLACK, and WHITE. Never mind that you're like Wee Morag and Elspeth, who are forced to do "bad" things because of circumstances. It's either you pass Judgment Day, or you burn (or disappear forever.)
And the way THINGS are going in the Good Omens universe? I don't think there's ANYONE "good" enough to be "saved." Not Crowley, not Aziraphale. Hell, not even the Archangels themselves.
So it provides a PERFECT opportunity for Aziraphale and Crowley to UPEND that SYSTEM entirely.
I think that's what Crowley and Aziraphale would do in s3: establish a new kind of system in which angels and demons have free will to determine the right (or wrong) choice.
Giving them the APPLE, so to speak.
And then they'll go off to retire in a cottage, together at last.
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PERCEVAL THE UNHAPPY, THE MISERABLE, THE UNFORTUNATE, THE FISHER KING!
Perceval, de Troyes (trans. Burton Raffel)
ALRIGHT alright. so previously I did an illustration that explained the premise of all this, that it's inspired by the narrative choices that Bresson made in his film Lancelot du Lac etc
to dive in more into it (because this is something like derivative fiction. I'm putting concepts into a blender and seeing what comes out of it): the setting is haunted by the previously existing narratives that started cannibalizing each other until it regurgitates itself into the more well known narrative beats, and something else about the invasive rot of christianity and empire mythmaking into settings. it's an intertextual haunting, if you will! and this scene takes place during the grail quest narrative, but the temptation of Perceval plays out differently.
in both Chretien (and Wolfram's) Perceval narratives, what 'wakes' Perceval up (in more ways than one. desire and self actualization in one go!) is seeing knights, something his mother tried hard to keep him from. so instead of the temptation of lust & etc in the Morte narrative taking the form of a lady, it takes the form of a knight. the temptation to renounce one's faith to serve something else remains.
so Perceval still stabs himself, but instead of continuing on the grail quest in the shadow of Galahad, he becomes the narrative's Fisher King because his earlier state of being as a the grail quest hero is creeping back into his marrow. it was waiting for an opening, and stabbing yourself in the thigh is one hell of a parallel!!!
that wound isn't going to heal buddy, and the state of the setting will now be reflected on your body. sure hope that Arthur hasn't like. corrupted the justice of the land or anything. that sure would suck for your overall health.
all the red in this sequence is because in de Troyes' Perceval, Perceval takes the armor of the Red Knight and becomes known as the Knight in Red.
and now for the citations, which I will try to order in a way that makes sense!
Seeing Knights For The First Time
Perceval, de Troyes (trans. Burton Raffel)
The Temptation of Perceval
Le Morte Darthur, Mallory (modernized by Baines)
The Fisher King, and Perceval The Unfortunate
Perceval, de Troyes (trans. Burton Raffel)
On Perceval and Gender, etc.
Clothes Make The Man: Parzival Dressed and Undressed, Michael D. Amey
On Wounds
Wounded Masculinity: Injury and Gender in Sir Thomas Malory's Le Morte Darthur, Kenneth Hodges
The Red Knight
Perceval, de Troyes (trans. Burton Raffel)
On Arthur and the Corruption of Justice
The Failure of Justice, the Failure of Arthur, L.K. Bedwell
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Everything you write is a banger 🫶 and you are RIGHT, ghost loves sloppy blowjobs but especially the noises like loves hearing his beautiful gf gag on his huge dick while staring up at him with watery eyes (please euthanize me)
you people are being so good to me like what on earth did I do to deserve this? I love you! thank you so, so much 💕🫶🏻 also… say fucking less, my love.
warnings/content: simon ‘ghost’ riley x gn!reader. blowjob, deep-throating, mentions of spit and tears. swallowing. slight degradation if you squint, but ghost only adores you! words: 762. 18+, mdni.
Ghost’s calloused fingers caressed your cheek, and he lifted your head to look at him. On your knees before him you looked even softer and sweeter than you usually did.
So goddamn obedient.
From the sight, his cock—painfully erect—twitched above your face. Mere seconds earlier he had pulled it out of your throat, your lips releasing it with a soft pop: your body desperate for one of those breaths that he knew would burn your lungs from the mere intensity of your inhale.
He did love to push you to your limit. His sweetheart turned into a cock-drunk little thing. Lips glistening, eyes pleading for more. Your spit dripping down your jaw in a pretty little stream, lubing you up so fuckin’ nice and good for his use.
He’d been fucking your mouth—your throat—for so long, that by now, he knew your body felt empty without the weight of his thick length on your tongue.
And who the fuck was he to deny that from you, eh?
“Tongue out, darlin’.”
Not a hint of hesitation flashed in your eyes as you let him see the pretty pink of it. You were so goddamn fuckin’ beautiful like this: the sounds that passed your lips so goddamn pretty as he pushed back in.
“There ya fuckin’ go. Come on, luv, take it all, yeah?”
The thick weight of him in your mouth muffled out most of your gasps and moans, yet never the sound of your gags. So fuckin’ sweet, as he pushed into your throat, his hand on the back of your head helping you to align your throat better. To allow him deeper down.
“Fuckin’ ‘ell, baby, that’s it. Just like that—“
He could feel your throat relaxing around him once more. Your gags easing, your shoulders letting go of their nervous tension: the sudden ease allowing his balls to press against your bottom lip as he bottomed out.
“Fuckin’ right, doll.” He was downright seeing stars by then: your mouth so fuckin’ soft and warm and wet around him that had this been his first time using you like this, he would’ve damn sure passed out from the pure fuckin’ bliss. “My darlin’s takin’ it so fuckin’ good, yeah?”
Ghost’s fingers caressed your cheek, soft and adoring: so at odds with the mess that he was making of you. Sliding out, only to feed every last fuckin’ inch of his cock back down your throat, somehow only deeper than the last time.
“Fuckin’—eyes on me, yeah, luv?”
Your gaze found his in an instant: the beauty of your eyes only highlighted by the glimmer of your tears, accompanied by the softest twinkle of his darlin’ seeking his approval.
Your body was begging for more: only opening up further around the brutal size of his cock, allowing him to pick up his pace.
In and out: your spit running past your lips.
In and fuckin’ out, as you forced your eyes to stay locked with his. How fuckin’ scary he must’ve looked, towering over you with his goddamn mask on.
Fuck, how he would make you feel so loved and adored after. Work so hard on showin’ you how much you meant to him.
Christ al-fuckin’-mighty.
His eyes blinking shut, Ghost leaned his head back as his fingers around your head tightened their grip. Now chasing after his orgasm, he listened to your gags and whimpers: the desperation of your spit dripping past your lips as he used you for his pleasure.
His sweet little thing.
His perfect fuckin' darlin’.
“So goddamn fuckin’ close, baby—“
Ghost forced his gaze to meet yours, and that—fuckin’ hell, that was all that he needed. Seeing the knit of your brows as your twinkling eyes begged for his cum down your throat, so fuckin’ well trained.
So fuckin’ sweet.
With a deep curse and a rumbling call for your name, his cock pumped thick ropes of his seed down your throat.
Chuckling, as your eyes watered.
Praising you, his voice low yet warm, as he felt you swallowing around him before he pulled out with a soft pop.
Smiling from pure pride, as Ghost crouched by you and drew you into the deepest of kisses, full of adoration for you.
For his sweetheart.
His little fuckin’ champ.
masterlist | requests are open 💌
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