Inktober 2023 - 13 Rise By Tyberioaeus

Creatives 💫

1933, I’m screwed I got hitler and the Great Depression how fun…

Something I just want to bring up.

I’m watching The Hobbit: Battle of the Five Armies and when he’s saying goodbye to the dwarves, he says, “Don’t bother knocking.”

And I know that’s meant to be: “You’re welcome to just walk in and take a seat and hang out.”

But really, when we watch their introductions, they all ring the doorbell to show they’re at the door. Except. EXCEPT Thorin. He specifically knocks. He’s the only dwarf who does.

So in this essay, I will say:

Bilbo wants to keep in contact with the dwarves, but. He knows if he hears a knock at the door, he will assume it’s Thorin every time.

But when he’s older, he’s bitter when Gandalf knocks at the door. Most likely from forgetfulness and the Ring, but a piece of him remembers the feeling of why he doesn’t like knocking.

What say you?

@fandomawesomeness OH MAH GOD OH MY LORDY LORD I LOVE IT I LOVE LOVE HEARTS SO VERY COOL

finished some skullies this afternoon

(Crown of Skulls Ann Wanamaker)

flowers, plants and their meanings

Abatina - Fickleness

Acanthus - The fine art, Artifice

Aloe - Affection, also Grief

Amaryllis - Pride

Anemone - Forsaken

Angelica - Inspiration

Apple blossom - Preference

Arborvitae - Unchanging friendship

Aster - Symbol of Love, Daintiness

Bachelor’s button - Single blessedness

Basil - Good wishes

Bay tree - Glory

Begonia - Beware

Belledonna - Silence

Bittersweet - Truth

Black-eyed Susan - Justice

Bluebell - Humility

Borage - Bluntness, Directness

Butterfly weed - Let me go

Calla lily - Beauty

Camellia, pink - Longing For You

Camellia, red - You’re a Flame in My Heart

Camellia, white - You’re Adorable

Candytuft - Indifference

Carnation - Fascination, female love, mother’s love

Red carnation - Alas for my poor heart, my heart aches, deep love

White carnation - Innocence, pure love, sweet love

Pink carnation - I’ll never forget you

Striped - Refusal

Yellow carnation - Disdain, Disappointment, Rejection

Chamomile - Patience in adversity

Chives - Usefulness

Chrysanthemum, red - I love you

Chrysanthemum, yellow - Slighted love

Chrysanthemum, white - Truth

source

Nautilus

ACK MY HEART 💔

Because you and Mr. Fell don't ever talk to each other. We talk all the time. We've been talking for millions of years. Bla-bla-bla-bla-bla-bla-bla-bla-bla. I say something brilliant, and he says something unintentionally funny back. It's great. You never say what you're really thinking.

Hiya, could you pretty pretty please do a 12. and 33. prompt for the ineffable husbands? I keep thinking of Bentley just locking them in and not letting them out until they talk cupboard trope style 😔

Yessssss :D

---

"Now you listen to me Crowley, you are going to tell your car—"

"Our car."

Aziraphale stops. Blinks. Gives up on fighting with the door handle.

"What did you say?" he asks.

"It's our car," Crowley repeats, more of a mumble this time, looking away from Aziraphale. A raindrop runs down the window, and he follows it with his eyes until it pools at the bottom, joining the great conference of former raindrops gathering there. They're in for a night of it, by the looks of the sky. "You said that. You made that true. So you're as much at fault as I am for it locking us in."

"I don't see how this is my fault. You kidnapped—"

"Kidnapped? I rescued you. That's. That's what I do. That's what the almighty made me for, I think," he huffs, still not looking at Aziraphale.

One rescue does not a rift mend. He's owed an apology. And even though everything's gone to heaven, like he predicted, he still hasn't gotten one.

He'd take a lot less. He doesn't need to hear that he was right. He needs to hear that Aziraphale's sticking with him this time.

The Bentley is, at least temporarily, seeing to that. Crowley gives the steering wheel a gentle pat. He genuinely has nothing to do with the doors being locked and apparently immune to miracles or temptation, but he thinks it's trying to help.

If nothing else, the constant itch of not being able to reach out and touch Aziraphale, if he wanted, has vanished for a bit. The ache of missing him has eased back just a fraction. It's a good car. A good, loyal car.

"You're cold," he says, shrugging out of his jacket without even having to look at Aziraphale. It's cold out tonight, in the middle of bloody nowhere, and he gets cold easily. Crowley doesn't want him to be cold.

"You'll be cold," Aziraphale says as Crowley shoves his body-warmed jacket at him.

"Demon," he says. "Don't get cold."

Theoretically, an angel ought not to get cold either. Thing is. Aziraphale's never actually been a very good angel. Not that Crowley would ever tell him that to his face.

Besides, he's his angel. He's allowed to be not very good.

"Thank you," Aziraphale says, taking the jacket and spreading it over himself like a blanket.

Silence, except for the pit-pat of rain against the car, falls. And Aziraphale's breathing. Crowley's missed the way he breathes.

He literally twiddles his thumbs in his lap, trying to think of something to say or do.

"Things are a bit of a mess," Aziraphale says after what might have been several eternities. Crowley's lost count.

He opens his mouth to say something—something comforting, like that it's not all that bad, or that they'll figure it out, they're a team, they always figure it out.

And then Aziraphale continues, "and you tried to warn me."

His voice sounds so small that Crowley, naturally, like he always does, deflates like a sat-on whoopee cushion. Because the thing about Aziraphale is that he always really is trying to do the right thing. Because he still believes there's one true Right Thing to do. Because he's precious and wonderful and optimistic and good. Not a good angel. But a good person.

"Did you ever wonder why I might try to do that?" Crowley asks.

He's not sure he wants an answer. Either one's going to hurt.

Aziraphale falls silent again, which is probably for the best. The way the moonlight's hitting the window now, Crowley can see him reflected in it. Still the same Aziraphale. Heaven hasn't really changed him.

"Do you really think God created you to look out for me?"

Crowley sighs. "I don't know. Plan's, y'know, ineffable."

"Well it would explain why you keep doing it," Aziraphale says. "If it's all in the plan."

"Right," Crowley draws in on himself. Not getting through right now, then. "No other possible explanation for it, really."

"Well. There is one other possible explanation," Aziraphale offers hesitantly.

"Oh?" Crowley asks.

"Well... you might. I suppose. Be fond of me?"

Crowley glances over at him. Sighs. Okay, well. He's come to that conclusion, then. It's only taken a little over six thousand years. Practically no time at all.

He takes his sunglasses off. Stares out of the windscreen. Wonders if he can actually be discorporated by way of stomach knots. Gnaws on his lip.

And then gets very, very brave. "I might be," Crowley says, forcing himself to look Aziraphale in the eye. "I might even be in love with you."

Aziraphale swallows. He looks like he might either be sick or pass out from what Crowley realises at the last second isn't disgust.

It's nerves.

"You might," he says, looking away as he fiddles with Crowley's jacket. "And. And if you were. That would be very convenient for me. Because I... I think I've been in love with you for a very long time."

Crowley means to say something to that, but the nice satisfying thunk of the Bentley unlocking beats him to it.

"Well," Crowley says, running his tongue over his teeth. "That's probably enough to save the world, then. Shall we?"

Aziraphale lights up, bright and beautiful and good as always. "I think we really must."

Neil Gaiman really said, friends to lovers, slow burn, 300,000 words, incomplete

https://www.tumblr.com/accidentalslayer/730435796999553024

A picture of you was taken in the wild and I must say you are ADORABLE

I squint my eyes at thee but also fawn over the THE CROW IT HAS LEAVES AND IT IS CROW AND AWWWWWW CROW CROW CROW 🐦‍⬛ 🐦‍⬛ 🐦‍⬛