#its my favourite thing to analyse!

[hamartia-grander]

Forget about gritting your teeth through someone's media analysis that is egregiously incorrect. Some character/story analyses I see on here are literally just verbatim re-tellings of what happened in the story - the literal things you are supposed to understand, and the connections you're supposed to make to get what is happening - and they're phrased as crazy theories or analyses. And I just want to scream, because no, you're not weird or 'reaching' for coming to that conclusion, that is quite literally the exact thing the story was trying to tell you. You are stating blatant fact as some incredible discovery. Like that person who thought Lucy Gray Baird saying she was 'going to find Katniss' was "an accident" or maybe they were crazy. But I guess everyone's gotta start somewhere, even if you think saying 'did anyone else ever realise that Darth Vader's theme plays when Anakin does something evil???' is some mind-blowing observation. Like, shit, in a world where media literacy is so sorely lacking, quite literally witnessing a story and noticing details of it is considered analysis. Whatever.

[mossydoodles]

I think about the music in omori so much and the way it impacts the story

like you don't rly notice until a second playthrough but the way duet is split up throughout the game and put into major story bits before it all comes together in the climax is so well done bc it gives such an impact to it. like ur hearing these two bits of music associated w these two characters n they merge at the end in this big meaningful montage

it's just the gradual build up to something big and significant and its one of the coolest details within the game

[deus-ex-mona]

g o o d n i g h t .

[stan-joe]

Might fuck around make an actual LC blog like I did with DC bc like... this is disproportionate. I don't look at any other tags anymore. even my DC blog is queueless these days

[sparklestheunicorn]

Thoughts on Deathless 👀

A very prettily written book. Mythology books like that, I am coming to understand, are just not my thing. I really really enjoyed the writing though, and it did have its good moments

[venomous-qwille]

A NOTE REGARDING WIKIS AND LORE DOCS

I've mentioned this in Misutamojis before, but just realised there was nothing about it here so:

Please don't create public lore docs or wikis for GITM.

I totally understand that the story is already sprawling and there are a lot of characters to keep track of, but here is my reasoning behind this request:

GITM is still in its very early stages, there is so little that you concretely know about any of the characters/story that it is likely that any character bios people write will be fundamentally incorrect. Same goes for lore about the worldbuilding and the Sight. It's much easier to spread misinfo than fact, and certain stuff in fic is kept deliberately misleading/vague for fun story purposes.

GITM is not a TV show and I am not a showrunner. I am just another DCA fan on the internet who wants to chat about their OCs, I should be allowed to do that without having my every word indexed. To be clear, as I have said many many many many times in the past: people quoting what I say in discord, analysing my casual art/magmas/drabbles, or screencapping casual convos and jokes to pull them apart to dissect details from it makes me really really uncomfortable. If people started screencapping what I say to stick it on a doc for proof of XYZ thing about a character you guys haven't even met yet... I would probably stop interacting on this server point blank. Please imagine how you would feel if people were screenshotting your desktop background to read your filenames so they could theorycraft. That has happened in this server. More than once. Please stop. Your FOMO is not more important than my boundaries.

The intended reading experience for GITM is... reading GITM. Yes sometimes I share my personal headcanons and tidbits for characters, but I promise that all of this stuff will be discovered in fic. I don't want people to learn about Fool's favourite songs from a google doc. I want you to learn about it from GITM. That is why I am writing GITM: to tell you about these characters.

I would like the opportunity to make a GITM wiki myself at some point in the future.

I understand this might be frustrating, I know the lore is overwhelming as it stands. As always, if you have questions about the characters, you are welcome to ask in one of the discussion channels- I don't mind people @ ing me for that- I love talking about GITM! I am always happy to answer new FAQs at length.

[gilverrwrites]

Hi friend!

Would you be interested in doing a NSFW alphabet for Bruce? Just read your black mask one and damn heheh

Bruce Wayne: NSFW Alphabet

AN: Thank your so much, glad you enjoyed! And yes I would be interested.

As always readers; please take whatever you vibe with and leave what you don’t. It’s all in good fun.

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

It really depends on your existing relationship, and its level of intimacy.

A hook-up is getting the bare minimum to keep his image where he wants it to be. He’ll help you get clean, offer you his bathroom, and if he can, he’ll help you redress and get you out asap. If you decide to stay, he’ll be cordial; he’ll do the pillow talk, let you wear his shirt, make sure you’re fed and watered or whatever but he won’t hold you, and he won’t be there when you wake up. He will however leave a note with some half-truth about having to leave for business, and money/gift cards for a coffee and an Uber.

If you’re more than that (dating/married/so on) then it depends on how well you’ve voiced your needs to him, and how much time he has. Let’s be real Bruce is a hypocrite, he wants you to tell him in explicit detail how you need to be cared for, and if you don’t he’s profiling you until he gets it right, but he ain’t saying anything about himself.

So provided he doesn’t have to run off to save the day, or your escapades haven’t coincided with a routine patrol, Bruce is excellent at aftercare.

B = Body part (their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Him: Bruce is highly critical of himself. He’s not blind, he knows he’s physically fit, widely intelligent, and highly attractive, but there’s also always room for improvement.

But if he had to choose, it would be his brain. He enjoys being able to look at you and knowing in an instant that you want him. Knowing if it’s a right here right now, or a tease me till I’m begging kind of want. Knowing exactly what you need to hear or where you need to be touched. Being able to predict and acclimatise to your desires is such a big thing for him.

As for you: It’s all in your eyes. You may or may not think you’re quite stony-faced, but not to Bruce. He just loves how expressive your eyes are. Yes, when he’s analysing you; looking for those dilated pupils and heavy lids. But also just the delight when he surprises you with sneaky kisses, when the skin around them grows crinkly as he growls something totally scandalous, or how they grow wide and doe-like as he’s stretching you out, or when they twitch and roll when he’s fucking you just right.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

He’s not particularly vocal about it unless he’s really lost in the heat of the moment but; breeding kink. He wants his cum buried as deep inside of you as your body will allow. He wants you so full it’s spilling out and leaking down your thighs, soaking into the bedsheets. And then he’s gonna scoop all those stray drops up and push it all right back in.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

At his age, he doesn’t really get the terms that people use in sex nowadays. That information wasn’t easily obtained in his prime but if he had to identify with something he’d claim soft/dom and/or a brat-tamer, and he’d be right.

But sometimes he likes to switch roles.

He’d never admit it, because he’s a goddamn control freak, he considers (his own) submission as weak and at best he’d be a power bottom but damn it’s so comforting and so hot to be at your mercy or just taken care of sometimes.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Ooh ho ho. Brucie has been around many blocks, and back again.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

I have no explanation for this, I just feel it in my bones but he’s so into doggy. Especially when it’s a hook-up and/or a quickie. By extension, the flatiron because it offers that really deep penetration that has him cumming right against your cervix.

Also the eagle and the leg lock/missionary, specifically with a pillow under your hips and one of his hands pushing on your stomach so that he can keep you in place as he punishes your g spot.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Very rarely goofy, at least not until he’s at a level of familiarity and intimacy that would allow him to let those walls down. He’s not without a sense of humour, it helps if you’re goofy first.

Blow a raspberry on him, and he’s pinning you down and giving you 10 back. Give him a ridiculous nickname and he’ll start testing new ones out on you. “Ohh Brucie boo boo, that feels so good.” “You like it when I bend you over and fuck you like this honey bunny?”

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

It’s thick and dark, but well-trimmed. In his younger years, he waxes off his happy trail and chest hair, but from his mid-late 30s, he starts letting it grow.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

This again is widely dependent on your relationship.

If you’re a hook-up it’s just about fun really. It’s sensual, borderline pornographic but ultimately impersonal.

But if you’re more than that, then sex is very intimate for him, and he’s surprisingly passionate.

He struggles with voicing his emotions so this is how he shows you his appreciation for all that you do. It’s how he apologises for being gone so much, for making you worry. Your body is where he takes out his frustrations but also where finds respite and comfort.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Not something he particularly enjoys, but it is a necessity. He’d rather the real thing, but if that’s not accessible when he needs to let off some steam then so be it.

There have been many, long frustrating nights that have ended with him beating it in front of the batcomputer, unable to focus, and wishing it were you.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

As previously mentioned, breeding kink. (See c for cum)

Bondage: I’m specifically talking about him being the rope bunny here. Nothing extreme, soft ropes holding his wrists to a chair or a bed frame while you grind on him. Yes he could break out at any minute, but he doesn’t, that’s part of the submission, the fun.

This can be flipped, he’ll tie you up if that’s what you want but he prefers to pin you down with nothing but his own strength and body weight.

Roleplay/primal play: His interest in the whole cat and mouse (or bat and cat) has never been subtle really. He likes being the predator, catching the prey and taking his reward. Ties in closely with the brat taming too if you’re a fighter or mouther.

Extending on prev, I think he’d also like interrogation play: again both ways but primarily he likes to be the interrogator. To hold you down, tease, and question about whatever subject matter, probably what you want to have done with you, until you beg him to make good on all your confessions.

L = Location (favourite places to do the do)

He’s boring in this regard; the bed. It’s a comfortable, safe environment where he can let loose.

If you wanted to do it in the cave or the Batmobile he’d comply, but explicitly when off duty with low risk.

But if it was up to him, he’d keep you all locked up in his chambers, squirming in his sheets, eyes rolling back to look at his ceiling. It’s like he’s claiming you, inside and out, full and scented by him and his bedsheets.

Maybe, with the certainty that nobody will be home, he’ll find other places to fuck you; the marble stairs, the hot tub, in front of the fireplace.

But be prepared for the unmitigated guilt and humiliation of traumatising at least one of his kids when they inevitably stop by unannounced.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

He often comes home in the early hours of the morning still full of adrenaline and looking for relief.

Outside of that, he’s highly receptive to teasing and shameless levels of flirting. Clothing too; he likes skimpy, short skirts low cut tops but that’s not always necessary. Just knowing you’ve got nothing on under that flowy outfit, or that he bought you those shoes, or that’s his button-up will do it for him.

And then there’s domesticity. When you bring him food during a long and intense research session. Seeing you be really good with Damian, or helping Cass with her ballet hair, or scheduling dinner for the two of you with Babs and Dick.

Just you clicking so perfectly into his life, predicting and meeting his needs without being asked, makes him want to show you just how much he appreciates it.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

If you want to call him daddy that’s fine, he can be your baby daddy, but you are not his baby.

You can be his baby momma though. He wants to fuck a child into you, not fuck a child, even in a fantasy capacity.

If he wanted a child he’d be adopting you, not sleeping with you.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

50/50

He rarely gives oral when hooking up, because he’s a fucking beast at it. Wet and sloppy, just going to town, which affords him a lot of women wanting to ride again. But in that same vein, he doesn’t expect these people to give him anything. If they’re gasping for it, he’ll oblige but otherwise, he just avoids the whole oral thing.

But when it’s his love, there’s no stopping him from spending an afternoon worshipping those perfect hot, wet folds. Drinking you up until your fluids are dripping down his neck, until his scalp aches from your grip and you’re seeing stars.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

It varies of course but preferentially 70/30 rough/sensual with a lot of crossover.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

As mentioned in J for Jack-off, if he needs to release some tension quickly, and you’re available then he’ll take you. Bend you over the nearest surface, bruising you with his vice grip, no sound but for his grunting and the salacious slap of your skin against his until he’s got everything out of his system and can get back to the job at hand.

But otherwise, he’d rather take his time with you.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

If you’re an adrenaline junkie, then sure he’ll take risks for you.

That said, the risks he takes are calculated, and he is good at maths. He won’t bore you with the statistics, just know that he’ll always find a way to give you what you want.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

No average human can keep up with Bruce Wayne’s stamina, let’s be real. But that’s okay, when you’re all spend and cock drunk and too weak to move, he’ll make sure you don’t miss out on anything. He’s strong and fit enough to do all the work for the both of you.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Holy utility belts Batman!

For all his gadgets and tech, I want to say he has sex toys galore but honestly I really don’t think he does.

He probably has the classics: retrains, cock ring, remote control vibe, plug, dildo and/or strap.

And some more out there things: electro collars/low impact tasers, clamps, a swing.

Heaven knows he can afford anything and everything. But beyond that, I don’t think he reaches for them often, nor does he seek out or experiment with new ones. Not unless something sparks it.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Are you kidding? The moment he sees his opportunity he’s laying the teasing on thick. Sneaking touches when nobody is looking, speaking to you in that voice, calling you while you’re busy to tell in explicit detail what he’s been thinking about doing to you since he saw you in those pants this morning.

And when he finally gets you alone, he’s 100x worse.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make)

Noisy but not loud. He has such a low, deep voice. So when he groans and coos in your ear it’s certainly clamorous to you. All the filthy things he says bellows.

But nobody outside the room you’re in will hear him, not unless he wants to be heard anyway.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

With time and experimentation, Bruce knows what turns you on better than you do. Kinks you’ve never thought of. Subtle touches you barely notice, getting just close enough for you to smell his natural musk. He moves his body in precise ways, and uses really specific words that have your mind racing.

He’ll play you like a fiddle and have you thinking it was your idea.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

He’s packing, and we all know I don’t mean guns.

And that's when it’s soft and in the cold. At full glory, I’d say at least 8 inches, above average girth. Cut, with some very prominent veins.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Fair to moderate, adrenaline heightens the senses and emotions and can be an aphrodisiac which is where a lot of his drive comes from.

But removing that from the equation, he’s trained himself not to think about you or anything that turns him on when he needs to focus. So when he gets to relax or when he sees you again, all that pent-up denial comes running back to him.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

It really depends on his mindset. More often than not, by the time post-climax hits, after an already long night, he’s out like a light the moment you’ve signalled that you don’t need him any more. Sometimes sooner.

But if something’s on his mind, a series of clues that aren’t adding up, a villain that shouldn’t have gotten away, when he’ll be up all night thinking about it. In this scenario, it’s not uncommon to find his side of the bed empty within an hour or two.

[meowpupp]

we need more puppy girl reader pls!!!

say less 🙏

1.4K- owner!price x chubby!puppygirl

TW- puppy play, degradation, cum play, exhibitionism(?), humiliation, sorry if you have a stuffed toy called 'fluffy,' general rough sex, HYBRID FIC, price is jealous over a stuffed bear, 

owner!price who decides you’ve been so good recently, so good in fact that you deserve a treat.

he sees it when he’s in cue for petrol- a cute stuffed bear. soft brown fur, fuzzy ears and big eyes. just like his favourite pup.

when he first gives you the plush it’s innocent. you give it a dumb name, fluffy or something. he doesn’t pay much mind. all he cares about is how happy his pup is, tail wagging and excited yaps.

after days of being sidelined by some stupid ball of fluff, price starts to get jealous. he knows it’s irrational. the bear is just something you entertain yourself with when he can't, but jealousy still stirs in his gut.

it’s like fluffy glares triumphantly at him when you give him attention. price watches in envy as you lazily chew on its ears, nuzzle and lick its fur. all things you used to do to him.  

one day, it gets too much for him. after a painful workday, all price wants is his sweet puppy girl. Instead, he walks into the house to see you cuddled up with the fucking bear. its beady eyes stared back into his as if saying, ‘ha-ha, she likes me more.’

he’s on you in an instant, ignoring your yelp as he pulls you up. price makes you kneel, pushing you back down when you try to get up.

“what, want your bear?” he scoffs at you, your brain still sleepy, trying to play catch up, “c'mon then, since you want it so much, ride it.”

it takes you a moment to process what he’s saying. ride it? Ride Fluffy? but he’s your bear- soft, warm and plush. he’s a toy, but not that kind of toy.

before you can even reply, price grips your jaw with one of his big hands. his skin is rough and calloused, almost scratchy as he manhandles you.

“are you deaf pup? or perhaps you think you only take orders from the fucking bear now?” price shakes your face side to side to catch your attention, “disobedient fucking mutt, don’t even know who your owner is.”

he kicks apart your knees, creating space for him to shove the bear between them. “go on. ride it. hump it like the desperate thing you are.” he takes a step back, arms crossed as he glares down at you.

Price scoffs when you start rolling your hips. His eyes analyse you, how your back arches, how your eyes screw shut, how your lips part as you whine. all while you grind down on your beloved plush.

“yeah… bet it feels good, huh? making your dumb puppy-cunt feel tingly?” the man sits back on one of the couches, lighting a cigar as he watches. “tell me pup, does it feel better than me? do you like riding the bear more than my cock?”

you whine, hips bucking at his growly voice. as you speed up, price laughs. he relaxes on the couch, cigar smoke filling the air, making you dizzy. tells you when to speed up or to slow down. when to grind harder or softer. directs you as if you’re making him a personal porno.

“ah, now look at that.” he stands, setting his cigar down on an ashtray. walking to you, he crouches down, “now pup, look at what you’ve done.”

he pulls the bear plush from between your legs, holding it up. it’s drenched in your slick, fur glistening. “poor Fluffy, you’ve made him a mess.” he sighs, throwing it on the ground, “dirty pup. can’t control yourself can you?” you shake your head, shaky hands reaching for him while you babble. 

his eyes scan over your body as you cling to him. ears low as your thighs tremble. you yap and whine at him- something about how it wasn’t enough, you didn’t cum, to please let you cum. 

Price sighs as if you’re an inconvenience. his eyes linger on your cunt. its dripping with slick, puffy and flushed from all the friction. he meets your gaze. melting at your teary, desperate expression. he doesn’t show it, instead reaching out, repositioning you. your back meets the hardwood, legs forced apart as he slots between them.

price doesn’t even look at you, his eyes trained on your cunt. his fingers poke and prod, parting your lips to watch your clit twitch when exposed. your hips buck as you squirm, causing a hand to grip your thigh and still you.

“such a desperate bitch,” his eyes finally meet yours as he slaps the inside of your thigh, “maybe i should get you a stud, hm? give you to some mutt, let him fuck you? then you’ll know how good i am to you pup.” his fingers start rubbing slow circles on your clit, “simon tells me his mutt is always full of energy. if you get this wet grinding, you’ll be yowling around that pups knot.”

prices eyes dart away from yours, ignoring your babbles as he continues to inspect your cunt. he slides a finger in, eyebrows furrowing. his other hand leaves your thigh, slapping your clit. he lets out shuddering breath as your warm, wet walls clench around hisi finger, his dick twitching.

“getting this fucking wet and loose over that thing?” he glances to the soaked bear, “need to teach you a fucking lesson. who your cunt is supposed to get wet for”

he pulls out, using the hand on your thigh to flip you over. he pulls your ass flush against his hips, a hand in your hair to force your upper body down. the bear lays just in front of you.

he audibly scoffs when you reach out for it, bringing it close for comfort. price pulls your tail, making you instinctively arch your back. he grinds your hips back on him, groaning. “shh, keep fucking still.” he grunts, rutting his clothed dick into you

it takes only seconds for your dripping holes to wet his jeans. even less time for him to unbutton his pants and shove his boxes down. with his cock now free, he thrusts between your thighs.

your slick acts as lube as he fucks the fat flesh of your thighs. “bloody fucking hell.” he growls. his dick just barely pokes out the other side, your thick flesh completely consuming him.

price angels himself, now nudging your clit with every thrust. you whine and squirm pathetically beneath him, back arching as he spanks your ass. he uses the hand in your hair to shove your face into the toy bear, forcing you to inhale the scent of your own slick.

you beg and whine into the plush, your voice now muffled. he continues, not giving in and fucking your cunt, grinning as you start to sob. he presses your face harder against the bear, fucking your thighs the same he would your cunt. his hips slam against your ass, stinging the flesh and making it flush.

within minutes, price cums all over your thighs. thick globs spill down the front of them onto the floor. as he pulls away, he pulls you with him- the hand in your hair forcing you onto your knees.

“look at the mess you’ve made,” he scolds, free hand circling your clit. the bear lays discarded on the floor, stuffing now soaked with drool and slick. there’s a puddle of his cum on the ground, mixing with your fluids. he ignores your babbles as you cry about not cumming, instead he pushing your face to the ground.

“i’ve taught you better than this, love. you know better than to make a mess without cleaning it.” price shoves your cheek into the puddle of his cum, the now cold liquid smearing across your face, “once you’ve cleaned up your mess, ill clean you.”

he lets you up. his hand trailing along your body to your cunt, slipping two fingers in, finally giving you what you’ve been begging for. “might even make you cum, hm?” he slowly thrusts his fingers, “ that floor better be fucking sparkling by the time i come back.” as he pulls out, he slaps your ass agiain. a sadistic smirk spreads over his face as he gets up, taking his cigar with him as he leaves.

tonight you’ll definitely be clinging to him, and not that fucking bear plush. 

[endereies]

GIRLY GF - CHRIS STURNIOLO

Pairing: girly!gf x bf!chris

Contains: headcanons, sfw and nsfw but they will be labeled as such

Author's Notes: This is just how i interpret things, not trying to offend anyone. Thanks to ana for help <3 mwah

╰┈➤ SFW

༊*·˚ Chris knew that you loved to express yourself through fashion and accessories, so it was no surprise when your wardrobe was full of assortments of pink.

"Hey Chris, can you get me my pink lace top?" Your voiced hummed quietly as you sat at your vanity, curling your hair.

"Uhm, baby. which one?" Your body turns to see a puzzled expression on Chris's face as he stands between the doors of your wardrobe.

It's hard not to giggle as he scans through the section dedicated to the criteria you gave him.

"The one I wore when we went to the restaurant for my birthday?" A smug grin immediately falls upon him when he reaches out to grab the exact top you wanted.

༊*·˚ Chris was just as obsessed with your bows as you were, finding any excuse to subtly be near them

"Baby! I saw this cute thing online, can we try it?" Your voice sweetly fell against his ears as you spoke to him. Placing his phone on the kitchen counter, he looked up to you curiously.

"Sure. What is it?" The bright screen sunk between the two, shaking slightly with your excitement.

In front of him was a woman whose face was adorned with the same features as you. Her waist possessed the same denim skirt as you, except hers was lined with a pink ribbon which formed a bow in the center.

He wasn't about to say no to you, especially when your eyes glistened at him.

"Okay, you want me to help you?" You graciously nod in return.

"Alright, turn around for me" You instantly turn your body around so that your back is facing him and he reaches for the baby pink ribbon from your fingertips.

His face settles as his attention was on the material that he was threading through each belt loop. He tugs onto your hips which turns your body to its original direction. Your own hands try to grasp the fabric from him to form a bow but he swats them away with a giggle.

"Allow me.." This caused you to retreat your hands and allow his eager touch to create a messy bow in the center of your skirt.

"Absolutely perfect" Both of you knew he didn't mean the work he did but you look down to analyse it none the less.

"Your turn!"

༊*·˚ This man would spoil the absolute fuck out of you

One day before you go out on a date with Chris, you mumble to yourself how you ran out of your favourite vanilla scent. He notices quickly that he doesn't smell your iconic perfume as he leans in for a kiss and he questions you about it.

Once he finds out which perfume it is, he sneakily orders a new bundle of them for next day delivery. He completely disregards the price just to make his girl happy.

You open a package, the next day that's addressed to you and gasp when you come across two bottles of the perfume and a travel size container for trips. Chris would then enter the room with a proud smile on his face.

"Chris. This is like $175 per bottle.."

"Oh? Is it?" He grinned as he hugged you and was finally met with your smell from the bottles still in your hands.

༊*·˚ Chris would happily watch you do your makeup whenever he had a free moment.

"Hey are you nearly ready to go?" You rolled your eyes at his comment that had been repeated more then a few times.

"Almost!" Just as she finished with her mascara she turned to see Chris leaning against the door way. Giggles came from him as he noticed the blue tube poised between your teeth.

With a swift movement of her feet, her body spun in her chair back to her mirror and found her eyeliner.

Chris knew he was staring but it was hard to look away from the steady motions of your hand as you flicked the black tip across the edge of your eyes, perfectly lining the deep pink eyeshadow.

"Okay...and done!" A pop of your lips made you smile as you appreciated the shade of lipstick paired with the glossed which covered your lips.

You chuckle as you notice Chris's heart eyes gazing down at your face, scanning each step of makeup. His touch came to linger on your skin as his lips met yours.

"Chris! My lipstick.."

"Sorry beautiful, I can't help it, you're so pretty.." This was only followed by another dosage of blush underneath the powder.

༊*·˚ He would never let you run out of things

"Ugh.." Your attention had slipped from Chris's words as you tried your best to grasp the remaining lip gloss from the tube.

It had taken a few moments before he realised the quiet mumbles from your direction. "Baby..?"

"Uh yeah!" A silent apology spread over your face whilst the tube was pushed out the way and onto your lap. Not unnoticed by Chris.

"Anyway, i was saying th-"

He pretended to ignore your silent struggle with your lip gloss, which made you waking up to another tube all the more special.

"You have to stop doing this Chris.." As much as you wanted to argue his spending on you, it wasn't unappreciated.

"Stop treating you? Never. Besides its my favourite.."

༊*·˚ Flowers are a must

Chris was typically a little forgetful when it came to small details, so when he started to religiously buy you flowers, he kept one of his own. He'd keep this little flower on a shelf in his room by his window and checked on it when he woke up. If they ever showed signs of wiltering, a new order had been placed for the next day to arrive at your house.

You heard a knock at the door and you shrugged out of bed to open the door before the knocks repeated themselves.

In the doorway stood Chris with one of his hands behind his back.

"For you, mademoiselle.." He gave you the tulips alongside a sheepish grin on your face.

"Baby..my last ones just died." Fresh scents filled your nose when you brought the tulips to your face.

"Good thing I always come prepared."

༊*·˚ Chris will only give you princess treatment

After a party was held at Tara's place, your feet grew tired of the soles of your heels. The lack of support had worn your feet still and you sat on the edge of a chair trying anything to soothe them.

"Looks like I was right." He smugly look down at you while you consoled your feet.

"Yeah yeah..laugh it up.." You switched over your feet and started to massage your ankles before pressing the heels back to your feet.

"Stay here a second.." Before you can even respond, he has already taken off in the other directions leaving you sat in the chair.

You're left confused as he takes off and blends back in the crowd.

About 5 minutes later, before you grow impatient of waiting, Chris appears in front of you once more. However, this time he is holding a pair of your trainers. "I asked to leave them in Matt's car. I knew those heels would kill your feet."

"Oh my gosh, you do love me." He immediately pushes you back into your chair when you push your weight upwards.

"You better not doubt that." His own body leant to the tiled floor and swapped your shoes for you, gently pushing the shoe onto each foot before tying them in semi-perfect bows.

╰┈➤ NSFW

༊*·˚ The princess treatment will carry through

His lips caressed whatever inch of skin you allowed him to touch with small, peppered kisses. You giggled occasionally at the pure gentleness he gave to you.

"You're so pretty..." Chris's hand traced the sides of your hips as you playfully toyed with his hair.

His kisses grew lower and lower and his hands fell to your stomach. The muscles in your stomach flexed occasionally but with Chris massaging your skin you slowly melted to his touch.

The mattress dipped on the sides on your chest as he shifted, you own hand moving from his scalp. He scattered kisses onto your cheeks before landing on your own lips. His smile didn't go unnoticed by you and caused a sensation of butterflies to erupt in your stomach.

One of his hands continued to slide lower past your stomach and had begun to carefully trace small circles onto your inner thigh.

"How about I show you how beautiful you really are?" You sheepishly nod while holding steady eye contact.

༊*·˚ He loved to try and get you to become more open to him

It was a surprise to no one just how shy you were, in all aspects. Thankfully Chris never took this badly and did things at your own pace, yet that never stopped him from asking.

After a few minutes of kissing and light grinding from both parties, it was clear you both were getting a little worked up.

Chris's lips parted gently as he pulled away from yours, leaving a small distance between you.

"y/n..? Could we..try something today?" Compared to the previous breathes you shared, he noticed the sharpness of this one.

"Uhm..what is it..?" He noted your reluctance but he didn't shut anything down until you did.

"Remember you can always say no but..I wanted to try and eat you out today." You couldn't lie and say you weren't opposed to the idea but it was the raw vulnerability that intimidated your want. But your trust for Chris overshadowed that.

"Okay..sure." You smiled sincerely at him, your chest beating a little faster.

Let's just say that after that night it became you're favourite thing.

༊*·˚ Prioritize your needs over his

You had lost count of the minutes Chris had spent between your thighs, but you weren't complaining. His arm pushed heavily in the side of the mattress to support his weight as he focused his tongue gently. His free hand was used to keep your thighs open as you became more and more stimulated.

"Chris..so good.." Your breath was sparce. Your head was blurry, but everything was too good to pass up.

"Let me make you feel good, pretty girl..." The absence of his tongue wasn't missed for long before he dived back in.

Your jaw was constantly slacked as he refused to back away from you.

"Chris..fuck!" A cry escaped your lips as you finished on his face, a sly grin from him as he looked up towards you.

His eyes seemed doe-liked, contradicting what events just passed.

"You always do so well f'me.." When he leant in to kiss you, you were sure to taste yourself on the skin of his lips, smirking at the thought. He chose to embrace the kiss deeper rather than focus on his numbed arm from laying on it too long.

Taglist!:

@melliflws @axolotllover225 @yuhayeee @st7rnioioss @sturn-bugz @bueckerslover @worldlxvlys @raysmayhem-72 @patscorner @y0urm4m @bernardsbendystraws @junnniiieee07 @luverboychris @sleepysturnss @jnkvivi @rac00ns-are-c00l4 @shorthairchris

[loganlermanstanaccount]

Rigor Mortis (part 3)

College roommate!Miguel O'Hara x reader

(AO3 Mirror) (Wattpad) Series Masterlist, Main Masterlist,

Part 2, Part 4

summary: A bad day turns even worse. Miguel surprises you.

warnings: angst angst angst, mentions of grief, very vague mention of domestic violence and abuse.

recommended reading: the painting Ophelia by John Everett Millais, and the song Ophelia by the lumineers.

a/n: i lowkey suck at communicating my "big" ideas so i really really hope this makes sense!

Thank you to my beta readers, @tianyhi and @urgonnaneedabiggership (they also write Miguel fics, I highly recommend! my favourite is this series), I couldn't have done it without you guys <3

Join my taglists here

wc: 3.8k

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

they were here, she says,

You’ve had your share of bad days.

Oh God , enough to fill an A4 binder with. For example, knocking out that tooth when you were twelve. A butterfly effect of fuck ups that led to a scuffle at school: blood in your mouth, a tooth on the ground, and a looong suspension. You received quite the earful at home, that day. 

And then there was telling your parents you had dropped out of college. Telling them you were moving halfway across the country with your boyfriend. Breaking up with said boyfriend in your favourite diner; thus sullying Pam’s waffles and pancakes with the bitter taste of… oh-fuck-I-don’t-know-how-I’ll-afford-an-apartment-now. Oh, and heartbreak – although that wasn’t as immediate. 

Scratch that, the day of the breakup had been fairly mundane. Pleasant, even. Jamie had an off day, and you only had a few lectures. He didn’t tell you, of course, so meeting him in the apartment was a surprise. You’re home earlier than usual, and you can’t quite bear to wake him up; slumped on the sofa like an old cat. He’s tired, lectures and clerkships running him ragged for the past few years. Only a year out until residency, with bags under his eyes as proof, and you see him less and less.  All things considered, you’re glad to spend the rest of the day with him. 

You’d spent too long after the break up analysing the days leading up to it: for a sign, something in his behaviour that would’ve warned you. And so, you remember it quite vividly: kicking your shoes off, putting your bag down, and sinking into the sofa next to him. You curl into him, looking up at his face: steady, tempered breathing. Something at your chest, solid and heavy. He looks peaceful, happy; and you haven't seen that side of him in quite a while. 

When you shift against him, you knock against his shoulder. Jamie stirs, groggy, and eyes adjusting to the light. The first thing he sees as he wakes is you; romantic, in theory. His expression is etched into your subconscious; stark and stiff like a marble statue, or a tombstone. A flash of disappointment, lip drawn in what seemed like disgust – but only for a moment.  

" Morning , baby." You squeeze his side, and take his hand into yours. That look ; it's gone almost as quickly as it came. 

"Thought…" He frowns, fighting dregs of sleep. "I thought you would be back later."

"Nope." You give him a smile and he returns with one that doesn't quite reach his eyes. He puts a hand on your cheek. 

"Morning," Probably tired, he sighs deeply. You move on with the day. And he breaks up with you, not even 6 hours later.

You had had 4 years of that: good days, bad days, but most of them had been… mundane. Boring. Not quite the heat and intensity of true love, as the movies had gaslighted you into believing in. 

You like the old black and white ones the best. Old fashioned, old-timey folk; declarations of love in tinny transatlantic accents. Suddenly, you’re on the floor of your childhood bedroom; eyes wide at the Sound of Music. Maria and Von Trapp hand in hand: her dress billowing, the flash of white glove on the small of her back. Love, love, love; and your lack of it.

You feel its loss all the same. 

Despite all your efforts – including a dash to the station that could rival an Olympic sprinter – you were late to your first lecture. Sweaty, out of breath, and ambushed with a pen and paper; thrust into your hands on arrival. You look around to see dozens of heads down, scribbling furiously. A surprise test – and you’re late.

Hand aching, you barely finish within the two hours, after bullshitting your way through at least half of the questions. By the looks of the people streaming out of the hall; faces rumpled and grimacing; you’re not the only one. However, it does little to comfort you. You’re sure you're the only one failing so spectacularly, with the semester already half over. 

You'd smacked your leg on the coffee table on the way out and a book had slammed to the floor. An art book, the kind in a model home - and you know damn well Miguel's not an enthusiast. The image sticks for some reason, leg aching as you trudge to your next class. When he gives you that blank look; the memory of men gone past is haunting – dead-eyed, and blank, like eyes cut out of a painting. You wonder if a Van Gogh would feel the same with the brilliant blue of eyes slashed out. 

Nevertheless, you feel like lead. Off

to your next class, and it's going over material passed out the day before; which you didn’t have the time to look over. The professor drones on; voice monotonous and gravelly. Struggling to keep up, you sink into your seat – tapping away at your laptop, whatever you can get down. You pick at your lip, unravelling; unfurling like the tip of a slashed rope.

That's what you’re waiting for, you think: sandbags clattering down from stage left, to bring the rest of this whole farce down.

A sinking feeling, that starts at your chest and makes its way to the tops of your fingers and toes, leaves you numb for the rest of the day. Dread, like a shadow, at your heels in the corridors, across the courtyard, all around campus. Another lecture, and you make it in time for labs, barely, but there’s no time to go over notes; what you managed to scrape together in preparation. And of course , your lab partner’s sick, because that’s just the kind of day you’re having. It’s hectic, doing the work of two people with only the scraps you’ve cobbled together. 

The pressure mounts. Like liquid in that flask you weren’t meant to stopper; and you just might end up like its remnants on the counter. Glass everywhere but where it should be. For a good grade, it helps to be organised: everything in its place, always. Except it isn’t, and you’ve fucked it up, again . It means the results don’t match up in your lab book, and another hour staring at liquid decanting, monitoring temperatures. Staring at stark white walls, with achy legs. 

You step out whilst machines run in your stead, and shed your lab coat. It’s hot and stuffy in there but out in the corridor, you can finally breathe. Forehead on the cool wall, it all stops for a moment. The persistent buzz of your phone, sat in the pocket of your trousers, creeps into the quiet. 

Absent-mindedly, you turn it on with a click. The buzzing stops. You’ve just missed a call from Miguel. It’s odd, he doesn’t usually call, but it’s the little box underneath the notification that makes you pause. A message, from a number you thought you’d blocked – that you should’ve blocked. 

From:Jamie <3

Hey

From:Jamie <3

We should meet. I’ve still got some of your things in the apartment.

Your blood runs cold. Dread, like a shadow; its hand wrapped your neck. You can’t breathe, stuck under the weight of something at your chest. You can’t breathe, the walls close in. We should meet , he says. Like it’s the easiest thing in the world; just friends catching up over a coffee. Like you didn’t watch him carve out a chunk of your heart with a rusty spoon. 

A panic attack, and you’re awkwardly hunched over by the wall, phone in hand. Someone will find you here, lying on the vinyl floor in Block B, spread eagle between lab 6 and 7. Dramatic timing, but if it kills you; you’ll find a way to haunt your ex's ass for the foreseeable future. And Miguel’s too, because if you’re having a bad day; then somewhere out there, he’s having a good one. 

~~~

The apartment is still when Miguel gets back – unusually so. You’re not on the sofa, watching a mindless soap opera, or howling some song in the shower. And he’s had to deal with that most days for the past few weeks, a break in the peace and quiet he’s so carefully cultivated. Rigorous routine, they keep him together. He needed it; the way myth needs a martyr, the way flowers on a small grave needs a body. A tick-tick-tick in his head, that drives him a little less crazy after a morning run, or a good meal when he comes home. A countdown, he thinks, a mechanical clock whirring and puttering with a shake of its gears. He feels them stutter and start, slowing down, but not quite stopping. An ache so deep, he feels its creak with every step. 

Absent-mindedly, he looks around the empty apartment, pulling at his ears.

When he was younger, Gabi would pull at his ears, to get him out of a book. Reading, always reading, whenever he could. At the dinner table, when his mamá would rap his knuckles with a wooden spoon and chuckle lightly at his little grimace. No en la mesa, Miguelito. Not at the table, Miggy. Léeme más tarde – read it to me later.

It was when he got his braces, and picked up a slight lisp. He stopped talking for a while, not completely; but a lot less, not as interactive in lessons. And it was always little Miguel, at the front of the class with his hand up to answer. It didn’t help that Gabi poked fun at him, often sneaking up to him to hiss in his ear: palms pressed together with a slithering motion, and then a strike to his ribs like una víbora - a viper , struggling to say his S’s. They’d fight because of it after, tousling on the floor of their bedroom in a mass of limbs, like pythons squeezing prey. Or at least, until their mamá rushed to separate them. 

She didn’t like it when her boys fought; so they’d been forced to make up every time. He still has the scars to prove it.

Car magazines at first, and then the newspaper, whatever book he had picked up at the library that week. Even with his lisp, his mother made sure he read to her, and sometimes to Gabi as well, at least once a week. Looking back, she was never perfect; the things he knows now about his dear mamá, and her visage tumbles like Ozymandias in the sand. Her mother, married to a piece-of-shit mechanic; and his mother, elbow deep in the oil spill. That’s the funny thing about love, he thinks. Love, and the lack of it; dripping through the cracks, passed on through generations. Maybe mamá felt the gears shuddering in her chest. He hopes Gabi was saved from that burden. 

A small voice at the back of his mind tells him: it’s not enough. Doesn’t explain the little boy pulling at his ears, in Miguel’s jacket and dress shoes.

A glimpse in the reflection of a shiny pan on the side table, and he looks like shit. Eyebags, a permanent scowl, shadowy lines that prick at the corners of his eyes. It’s ironic, crows feet without the penchant for laughing. He thinks you’d find it funny. The pink and purple of a setting sun spills in through windows and makes him sigh. It’s late, and you’re still not home. 

God, you're strange; sticking your nose where you shouldn't. Disrupting the calm of his apartment. A sanctuary, and you've got your grubby paws all over it. Your shit is all over the place; pun-based mugs in the cabinet, chewed pen lids with no pens in sight, a blanket on the couch. The same blanket, a ratty old thing, that he usually meets you wrapped in when he gets back. A creature of habit, he folds it up; trying to ignore the whispers of your perfume, sweet and heady on the fabric.

He gets dressed, starting with dinner; knife on a chopping board cutting onions and peppers into cubes. It's therapeutic, the steady thud ringing out into the kitchen. Quiet, for a fleeting moment. But the worry, it sticks ; despite his better judgement. Before he changes his mind, he clicks open his phone to call you. It rings out – you don’t pick up.

The urge to call again is surprisingly troublesome, so he shoves it down with a piece of tortilla. It sits in his chest, regardless.

~~~

You trudge into the apartment. Squelch seems more accurate, sopping wet as you step out of waterlogged trainers. It was an inopportune time to wear jeans and forget a jacket – and you fight the urge to wring out onto the wooden planks. Miguel would kill you; the place was already falling apart, and water-warped floorboards might just be the last straw.

It’s thundering outside; a torrential downpour you’d just been dragged through. Dragged, half-running through streets-turned-streams, with nothing but a tank top and hoodie on your back. And you must look a sight , eyes bleary and slick with rainwater. The bag heavy on your back goes first, slipped off your shoulder and on the floor next to the coffee table with a thunk . You’re unzipping the flimsy canvas, inspecting its contents. A soaked through textbook, clumps of loose paper. You’re ready to cry when you see what's happened to the pages of your lab book; bleeding ink that’s only half-legible. But it’s the state of your laptop that makes your chest really heave and knees weak.

It’s slick with rainwater, and the sandwich you’d forgotten to eat, smeared across its fans. Caked on, more accurately; an odd sludge that you try your best to wipe away. You put it on the coffee table and your hand shakes as you press the power button. A click, a stuttering whir, and the screen flickers on. Then, just as strained, it putters off. Dead. Completely dead. 

You sink onto the floor, head in your hands between the coffee table and the couch. Everything was on there: photos from senior prom, end of semester projects – your whole life. You have to dig your teeth into your bottom lip to bite back a scream.

Miguel peers from the kitchen, watching your silent breakdown. Quiet, and so still, with only the slight shake of shoulders to tell him that something is wrong. He glances at your half-opened laptop. He’d eaten already, clearing up what remains of his dinner and this is the sight he’s greeted with: the lady of the lake, lain between the reeds. 

He shakes the image out of his head, and walks over. You feel a tentative prod, and look up.

“...I called you,” He says lightly, scratching at his neck.

You blink up at him. He thinks you look like a painting, watery and forlorn, framed in the yellow light of the soft bulbs.

“I was busy,” It’s not said with malice, nor as lilting as your usual sarcasm. Plain, simple. Busy. Your head slumps back into the little hollow you’ve made with your arms.

And so he sits, shoulders brushing against yours. He’s frustratingly patient, presence warm and comfortable despite… well, despite everything. 

You can’t help it. Popping back up, you state, “You never call, though.”

“You’re never this late home.” Home. The word is heavy, knocks you onto your heels.

“So?” You shrug. “Could’ve been out with friends, or at a club–”

Laughter slips out like apples loose in a bag, spills onto the floor. Crisp, sweet; but you glare at him all the same. 

“You don’t have friends.” He says it with the remnants of a smile, teasing. A challenge, and you’re more than happy to accept. 

“ Not true , fuckface.” It is. You'd lost track of most of your friends after moving – and all the ones you made here? Your friends were Jamie's friends, and they chose him  in the divorce. " You don't have any friends."

"I do ."

"You don't." It's your turn to scoff. "It's a Friday night and you're in here, washing up and planning to go to bed at a reasonable time."

"I'm an adult, doesn't mean I don't have–" 

"The ones you fuck don't count." And then you pinch the bridge of your nose. "God forbid, if that's how you treat your friends…" 

He laughs, properly, and you feel it in your chest too: the kind of laughter that bubbles like little breaths rising to the top of a lake. 

“M’serious.” He says it in between gasping breaths and you try to steady your own giggles. "And, I have a friend who could take a look at your laptop, if you wanted."

His eyes flick over to the crime scene besides you. It's sweet, but.. "It's gone, Miguel, I know. You don't need to… try and make me feel better."

" Chula ," He flicks the deep lines forming at your brow. You look up and he says, softly, "I'm not trying to make you feel better. I'm trying to get you off of the floor so I can mop up that puddle."

With the way he says it, with that little smile, you don't believe him. 

Now he's got your attention, he says, "You could've skipped that 9:00am. Or just been late. Don't think it would've mattered."

"Maybe." You shake your head. "M'not the best student. I'm blindingly… average. Just wanted it to be different, this year." 

Your voice crackles, leaves something in the air he can't quite name. Quiet, again, except this time it's thicker. Smoke, ash, rolling clouds of melancholy in the little front room. For once, he doesn't know what to say. 

You've got your head back on the sofa now, with a deep sigh. You look at the ceiling, and he's looking at you. It's the first time he's able to really study your features, trace the outline of your lips and sloping cheekbone. Your lashes, damp with little droplets of water, look crystalline in the light. Sparkling. Like the paintings depicted in the hefty book sat on his coffee table. He's read that one, twice , cover-to-cover in a fit of… insanity, maybe. He's not a man of frills and fancy, didn't really get it; nor why Gabi had given him the book in the first place. It felt like a filler piece, something to put on the little table and forget about, or to prop up a wooden leg. But that's not how his brother works, frustratingly convoluted. It's stupid, Miguel thought. Everything had to mean something , or what was it good for? 

But looking at you, here, like this ; it clicks. Reaching over for the book, he leans it against the flat of his thigh. And you see it in the corner of your eye, watching as he flicks through the pages. Filled with art, it's the kind of thing on a table in a model apartment: a space-filler in a false home. When you first came here, the starkness and severity of the space had stuck. To you, the book had only reinforced it. Who was Miguel? A serial killer for all you know, stocking fluff pieces and coffee table books; only pretending to be human.

Finally, he stops, finger over a specific place. A double page spread, of surprisingly good quality. 

He clicks his tongue. " This one. "

You follow his finger. A woman in a lake doesn't do it justice. It's beautiful, but it doesn't mean anything to you.

" Ophelia, John Everett Mills, 1852 ." He reads out the little label at the bottom of the image. "Like from Hamlet."

You shrug. "I don't…?"

"Well, she's in love with Hamlet, and then her father's murdered, Hamlet fucks off; and she's left heartbroken, goes mad because of it , arguably–" 

"I've taken tenth grade English, Miguel. I don't get what that has to do with anything."

"She drowns herself. Also arguably, to be fair," He chews his lip, thinking. "Slipped off the bark of a willow tree, into a brook. Incapable of her own distress, or something. Drowns. Do you know how horrible drowning feels? How violent? And yet–" 

He taps the page, and you come a little closer. Beautiful. She's beautiful. 

"I'll admit it, I'm not a big fan of Shakespeare. Gabi – my brother – is way better at this stuff than me. Drama and intrigue and–" He gestures vaguely. "– love . That's why he likes it, apparently. And I… I know someone who really liked this page; I think it was the colours, or the flowers…? She said it looked like a photo, and that the woman looked so pretty in the water."

He pauses, dead-eyed. He's rambling, only taking a breath to compose himself." I… didn't have the heart to tell her that Ophelia, in this painting, is dead. Dead as a fucking doornail. Dragged through still water, sentenced to death by her passivity and grief – but you wouldn't know it."

Unconsciously, you trace the outline of her hair with your finger; swirling locs that blend into muddy reflections. She's on her back and fully dressed; a beaded skirt billowing out into the water. On her back and looking up, like you were on the sofa just a moment ago. Oh. Oh . You blink at the image. Flowers, peppered around to frame Ophelia in her watery grave. It doesn't look like a grave from where you're sitting, but there's a body in the water all the same. 

There's a lump in your throat. Grief; the loss of 4 years of your life in a middling relationship, the aftermath of dead eyes and brilliant blue slashed from a canvas frame. Grief, rising to the surface like a bloated carcass. You thought you'd bound its ankles to cinder blocks and tossed it in a river long ago. 

"I'm probably overstepping. For that, I'm sorry, and I mean it. But I think there's something else. I..I hear you rattling around at night; and sometimes, when I look at you..." 

Your eyes are glassy, tears threatening to spill over. You’re hearing him but you don’t quite understand. Does he know? God, does he know?

"...it reminds me of this painting. You remind me of Ophelia .”

He sighs, turning to you.

“I know how it feels. And I think this shit is going to kill you, if you're not careful."

~~~

He doesn't talk about it. He runs off to start the shower, bundles you into towels and leaves you reeling. God, it's like you've been shot – barely a 10 minute conversation and he's cracked open your ribs to root around in what's left of you. He sees you; wades through the undergrowth and cuts through the bulllshit - he sees you. 

You couldn't even answer. That's what stings the most. 

You’ve settled on the sofa, cross-legged and still fresh from the shower. There’s a documentary on the TV; mindless background to Miguel clattering in the kitchen. He’s putting together some leftovers, even though you insisted that you weren’t hungry, that you’ve already eaten. Well , he had pointed to the gunk caked onto your laptop, wasn’t that the problem in the first place?

He’s good at it; wraps you up in the blanket you always keep draped on the cushions, and hands you a full plate. Wordlessly, because you suppose he’s said everything he needed to. Dutifully, he takes care of you, without a word; the strain of cutting you open on the coffee table clearly too much to bear.

You thank him, and he settles on the armchair opposite, mug of coffee in hand. The gloom of the TV bathes him in light, cuts his cheekbones and jaw just so. One of your mugs in his lap, and he's in a thick knitted sweater. His hair kisses the tops of his lashes, but he brushes it away. You swallow thickly, and when he turns, you look away.

“...You okay?” He asks, confused.

You nod, unable to speak. He gives you a small smile, the corners of his eyes crinkled up like crepe paper. You return it with one of your own. 

He sees you. Finally, you see him too.

_

_

_

Rigor Mortis Taglist: @bunnyrose01 @lavenderslemonade @tsukkie-daisuke @malxoxo @thekidscallmebosss @vvitcxen @theyoutubedork @doublevirgogirl @jnghs @taleiak @noblesavagex @cumikering @rebeccawinters @evanpetersrightbigtoe @saucypeanuttt @pix-stuff @maliarenee @truthuntolddd @honeycovered-bandaids @aiyaaayei @aeeliy @amplsblog @sikrettt @opuffmango @spear-bitch @maddielikesmoths @lemonpepsi @sweet-strawberryhoney @lacedinweb22 @bubbsby @jing5uan @ellaandorersoct @hibarbiesblog @valentxi @kittym1ka @delulu-dia @melovetitties @yohoe-hoe @acollectionofcells1 @froggi-mushroom @thund3rthighs

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[three-realms-archive]

Just Wanting To Be Included

"YES!" Mammon celebrates, patting Beelzebub on the back with one hand, using the other to stop his phone recording and post the video. "The perfect take for my latest FabSnap vid! Who knew you'd be so good at air guitar?"

"I like rock music," Beel shrugged, looking at his wrist. He noticed he isn't wearing a watch, so he glanced up at the clock on Mammon's bedroom wall instead. "When do I get the snack you promised? It's almost time for my linner."

Mammon raised an eyebrow. "The hell’s a ‘linner’?"

Beel pauses. Humming thoughtfully, he stayed silent, tilting his head to the side. A minute passes. Mammon makes a weird face, impatient.

"... Should I be saying dunch? But that’s only one letter for ‘dinner’ and four for ‘lunch’…"

"Bro - oh my Diavolo." The older brother rolls his eyes, exasperated. "Whatever, whatever. Your snack's in the kitchen - c'mon. I bought you some fries and they'll get soggy if we don't hurry." He then adds, mumbling, “I think it’s meant’a be ‘dinch, anyway…”

Eyes lighting up, Beel uses an arm to half-grab Mammon in a crushing, grateful side hug; and half-push him eagerly out the room, dragging the both of them down the hall and closing the door behind him.

... An ominous creak. A shadowy figure slides into the room and fixes its gaze on Mammon's phone. It's still fixed to a tripod, forgotten in Beel's hurry to get its owner to the kitchen, and is still playing the newly-posted video the two brothers had just filmed. They seem to be dancing to a recently-popular song, which has an accompanying dance trend on FabSnap.

The mysterious figure watches, eyes studying - analysing - every dance move. The dance seems easy enough, it thinks.

A brief pause. The figure approaches the tripod, reaches into its pocket and replaces Mammon’s phone with its own.

The figure opens the FabSnap app and hits record.

_

You hum to the song playing on your phone, tapping twice on Mammon's new video. He's bouncing on his bed and playing air-drums, whilst Beel head-bangs stoically and strums his air-guitar. Replaying it for the seventeenth time doesn’t make it any less funnier; and you lean back in your seat as you giggle, carefree. You have a perfect-tasting smoothie in your hand, and tomorrow isn't a school night. You have no assignments, no homework, and no stress as you watch two of your favourite people goof of on social media. All is good and right with the world.

Except... You hear thumping. Coming from Mammon's room. Even though - just a few seconds ago - Mammon and Beel had come through the common room to get to the kitchen. Mammon had even stolen your phone to pull up his newest video for you, emphasising that he and Beel were the only ones in the room (and heavily hinting that you should have joined them).

So what was that thumping?

Reluctantly setting down your smoothie on the nearest table, you tiptoe out of the room and crouch next to Mammon's door, leaning your ear against it.

... There is definitely someone there.

You decide to gather more intel first, pulling out your phone to open up the House of Lamentation group chat, just in case. Luckily, the door is just a crack open.

You place an eye over the crack in the door.

... And you close the Chat app, raise your hand and take a video instead.

You head back to the common room, take a seat, and sip at your incredibly-delicious smoothie; completely satisfied. All is good and right with the world.

Well - except one thing.

You had no idea who you should send this video of Lucifer FabSnap-dancing to first.

(inspired by the first episode of the anime! i’d like to think lucifer sees his brothers do trendy things and want to be included, but he’ll do it in private. it’s half he wants to be included, and half he wants to be better at it than his brothers first time hehe)

[gor3-hound]

Hi pookie bear… its ur favorite anon again..

Hear me out, Step brother! Leon whos dear innocent little step sister gets stuck somewhere (interesting position..) and leon cant help himself when he sees her predicament so he takes advantage of the situation and the fact that she asked him to help her get unstuck. (maybe a threat of leaving her stuck at some point, its up 2 u bbg)

ily snoogle 😍🫶

hello to... my favourite anon omg. if you say so it must be true :3

i'm hearing you out!! idk why but silly porn tropes make me giggle sometimes... listen don't analyse the logistics of acc being able to get stuck like this. i see how much space there is under the dumb beds girlies get stuck under in porn we all know it doesn't make sense

ILY EVEN MORE POOKIE... here's a drabble for you :3

nsfw below the cut - tw: stepcest, brief dub-con, leon is a little mean :((

"What the-" Leon's footsteps falter as he walks past you, stopping to take in the predicament you've gotten yourself into. He snorts out a laugh as he sees you, and you can practically sense that dumb smirk plastered on his face despite not being able to see him.

Having an ottoman bed was usually great. Your room was the smallest(Leon had promised to make your life a living hell if you took the bigger one) so having the extra space was nice. You just had to lift the slats and mattress up and boom! Free storage unit.

Of course, you're not that lucky, so the stupid thing failed on you and snapped shut with you still leaning over to look for stuff, trapping you inside. Your whole upper body was incased, and the angle was so awkward you couldn't get any leverage to push the damn thing open again.

"Leon!" You breathe out, feeling relief that someone had found you. You thought you'd be stuck under here forever. "Jesus, thank fuck. Can you help me get out of here?"

"You know, as much as I'd love to help you," He starts, steeping closer until he's right behind you. His hands settle on your hips, giving them a little squeeze. Your breath hitches at the contact, and you try to squirm away from his touch.

"I think you could stand to stay there a little longer." He finishes, his fingers brushing the waistband of your shorts.

"Leon... dude." You hiss, trying to squirm away from his touch. His hands have your cheeks burning up, your brows furrowed in confusion. "This isn't funny! What the hell are you doing?"

"What am I doing?" He repeats, letting out another laugh as he starts to slowly tug your shorts down. You can feel his gaze locked onto you as he slips them down so they pool at your knees. "I'm taking advantage of the situation. It'd be a shame to let this... opportunity go to waste."

"Oppur... wait. Leon, you can't be serious! Come on, this is messed up! Just help me out!"

"No can do, sis." He hums, brushing his thumb against your panties. Damp. Looks like you were enjoying this more than you let on. "Mom and dad have gone out, so... either you stay here for the next few hours, hell... maybe even the rest of the day, or you let me have my fun, and I'll getcha out."

You pause at his words, biting your lip. You didn't really have much of a choice. Your abdomen was already aching from being pressed so harshly against the bedframe by the part of the bed that lifts. You didn't want to be here for hours.

"I-I guess... just... I don't know, Leon, I haven't..." You mumble, your voice a lot less snappy than before.

"Aww, princess... where'd your attitude go?" He coos teasingly, rubbing circles onto your clit through your panties. You jolt at the sensation, moaning softly. "My baby sis is a virgin? That's cute."

He tugs at your panties, letting them drop down with your shorts. You hear him take a sharp intake of breath in as he looks at you, his fingers spreading your puffy lips.

"Don't worry. I'm not a complete asshole. Just a small one." He says cheekily, and then you hear the dostinct sound of a belt buckle and the zipper of his jeans. A moment passes when you can hear the rustling of fabric, and then his hands are on you again.

"I won't fuck you. Yet. But I'll make us both feel good, sweetheart." He says, giving you a few light smacks to your ass.

"Okay..." You breathe out, your heart rabbiting in your chest. You swallow hard, brows furrowing as you hear him shift.

"That's a good girl." He grunts, slotting his cock between your folds. That's where he keeps it, just rutting his cock against you. You coat him in your arousal, the slick sounds of your pussy echoing in the room as you drip all over his cock. His tip brushes your clit every time his hips jerk forward, making you whine.

"You do owe me now, sweetheart." He groans, forcing your legs together so the fat of your thighs keeps his cock secure as he humps your cunt. "I better be the one to break you in. Want my cute step-sister's pussy all to myself."

"Y-yeah... all yours..." You breathe out, trying to rock your hips back to get more friction against your sensitive nub. You whimper as the change in angle has his length dragging along your folds deliciously.

"Think I watched a video like this once." He says with a huff of laughter, gripping your hips right as he chases his orgasm using your body. "Must've drained all the step-sibling content on PornHub... couldn't help myself seein' you stuck like this."

His thrusts start to grow a little sloppy, his breathing becoming more shallow. He's close already, and you're not far behind. He rolls his hips, angling himself to make sure he's giving you the friction you need.

Your body tenses as you cum with a loud moan of his name, twitching from the aftershocks. He groans and pulls away when you start whimpering from oversensitivity. You hear a few wet schlick sounds as he jerks himself off, flinching slightly when you feel his cum costing your ass and pussy.

He pulls up your shorts and panties without cleaning you off, making you cringe as they press the cum into your skin, a grimace crossing your face. You hear the sounds of him redressing before he's lifting the top of the bed, looking down at you with a cocky smirk.

"C'mon, princess. Up you get." He says, grabbing your wrist to pull you up. "And don't forget... I'll be back for more."

[vidavalor]

Hello! 👋 Just dropping in for a visit to my favourite online pub: your blog *chews on all your posts and slurps down your analyses*

I love the way you spell out the Ineffable Husband SpeakTM for us, and I was wondering what you think about Crowley’s “You don’t dance.” in 2.06, when Aziraphale asked to dance with him?

Crowley is mumbling a bit here & I wasn’t sure at first if he said “you” or “we” or something else, so I checked the subtitles as well. That aside, we know by this point that Aziraphale has done at least 3 I-Was-Wrong dances, so I wonder if Crowley is referring to something else?

Hi, @procrastiel! How's it going, love? Wouldn't say I spell anything out-- I just give my opinion-- but I appreciate the compliment! 💕Crowley's line is definitely "you don't dance" and ohh, yeah, I can deep dive on my opinion on what it means to dance. Deepest of dives-- this went everywhere. 😂 Mother of all metas for the mother of all Good Omens questions... We're having sandwiches-the-food tonight in honor of where your question crosses into God's tongue-in-cheek monologue on how many angels can get down on the heads of those Mrs. Sandwich seamstressing tools-- pins.

This is going to take a route through some heavy analysis of the argument over Gabriel and The Apology Dance and a few other things to get the root of your question, so, grab a beverage of choice before diving in. TW: Brief mentions of Satan's attacks on Crowley.

*rubs hands together and cues up the disco music* 😂

What does it mean to dance?

When we talk about dancing, there are roughly four different meanings of the word to look at with relation to Good Omens' story.

One meaning is the first one that comes to mind for most people, which is a physical dance-- as in, moving your body, usually to music.

The music, if it exists, can be in your head, a song you're singing aloud, or one that is playing in the room-- it doesn't matter. If you're moving, any and all of it would qualify as dancing. By this measure? Crowley canonically had seen Aziraphale dance before Aziraphale asked him to dance during The Meeting Ball because, well...

...here is Aziraphale dancing in front of Crowley in the bookshop in 1941:

Crowley's shock in 2.06 cannot be coming from never having seen Aziraphale dance at all, right? They've known each other for thousands of years and if Aziraphale was doing this fucking adorable little shuffle of excitement in the bookshop in 1941 then it's not really a stretch to assume that these two-- who canonically listen to records together in the evenings sometimes-- have danced together before.

In 1941, we see that Aziraphale liking to dance is not something he's actually hiding from Crowley because he's doing this cute little dance in front of him without a second thought. This is also interesting because one theory was that Crowley has no idea about Aziraphale liking to dance at all because he didn't appear to know about Aziraphale learning the gavotte. S2 turns that on its head a bit by saying that Crowley might not yet know about the gavotte-- we don't really know yet either way-- but he definitely does know that Aziraphale likes to dance and he was unsurprised to see him doing so in 1941.

The key thing here is that when they have danced together or in front of one another before? It was likely only in the privacy of the bookshop or another place like it. It was just the two of them.

When Crowley says "you don't dance" to Aziraphale, he's not meaning that Aziraphale doesn't dance at all. He's meaning something more expansive, as we'll look at with the other meanings of dancing below.

The second meaning is a verbal dance. These are interactions between more than one person in which the back-and-forth of what is being spoken has the give-and-take quality of a dance.

There can be different types of verbal dancing. Crowley and Aziraphale's word-nerdy flirting is a kind of verbal dance. It's a birdsong mating dance, especially since they are so hot for words. Being able to verbally entice and keep up with a partner makes flirting-- especially their kind of it-- a kind of dance and it's one they've been doing for thousands of years and both enjoy.

Another type of verbal dance between long-time partners is one that could be dubbed, as Crowley and Aziraphale call it, an "I Was Wrong" dance. This is an apology between partners who had an argument but want to get beyond it. No matter what you think the nature of Crowley & Aziraphale's relationship is, they've known each other for thousands of years and are de facto partnership married at this point so they have An Apology Routine TM. People who have been together a long time and who have the occasional spat often tend to fall into a rhythm with their apologies, knowing what needs to be said to just get to the other side of it, which they'd like to do as soon as possible because they miss each other and don't like being in conflict with one another.

When Aziraphale says he wants "a proper apology... with the little dance" as Crowley tries to get away with not doing the verbal dance that he knows he's going to end up doing lol, what Aziraphale means is that he wants the back-and-forth verbal dance they do as an apology. He doesn't want to just ignore what happened because he was really pissed and he's telling Crowley that he'd appreciate an actual apology and a bit of groveling before he's willing to let it go and move on.

The "little dance" in question isn't a physical dance-- it's basically the same apology dance we saw Crowley do back in S1 here:

When Crowley claimed he doesn't "do the dance" in S2, they both knew that wasn't true and so did we, really, because *points to the above gif* there's Crowley doing the dance in the middle of the street in S1. Claiming he doesn't "do the dance" is sometimes part of the dance if Crowley is the one apologizing as, unless Hell is actively, in that moment, trying to kill him-- like they were in S1-- he gets squirmy about apologies, even if he always eventually says them.

The reason why Crowley does the physical dance that he does during The Apology Dance is actually off of Aziraphale being just as dryly self-deprecating about the two of them and their relationship as Crowley winds up showing he is with The Apology Dance. It's rooted in Aziraphale's use of the word proper.

That word falls into the category in their speak of words like wily, thwart, smitten, demon, fiend, etc.. that have wildly contrasting meanings where they can be said on one level to mean one thing that is acceptable to an audience of angels, demons, or humans, but that also, on another level and within Crowley and Aziraphale's speak, has a funnier, more sexualized meaning.

Proper has an understood meaning of being something that is correct, acceptable, and appropriate. It means decent and respectable. It has a connotation that suggests that something deemed proper falls within the generally-accepted social rules of a society.

Within that word, though? Is the word prop.

I probably do not need to further define that but one sense of the word prop is that it is a theatrical term to describe an object being used in a play. From this, it also come to mean an object being used in sexual play. The humor for Crowley and Aziraphale comes from the fact that proper is a word related to what is considered acceptable in society while bedroom activities involving props have historically been considered "deviant" by those same societies.

The word exists in the sexual meaning in several other scenes in Good Omens. Such as:

Aziraphale in 1941 flirting with Crowley in the magic shop by using the silver rings magic trick as an innuendo-laden stand-in for handcuffs and going on about having a "gift for prop"... and in 2019, when Crowley joked that Aziraphale did not need to do his literal magic act because: "You can do proper magic. You can make things disappear."

Words containing the word thin relate to Crowley and disappear/appear are words with a root meaning of to come into view-- heavy emphasis on the to come part. Crowley sounds like he's talking about Aziraphale's supernatural magic abilities (and he likely also is lol) but he's wording it in such a way as to be really referring to Aziraphale's other skills as a true magician in bed.

Aziraphale, hilariously, teasing Crowley back by joking that making him come is not as fun as pulling a coin out of his ear 😂:

This is also the joke around Aziraphale doing things like popping into view from around corners or doorways or, in my favorite, from the other side of The Bentley in S2, as well as things like Crowley apparating into a space to see Aziraphale. They're magical so they can apparate-- literally appear and disappear from view-- and would do so to meet up with one another at times, as we've seen. It's a visual joke on appear/disappear and the verb to come.

There is also the hilarious "only I can properly thwart the wiles of the demon Crowley" from the deleted 1800 bookshop opening scene-- a sentence made up basically entirely of words with double meaning that make them sound like Aziraphale is saying to Gabriel and Sandalphon that he's the only one who can correctly stop Crowley's evil demonicness when he's also, with the same words, trying to alert Crowley, who has just arrived in the doorway, to the fact that the angels are here to recall him by saying a sentence that is like: but you can't take me back to Heaven! I'm the only one who has the first clue how to shag Crowley right.

So, in S2, Aziraphale is being a bit arch when he says he wants "a proper apology." They both know that he means it in terms of saying he wants a genuine, decent apology and nothing more than that. His dryness in choice and delivery of the word proper is Aziraphale being tongue-in-cheek with Crowley and aligning their history of well-balanced, healthy, sexual power dynamics with the fact that their argument was, at the core, a lot about aspects of trust and control that they *both* struggle with outside of their proper bedroom, where things are very different.

The argument was really a perfect storm of triggering both of their traumas and they both, technically, were right and wrong about things. Aziraphale's apology dance is, essentially, the whole 'our car/our bookshop' that becomes the rest of the season. The reason why it's Crowley doing The Apology Dance, though, is actually less about the subject matter of their argument and more about which one of them fucked up when it came to the stuff the argument shows us that they're working on together.

The argument over Gabriel actually shows us the extent to which they're a couple, in that they've clearly talked about working on things they do which trigger each other's trauma and are trying to be better at it. They're proactively working at trying to get better at arguing, which is the most married thing in creation. This is also indicative of both of them trying to manage different traumas and PTSD that they have and doing the best they can do while still not yet able to fully escape the root causes of those difficulties. That is something which any therapist will tell you is nearly impossible to do but they are both trying anyway and doing a pretty good job of it actually, all things considered. Where can we see this in the argument over Gabriel?

It is in that they each both do something when upset that is a trigger for the other's trauma and has, in the past, caused their discussions to implode, and how they both handle that with one another during this argument. When Aziraphale gets upset and anxious, his anger can take the form of saying words he doesn't mean-- words that are often completely and utterly absurd from an objective standpoint. Think of the bandstand argument, for instance, and Aziraphale's ludicrous attempt to say that he and Crowley aren't friends and-- the best one lol-- that he doesn't even like Crowley.

The audience and Crowley alike know this is bullshit and so does Aziraphale but it's the product of Heaven being a place of emotional repression and Aziraphale's perfectionism, which makes him feel like he's not supposed to ever actually feel the depression and anxiety and anger that he does. When upset, this bubbles up in him and explodes and the results are words he doesn't mean that make him feel terrible, further contribute to his pattern of negative self-thoughts, and hurt Crowley.

In S2, we might also notice, Aziraphale phrases his go-to of telling Crowley it's over as a defense mechanism as saying that Crowley is "at liberty to go", which has an implication that a certain amount of staying was occurring. While Crowley isn't living in the shop to the extent that he's there in the mornings because they're still trying not to get caught, this plus things like "we both get plenty of use out of it [the bookshop], don't we?" indicate that Aziraphale never really notices that Crowley no longer has his flat because Crowley just kind of lives in the bookshop now. He's there every day, to a point that Aziraphale defaulting to his usual anger response of breaking up with Crowley when upset is now phrased in such a way as to try to kick him out of the house. Crowley, though, knows better-- just like how Aziraphale knows better where Crowley's own issues are concerned.

Even though Crowley knows Aziraphale doesn't mean what he says when he's upset and is patient about it (the not even batting an eyelash "you doooo" in response to "I don't even like you" in the bandstand argument), it still hurts. So, that's what Aziraphale is trying to work on and we see that Crowley is working on it with him, an example of that being when Aziraphale is starting to lose it during the Gabriel argument and Crowley's response to it:

Crowley is basically saying honey, you're doing the thing-- and it works. This is what they've agreed upon as a way that Crowley can help Aziraphale when he's upset. He points out that Aziraphale is doing the thing he does, which seems to be something they've agreed on as a strategy for communicating better. He gives Aziraphale room to take a breath and say what he really means. Expressing how he really feels when the emotions are not positive ones is hard for Aziraphale because it involves admitting that he has these emotions in the first place.

So, Aziraphale does his part in their agreement and he rephrases what he was saying into what he actually means: that he would love for Crowley to help him with Gabriel but that if he won't, he won't. He is open about how he feels, which is Aziraphale doing what they agreed to do, and is a world of difference from how they were fighting before. He also expresses it in an especially positive way, as he uses words like 'love' and 'help' to say how he feels and what he needs.

This is why it's Crowley who winds up doing The Apology Dance.

What Crowley does in an argument that triggers Aziraphale is to leave. While, technically, sometimes leaving for a breath is not a terrible strategy in an argument, Crowley's tendency to leave is a flight-or-fight PTSD response that stems from a lack of trust in anyone but himself (and, honestly, often not even himself) to keep him safe. It's honestly not how he really feels about Aziraphale, whom he actually does trust with himself, but he sometimes lets fear and anxiety overwhelm him when triggered by situations in a way that relates to his past traumatic experiences.

Just as Aziraphale's struggle with his more volatile emotions is understandable considering what he's been through, so is Crowley's tendency to panic and bolt. The problem is that, just as Aziraphale's angry words can hurt Crowley, even if he understands where they come from and knows Aziraphale doesn't mean them, Crowley's tendency to leave hurts Aziraphale because it feels to him that Crowley doesn't trust him to make decisions that would keep Crowley safe.

They both are aware that their knee-jerk reactions of running away or sniping in anger are trauma responses and not terribly logical but they're both working on trying to heal enough to not have those responses with one another. In S2, they're stuck trying to manage all of that while still living in an environment that is dangerous for them and in which Armageddon could be around the corner again at any moment-- making it obviously harder to deal with things and also making the fact that they are both doing reasonably well with it all the more impressive and an indicator of how good they are for one another.

(It also makes the end of S2-- a series of miscommunications, some of which are not even their fault, that led to epic fucking disaster-- even more devastating because it doesn't actually reflect the healthy relationship that the beginning of the season emphasizes exists.)

Compounding these issues and part of why they're trying to work on them is that both of them trigger each other's PTSD when they react like this.

Aziraphale's words in anger and his tendency to push Crowley away leave Crowley feeling less secure around the one person who otherwise is the safest person he's ever met while Crowley's tendency to bolt in a panic, instead of staying and working through things, triggers Aziraphale's fear of abandonment (both in general and with Crowley) and, even more so, his terror over losing Crowley.

He's never sure when Crowley goes out the door if he's ever coming back because it's not really safe for him out there and S2 illustrates that Aziraphale has real trauma dating back to the time Crowley was taken in front of him in 1827, shown in him going to the spot in Edinburgh in the present where he lost Crowley and needing to call him from it to hear his voice. And, well, also to get a bonus praise kinky little boost from his partner for a job well done on working on his trauma stuff:

So, long story short, the argument they have over what to do about Gabriel's arrival really illustrates the extent to which they're both trying to manage a great deal of trauma together and, to help one another to do so, they have put some strategies into place for trying to do that more effectively. Aziraphale kept to his end of the bargain in this argument. He used more productive and open words to express how he was feeling. Crowley, though, did not hold up his end of the bargain here. He did when it came to helping Aziraphale with Aziraphale's part of it but he didn't when it came to managing his own trauma.

To be fair to Crowley? This situation was basically the exact perfect storm of a trigger for his PTSD and neither he nor Aziraphale are really going to be able to get much of anywhere significant with healing until all of this Heaven & Hell stuff is over in S3. So, that he fucked this up here is both sympathetic and not terribly surprising. It's also the root of him then spending the season reassuring Aziraphale that he's coming back and part of why he goes out the door in the end of 2.06 but he stays by the car. But, when it comes to just this argument over Gabriel in 2.01, it was Crowley who didn't try and that made Aziraphale upset.

This is where, though, that The Apology Dance shows that they're actually pretty healthy about arguing overall. Just the mention of this having existing for ages is establishing that trying to be better at disagreeing and having this little routine for getting back to a good place and starting to talk more after they've argued is not just something that has existed post-S1 but has been going on for, at minimum, hundreds of years, if not a whole lot longer. In essence, The Apology Dance exists as a bridge back to a place where they are less reactive and can talk through what's upsetting them-- which a lot of evidence suggests they are actually very good at doing with one another.

So, when Aziraphale tells Crowley that he wants "a proper apology", he's already injecting some humor into the moment, even if he is serious about not letting Crowley just skip over genuinely saying he is sorry. He is upset but he also loves Crowley and he's aware that the situation was pretty much the ultimate trigger for Crowley. It's just difficult for Aziraphale to watch because he wants Crowley to feel safe enough to heal more from a lot of this and feels like that he can't fully provide that, even if he is doing everything in his power to help Crowley with it. In a way, it's a foreshadowing how Aziraphale is going to fall in the end of S2 over the temptation of power that he thinks might help Crowley be safe.

The reason why Aziraphale chooses to use the word proper in saying he wants an apology-- and in that particularly dry tone-- is because he is very, very pissed that Crowley walked out the door rather than trusted him to have not put him into danger with Gabriel and to help him manage the situation. He's pointing out that Crowley trusts him implicitly in so many other ways, with the use of the wordplay there being a reference to the fact that he and Crowley have a healthy balance of power and an enormous amount of trust in their relationship overall, for which Aziraphale is using their positive sexual power dynamics as an example.

As different scenes have illustrated, when they mess around with those dynamics, they switch off allowing one another a sense of control over the other, even if the overall dynamics of such situations are never as cut-and-dry as that. The point is that Aziraphale's use of proper here is a direct reference to the fact that Crowley went out the door in a panic-stricken fit earlier but they both know that Crowley does trust Aziraphale to a great degree, and a great example of that to Aziraphale is the fact that Crowley-- as eleven hundred scenes in the show suggest lol-- is very into letting Aziraphale restrain him in bed. The reason why we even know this is because of how the show uses aspects of their sexuality to illustrate the level of trust and intimacy in their relationship.

Just as the wall slam scene in S1 exists to make it abundantly clear how much Aziraphale trusts Crowley and how he has nothing to fear from him by contrasting that with Aziraphale's response to being jumped by the angels in the street, the scenes that are referring to them using restraints, while illustrating that they both do, are centered around Crowley's thing for it, in particular, to help illustrate that he has the same kind of trust in and feeling of safety with Aziraphale that Aziraphale does with him.

The reason why Crowley liking to be tied up or handcuffed is given weight enough that it's a recurring thing mentioned in the story is because of how it's a different level of trust for him than it might be for someone else. While the wall slam scene contrasts Aziraphale's safety with Crowley versus the abuse of the angels, the handcuff thing is showing that Crowley, who is a survivor of attacks that render him unable to move or otherwise assert any control over himself and who has demonstrable PTSD from it, trusts Aziraphale enough and feels safe with him enough to explore with him the complexities of being a survivor of attacks involving a loss of control who also finds sometimes being restrained and giving up some control in bed arousing.

So, Aziraphale's "proper apology" is dryly mocking both of their control and trust issues by use of an example of a place in their relationship where they handle those issues without conflict, and that's in the great communication and ease of care for one another in bed. With use of proper, Aziraphale is subtly pointing out that Crowley is an assault survivor who trusts Aziraphale to him tie him up but he runs out of other situations in a panic, which is an example of the lack of logic that can occur in the face of trauma sometimes. It helps to prove how ridiculous they both are really being in general.

Which Crowley agrees with. Because he knows he was. Trauma isn't logical, it's knee-jerk emotional, and he felt bad about storming out and even worse when he found out from Beez what the repercussions of not helping might be so he's come back, heard the 'proper' comment, and is like fine, yes, you're right. We're ridiculous. I was ridiculous.

This is healthy as all fuck:

It matches the humor Aziraphale put in around his genuine anger with additional humor. It's self-deprecating and ego-free, just an admittance of having messed up and showing he's sorry by being a little ridiculous because how he reacted earlier, he knows, was also a little ridiculous. There's the hearing of proper and responding to that with a mock-submissive, self-deprecating, little dance and a bow and scrape. There's a dry, affectionate mocking of the two of them and their long history of apology conversations that all boil down to the lyrics of the little song Crowley makes up here: "You were right, you were right, I was wrong, and you were right."

The tongue-in-cheek vibe of Yes, you're correct. Are you satisfied now, my king? that pokes gentle fun at both of them and that actually winds up illustrating just how much trust and love there is between them as a result.

Aziraphale finding it hilarious to a point that he's working hard not to laugh long enough to respond with equal humor with the little soft dom-ish "very nice" and then miming a kiss at Crowley showing that they are actually good at this. They allow each other to be imperfect, know how to talk openly about how that makes them feel, and can recover from an argument with humor and affection.

This is also a good example of Crowley being supportive of Aziraphale expressing emotions and of Aziraphale trusting Crowley as someone safe to do that around. Aziraphale told Crowley exactly how he felt and what he needed here in a clear way that expressed his anger and frustration without descension into anything harmful and Crowley listened, acknowledged those emotions, and responded in a way that was supportive and positive.

The argument over Gabriel and The Apology Dance is what their relationship is really like when they can speak openly and directly to one another because they have the safety and privacy to do so. They actually do know how to talk to one another and they do it very well. Their present situation as of the end of S2 is more of a nightmare of unfortunate events and misunderstandings and it actually took a lot to get it to go that wrong because, normally, as we can see? It's relatively easy for them to get it right.

So, Crowley's Apology Dance was both verbal and a literal dance, yes, but Aziraphale's bemused response to it indicates he wasn't expecting the literal dance and the fact that Crowley made up and did the literal dance off of Aziraphale's use of proper, as we looked at, indicates that it was something he did for the first time in that moment, rather than how The Apology Dance usually goes.

The usual nature of Crowley and Aziraphale's "I Was Wrong" Dance is strictly verbal.

We can tell this by one of the years in which Aziraphale mentions that he did an "I Was Wrong" dance in the past: 1793.

When Aziraphale shows that he's really hurt by Crowley leaving and needs him to apologize, he lists three, prior times when it was Aziraphale who had fucked something up between them and was the one doing The Apology Dance as a result. The three years he uses as shorthand are 1650, 1793 and 1941. While we don't know anything about 1650 right now... and while we know about 1941 but not how it ends so maybe not yet quite enough to say we know why Aziraphale was doing an apology dance (though I would argue that maybe 1941 itself is a bit of a joint apology dance)... the one year here we do know enough about to use to inform our opinion about what their apology dances usually are is 1793.

What Aziraphale is apologizing for in 1793 is the rescue scenario winding up a bit of a disaster because of Aziraphale neglecting to take into account that if Jean-Claude The Executioner was having that much fun cutting people's heads off, he probably was disturbing in other ways as well. While Crowley covers up his reaction to apparating into the room just as Aziraphale is saying "no" and Jean-Claude is trying to get his clothes off, by the end of the scene, we see that Crowley is more bothered than he was letting on.

Jean-Claude becomes the only human in the entire series to date that we ever see Crowley intentionally push straight towards Hell and, in doing so, he renders Jean-Claude unable to form more than muted sounds of protest-- not at all projecting his own experiences of assault onto him or anything. Crowley makes the very dark joke that's in the above gif, savagely mocking a so-common-it's-cliche victim-blaming response to rape, making it clear in doing so what's been brought up for him as a result of what he saw when he first came into the room. Crowley is half out of it for the last moments of the scene and, at one point, sniffs like he's trying not to cry. Aziraphale had meant for it to be a fun, dashing-hero-to-the-rescue type of thing but the torture-happy prison cell atop the trauma trigger is what would make Aziraphale feel the need to apologize afterwards, even though Crowley knew he didn't intend any harm.

So, ask yourself this: did Aziraphale apologize for that by doing a silly dance?

I really don't think he did...

It wouldn't have been appropriate. The last thing Aziraphale would have done then is make light of how they both were feeling about something relating to this kind of trauma. It's not to say there wasn't any humor involved-- particularly, their form of really dark gallows humor-- but not in the midst of the genuine, actual apology. Aziraphale's "I Was Wrong" dance in 1793 was a back-and-forth of him verbally apologizing and Crowley insisting that it was fine and then Aziraphale, more or less, you were right and I was wrong-ing with other words until they both were okay to talk more and move forward.

Both of them were alright as a result and clearly had a memorable time in Paris afterwards, as Aziraphale is referencing it as a good example of the two of them working through things together in a positive way when he tells Crowley that Paris, 1793 is what he "wants for lunch" in 2008.

It's really why Aziraphale says he wants 1793 in the first place, when they have a zillion other times he could have referenced. The scene in 2008 is taking place after Crowley went missing the night before on assignment for Hell. Aziraphale doesn't need to be told by this point that Crowley was hurt but they've been in public the entire time since they've met up so there has not yet been a moment to try to really acknowledge it. By bringing up Paris 1793 in response to Crowley saying he wants to lunch, Aziraphale is using it as a shorthand to convey both that he's aware and that they'll handle it, like they always do, and it will all be alright. Paris 1793 seems like it is a particularly memorable example of them managing that to them, so it's the one that Aziraphale brings up.

This also accounts for the discrepancy in Aziraphale's expressions in 2008 when he talks about this particular time. When he first mentions Paris 1793, his response is layered. There's regret mixed in there. Pain. Complicated emotions. His smile to Crowley is kind of flat, like he's trying to remain more upbeat than he actually feels.

It's very different from the cheer of we had crepes! that emerges after Crowley's response to the suggestion is positive. It speaks to Paris 1793 being more complex than only the fun, memorable romp in France that it also was.

So, this would mean that The Apology Dance is usually a verbal thing, even though Crowley did a literal dance along with it in S2. This actually is not terribly surprising because Crowley and Aziraphale's language is an exercise in the literal and the figurative.

Everything in it physically exists as well as figuratively exists and that's part of the fun of it for them. It all has to work on the surface level as well as on other levels. There are literal crepes and figurative crepes, for example, while we're on the 1793 topic. Literal fish-- sushi, gravlax in dill sauce, etc..-- and figurative fish, like the two of them. When Aziraphale asked for "the little dance" of light grovel with the apology, Crowley did that by also giving him a literal dance to go along with their traditionally verbal dance. Why? Because Aziraphale called their apology routine a figurative "little dance", so Crowley gave him a literal one to go with it. Eventually, all the figurative has to be at least a little literal in some way. It's why God made sure that an actual nightingale-the-bird was actually singing in Berkeley Square at the end of S1 as her last language lesson to us. There were then now literal angels dining at The Ritz so a literal nightingale sang in literal Berkeley Square.

The S2 Apology Dance is likely then the first Apology Dance that involved a physical dance. I'm not sure that there were others in the past but I think there definitely will be more going forward and that's a good thing since a bit of silliness is very healthy. 😊

Ok, so, back to the "you don't dance" moment... remember ten years ago when I said there were roughly four meanings of dance?

We've defined two of them already: a literal, physical dance and a verbal dance. The other two are the dance of society and dance as sexual euphemism. Historically, these weren't always mutually exclusive things and Good Omens overlaps them in some ways a bit as well.

The dance of society is being an open, active participant in your society. Even though Aziraphale basically built the society around him through being the founder of the street, we've seen how he tends to keep himself one step removed from life on Whickber Street.

It's best summed up by his relationship to The Whickber Street Shopkeepers & Traders Association: he is a member of it but, until S2, he's never hosted the monthly meeting. He doesn't fully see himself as one of them because, as an angel, he's not supposed to want any of this human living stuff, even if he desperately does. He has imposter syndrome for days, feeling like he's always about to be exposed as not really one of them.

Aziraphale does enjoy himself at times. He does engage with the world around him. He just doesn't allow himself to belong to it and his reasons for doing so are not only about his angel feelings.

The human world hasn't always been a place where he fit, either.

It's only been very recently in history-- and Aziraphale has seen literally *all* of history-- when it has been comparatively safe enough for people like him and Crowley to live more openly. It's still not completely safe, obviously and unfortunately, but there is more general acceptance now, more acknowledged human rights and more laws to help secure those rights.

The things that Crowley was hoping were around the corner in 1967-- when England decriminalized homosexual sex between men over the age of 21 and he suggested that maybe he and Aziraphale could go for broke and try being less of a secret-- actually are here by the present of the story in both S1 and S2.

A lot of that is at the root of the humor in S2 as Gabriel's presence in the shop forces Crowley and Aziraphale out onto Whickber Street in the daylight for the first time and creates scenarios in which the shopkeepers-- chiefly, Nina-- are throwing them off by being more comfortable with having their relationship be acknowledged publicly than they are. Part of the joke is that they're still closeted in London Soho in the year 2023 and the humans cannot understand why because Crowley and Aziraphale can't tell them that it's their supernatural world causing them to remain a secret.

It is only relatively recently in human history that people at formal social gatherings like the ones in England that Aziraphale has been to for years danced with anybody they felt like, regardless of relationship or lack thereof to that person. For many years, while someone might stand up with the occasional maiden aunt out of politeness or whatever, most of the time, a request for a slot on a dance card was a declaration of romantic intent. It was done within the public eye and, while matchmaking was often economical more than romantic, it was at the heart of how society functioned.

To dance, in that sense, was to be a part of society.

Aziraphale was never a part of society in that way. Not just because he's an angel who is supposed to remain above the human fray but because he is queer and society, for a long time, was not built to openly accept him. He was on the fringes of it for both supernatural and human reasons. From what we've seen, literal, physical dancing has always been something of a metaphor for this struggle for Aziraphale.

When Crowley says that Aziraphale doesn't dance-- and it's really more, as we've seen, that Aziraphale doesn't dance in public-- what he means it that Aziraphale keeps himself back from being a fully engaged part of the group, out of a fear that it's not for him because both the supernatural and the human worlds have been teaching him for a long time that it is not.

To host a meeting of the local business association and have everyone to his house for a party... to have Gabriel and Maggie under the same roof... to have everyone knowing that Crowley is his partner... to be able to openly dance with Crowley in front of others like the couple that they are, in the same way that the Chengs and Mutt and his spouse are?

That is to dance.

That is Aziraphale trying for a life he's never had before.

It is this form of dancing-- the dance of society-- that Crowley has never seen Aziraphale do before and why he is so in shock when Aziraphale asks him to dance.

This is where we have to talk about what this has to do with the gavotte, the photo from 1941, Mrs. Sandwich, Duns Scotus, and disco... 🪩Yes, I know. Lots to chat about. 😊

Back in S1, as Crowley traps Hastur in his answering machine, we are treated to one of the best parts of God's narration: Her cheeky take on the human philosophical debate around the question:

"How many angels can dance on the head of a pin?"

The phrase comes from Protestant theologians in the 17th century who were mocking Catholic scholastics like Thomas Aquinas and Duns Scotus-- whose name is quite literally the origin of the word dunce, so overt was the mocking of these dudes' ideas. The show via Crowley also is referring to Duns Scotus in Demon's Guide to Angelic Beings when Crowley mocks the demons by spelling 'residence' as 'residunce' in Aziraphale's entry, joking with him about the fact that the demons will not be able to understand what the entries really contain. So, why the mocking of Duns Scotus and pals?

While it's not totally know if they ever did debate this question exactly, questions very much like it were debated in their circle and others in different parts of the world and these philosophers would get a bit in the weeds in the wrong direction with things. This isn't to say there is a right or a wrong way to think so much as to say the way they chose to approach questions like this was full of absurd focus on the least consequential things someone could look at and failing to really think about how considering these questions at all could impact their understanding of the world around them and contribute to making that world better.

They were not asking questions like: do angels exist in the first place? If they do, do they dance? If so, what makes them want to dance? What would it say about angels and living-- and us and living-- if angels did dance? Why the fuck would they want to dance on the head of a pin when they could dance anywhere? 😂 What does it say about us and our views on angels and ourselves that we're spending a great deal of time and resources debating questions about beings that we cannot even prove fucking exist in the first place?

Instead of considering anything like that, Duns Scotus and pals would spend time just working on the most arcane details of angelic and demonic existences-- on things like trying to figure out if angels could exist in more than one place at once or how small they could get and how they would get that small and how many of them could fit on the proverbial head of a pin and still dance on there?

You know... real, relevant, thought-provoking, big picture questions that we've all asked ourselves at one time or another. 😂

Those mocking questions like this made the question "how many angels can dance on the head of a pin?" a kind of catch-all for pointless debate and it has since become a shorthand phrase meaning basically a bullshit question of no relevance, the debate over which is a colossal fucking waste of time.

Some scholars went so far as to blame those engaging in this type of debate as being responsible for the fall of Constantinople, saying that basically these scholars were sitting around listening to themselves talk on absurd things of no importance to such an extent that it caused mass death and collapsed an empire.

It might be of note then that this question is so notoriously tied to the fall of Constantinople that Good Omens might be winking at the fact that angels dancing around a seamstress might be a prelude to Aziraphale's fall, which some of us think is what's happening at the end of S2.

So, when Hastur and Crowley go into Crowley's answering machine, God jumps in with a little wink to this question in an effort to prevent anyone from focusing on the single most non-important question in all of Good Omens:

How did they get into the answering machine?

The answer to that is that it doesn't matter. They're magical-- that's the answer.

It's not to say that there is not a ton of small detail in Good Omens worth exploring-- and other scenes encourage doing just that, like Shakespeare's "in your role as the audience, could you give us something more to work with?-- but the details worth looking at are ones that will underscore what the story is saying in a bigger picture, thematic sort of way.

God's point here is that if you're hung up on the Magical Technical Whateverness that is stuff like how the angels and demons travel, you're being a bit of a Duns Scotus and trying to solve a mystery that the show has zero intention of ever making be relevant to anything and doesn't really consider much of a mystery in the first place. You can sit there until you're blue in the face doing calculations and looking up scientific explanations and it just simply does not matter. You're barking up the wrong tree because the thing you're talking about has no significant relevance to the story.

"How many angels can dance on the head of a pin?" is basically the olden days, scholarly equivalent of rolling your eyes at half the comments in an online discussion for any sci-fi show that has ever existed. My friend and I call this kind of debate 'Photon Torpedo Jerk-Off' and what I mean by that is this: if you watch an episode of, say, Star Trek, and you think the most important thing to talk about that happened in the episode you just watched is whether or not these writers were accurate about the range of the photon torpedoes when they had the Enterprise blow up that Klingon warship, then you have missed the point of the episode entirely. If you're sitting around arguing about the sci-fi magical Whatever Tech and not talking about the story you've watched, you don't understand the point of what you've watched.

In Good Omens, the reason why God's monologue about how many angels can dance on the head a pin begins when it does is because it is a very sly joke on Duns Scotus-like debate, using the fact that the questions that were absurd to consider in real life are actually-- hilariously-- among the most pertinent to consider where Good Omens is concerned.

God brings up the pin-dancing question as a way to answer the question of what's happening with Crowley and Hastur going through the answering machine. She amusingly doesn't really answer the question and, instead, starts going on about the parts of "how many angel can dance on the head of a pin?" that should have been the bits being debated-- like whether or not angels dance at all and what if means that they do. Basically, Good Omens' response to how the answering machine bit works is "something something electrons" and they're proud of it and they should be because it doesn't fucking matter, which is why God's monologue in the answering machine sequence is really all about the bigger questions of the show and not the Duns Scotus-y question of "but how are they traveling through the telephone system exactly?" God simply just says that they are and moves onto more relevant things.

Even though the original debate over questions like "how many angels can dance on the head of a pin?" was theological and philosophical, the thoughts behind the absurdity of it very much apply to interpreting works of art. Because of its ties to religion and to angels, it makes for a very humorous way of telling the Good Omens audience that they will not really be explaining much of anything regarding to the technical whatzits of how angels and demons travel through electricity and things like that because that could not be less relevant to understanding the story.

The question "how many angels can dance on the head of a pin?", at one point, also had several variants. One was the same question but wondering how many demons could dance on the head of a pin, while others involved whether or not angels were "sexless"-- a question that was so confusing at the time that several sub-variants emerged as a result because people weren't entirely sure what that question meant...

Was the question asking if angels had a biological sex-- and, if so, was it asking if they had sex organs? Was it asking if the angels had a form of gender which, at the time and with these theologians, was mostly a question of whether or not angels could be what humans would have called male or female, with gender binary ideas of what that would mean intact? Many others thought a question of whether or not angels were sexless might be more directly about whether or not angels had sex.

(Amusingly, that question didn't really ever get asked about demons, as the sexuality around demonic lore has always been pretty notorious.)

The problem with these questions being asked by theologians is that they never took the opportunity to reflect on what it might say about humans and our societies that we thought these the most pertinent questions to answer about angels and demons. They never stopped and thought about the fact that to ask these questions meant they were not sure that this supernatural world that they believed in had the same sort of structure when it came to things like gender, sex and sexuality that humans do and how that is where the more interesting thoughts exist. Just by asking those questions, you could start to follow a path that maybe suggested that they were different from humans and it might be better if humans emulated some of those ideas, right?

But that's definitely not where these guys took this...

When scholastics would approach questions like this, they'd do so to make the concepts of angels and demons fit more securely into the worldview they were promoting. The very conservative would usually say that angels were genderless and also usually "above" sex and things like this reinforced their holiness. The demons could usually fuck because they were evil and nephilim and the like made for the usual brand of good, scary, weirdly sexual Bible stuff. The ones that did think that angels did gender thought angels thought about it in the same very rigidly binary and traditional ways of most societies.

In other words? Theologians took the mythical creatures of angels and demons and made their theories about them fit human societies to further their own, human goals, instead of using angels and demons to reflect upon those human societies and consider how different viewpoints might improve them.

Good Omens is completely sending up this mindset.

In Good Omens, the supernatural characters are a way of poking fun at these kind of humans who approach ideas about what angels and demons might be like with such rigidity and treat their fellow humans in the same way. The angels and demons are basically all queer in human terms by default because, in Heaven/Hell, gender is a constellation, biological sex is a 'do whatever you want with that, if anything at all', and, just like with the humans, asexuality and sexuality and everything along every possible spectrum related to it all exist. For the most part, human prejudice does not exist-- though prejudice itself does, in the form of the "other"-izing of the demons. Some of that human prejudice has slipped through-- see: Sandalphon-- but it's not as ubiquitous as it is on Earth.

The angels and demons in Good Omens come from a world where everyone is sort of assumed straight-out-of-the-box non-binary by default and queerness is more normalized because when your concept of gender begins without rigid ideas about what that is, damn near everyone winds up being what humans would refer to as queer because that umbrella is then basically anyone other than a cisgendered, heterosexual person... and what is a cisgendered, heterosexual person when gender is design-your-own-concept-of-this from the get-go? How would anyone be heterosexual, when the definition of that is rooted in binary views on gender that do not exist in the supernatural world of Good Omens?

The point of all of it is that if humans thought this way about one another more, the world would be a better place. Good Omens is a story about angels and demons that is using them to ask questions about humanity of a lot more value than "how many angels can dance on the head of a pin?" but, ironically? Some questions that come about as a result of considering that question in a different way-- as God helps us to do with her monologue-- like the question of whether or not angels dance and consideration of what that might mean-- are examples of some of best questions to ask to get to the heart of what Good Omens is saying and what it's story is all about.

In Good Omens, neither the supernatural world nor the human world are perfect. The supernatural characters seek to learn how to really live from the humans but the humans have a thing or two to learn about themselves that the supernatural beings-- with their choose-your-own-adventure ideas relating to gender, in particular-- could show them when it comes to true freedom.

If we made like the supernatural world of Good Omens and placed less focus on defining and labeling gender and sexuality in such strict terms and just looked at everyone else as fellow people and let people present themselves as they like and identify as they like and be attracted to who they're attracted to and love who they love, we'd just be seeing each other all as people-- which is what we all are.

It's also the point of the intentional vagueness of Gabriel's whole situation during his naked arrival in 2.01.

There is a fuckton happening in this scene but one of the biggest is the decision to make it unclear as to what was behind the box-- and that's the point. Are there a couple of hints here and there? Sure. You can make arguments in different directions and, for sure, the decision to make it vague, instead of including a suggestion that Gabriel's for sure Don Drapering it in that moment is a whole decision in and of itself. The point, though, is not to fixate on determining what, if any, situation Gabriel was rocking during his rather challenging Monday morning in S2 but to just ask yourself why it would matter to know?

There's nothing wrong with some idle curiosity, I don't think, but the ambiguity is the point. What would it matter if Gabriel was running in angelic neutral or sporting, as I think the scene is suggesting, some lady parts for the morning? It doesn't change anything about Gabriel because only humans would look at Gabriel and assume that he has a penis and find it shocking if he didn't because many of us are that limited in thought. Only humans would box (bad, unintentional pun lol) him into pronouns as a result and try to tell him that he can't use he/him if he sometimes doesn't have that penis.

All these humans are looking at his body and judging it-- who gives them the right?

Whatever you feel about Gabriel, you do feel for him in that moment because no one deserves to have their body judged by a zillion critical strangers... and isn't that what many of us are doing online? Isn't that what a lot of humans do about everything from gender to sexuality to weight and looks? We categorize and label and put all of these parameters on meeting the standards of those categories when none of it matters and everyone is unique and beautiful in their own ways.

The genius of the supernatural characters in Good Omens is that, in so many ways, they are not free and a lot of their issues overlap with those of the humans but in real, fundamental ways, they have default mindsets that humanity could really benefit from adopting. The Gabriel arrival scene underlines it by turning the camera back around on us by showing us an example of a very masculine person by traditional human standards, implying that his genitalia might differ from what we've been conditioned to expect from a person with his looks, and then making us consider how we feel about that and if maybe the whole idea of these kind of expectations isn't bullshit in the first place.

So... while Good Omens is sending up the limited mindset of the Duns Scotuses of the world, the joke with God's monologue is that, in the context of Good Omens itself?

From the standpoint of this story?

The related questions about angels and dancing and gender and sex that arise from asking the question: "How many angels can dance on the head of a pin?" are excellent questions.

They happen to be questions that, if you're asking them, you're getting into many of the themes of the story and you're looking at how the story is using angels and demons to talk about the experience of human living. What does matter in understanding the story of Good Omens is, ironically, the dumbass questions that these humans were asking back in the day about dancing angels and demons and their relationships to human ideas about gender, sex and sexuality at which Good Omens is poking more than a little fun.

To add to this, we also have the very funny way in which God presents the answers to these questions to us and that involves a wink towards the last type of dancing-- dancing as sexual euphemism.

In the original question of "how many angels can dance on the head of a pin?", the reason why it's a pin is obviously that pins are very, very small but it was sometimes referred to as well as a question of how many angels could dance on the head of a needle? This was because the detractors of this school of thought were creating puns, so they could call the debate of the question things like a "needless point" in their writings-- very Good Omens-y humorous of them. 😊 We're also now bringing into to conversation via needles and pins language related to the make and repair of clothes-- seamstress work-- as being tied to questions of sex and dancing as sexually euphemistic.

The visuals shown to us during God's monologue include Crowley and Aziraphale dancing separately, in different eras, with other beings-- Aziraphale with some humans and Crowley with some demons-- but with an undertone of sex in both scenes that gets at dancing as sexual euphemism. In Crowley's scene in the 1970s/very early 1980s, he and Hastur and Ligur are in some trippy disco sequence in which they are dancing with a pin but the pin is being used as different kinds of sexual dance-related poles.

This is a visual parallel of the innuendo around seamstress-related language in the series, with a pin-- a tool used by those who make and mend clothes-- being used as a pole, highlighting a (hilariously-presented) aspect of sexuality in dance. Mrs. Sandwich runs a bordello but the coded 19th century-era speech of Aziraphale's magic during The Meeting Ball results in her attempting to describe the sex work menu of her girls as being coded in the language of those who make and mend clothes. This comes from sex workers writing on government forms the 19th century that they were seamstresses to evade authorities (why Mrs. Sandwich says her girls stand on their own two feet "like the government said") and a use of seamstress language as euphemistic for sex that overlapped into coded slang of, in particular, homosexual men.

In one part of the disco sequence, Hastur, Ligur and Crowley are going around the pin like it's a maypole, which were involved in courtship rituals and fertility dances. In another moment, the three of them then turn the pin into a stripper pole and bust out some exotic dancing moves, all less using the pin/pole as prop in a seduction of someone else but more seemingly in place of that someone else, with exactly zero awareness of one another.

What the living fuck is this scene, really? 😂 Is the pin really large? Are they very small? Why can I still not stop laughing at the fact that they aren't dancing on the *head* of a pin but with it? Is Hastur trying to make out with the pole? Did Ligur really invent part of The Macarena decades ahead of its time? What perspective is this scene supposed to be shot from? lol Are we all just assumed high at this point from the disco lights and general trippiness of the sequence? Are any of these the most important questions of this sequence? Not by a long shot lol...

*tilts head* hiiiii Crowley...

What's that? Oh, sorry, right, finishing up the epic journey that is this meta... Yes, yes, sorry. Got distracted by the dancing snake... Which reminds me!

We can't talk about dancing as sexual euphemism without mentioning that the little glimpse into Crowley's bedroom in S1 that we see shows us that he has a wooden figurine of a dancing snake on a table in the corner, which seems like a wink towards Crowley and Aziraphale joking about being like the magician or musician who would play music to "charm" snakes into dancing for them. Crowley kept the dancing snake figurine in his bedroom so that is probably the ultimate in dancing as a sexual euphemism possible and it's another indicator that it's hardly the idea of dancing together being a form of sexual overture that has Crowley so confused when he says "you don't dance" in S2. Dancing, in that sense, is not new to them.

So, God's monologue is winking pretty heavily at dance-as-sexual-euphemism. In showing the dancing this way, God is using dancing to mean both literal dancing (as in, when she describes that Aziraphale is the only angel who dances-as-in-moves-to-music because he learned the gavotte) and also as an answer to the question of whether or not some of the angels and demons have sex. While not all of them do or have interest in doing so-- just like with the humans-- having Crowley and Aziraphale both exhibit a sense of sexuality in the dancing scenes here is more than a little suggestive of the fact that they both do.

So, how does that fit into our whole idea of dancing as it relates to a being a part of society?

Both Crowley and Aziraphale are shown dancing in different situations in different eras in which queer people existing on the fringes of society found a place in which they could express themselves-- but they are very different ways of expression.

Aziraphale learns to dance in a private club for wealthy, gay gentlemen and that is the only place in which he dances because he can do so freely there without too much concern that it will have repercussions for him in both his supernatural and his human worlds. Everyone there in the club is someone who also has a sense of secrecy and a need for discretion in common and they're all well-connected enough to ensure that their privacy remains intact. It's through basically finding a safe space in this club that Aziraphale can have a microcosm of what it would be like to exist more openly in the larger society as a whole.

Crowley, on the other hand?

While Crowley also lived through all of these eras alongside Aziraphale and had the same types of social limitations, we see him dancing openly in the liberation of the disco era. Disco changed everything. It was full of people who had never fit into society and gave voice to, in particular, more female, Black and queer people than ever before. The eventual backlash to disco had nothing to do with the music and everything to do with the changing attitudes about race, gender, sexual orientation, and sex itself at the heart of it.

The difference here is that disco was free to a point that you could dance with anybody. You and your friends could dance, you could dance with someone you wanted to hook up with, you could dance around to it in your house with your family. It didn't matter. While people had long since abandoned the formal rules of dance in mainstream society that existed in the eras of Jane Austen, by the time disco turned up, popular dance had freed itself to being just about self-expression and having fun. It was still sexy but it was no longer playing a formal role in the matchmaking process of people in society. It's about having fun and doing so in the open and much more free.

This is where we're going to look at what your question has to do with the gavotte and Aziraphale's cotillion ball in S2...

The gavotte scene in S1 is one of the most fascinating scenes in the series because nothing else like it exists in terms of how it is filmed. The scene of Aziraphale dancing the gavotte is filmed in such a way as to suggest we are actually watching a video of him doing so. Part of this comes from the lighting, the slightly jumpy 'old time movie' feel of the scene. But, it also comes from the fact that Aziraphale looks directly into the camera at several moments during the scene, in such a way that it makes it feel like he's not looking at *us* in a fourth-wall-breaking sort of way but that he's looking at a camera that exists within The Hundred Guineas Club and is filming them dancing.

This was likely possible at the time, especially in a club patronized by wealthy men. The Lumiere brothers patented the first movie-making cameras in 1895 so it could be argued that Aziraphale and friends are being filmed using a prototype of that technology. (A bit of film-related technology being a bit too early for the time by our human history standards is also shown on Good Omens in S2, when Furfur has a Polaroid camera just under a decade or so too soon, though some prototypes were in development not long after the time Furfur was shown with one.)

The point is that Aziraphale looks like he's letting himself be recorded dancing. Actually, the point is that Aziraphale looks like he is loving letting himself be recorded dancing and that's an enormous thing...

Think back to 1941 for a moment. Crowley and Aziraphale were nearly killed over the picture Furfur took of the two of them together. No audio/visual evidence of the two of them together exists. If they kept the picture, they've hidden it really, really well because they've been terrified of anyone finding them out. Does this recording of Aziraphale still exist, though? Does he have it? Was he going to show Crowley, maybe after everyone left The Meeting Ball?

Living-- existing-- can mean having a record of that existence. That's actually at the heart of the meta I wrote recently about Aziraphale's excitement over getting the Shostakovich record being about having a recording of a performance with history to him and Crowley.

Being a part of the world can mean letting yourself be a documented part of it.

We are shown that, in the late 1880s, Aziraphale let himself be recorded on video dancing with some human friends... which is to say that Aziraphale let himself live.

He let himself find some kindred spirits, learn something new, be an active participant in a group, and enjoy himself. He let all of that be documented and his kind of manic, unbridled joy over all of it is the mark of how rare a thing this level of engagement is for him.

So, why did he?

Why this dance? What does this have to do with The Meeting Ball?

Notice the backdrop of this scene. Other than Aziraphale and the other gentleman and the walls, there is really only one thing of note in the scene and it is in focus for much of the scene: the chandelier.

The gavotte is both a specific kind of dance and a kind of umbrella term for French folk dances from the 16th-18th centuries and a separate, different dance in the 19th century. It was apparently popular in the court of King Louis XIV, whose reign is referred to several times in Good Omens. (Crowley's gauche imitation Louis XIV furniture in his flat in S1; he was king in the time mentioned by Aziraphale in the French scene in S2; his mistress being Madame du Pompadour, historically credited with originating the hairstyle worn by Crowley since prior to Earth's existence, etc....)

Gavotte comes from gavoto, which meant mountaineer's dance or the dance of the mountain people and which, in turn, came from gavot, which meant a boor and a glutton. A boor is a country person or a farmer but it comes from the Latin bovis, meaning a cow or an ox. Etymologically-speaking? Of course this is the dance Aziraphale learned because the gavotte is a French dance of the ox glutton who enjoys a good "mountain" climb.

(The theory that they wrote The Sound of Music lives on. 😂)

Aziraphale learned the gavotte, of all dances, because he knew that Crowley would find the two of them dancing together to this dance in particular very amusing. He learned this dance in the late 1880s, likely with the intent of maybe, someday, being able to dance it with Crowley, which is likely why he was he was annoyed when it went out of style.

Still, we could theorize that one of the reasons why he allowed himself to be filmed dancing it is to have a record of his efforts to learn it-- not just for Crowley but in general-- and that maybe the chandelier in the bookshop is the one from his long-since-closed gentleman's club. It all shows that Aziraphale has wanted to dance, openly and publicly, both in general and with Crowley, for a very long time.

One of the reasons why he likely miracled everyone into 19th century speak during The Meeting Ball and brought down the chandelier and old style dancing was so that he could finally do just that. It isn't so much that Aziraphale needs to stick to old-fashioned dancing in general as it is that he just wanted to have an experience like those of other humans during that time that he wasn't allowed then to have-- by the rules of the human world, not just because of the dangers from his supernatural world.

But it's 2023 in S2 now. Queer people have been able to get married in England for a decade and partnership rights have been around for even longer. Mutt and his spouse's relationship would have been illegal in nine different ways barely a breath ago but they can live openly now. Gabriel has left Heaven and moved into the guest room. Things feel like there's a chance of change everywhere and Aziraphale has just had it and can't take one more night of Crowley slipping out before dawn so this whole "Maggie and Nina" party?

Do you remember how Aziraphale phrased the idea to Crowley?

Cotillion balls aren't just any ball. While cotillion was a style of country dance kind of like the gavotte, a cotillion ball was a coming out ball for young ladies in society. In parts of the world, they still exist, sometimes called now debutante balls.

What's so endearing about Aziraphale fixating on this idea is that a) Maggie and Nina are both women, which is not a match that would have been sanctioned by a cotillion ball in Jane Austen's day, which makes it sweet that Aziraphale is, in a way, trying to give this traditionally romantic idea of love at a dance to a pair of women who would not have had it be an option for them, historically, which is something to which he can relate but also b) Aziraphale is just really semi-consciously using the idea of a party styled after a coming out ball for women in society as his thinly-veiled excuse to have a coming out party of a different kind, of sorts, for himself and Crowley.

Aziraphale isn't closeted in the sense that he's not actively trying to convince anyone that he's straight (good Frances, what a waste of effort that would be lol) but he'd like to be just like everyone else and not have to hide his partner. In the scene where Mrs. Cheng tells him that she and her husband will be at the party, for example, Aziraphale has this kind of wistful look for a moment. He wants that. He'd like to just be chatting with the neighbors and tell them that yes, definitely, he and his husband will be by later on. It's a season of things like Muriel literally opening the door to them hiding in a closet to talk privately and Crowley insisting in the street to Nina that Aziraphale is not his partner but then saying nothing to correct her when she refers to Aziraphale that way when they're in the bookshop. It's Mrs. Sandwich knowing Crowley in part because she sees him slip out the bookshop side door every night but Nina not knowing him in 2.01 because they're hiding the fact that they're a couple so morning coffee is never a thing until it is in S2. The Meeting Ball is Aziraphale taking steps towards them no longer hiding it by having people over when Crowley is there and letting everyone know or assume that Crowley is his partner.

The party is really for Crowley. Having everyone speak outside of time, the theatre curtains, Gabriel circling with trays of food (which was honestly so funny-- The Supreme Archangel walking around all "try an ox rib" to everyone), the vol-au-vents (etymologically linked to nightingales and some of them seemed like they might have been oyster vol-au-vents), etc.. He did it all to dance with Crowley and ask him to stay.

These two are fucking adorable. Look at this angel, I mean, seriously:

Aziraphale has been hitting that since ancient Rome and he's over here, nervous and giddy like he's at his first middle school dance, so fucking excited to ask that dashing ginger currently having an anxiety attack to dance. They have been basically married for millennia and Aziraphale is standing there like I'm going to ask him, I'm going to really do it, I'm going to hold his hand and dance with him in front of everybody and they're all going to know he's mine. We're going to be like everybody else-- just people on Earth.

It's so damn cute.

So, lastly, there's one thing we have to talk about when it comes to dancing and that's the fact that it is a form of self-expression. This is where Aziraphale and his perfectionism come into play a little.

God, in S1, said that not dancing is one of "the distinguishing" features of angels and that Aziraphale, through learning the gavotte, is the only angel who dances (at least, in terms of literally dancing.) This contrasts with the demons, who all dance, though many of them are not particularly good at it. This is the fundamental difference between angels and demons.

The demons are all demons because they were all willing to express themselves as individuals, which is what dancing fundamentally is. The reason why Aziraphale is the only angel who dances in S1 is because the other angels who know how to dance are all now demons.

Dancing means putting yourself out there a bit. You have to be willing to make some mistakes. You have to be willing to look potentially silly in front of other people and learn to not care as much about it. You have to take some chances. You have to engage with others if you want to dance with other people-- so, you have to participate in the world around you a bit. You have to try new things, like hearing new music and learning new ways to move. You have to be your own person, in the sense that you have to have music you like to move to and decide what you'll look like doing that. You have to let yourself take up some space and work hard at shutting off your damn brain enough to enjoy it.

In the 1941, Part 2 scene that we started this meta out with, we saw Aziraphale openly dancing a bit in front of Crowley, a sign of how comfortable he was and is with him. He doesn't have to be perfect around Crowley. Just as Crowley doesn't have to be perfect around him and is willing to look ridiculous to around him, as in the case of The Apology Dance. Being able to be silly and vulnerable is a sign of trust. When you can lean on people you trust and have that kind of intimacy with them, it can make you feel braver to take some risks in the world as a whole. If you let one person in enough and learn how to dance in one or more ways with just them, you'll eventually feel like you can dance free, no matter who is watching.

In the same scene, Aziraphale admits to his conflicts over going to Goldstone's and how he worries that maybe the things in life that he enjoys are "for professional conjurers only"-- for humans only-- with Crowley helping to quiet that imposter syndrome noise in Aziraphale's mind. Crowley's gentleness and the care in his response are examples of why he is who Aziraphale chooses as a partner and why it's with him that he's long-dreamed of having be his dancing partner when he finally is able to publicly dance alongside others at a ball.

Aziraphale is equally considerate in how he treats Crowley and is not put off by spending their first dance in public together essentially trying to calm what he thinks at first is just Crowley's usual level of anxiety talking, knowing Crowley well enough to know that, for all his talk about wanting to live a more open life together, he's as afraid as Aziraphale is. Crowley is dancing anyway. Aziraphale wants to so that's enough for Crowley to do so.

Aziraphale doesn't need some perfectly smooth first dance out together-- though they dance easily and very well together. It doesn't matter how long he's waited. He cares more about trying to reassure Crowley and ease his stress. They actually aren't as safe as Aziraphale believes them to be at this moment but it's the intent that's sweet. He knows this dance is as scary as it is lovely and, as always, it's important to him that Crowley feel safe.

You have to admit that you're a person to dance.

That's what the dancing is all about.

You have to admit that you have a life and to start to accept that you are allowed one. You have to accept yourself as part of a community to publicly dance with a group. You have to feel ready to host the monthly meeting of The Whickber Street Shopkeepers and Traders Association because to do so is to be a participating member in a community and to be a participating member in a community is to be a person living a life on Earth.

It's not surprising, then, that when Aziraphale gets to a point-- a very delicate point but a point, nonetheless-- of feeling like it might be time for him to claim that life for himself, doing so begins with the first night that he's ever been able to be at a party and, just like a zillion other people before him, ask his partner to dance.

[bitethedevil]

How do you think your take on Raphael differs from other fandom favourites? What is your “brand of Raphael?”

Oooh interesting question. I don’t really know how he’s different from other writers’ version of him. I try my hardest not to compare my own writing too much to others. I can say how I interpret him though. I’ll go through a couple of points of how I see him:

Soft!Raphael or Dark!Raphael

I get a lot of Soft!Raphael recommendations in my inbox. There’s nothing wrong with that. I love reading Soft!Raphael, but it just doesn’t fit my own personal interpretation of him. I have written countless of character analyses on this man and my brand of Raphael just isn’t that soft. I think he is capable of being soft, but it’s performative and there is always a purpose with it or a goal to achieve.

He does not love. He wants someone to love him, but he cannot give it in the way that we understand it. He can obsess though. His love is that feeling when your crush finally gives you positive attention. That thrill that you can almost get high on that you want to seek again and again. That thought that there is a chance that they will one day be yours, that need for them to one day be yours. That's him.

The feeling of laying in bed, looking at someone and feeling that warmth inside you and the feeling of wanting to protect them at any cost, is not him. He might want to protect his ‘loved one’ but it will be for purely selfish reasons. It is more akin to wanting to protect an asset of yours so others can’t take it from you.

It’s ownership, it’s obsession. There is also a game behind it. He wants to see how much he can push someone to see how loyal they are, and he does not care that he might hurt the other person in the process.

He can imitate love though! He can create the perfect picture of a loving relationship if he wants to, but it is a façade to keep you as his. He is a Venus flytrap, that lures you in with its sweet petals and when you fall for it, they close around you so he can devour you. He is capable of being romantic and doing loving gestures, but it is not instinct for him and there is always a goal behind it.  

Good/Evil

I don’t believe he is evil (hear me out). I don’t believe anyone is evil ‘just because’. I don’t really believe in evil characters in media, not when I consume media and not when I write it. I’m not blind and I know he is a Literal Devil, but I am just not wired that way. I grew up with theater. There are no evil characters, just characters who might have a fucked-up motivations for whatever reasons.

Raphael does do things that are morally considered evil, there is absolutely no doubt about it. However, when analyzing him and writing him, I try to refrain from writing him as such. The fact that he is considered evil without question in that universe is always taken into consideration though.

Raphael needs to fit into the Hells, and he is already on the back foot when it comes to that, because he is a cambion. I’m not saying he doesn’t enjoy doing what he does, he obviously does, I’m just saying that there is a reason for it.

Even those who are fully devils literally thinks they are doing the right thing. They think that they are protecting the rest of the realms from demons through the Blood War, and they will do everything to do so. That includes doing a lot of straight up heinous shit.

I’m just saying that judging him from ‘mortal’ standards is a bit of a lost battle. He isn’t a mortal. He isn’t quite a devil either, though that is the role he definitely prefers between the two. I just think a lot of nuances are lost if you just boil it down to “well he does (insert thing that is morally wrong from human standards) so he is evil”.

I think that is also generally why I usually refrain from the ‘opposites attract’ trope, because it very often is the typical metaphorical angel/classic hero vs literal devil/classic villain. Those stories are fun! I love to read them, but I don’t like writing them. It doesn’t interest me.

It is much more interesting for me to put him with someone ‘normal’ or morally grey, because there is something so deliciously fucked by a person slowly realizing that they actually have a lot in common with someone who is considered the embodiment of evil. They might also begin to understand his motivations and why he is as he is, and that’s almost even worse because that means the evil can be rationalized and understood (understood being the keyword, not forgiven, which is important to point out). Then it becomes a dance between humanizing him and demonizing him for how he really is.

There are humanizing qualities to be found in him, and there are definitely demonizing qualities to be found in him as well, which I find interesting. It’s a ‘what’s normal to a spider is chaos for the fly’-kind of thing for me, if that even makes sense? There is purpose to his ‘evil’ and yes, he does enjoy it, but there is much more to it.

“The Game”/His performativity

Everything is a performance, and though he never lies, it is difficult to know what he is actually thinking behind that wall of theatrics. It’s one big game to him of making you believe in the performance, and I think that is where he really thrives.

Though what is interesting is what hides behind the performance and the few times one might catch him in a moment of being genuine. That is what I love to work with when I write him. Because he keeps a diary, and we know from that diary that there are definitely some insecurities that he would never reveal to anyone (such as his nightmare about Tav and gang).

He is an arrogant bastard, but I truly think he is hiding mountains of insecurities behind it (and of course. Why wouldn’t he be? As a cambion, he isn’t really accepted by neither devils nor mortals, though he is both). Though you would never know it from how he acts, this man is no stranger to fear. It also makes perfect sense. He would not have survived in the Hells as a cambion, if he did not have a good sense of self-preservation.

‘He only ever sleeps with himself’, yes, well, doesn’t that also seem wonderfully safe and known? There is more behind his selfishness and ego. He does not let people in if he can avoid it. Cambions are often solitary by nature. I’ve mentioned this before. He might make deals with people, and he sees other people constantly, but never anyone he lets in, and he does not let them get too close.

Haarlep says he can’t deny them anything, but I don’t even truly believe that he has let Haarlep in completely. The man keeps his cards so close to his chest and one of the reasons for that is to not show weaknesses, because that is what he has had to do to survive and succeed.

What a lonely existence that must be, when one considers that there might be a human part of him that longs for that acceptance and closeness. He might not be able to love in the way that we do, but devils can long for it. Even more so when a part of him is human.

(Thank you for the ask <3 really cool question)

[walrus150915]

cw: discussions of nonsexual grooming

There is one thing that has been spinning on my mind ever since I watched the movie. This conversation isn't that popular in the fandom, probably due to its uncomfortable subject matter, but it needs to be discussed. I'll be the one to start

The Director has groomed Ambrosius and it affected him far into adulthood

(A really long analysis post)

Warning: I'm not a psychologist neither am I really educated in this sphere, and I never was a victim of grooming, so don't take my words as 100% truth. However, I'm a literature student, so I can analyse a few scenes and make a conclusion lol

So, to start off, let's share the definition of grooming, shall we?

"Grooming is when someone builds a relationship, trust and emotional connection with a child or young person so they can manipulate, exploit and abuse them."

Now, of course Ambrosius is an adult in the movie, and we can't exactly know his entire history with the Director. So this analysis will take a few things as truth despite them not being confirmed

- the Director has been by Ambrosius's side throughout most of his life. Considering the fact that she's been around even when Ballister was a child, the same can be assumed about Ambrosius

- we as viewers do not see Ambrosius's parents (because this is quite unnecessary to the narrative, maybe we'll see them in a sequel Quane and Bruno were teasing buttt¯\_(ツ)_/¯), and he's been in the Institute since childhood, so it seems like the Director was the most reliable adult in Ambrosius's life

Despite Ambrosius being a grown man, the effect the Director has on him cannot be denied. His relationship to the Director is like half his character arc, the man being torn between his loyalty to the kingdom and his lover

I will take a few scenes from the movie where Ambrosius and the Director interact and try to analyse them

Starting off strong, we've got the "acting like common children" scene. I could point out the obvious bias the Director puts in her words (villainizing an oppressed group of people as a rich white woman in power how nice of her) but we ain't coming to her throat for classism today. Pay attention to her praising Ambrosius and singling him out. "Thankfully, we have a descendant of Gloreth to lead us"

Are other knights happy to be around Ambrosius tho? The answer is no

(Text below is taken from the screenplay. The scene is after Nimona's and Bal's escape)

***

Knights: I knew we never should have trusted Ballister./If Goldenloin hadn't trusted him.../Well, if Goldenloin hadn't helped him...

***

Todd: This is his fault!

Knights: Yeah!/Tell him, Todd!

Goldenloin realizes all eyes are on him

***

I think it wouldn't be wrong to assume Ambrosius's colleagues dislike him at best and outcast him at worst. Compared to Todd, who seems to be the more liked one amongst their peers (bro really is a jock bully high school stereotype in his 20s isn't that embarrassing), Ambrosius is isolated. He doesn't have anybody except Ballister and the Director. And as you all know Ballister and Ambrosius are separated for the most of the movie. So it leaves him with the Director as the closest person to interact with. Yeah...

Also in this scene she displays TWO tactics groomers use to manipulate their victims: isolation and favouritism

Another scene I'd like to pay attention to is Ambrosius's ✨iconic✨ freak out

"What's on your mind, Ambrosius? You can talk to me"

"...I'm fine, Director"

This scene actually left me confused on the first watch because it looks like a perfect moment for the Director to seem at least somewhat sympathetic. It truly seems like she cares about him

Honestly it's pretty hard for me to surely say whether or not she's being sincere or not but her goal is definitely to win over Ambrosius's trust, to make him believe she's a safe person (now that his real safe person is away ajdjdjj). That is also another tactic for groomers to manipulate their victims

And I think it would be fair to mention Director's attitude towards Ballister's and Ambrosius's relationship. It's obvious she knows about them (...not like it's rocket science have you seen these lovebirds) and disapproves. She doesn't outright state it but it's really clear

"Sir Goldenloin, is your loyalty to this Kingdom or to the knight who consorts with a monster?"

Again, amazing case of manipulation. She doesn't say Institute, nor "me" or whatever. She says kingdom. And she clearly knows that it works on Ambrosius, because he is, after all, Gloreth's descendant. Gloreth was the original protector, and Ambrosius is supposed to be the protector now. By choosing Ballister he betrays the kingdom, his bloodline and Gloreth

Now, I know this scene is not Ambrosius & the Director because it's Nimona in disguise but considering how good Nimona was in playing her part we might as well assume real Ambrosius would act the same.

Look at these eyes. He's afraid of her. She has the complete power over him. And Ballister is aware of this (if that's how he told Nimona to act)

Off-topic but I watched Nimona with two of my buddies yesterday and during this scene they both went like "Wait, who is she to Ambrosius again? Is she his mother? Because she acts like she one" and they are so damn right???

Now remember the fact that during one of the interviews Eugene Lee Yang said that the Director is Ambrosius's parental figure. Do with this information whatever you wanna do

I'm still not over her audacity in this scene. Her lip didn't even twitch and she's killing a person whom she praised for his bloodline. Saying "May Gloreth forgive you" while DRIVING A SWORD THROUGH HIM is beyond evil like??? Chill out Nancy Reagan???

I could say that this is the scene that debacles the American model minority myth (with East Asians being put on a pedestal and used to further reinforce white supremacy). A white woman killing an East Asian man while using a Christ-like figure to justify her actions (Gloreth is literally mentioned to be a Christ figure in the art book), and, if we take into account the theory that she wanted to set Ballister up so that it looks like he killed Ambrosius, BLAMING IT ON A BROWN ASIAN MAN was really a choice huh

The Director killed Ambrosius the second he questioned her, the second he wasn't useful to her

And how was he being useful to her? Allow me to introduce you to the scene which made me SUPER uncomfortable once I realized what was going on

During most of the movie Ambrosius acts rather impulsively, reflexes play a big part in his body language. And what does he do? He protects her with his body

"We need to get you to safety!"

Ambrosius was trained in a way that he needed to protect the Director with his body and his life.

Even in scenes where Ambrosius and the Director don't interact you can see how much Ambrosius is brainwashed.

"She manipulated you. She manipulated both of us. But together we'll take her down, you'll be a knight again"

"Thank you. The Director can't-"

"The Director? Oh, no, Bal. I'm talking about your sidekick"

Ambrosius refuses to even think about the effect the Director has on him. He's insisting on Nimona being the manipulator despite him being manipulated

Finally, when Ambrosius realizes something is CLEARLY wrong, he still tries to talk some sense into her

"But what if we're wrong? What if we've always been wrong?"

Despite him being a constant witness to Director's misdeeds he tries to do everything peacefully. Look at his face. This is a face of a man who doesn't want to harm. He gives the Director a chance to improve herself. I think he would forgive her after everything she's done

...but being a conservative she'd rather explode than admit she's wrong. So she attempts to kill Ambrosius again

This, again, says that no matter how much mercy you show to hateful people, they'll continue to be horrible to you. Just because they think they have a right to

Analysing Ambrosius's and the Director's relationship I think it'd be more than valid to state that she has, indeed, groomed Ambrosius to exploit and use him for her own (political and other) benefits. Other knights were brainwashed and groomed too, but something about her attitude towards Ambrosius really bugged me the wrong way

She is an excellent manipulator and Ambrosius fell victim to that, which is no surprise

Thank you for reading this! It took so long to make😭 If you want to add on anything in the reblogs please do, because the discussion HAS to happen at some point

[ickle-anthology]

I’d like to be optimistic and say this will be short and sweet, however it has grown increasingly apparent that I do nothing by half measures. I suppose if you’re going to do a job - do it properly. Go big or go home, right? 

I’m trying to learn how to set healthy boundaries, which is extremely challenging for an empath that feels everything as deeply as I do and has been through the things that I’ve been through. I suppose my need to people please stems from wanting to help and lighten the load in anyway possible for the people I care deeply about at the expense of my own peace. It’s even more unbearable when I have walked in their shoes with and know what it’s like when you have nowhere to turn to, unfortunately helping doesn’t always go the way I intend but at-least I can say I tried and gave it my all, and by doing so leaves my conscious clear and unburdened. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve had my fair share of awful things in my life, some worse than others and some that have left lasting scars that I’m still sowing up- but I actually quite like me, however I acknowledge that there’s always room for improvement. I have a long list of things that I can’t change but would happily sell my soul to the devil to alter. I’m slowly coming to terms with the fact that some things aren’t meant to be changed and that no response is a response. Let’s be honest, you can’t be everyone’s cuppa tea otherwise you’d be a mug. 

You ever known what you needed to do but struggled to find the strength to do it? That’s the current predicament I’m faced with. The past few weeks I’ve had a lot of time to digest and reflect on the changes that have happened in my life - recent and not so recent changes. Up until recently, I considered myself to be a healed woman but I realise now that healing isn’t a linear path and the more I experience different things, the more I realise I’m still on that healing journey - and that’s ok, being honest with myself about it is probably the best thing I can do. I like to think I always look for best in people, that I can feel the good in them. But like with anything in this universe, there must be balance and everything that goes up, must come down eventually... I see the undesirable and distasteful flaws too, I don’t look at the world through a looking glass and I’m not as naive as some people may choose to believe. I have this uncanny ability to read people like books, and without a doubt my silence gets mistaken for an absence of knowledge, when it’s quite the opposite in fact. I’m a firm believer that you shouldn’t open your mouth and comment on something unless you know it’s accurate and have the ability to back it up. So with that statement, if you are on the receiving end of me opening my mouth about a subject, then prepare to be slapped with the unbias, and unadulterated truth - which as we know, can be more cold and callous than any lie. Everything I do, I do for a reason. I strategically and methodologically analyse every situation and every possible outcome of it so I am able to understand it but ultimately protect myself. One of my favourite quotes is that ‘the truth always prevails in the end’ and boy does it ever. 

It grows more evident the older I get that this ability I have to read people is an unconscious decision that stems from being hyper vigilant. It does present its problems though, like causing the feeling of being constantly stuck between the stages of fight, flight or freeze, it’s a blessing and a curse - one would say oxymoronic at its true core. Life has always been so black and white for me, and learning grey has been exhausting, both mentally and physically but truly worth it in hindsight. Im allowing colour to trickle back into my life slowly though and it’s given me the foresight to see the world (and the people in it) in a different light, just like a kaleidoscope. Up until a few years ago, I was always so sure of the person I was, but the past few years really made me question everything I know about people… myself included. I got hurt by people that I never thought were capable of the things they did, and lost people that I thought would be in my life indefinitely. Some things have become so deeply imbedded in my soul that they occasionally weep, so I guess you could say nothing ceases to surprise me anymore. I always say that I’m going to hope for the best and prepare for the worst but preparing for the worst has become somewhat of a ritual for me and I grow evermore cautious of hope with each passing day. 

Without a doubt, the biggest and hardest pill to swallow as of recent months has been that not everyone has a good heart just because I do. More importantly, just because I treat people with kindness, understanding and compassion, doesn’t mean I’ll receive the same treatment back. I’ve realised that over the past few weeks that it reflects more about them and their character, than it does me. Not everyone has the same moral compass as me, nor everyone has a big heart full of love like me and some people are only interested in saving their own skins - don’t get me wrong, there’s nothing wrong with protecting your peace. But there’s a difference between protecting your peace and remaining silent and then lying and stonewalling those individuals, especially when they try to communicate in a healthy way with you about a problem. We all mess up, but I think what’s important is owning your behaviours. It’s come to my attention that not everyone I’ve crossed paths with have spent the time looking at their own maladaptive coping mechanisms. They haven’t given themselves the respect to understand or recognise where the dysregulation stems from, and as a direct result from that, it allows for an inability to correct their behaviour at its root stem and be better in the future - so they are just stuck in the same cycles. I’ve realised that you can lead a horse to water but you can’t make them drink, and if this is the bed they chose to make then let them sleep in it. Theres nothing wrong with feeling emotions in that precise moment though and giving yourself time to sit in your grief, but I emphasise that no joy ever comes from wallowing in them for prolonged periods of time and there is a time where you will have to deal with those feelings and situations head on before they swallow you whole. 

I think for now I’ll enjoy sitting back, remaining humble and continue to people watch. They say time heals all wounds but I think time only gives us the ability to reflect and process those wounds. If we don’t deal with the monsters under our beds, and the damage they cause to ourselves and others, then they never really go away - they just get better at hiding by wearing a mask. Inevitably, they always trickle back in and just like clockwork, they always come full circle. Poetically, it’s always at the least desirable moment and before you know it, you’re weeping through the cuts you scrambled so desperately to bandage. The right path is not always the path with least resistance, we all know what we need to do but it’s just finding the strength to do it. You really do get back what you put into the universe.