#which The Narrator often has both

[creationsofimaginationsblr]

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[gaytobymeres]

Just saw the weirdest most over-stimulating production of marriage of figaro…. I feel like the opera, the music, got lost in the set and costumes and props and background cast who were just kind of there? Doing weird things?

[mewtwo24]

So like??? I don't know if I understood this correctly, but the music wwx plays to settle Wen Ning's aggression at the beginning of the first volume is the wangxian song lwj composed and sang/played for him when they were in the cave as kids???

Like. You're telling me that wwx's instinctive focal point of comfort is lwj and lwj was just expected to be normal about all of this.

I'm. rotating this in my head as we speak wwx you're so aksjldfgdhjskjghkfjdh

[sylvianritual]

The precious child in this video is named Amir Salama @ameersalama2020, and I reach out to you today on behalf of him and his family.

He shares his story above, and if you have the time I implore you to hear it from him, but I will also describe it here, if you cannot watch his video.

Amir is 3 years old, and his family consists of his father, Mohammad, his mother, Rena, and his baby brother, Taim. Amir was in kindergarten and doing very well in school, and even starred in his own Youtube channel with his brother. He had many toys and went to a good school, and was living a happy life and enjoying his childhood.

But on December 1st, Amirs home and school were destroyed by Israeli bombs. He can no longer learn and has no place to call home, and his family was injured in the attack. Both of his parents have broken a leg, and everything that built their lives was destroyed.

Amir's family now lives in a tent, which is riddled with bugs and disease, and they get sick very often. They hear the sounds of bombs overhead nonstop and it causes Rena to cry in fear, and deeply scares Amir and Taim. Rena feels lost, because there is no way for her to feed her family or take care of her very young children's health and sanitary needs.

No one should have to live under this much stress and fear. There are no words to describe the level of outrage that knowing Israel has forced not just Amir's family, but many more to live like this. No one on earth deserves this! What have these babies and their parent's done to deserve being terrorized like this, every day!? Please, if you can see this injustice, and it tears at your heart as it does mine, help Amir and help his family. Palestine will be freed, but this will not happen if we don't let our anger and our heartbreak drive us to action. Contributing to the campaign is the most straightforward way to help Amir's family.

They are asking for your help so they can go to egypt, and restart their lives. They want their children to have a safe and happy future, and they need our help to get them there. Please, please donate, and share their campaign.

kr16,950 / 200,000kr

please keep conversions in mind! 10 USD = 104kr = 13.60 CAD

verified by association: Amir's family is close to @dodoomar12345, who is vetted by 90-ghost here

[benegesseritofficial]

The effects of face paint on Harrowhark's psyche

I've now cosplayed Gideon Nav 3 times, with my wife along as Harrow every time. Naturally, this has included full face paint for both of us each time and I have some thoughts.

Let me start by asserting that everything Muir writes in TLT about the face paint is accurate. Rubbing off your lips first, smearing into gray where the black and white meet, the way sweat makes it ooze but not run. I can't say if Muir (a known Homestuck) ever cosplayed as a troll, but I'm positive she tested out the practicality of the skull face paint or otherwise has first hand experience with extensive use of grease paint. Also, the way she describes normal people flinching when they see you is spot on.

I've noticed while putting on the make up that once most of my skin is covered, any flesh tones sticking out start to become unsettling. Specifically, the red/pink of the inner mouth and around the eyes jump out upsettingly. Every time I've done skull paint I find myself meticulously trying to patch over these edges of skin, despite knowing that it's inside skin that Shouldn't Have Make Up On It. Once my face is monochrome, I don't want to be able to see a scrap of real human under there. Smiling, or otherwise opening your mouth wide enough to see the pink, looks UNSETTLING. My own skin causes the uncanny valley effect. You see where this is going. In NtN we learn Harrowhark disassociates often enough that Crux isn't surprised or concerned to see "Harrow" insisting she's someone else. Obviously this is due to her schizophrenia, and perhaps trauma besides. But it doesn't account for every aspect of why Harrow's "like that." On her most lucid days Harrow ignores her body to the point of sweating blood and passing out. She goes entire days without eating. She thinks of herself as a skeleton unfortunately covered in flesh. She sleeps in her paint.

All of which is heinous, but that last one has stuck with me. From age 13-18 I barely glanced down while I showered and whatever I saw I basically blocked out. I wore underwear and a bra under my pajamas to sleep every night. I was going through the wrong puberty, "my body was in open rebellion" as I liked to say at the time, and the only way to cope was to bind it down and pretend it wasn't happening. By Gideon's narration in HtN one gets the impression most nuns of the Ninth are putting their paint on after breakfast and taking it off when they get home. It's not even expected the average person wears it every time they leave the house. But Harrow regularly only takes her paint off in order to redo it. I suspect a combination of being the most brainwashed person in her own cult, knowing how she was conceived, and the regular disassociation make it very difficult for Harrow to conceptualize that she actually lives in a body. If she faced that fact head on she'd have to ask why it so often feels someone else is using her body. She'd have to cope with owning this body, being a part of this body, that was bought with the blood of 200 children who should have been her peers and friends. Instead she pretends it's an object on loan from them. And she does it with 10 layers of black petticoats and so much paint she never has to see her own skin.

Which brings me to the final thing I've noticed wearing full face paint. It dehumanizes you to yourself and everyone around you. I couldn't read my own expressions in a mirror. Even people who understood and were delighted with my cosplay were visibly nervous talking to me. You don't look like a person. Studies have shown that faces wearing heavy make up are ranked as harder to read and perceived as less empathetic. It's a particularly insidious trap of patriarchy that many women find self esteem in wearing make up, while that very act makes everyone around them treat them more callously. And, worst of all, if you stop wearing it once you're used to it, your naked face is shocking. You look sick due to your colors being less bold and the normal small flaws of your face appear unbearably ugly. With all this in mind, Harrow has trapped herself in a feedback loop of not being able to witness her own face and becoming more and more disgusted with the flesh and person underneath whenever she has to glance at it.

[tossawary]

One piece of acting advice that has stayed with me for years in regards to both writing and drawing as well is: "Don't use the body to act what the character is saying. Act what the character is THINKING."

Like, as a very, very basic example: a character is apologizing by saying, "I'm sorry." But that line is going to look and sound different depending on what the character is thinking. Crossed arms and a sullen tone can mean that a character is actually thinking: "I don't mean it and also I hate you." A pleading tone and reaching out to take the other character's arm can mean: "Please don't leave me." A tired voice and slumped shoulders within context could mean: "I did what I had to do."

This is one way to begin to do "Show, Don't Tell" in storytelling. It is trusting your audience to see the depth and to catch on to the things you leave unsaid. It's fun to let the audience be observant and clever. It is also reflective of real life, where people are often scared of being vulnerable, or don't necessarily even understand their own emotions, or can't articulate their own thoughts, or have difficulty identifying the true feelings of the people around them, and so don't say very much.

There are exceptions to this advice, of course. In writing especially, rather than in a visual medium, some POV characters are very good at reading emotions from body language and others are not, and their observations in the narration may reflect this skill. Some characters will assume everyone around them is always angry with them or simply not pay attention to other people's moods at all, personalities which can also be subtly communicated to the audience and later used in the story in some interesting way.

Some characters have excellent control over their body language and tone of voice, because they are on-guard, highly trained in some fashion, or a very good liar. They will not easily communicate their true thoughts through their body language or their actions. Their lie can be so good that it can be slipped past the audience as nothing important to the plot until it comes back to bite. Their oddly perfect control over their body in a tense situation can instead maybe be used to indicate to the POV character and/or the audience: "Oh, there's something up with this person."

Body language will also change by culture and class and disability and so on. This clash can cause communication problems between characters, as a character's affectionate pat on the shoulder of another might be intended as casual comfort, but be received as overly intimate condescension. Different cultures / people can even have very different opinions on what level of eye contact and overlapping speech is rude.

This advice was originally given to me in the context of illustration and animation, in which it is very common for inexperienced artists to act out the words that the character is saying in mime-like gesture. In media for young children, we might choose to keep things very simple, as toddlers struggle to learn what it looks like and feels like to be angry or happy. But past that? People don't really behave this way. What we say and what we really mean are not always synchronized, and we can use the body to communicate this.

[togament]

𝐓𝐀𝐋𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐃𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐘 𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐇𝐎𝐍𝐄.

sakura, ume, suo, kaji, kiryu, endo, togame.

"ever imagined how it'd be like to be in the mood with them but damn it. You're separated by distance? Mhm. I got just the thing for you."

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: PHONE SEGGS UH OH!, language language swearing swearing, AFAB!reader, ume switchy :o, endo's a fucking menace :((((, TOGAMMMMEEEEEEE *howls!!!!! barks foaming at the mouth*, toy usage, your man straight up “jorking it” and by it haha well lets justr say his peanits, degradation on endo's part--general seggsy time stuff and needy boyfriends, NSFW STUFF MINORS DON’T INTERACT PLS.

𝐒𝐀𝐊𝐔𝐑𝐀.

✦ gotta guide him through it. At first, he didn’t really see the appeal of it. Why do it over the phone when you could meet up instead. ✦ but OH once he’s in the zone though, ONCE HE UNDERSTANDS? SEES THE LIGHT????? I’m wishing your pussy good luck because you’re doing it often. ✦ your phone rings sometimes at 2 am and you’re met with a panting Sakura. He sounds so apologetic too — he’s fought against calling you and just handling it himself. But he couldn’t help it. He has to call you. To hear you. ✦ “Strokin’ my cock right now. F-fuck m’sorry but can ya touch yourself for me too? Couldn’t get ya outta my head and I—ngh.. Need t’cum. Please, baby. It’ll be quick. Promise.” ✦ narrator’s voice: it was in fact, not quick at all. ✦ he likes sending over voicemails at night when he knows you're alone, when he's needy (which is often). ✦ it's mostly just of him panting into the receiver, recalling the events of the day and how each thing you did turned him on. You often end up sending each other voicemails to quench the thirst but god damn it. That doesn't come close to fucking.

𝐔𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐈𝐘𝐀.

✦ another one of the ":o I don't see the appeal of phone sex when we could just see each other instead?" gang. He sees the vision real quick when you dropped something while you were talking though. You bent down to pick it up and let out a soft grunt. He couldn't stop his mind from wandering. ✦ BIG ON PRAISE. GRUNTS AND SIGHS INTO THE RECIEVER LIKE HIS LIFE DEPENDS ON IT. LOVES DOING IT WHILE HE'S LAYING DOWN, PANTS HURRIEDLY UNBUCKLED AND MESSY, SHIRT HAPHAZARDLY THROWN TO THE SIDE. PHONE WEDGED IN BETWEEN HIS CHEEK AND SHOULDER WHILE HE STARTS STROKING WITH ONE HAND AND THE OTHER TANGLED IN HIS HAIR, GRIPPING IT LIKE YOU WOULD--(gets dragged off stage kicking and screaming) ✦ big switch. He's Umemiya, after all. He's the feared and respected leader of the Bofurin for a damn reason. Very sweet when he's just in the mood on a random day, chuckling in between because that's just how the both of you are. It's fun! But when he hasn't seen you for a couple of days? Oh FUCK. When his voice would normally grow soft and whiney, has morphed into growled responses with him fucking his fist desperately, trying to remember how your cunt would swallow him whole. ✦ "G-Good girl, my good fuckin' girl. Filling your pussy up with that dildo you bought? Not good enough, huh?" he adds, grunting as he's imagining you fucking yourself with the dildo, panting and unsatisfied, knowing full well you need him filling you up instead. "I really miss you, babe. You'd look so pretty-gh-! Underneath me right now. So pretty." ✦ cums hard every time you're on call, grunting and wheezing out your name so desperately you almost feel like he's trying to summon you somehow. ✦ Thanks you for it too. It's cute!!! Ends with both of you cleaning yourselves up, still on call. You both often fall asleep together with your phones still on.

𝐒𝐔𝐎.

✦ you both call often. He just loves hearing your voice! Thing is, you never know when he's in the mood. But he somehow can tell whenever you are. What gave it away? Was it the way your breathing stilled when he let out a sigh when he stretched? Was it the way you tripped over your words when he lowered his voice just a tad? Was it when you were left speechless when he praised you for finishing a task you were putting off? Was his teasing working on you? Whoopsies. ✦ INSTRUCTIONAL WITH IT. He’s so good at directing you what to do. ✦ “Want you to imagine my fingers, dove. Why don’t you ease just two in for me? That’s my girl. Now curl them up a little. Keep your mind on me." ✦ you want him to feel good too :(((((( so you ask for him to do the same as you. Of course, he lets you beg a little first. Little did you know he was already fucking his fist before you even started. ✦ has one of your clothes or panties close by because he loves smelling them. He loves your scent. It helps him get off. Hell, he gets horny in public when he takes a whiff of your perfume. ✦ he gets more vocal when he cums and that’s when you KNOW for sure he’s jacking off while listening to you. String of expletives and grunts escape his lips while he spills onto his hand, dribbling down his knuckles while you’re riding out your high.

𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐁𝐎𝐘𝐅𝐈𝐄𝐒 𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐔𝐓.

𝐊𝐀𝐉𝐈.

✦ FILTHY. FILTHY. FILTHY. ✦ doesn't have much toys but he has a tenga flip and uses it whenever he calls you. Can’t just go full hand and lube. (Probably has a warmer for it too. Mhm. Yeah.) ✦ another "clothes stealer". Has stolen your panties and shirts a couple of times. ✦ you can hear the wet squelching through the phone whenever he thrusts. Whether it’s lube or his cum, you could never ever tell. ✦ AGAIN, FILTHY. SO SO SO SO FILTHY. ✦ “y’getting off to this, huh? Listening to me fuck my toy? Fuckin’ know you’re soaking wet for me now. Lemme hear it. Lemme hear my pussy.” ✦ “keep up with me. Don’t you fuckin’ cum until I say so.” He barks, but he ends up cumming before you. He’s still pumping his sensitive cock waaay after he’s released though. He wants to hear you fall apart. ✦ bites back his whimpers but when he cums? Jesus. He’s stuttering out your name, repeating it like a damn prayer.

𝐊𝐈𝐑𝐘𝐔.

✦ HAS SO MUCH TOYS HOLY FUCK. ✦ he sends over photos of them before he calls, wanting you (yes YOU, dear reader!) to pick the toy of the night!!! ✦ he’d much prefer doing your mutual masturbation over facetime but you suggested a voice call. Who is he to deny his princess? ✦ always opens with a syrupy sweet, “How’s my baby?” and eases you into it with him. He never starts without you or without your express approval. If you’re suddenly not in the mood, he gets it. It happens sometimes. You guys could just talk instead. ✦ praise praise praise. Whispers the raunchiest and sweetest things to you. Talks you through it, guides you. HE’S WAY TOO GOOD. ✦ “Need my pretty princess right now. Need ya to sit on my face—taste so good. Fuck… Your pretty little moans too. I’m addicted.” ✦ “Remember when I did that thing you liked with my tongue? Yeah? Want you to do that on your clit with your fingers. Circle around it f’me, princess. Mhm.. Oh? Not good enough? Need my piercing on it? Naughty.” ✦ PORNOGRAPHIC MOANS. SO FUCKING PRETTY??? You’ve asked for his permission to record some of them. Of course he lets you. ✦ sends photos of the aftermath if you want him to. His cum on his still clenched abs, his trimmed happy trail, over his belly button piercing. Yum. ✦ HAS DEFINITELY POSTED ON GWA YOU CANNOT CONVINCE ME OTHERWISE.(it’s JOI too :(((( he’s secretly dedicated some audios for you. May or may not have accidentally whispered your name in one of his jerk off with me audios too :(((((((( man I’m sobbing into my pillow. Nobody touch me.)

𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐎.

✦ you can’t look at this man and say he’s shit at phone sex. You can’t convince me otherwise. You just can’t. ✦ of course, he’s absolutely cracked at talking dirty to you. It’s always a mix of praise and degradation with him. ✦ he’d be happy if you just sent him nudes, really. But he’s over the moon once you suggested to do it over a call. Immediately is palming his hard on through his jeans while he’s waiting for you to pick up. Opens with a casual little, “hey, honey,” you wouldn’t know he’s practically going to town on his cock, hot to go. ✦ with how sweet he could be to you, he could be so, so fucking mean too. ✦ “My, my. That was such a pretty sound you just made. Wanna do that again for me? Wanna hear my pretty little cockslut begging for me while I fuck my fist. Yeaaah, just like that. Louder.” ✦ the type to send in voicemails at random times of the day. You know they’re exclusively for you since he’s practically chanting out your name while he fucks himself. You’ve made the mistake (plenty of times) of listening to some of them in public. Thank god your phone wasn’t on full volume but people definitely heard your boyfriend fucking his fist. ✦ you put him in his place when you get home by tying him down to the bed and edging him to hell and back and back again and back again and back again and—

𝐓𝐎𝐆𝐀𝐌𝐄.

✦ THIS MANNN…. He knows how to use his voice. He KNOWS HOW TO USE HIS VOICE SOMEONE HOLD ME THE FUCK BACK— ✦ he really doesn't like texting. So you both often call each other at the end of the day when you're apart. You're often apart too, with work and with it taking you to different cities. He's home alone at your apartment with your pets, with your clothes beside him on the couch. See where this is going? :-)) ✦ "Miss ya. Fuck, I really miss ya. Even the cats miss yer constant yappin'-" he teases and he's palming his cock through his gray sweatpants when he hears you shoot a clever quip at him. "Mhh-doll, I really do fuckin' miss ya. Especially when we wake up in the mornin'? Yeah. When ya press yer ass up against me, miss how ya know how to touch me just right-" "Jo, are you touching yourself right now?" he has the gall to chuckle. "Wanna see?" He was so ready to switch to facetime, to show you how he's lazily dragging his fingers up and down his throbbing cock, gray sweatpants pulled down just enough to pull it out. But you wanna stay on the call. You're rushing to your bed, hand in your shorts as soon as you lay down. ✦ likes dirty talking. LOVES when you talk dirty to him back. He's whispering phrases like, "mhm, yeah?", "what do ya want me t'do to ya when you get back?", "what else, angel?" prodding you on, urging you to express your deepest desires to him because he's NEEDY NEEDY NEEDY. (He knows you're as eager as he is too) ✦ wants to cum with you so he edges himself until you say you're almost there. Wants to match your pace and tries to by listening to your breathing, the rhythm of your moans. Never fails to tell you he loves you after he cums. ✦ promises a huge surprise for you when you get back :-)

a/n: THESE WERE SO FUCKING FUN TO DO RRRRAAAAAHHHHHHHHHRHRHR!!!!!!!!!!!!! *insert werewolf ripping clothes open meme here* I hope you guys like it. The brainworms are wriggling mighty strong.

[sarahscribbles]

𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐅𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐓𝐢𝐦𝐞

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝐈𝐭'𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐚 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐮𝐢𝐥𝐝 𝐮𝐩, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐋𝐨𝐤𝐢 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞

𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: 𝐅𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐋𝐨𝐤𝐢 𝐱 𝐟!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 𝟒.𝟔𝐤

𝐃𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐛𝐲 @inklore

𝐋𝐨𝐤𝐢 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

The God of Mischief is laughing beside you. 

It’s quiet against the happy chatter of the TV but still sends a rush of warmth straight to your heart - like taking a straight shot of Tennessee whiskey on a winter’s evening. It’s nothing like the bitter, sardonic sound he reserves for most of the team - this laughter is light and joyous and unquestionably happy.

It’s…nice, and it’s quickly becoming your favourite sound in the world. 

Much like how Loki is becoming your favourite person in the world. It’s been gradual, like the first blooming flowers of spring, and, if you’re being honest, entirely unexpected. Only a few months ago Loki was nothing more than a thorn in your side. Now, you can’t imagine your life without him. 

In a short space of time, he’s become your best friend and your confidante; he’s the first person you want to run to when you have a bad day, the first person you want to run to when you have a good day, and, steadily, he’s starting to feel like home. 

He isn’t a monster intent on destruction or a ticking time bomb ready to explode.

He’s just Loki, the man whose happiness is slowly becoming yours.

His chest bounces beneath your ear again. You have no idea what the narrator has just said, but it was evidently something that Loki found amusing, and his laughter pulls an easy smile across your face. “I love hearing you laugh,” you murmur quietly, nuzzling even further into his side. 

Maybe it’s because the man who so many people are still quick to call a villain is reclined back on your sofa with his legs stretched out on the massive ottoman, maybe it’s because he’s cradling you to his cashmere clad chest like he never wants to let you go, or maybe it’s because of the random kisses he’s been pressing to the top of your head all evening. 

Whatever it is, you’re overcome with softness for him. Behind the aloof, icy facade is a golden heart, and you’re seeing more and more of the goodness that lies within it every single day.

“Is that so? Then we should watch your little mortal box more often, darling. It’s rather endearing to hear Midgardians attempt to understand Asgard,” he reponds, mirth lighting up his voice while his fingertips trail softly along your upper arm.

He misses the fond roll of your eyes only because something else has caught his attention that he must pass comment on, and you listen enthralled while he explains the actual differences between Valhalla and Fólkvangr. You’ve both been watching this documentary on Norse mythology for over an hour, and Loki has spent a large chunk of it pointing out every wrong detail no matter how small. 

Each deep, exasperated sigh and pronounced click of his tongue has you giggling like a child beneath his arm, to which he squeezes you that little bit tighter. He’s proud of himself, and it makes you wonder if he’s actually annoyed by the portrayal of his home or if it’s all an act to make you laugh. 

With Loki, either is highly likely. 

“Do you know what amuses me, darling?” he says lightly, still trailing those elegant fingers along your arm. You expect to hear something more about what the documentary has gotten wrong, but that’s not what comes. “A few months ago, you actively despised me. Now, I believe you would climb into me if you could.” His voice is soft, leaving no room for you to doubt that he’s only teasing. 

You burrow deeper into his embrace. “I didn’t despise you,” you reply with a small smile.

His arm tightens around your shoulders again and something warm and golden blooms in the pit of your stomach. It’s too soon to call it what you know it is, but you feel the flame burn brighter with every second you spend with him.

The man you’re currently twisted around is brilliant and loving and your heart fits right in the palm of his hand. It’s safe there, you know. You trust him, even though everyone you know has warned you not to. 

It’s one of the easiest things you’ve ever done. 

Loki’s chest rumbles with laughter again. “Darling, you despised me,” he repeats, but you know he’s smiling along with you. 

You pretend to huff, but reach out to poke his side, delighting in the way he squirms beneath your tickling touch. “I didn’t! I didn’t like you, but I didn’t despise you, either,”

“That knife you threw at me in the training room after Yule begs to differ,” he shoots back seamlessly, while you force back laughter at the memory of his face frozen in shock at your expert aim. 

You shrug lightly into his chest. “Natasha told me I needed to practice more. 

“Darling, I can assure you she meant to practice on inanimate objects. 

You tilt your head back to peer up at him with a teasing smile. “You were inanimate; you were standing in the doorway.” 

Loki releases an exasperated sigh but wraps both arms tightly around you to pull you fully into his lap. “Little menace,” he replies while you pretend to squirm in his grip. It only makes him grip you tighter until you’re clamped inescapably against his chest. 

Through the rich material of his sweater, you can feel his firm chest and the taut muscles of his stomach. The man is a work of art, yet it’s you who's straddling his lap - an unremarkable mortal. 

He smiles at you as you continue to admire him, and it’s a smile that’s almost shy. “What’s going on in that brilliant mind of yours, hmm?” he asks quietly, resting his hands on your hips.

“You. Thinking about you,” you answer, watching the faint tinge of pink that colours his cheeks. 

His hands slide up from your hips only a fraction until he can dip his thumbs underneath the hem of your shirt to trace absentminded circles on your bare skin. It’s an innocent touch, but it sends something electric shooting along your spine. 

“Oh? Do elaborate, darling,” he purrs. 

Loki’s eyes are sparkling with amusement, but you can read the need for praise that’s swirling deep beneath the surface. It’s one thing you can’t deny him. 

“I was thinking about how beautiful you are,” you tell him, sliding your hands from around his neck to stroke his biceps. “And how lucky I am,” you continue. 

The muscles in his neck flex and you feel your resolve crumble to dust. It’s been calling out to you from the moment he pulled you into his lap, and you can no longer deny yourself the luxury of pressing your lips to his skin. 

Loki’s broken inhale is instant and his fingers curl tighter around your waist. Your teeth are quickly grazing along his throat while you suck a bruise into his skin. You want to mark him, to stake your claim on him. 

You want to leave no doubt that this god - this beautiful, wonderful man - is yours. 

“Darling, you need -,” he begins, but it melts to a moan when you run your tongue along his neck. “Darling,” he tries again. 

You silence him with a kiss. It’s slow and deep, and when you tangle your fingers in his hair to tug it, he rolls his hips experimentally against you. The hard length of him presses wondrously against you, coaxing your hips to grind down on top of him. Loki’s breath catches in his throat while he kisses you, and you know what’s coming before he even opens his mouth. 

“Darling, anymore of that and -,” 

“I’m ready,” you interrupt him, cupping his face in your hands. “I’m ready.” 

His eyes soften as they take you in, scanning your face for even a breath of hesitation. “Are you sure?” he asks, while his thumbs return to stroking your sides. 

“Yes,” you answer firmly, resting your forehead against his. “No more waiting. Please.” 

In one smooth movement, his arms are wrapping around your middle to press you tightly against him. One strong hand weaves its way into your hair while his lips find yours again. There’s a new hunger to his kiss - it’s raw and possessive and filled with a need that has been simmering beneath the surface for months. 

You expect him to flip you onto your back and finally make you his right here on the sofa, but his hands eagerly begin to run down your back and grip beneath your thighs. Suddenly, he’s on his feet and your legs are locking around his waist. You can’t help but giggle against his lips, because he’s not letting you break this kiss even for a second. 

“Beautiful thing,” he whispers into your mouth, effortlessly carrying you from your living area and down the hallway toward your bedroom. 

The Norse mythology documentary is long forgotten. 

His lips stay locked to yours until your back hits the bedroom door, and only then does he break away to curse as he fumbles with the handle. You laugh quietly - because for some reason it’s oddly endearing - and press a chaste kiss to his cheek. 

Loki wastes no time in kicking the door closed when you’re finally through. Vaguely, you notice a faint green shimmer cascade over the wood as it settles in the doorframe, but it’s pushed from your mind by the frenzy of kisses that Loki is pressing to every inch of your face. 

“Do you know,” he murmurs, trailing a haphazard line of kisses along your cheeks, “how long I’ve wanted this? Wanted you?”

His admission fans the flames of desire burning fiercely in your stomach. How have you lasted so long without inviting him into your bed? How have you not had this man again and again until his name is seared into your soul? How have you not realised how fiercely he burns for you too?

“Then take me. Please,” you murmur against his lips. 

His answering smile is soft and gives you another swift kiss. “Begging won’t be necessary, darling.” 

With surprising gentleness, he lays you on the bed amongst your pile of pillows. Your legs fall open instantly for him, to which he quickly climbs between. There’s a hesitance to his movements, almost as if he’s scared to lay a finger on you. 

“I’m not going to break,” you say with a smirk. “You can touch me. I need you to touch me, Loki.” 

Your hands find the hem of his sweater, coaxing it along his back until he’s helping you pull it off. You’ve seen him shirtless before - many times - but your fingers still reach hungrily for his chest. Loki shivers beneath your touch and pride blooms happily in your stomach. 

An unremarkable mortal you may be, but you have a god shivering beneath your fingers. 

Slowly, his hands slip underneath your shirt, and cool fingers glide along your stomach to push it over your head. His eyes travel appreciatively over you before settling on your breasts. 

“Enchanting, beautiful thing,” he says, leaning to press his lips to your neck. 

The reverence in his voice has a rush of heat pulse between your thighs while you grasp his strong shoulders. Too many times, previous lovers have made you feel like you were nothing more than an object, something that was conveniently there for them to fuck. 

Not with Loki, though. The man has barely undressed you and he’s treating you like the most precious thing his hands have ever held. 

Boldly, you reach for his belt, shooting him a suggestive smirk while you unfasten it. He lets you work, diving in for another blistering kiss as you undo the button and open the zipper. The taste of him on your tongue and the feel of him beneath your fingers is electrifying, and there’s a newfound urgency in your movements as you try to push his jeans off. 

After a few strategic tugs they slide over his hips, granting you the freedom to run your hands greedily over the firm swell of his ass. You can’t help but moan shamelessly into his mouth while simultaneously squeezing him with both hands. He’s a work of art beneath your appreciative fingertips. 

Something close to a growl rises from Loki’s chest and he gently nips at your bottom lip with his teeth. “Are you trying to seduce me?” he purrs lightly. 

Grinning, you squeeze his ass again. “It’s been my evil plan all along.” 

“Ah! I’ve been bested by a beautiful little devil!” he teases and lowers his lips back to your neck. 

His kisses are slow and deliberate and punctuated by the occasional nip of his teeth. You know what he’s doing; you know that every mark he’ll place on you tonight is a claim, a message to anyone who looks that he’s finally made you his.

The molten beast of arousal burns fiercer between your thighs. You hope and pray that you’ll be covered in his marks tomorrow. You want everyone to know that you belong to him.

Loki interlocks the fingers of one hand with yours, all while slowly trailing a path of kisses along your chest and down your stomach. It’s silent adoration - a god worshipping his mortal - and he only stops when his lips meet the waistband of your leggings. You feel him hesitate, feel him run the pad of his thumb across the material while he lifts his eyes to yours.

It only takes you a second to realise he’s asking for permission. 

You nod quickly and breathe out a quiet “yes.” 

Loki presses a final kiss to your stomach and gently squeezes your hand. He lets go to hook both sets of fingers into your leggings, taking great care not to jostle you around while he tugs them - along with your underwear - easily down your legs. You’re suddenly bare before him and, stupidly, you feel a rush of nervousness pulse through you. This man has slept with gods and goddesses and beings more beautiful than you can even imagine. 

How can you compare?

Glittering green eyes travel hungrily over you. The earlier softness is still shining there clear as day, but now it’s swirling and mixing openly with undisguised lust. It causes a gentle heat to burn beneath your skin and, almost subconsciously, you attempt to cover yourself. 

But Loki is having none of it. 

His hands reach to clasp yours and he folds your fingers easily between his, pinning your arms to the mattress. “You are the most beautiful creature I have ever laid eyes on,” he says slowly, making sure you hear every word. 

“Are you trying to seduce me?” you repeat his question back to him, though even you can hear the shakiness of your own voice. 

Loki’s answering smile is infectiously boyish. “Is it working?” 

He can likely hear your heart thundering in your chest, but you still reply with, “maybe. I’m not sure yet.” 

“Hmm, perhaps I need to try a little harder?” he says, still grinning impishly.

His hands slide to gently grip your wrists so he can guide your arms around his neck. It’s such a simple gesture, but it makes your heart swell in your chest because he trusts you enough to touch him. You hum contentedly and tangle your hands loosely in his hair, twisting silky strands around your fingertips as he drops his lips back to your chest.

His kisses are slower now and the warmth of his lips lingers like a dream against your skin. It’s as though he finds his pleasure from simply kissing you, like that alone is enough to send him freefalling into bliss. It’s a heady thought that has your back arching, greedily searching for more of him or maybe offering up more of yourself. 

You aren’t entirely sure. 

Loki’s lips travel lower in tandem with his hands that are curled around your middle. His touch is so intoxicating, so wonderfully addictive that you can’t stop the quiet whimper that slips from between your lips. You feel him smile against the skin of your lower stomach, feel his thumbs trace tiny circles against your hipbones, and when he hovers just millimeters from your cunt, you automatically hold your breath. 

When nothing happens you flick your eyes questioningly down to his. 

Loki is gazing at you with desire storming in his eyes, so much so that they’re almost completely black. He looks like a man starved and doesn’t break his gaze from yours as he bends his head to lick a firm, slow stripe along the length of your cunt. Electricity crackles almost joyously through your blood, setting every inch of you aflame and pulling a shameless moan from the depths of your throat. 

Through the haze of your desire, you feel Loki gently squeeze your hips. “Ok?” he asks quietly. 

The laugh you release is short and strangled. “Y-yes! God, yes!” 

A wolfish smile curls across his face. You watch transfixed as he dips back between your thighs, never tearing his eyes from yours as he buries his tongue in your cunt. A volcano of pleasure erupts in your core, twisting through every inch of you with each skillful flick of his tongue. You groan, you whimper, you grip Loki’s curls so tightly that you’re surprised he isn’t howling from the pain. 

“Ugh…fuck!” you groan when he slips his hands beneath your ass to pull you closer. 

His mouth is warm and wet and talented - god, it’s talented - and when his tongue begins to lap over your clit you can’t help but buck and grind against his face. You feel him hum appreciatively against your cunt, and he swirls his tongue firmly over your swollen clit once, twice more. 

“Loki!” you whimper. “Fuck, Loki, keep doing that! Please!” 

He’s only too happy to grant your request. His tongue traces swirls and patterns endlessly against your clit. It’s just enough pressure and just the right rhythm that the coil in your stomach quickly begins to wind tight. Every expert flick and swirl of Loki’s tongue is like diesel to a flame, setting your core alight until you’re completely engulfed by him.

If you died right now, you would greet death happily. 

Loki continues to lap at your cunt like a man starved, and when your back arches off the bed, he slips his hands further beneath your back to clamp you firmly against his warm mouth. It’s pleasure like you’ve never experienced - white hot and all consuming - and before long you’re balancing beautifully on the edge. 

“Loki…Loki, please…I’m…m’ gonna come!” you say, unsure if it’s a warning or a plea. 

The first tendrils of your release are licking through your core and each tiny cry that passes from your lips only encourages the god between your legs. The warm wetness of his tongue laps perfectly at your clit, making stars begin to dance at the edge of your vision, but when he moans against you - a deep, satisfied rumble of sound - you know you’re gone. 

Your orgasm engulfs you suddenly and without warning. The force of it sends your eyes rolling in your head and your hands tangling in Loki’s hair like a vice. His name leaves your lips in a scream to the heavens, and his head doesn’t stop bobbing between your legs until you’re panting and boneless on top of the mattress. 

Amidst the lavender haze that has settled around you like a favourite blanket, you feel Loki press a soft kiss to your still sensitive clit. It makes you jolt and pulls a strangled sound from deep in your throat, but then his thumbs are drawing lazy circles over your hip bones. 

I’m here. 

His lips begin a slow path from between your thighs, pressing gently and haphazardly along your stomach and between the valley of your breasts. He kisses across your collarbone and dips below your chin, making sure not to miss even an inch of your throat. 

Never in your life have you felt more desired.

“Exquisite,” he murmurs before his lips find yours. "Worthy of the gods.” He kisses you deeply and the taste of you is still heavy on his tongue. It’s electrifying and only serves to reignite the flames of arousal that he’s only just quenched. 

You can’t help but giggle against his lips and reluctantly break his kiss. “The only god I want is you,” you say quietly, cupping his face in your hands. 

He gazes down at you silently, looking as though you’ve just placed the secrets of the universe in his hands. It’s both endearing and heartbreaking - that he’s struggling to believe he’s the one you want - and it fills you with a renewed purpose to ensure this man never goes to sleep feeling unwanted. 

You tug him back down until his lips are back on yours. His kiss is slower this time, languid, as though he wishes to use every last second to commit the taste of you to heart. 

A god drunk on the taste of his mortal. 

“Touch me. Please,” he rasps, breaking from your lips for only a second. 

It’s a plea you’re only too happy to answer. Slowly - because you want to enjoy every last inch of this man - you slide your hands from where they’ve been resting on his biceps. You marvel at the broadness of his shoulders and drink in the smooth expanse of his muscled back. Lightly, you trace your fingertips along the hollow of his spine, delighting in how he shivers beneath your touch.

But it’s nothing compared to the deep, appreciative moan that tumbles from his lips when your hands once again squeeze the smooth swell of his ass. 

You laugh into his mouth and rest your arms back across his shoulders. “You are so beautiful,” you whisper, raising a hand to brush some stray curls behind his ear.

He catches your wrist before it can rest your hand back on his shoulder and presses a kiss to the centre of your palm. “You, my dove, are a treasure amongst mortals,” he says softly, all while positioning himself between your welcoming thighs. His forehead finds yours at the same time his cock nudges teasingly against you. “Let me pleasure you, darling, please. Let me give you every part of me.” 

Easily, you wrap your legs around his waist where they fit like a missing puzzle piece. “If you don’t, I’ll be very upset,” you tease him. 

He grins widely so widely at you that the corners of his eyes crinkle endearingly. “Well, we certainly can’t have that,” he replies, and slowly, you feel him begin to ease into you. 

You inhale deeply as the blunt head of his cock slips inside you. It’s barely anything at all but already your head is rolling back on the pillow and your eyes are slipping shut. You knew Loki would feel good, but nothing could have prepared you for just how good. 

You want to lose yourself in the feel of his body in yours, but before you can even draw breath two cool fingers are on your chin, encouraging you to tilt your head forward. 

“Keep your eyes on me, my darling,” he commands softly and you instantly snap them open. “Good girl.” 

His eyes don’t leave yours as he eases himself fully inside you, giving you all the time you need to adjust. He’s big, and every added inch has you clenching joyously around him if only to hear the groans that spill from him each time you do. 

“Fuck,” he groans, dipping his head between his shoulders when you clench particularly hard. “Little vixen. Beautiful little menace,” he continues, dropping haphazard kisses to your cheeks and chin. 

When you can take no more of him he coaxes your hand from where it’s been clamped to his shoulder, clutching it tightly in his own as though he fears you’ll melt beneath the cotton sheets. 

You can’t stop the small smile that tugs at your lips. “I’m not going anywhere. I promise,” you assure him, giving his hand a squeeze. 

A quiet puff of laughter escapes him and he dips his head. You see the sheepish look that settles across his handsome face and your heart swells for him, for this man who has known more loss than many would deem fair. 

You’ve barely left his side these past few months, but still he fears that he’ll lose you. 

“I know,” he answers softly, sounding unmistakably embarrassed. “Forgive me. Sometimes…sometimes I still struggle to believe that someone like you chose someone like me.”

Your free hand is instantly cupping his cheek and your thumb is caressing his flushed skin. Does he know that you feel the exact same way? “I will always choose you,” you tell him firmly. 

He hasn’t even been yours for a year, but you know with unwavering certainty that you would follow this man to the ends of the earth and beyond. 

Loki presses his cheek into your palm and leans in to steal another chaste kiss from your lips. “My darling mortal,” he murmurs with a roll of his hips that has you groan. “My beautiful girl.” 

You can’t look away as he expertly begins to build you up. You’re lost to the pretty gleam of his green eyes as they hold yours and how stray strands of ink black hair fall to frame his face; lost to the way his jaw falls slack when you roll your hips to meet his and clench around his cock; lost to how your name falls like spring rain from his lips, like it’s the only word he’ll ever need to know. 

The edge crests like a wave in your core within minutes, each ripple making you dig your heels into his ass in a desperate attempt to pull him closer, deeper. Your climax is bubbling white hot in the pit of your stomach, promising to drown you in pleasure like you’ve never known if you can just tip over the edge. 

“Loki…,” you cry, twisting a hand into his hair for leverage. “Loki…I’m ready…please!”

His hands grips yours like a vice. “Look at me,” he pleads, and your eyes quickly settle back on his. “Cum for me, my darling.” 

With five words, you go soaring off the edge. 

Your orgasm rips through you like a storm, each blinding wave of pleasure submerging you deeper until tiny white stars begin to dance at the edges of your vision. It’s all consuming and so powerful that it robs you of almost all your senses, though you’re vaguely aware of Loki burying his face in your neck as his own climax pulls him under. 

He’s ruined you for anyone else. 

As the final ripples of your release fade in the aftermath, you can hear Loki panting in your ear. You untangle your hand from his hair to stroke it and turn your head to press a light kiss to his temple. 

“Fuck,” you breathe out. It’s all you're capable of saying as you lie boneless on the bed, still basking in the warm afterglow of your orgasm. 

“Fuck.” Loki echoes, rolling onto his back and bringing you with him. 

You burrow happily into his side and feel him drape an arm around your shoulders. His heartbeat is still thundering beneath your ear - something that makes pride blossom in your stomach. 

“Darling?” Loki speaks up after only a minute of silence. 

“Hmm?” you hum back, excitement already beginning to fizz between your legs. 

“I’d like to do that again…if you don’t mind.”

[opencommunion]

one reason (white) queer people misuse the term homonationalism is that they see queerness (or whatever you want to call it) as naturally disaffiliated with the US empire. so they understand homonationalism as a divergence from a natural mutual antagonism between queerness and empire. they talk about homonationalism as if it's an exclusively "normie gay" project, and as if it's a divergence from, rather than a consequence of, the overall trajectory of western lgbtqia+ politics. ironically it’s that self-exceptionalization by the queer, on the basis of their queerness, that imbricates them in homonationalism. they produce themselves as a homonationalist subject, and reproduce homonationalism, every time they articulate their queerness as individualized freedom. and Puar actually anticipates all of this in her original theorization of homonationalism in Terrorist Assemblages, and that's why it really helps to go to the text instead of osmosing queer theory solely through tumblr posts (esp when tumblr is so white and the queer theorists are not): "Some may strenuously object to the suggestion that queer identities, like their 'less radical' counterparts, homosexual, gay, and lesbian identities, are also implicated in ascendant white American nationalist formations, preferring to see queerness as singularly transgressive of identity norms. This focus on transgression, however, is precisely the term by which queerness narrates its own sexual exceptionalism.

While we can point to the obvious problems with the emancipatory, missionary pulses of certain (U.S., western) feminisms and of gay and lesbian liberation, queerness has its own exceptionalist desires: exceptionalism is a founding impulse, indeed the very core of a queerness that claims itself as an anti-, trans-, or unidentity. The paradigm of gay liberation and emancipation has produced all sorts of troubling narratives: about the greater homophobia of immigrant communities and communities of color, about the stricter family values and mores in these communities, about a certain prerequisite migration from home, about coming-out teleologies. We have less understanding of queerness as a biopolitical project, one that both parallels and intersects with that of multiculturalism, the ascendancy of whiteness, and may collude with or collapse into liberationist paradigms. While liberal underpinnings serve to constantly recenter the normative gay or lesbian subject as exclusively liberatory, these same tendencies labor to insistently recenter the normative queer subject as an exclusively transgressive one. Queerness here is the modality through which 'freedom from norms' becomes a regulatory queer ideal that demarcates the ideal queer. ... I am thinking of queerness as exceptional in a way that is wedded to individualism and the rational, liberal humanist subject, what [Sara] Ahmed denotes as 'attachments' and what I would qualify as deep psychic registers of investment that we often cannot account for and are sometimes best seen by others rather than ourselves. 'Freedom from norms' resonates with liberal humanism’s authorization of the fully self-possessed speaking subject, untethered by hegemony or false consciousness, enabled by the life/stylization offerings of capitalism, rationally choosing modern individualism over the ensnaring bonds of family. In this problematic definition of queerness, individual agency is legible only as resistance to norms rather than complicity with them, thus equating resistance and agency.

... Queerness as automatically and inherently transgressive enacts specific forms of disciplining and control, erecting celebratory queer liberal subjects folded into life (queerness as subject) against the sexually pathological and deviant populations targeted for death (queerness as population). Within that orientation of regulatory transgression, queer operates as an alibi for complicity with all sorts of other identity norms, such as nation, race, class, and gender, unwittingly lured onto the ascent toward whiteness. ... To be excused from a critique of one’s own power manipulations is the appeal of white liberalism, the underpinnings of the ascendancy of whiteness, which is not a conservative, racist formation bent on extermination, but rather an insidious liberal one proffering an innocuous inclusion into life."

Jasbir K. Puar, Terrorist Assemblages: Homonationalism in Queer Times (2007)

[genericpuff]

holy crap okay so

I'm two episodes into Kaos

normally I keep my expectations pretty minimal because, let's be real, the Internet - and especially Tumblr - has a tendency to severely overhype new series to be way better than they actually are and it often leaves me sitting there like "that's it? that's what people were freaking out over for weeks?? that was just a bunch of cheap ships and tropes that i've seen 123785902380 times before" LMAO

BUT thankfully compared to other series like Hazbin Hotel and The Amazing Digital Circus, I haven't been worn out on excessive fandom exposure prior to watching Kaos, so I didn't really know what to expect going in besides what folks have told me so far - it's a modern-day Greek epic, and it stars Jeff Goldblum as Zeus (which is, unsurprisingly, peak casting).

That said, I'm very pleased to say that so far, the show is absolutely blowing me away. The set designs, characterizations, weaving of all the players into a central narrative led by a very coy narrator, all of it feels both refreshing and respectful to the source material at the same time.

so uh yeah that LO animated TV show... we have reason to believe now that it's gotten picked up by Amazon Prime, at least according to the showrunner's LinkedIn and posting history from February of this year that seems to imply LO may have been picked up by Amazon-

(but still, nothing's really been confirmed because they're being so tight-lipped about this you'd almost think it's because there isn't a show happening at all cough)

But even then, that means at best we still won't see anything of the LO TV show adaption for another 2-3 years, depending on how production goes.

Why am I talking about LO right now? Well it should be obvious - Kaos double-whammied LO by beating it to the punch at its own game.

I mean, just look at the creative choices alone in the design of the Underworld and its rulers, our beloved Hades and Persephone.

And yes, the entire Underworld is color-graded like this, something so simple and yet effective in communicating the nature of the Underworld and what it stands for - a place where the past lives on through the dead, paused in time, devoid of the vibrant color grading found in Olympus - or "Olympia" as its been named in this retelling - which is, by the way, a visual treat to take in every time it's featured.

(and yes, that is S-tier-companion Billie Piper on the left, but I will not tell you who she's playing, you actually really should go into this show as blind as possible for the thrill of figuring out these characters as they're introduced <3)

That's not even getting into the narrative structure of the plot itself or the phenomenal casting and acting, but again, I don't want to spoil too much as the show is quite new, and I want to actually finish watching the show myself before I get more into the details of its story and how it delivers it (I'm very much hoping I will still be singing this show's praises at the end of its 8 episodes, please for the love of god don't jump the shark, I don't think my heart can take that kind of pain again.)

All that's to say though, Kaos is, so far, exactly what us disappointed fans of LO deserve after all these years, and frankly, I feel like whatever is coming for the LO animated TV show is really gonna have to step up to the plate to both live up to the bar that Kaos has set as well as stand on its own without being affiliated as a cheap Amazon knockoff living in its shadow. Sounds a little familiar and a bit ironic, doesn't it?

[vidavalor]

Crepes: The 1.01 sex meta thing

Alright, my romantic and horny murder hornet friends...

...come and get your very requested 1.01-scene(s)-that-shows-that-Crowley-and-Aziraphale-are-lovers sex meta thing.

We'll be getting a bit blush-inducing NSFW under the cut so keep that in mind...

As Fraulein Maria suggests: Let's start at the very beginning... a very good place to start... when you read, you begin with: A, B, C...

...when you speak Ineffable Husbands, the show tells us, you begin with: lunch, alcohol, and crepes...

We're going to do this semi-glossary-style, since those have proven popular and it works well for this. There are some very brief mentions of Satan's attacks on Crowley, for those that would like to know of that ahead of time. Other than that, I don't think any other trigger warnings apply.

"Gentlemen, in your role as the audience, could you, perhaps, give us more to work with?" -- William Shakespeare, 1601, meta-ing for the writers and performers of Good Omens, requesting us to dive a little deeper.

Temptation accomplished.

~~~

Secret language. A language spoken by secret agents for the purpose of keeping the full, true meaning of their conversation hidden by those who might be observing them. Comprised of code words and phrases that contain other layers of meaning beneath the more easily understood surface layer. Difficult-- and, at times, impossible-- for those who do not speak the language to understand it without a key that unlocks at least one word of the language, revealing the hidden conversation beneath the surface.

Key. Additional context that reveals hidden meaning in a secret language by providing understanding of other layers of meaning beneath the surface in a conversation between secret agents.

Example: some bleating goats in 2500 B.C. illustrating for Aziraphale via additional information and context the true meaning of Crowley's words in the scene. Most keys in Good Omens are separate scenes; this one is an exception because it's the origins of their secret language in the first place. This is also a partner scene to the "no nightingales" moment in 2.06.

Partner scene(s). In Good Omens, a scene or scenes which act as keys to other scene or scenes, providing information and context necessary to fully understand the initial scene, which is usually one we saw earlier in the story.

Example: The Bullet Catch scenes in The Blitz, Part 2 in S2 adding layers of context and meaning to both Crowley and Aziraphale with the paintball gun and Crowley giving the office workers miraculous escapes from death at Tadfield Manor in S1.

Crowley and Aziraphale. Supernatural secret agents of sorts, introduced to us that way by our narrator, God, who points out their penchant for meeting alongside human secret agents in St. James Park. They speak in a secret language that we'll call in this meta Ineffable Husbands Speak that only they-- and God-- speak fluently... but for which Good Omens has been slowing giving us enough information to learn how to speak as well.

Code words. Often neutral-sounding and very common words--by design-- in order to keep the hidden meanings of the secret language secret from outside observers by making it sound like everyday conversation. As a result, code words have dual layers of meaning: they refer to a literal thing on the surface level but also have a secondary meaning beneath that within the secret language.

Example, in Ineffable Husbands Speak: "dining at The Ritz."

To "dine at The Ritz" (in Ineffable Husbands Speak). Surface, literal level: to eat a meal at the restaurant at The Ritz-Carlton, London. Hidden level: to take steps towards being less secretive about their relationship and to live more of a life that is theirs together.

Code phrase/cypher. A phrase that sounds as if it has a single, understood meaning on the surface but is comprised of code words put together to convey a meaning that is hidden from anyone who might hear the phrase but does not speak the secret language. Impossible to understand unless you either created the language or were given instructions on how to speak it... unless you can come into possession of a key that can unlock it.

If spoken to someone who does not have a key to understanding it, they might possibly be able to recognize that you are speaking in a kind of code... but they will not have the understanding of the double meanings of the keywords, nor the context required, to figure out just what the hell you're talking about.

Example: "The clarinet can make beautiful music."

Good Omens included this scene right near the start of the season in 2.01 in which both Crowley and we the audience have no idea what Agent Fuzuli is *really* saying, even if his sentence makes technical, if not really contextual, sense. We can recognize from his over-the-top obvious spy-speak that he is speaking in code. They did so to highlight the existence of hidden language in the show and how important it is to unlocking more layers of meaning in the story.

Neither we nor Crowley expressly need to decode this particular sentence to understand what's happening in the story of Good Omens because Good Omens is not about the romance of Agent Fuzuli and his new paramour, the Azerbaijani Sector Chief. (Cupid!Crowley really out here matchmaking everyone in sight in S2 lol.) If it were, we would be needing to figure out what this clarinet and its beautiful music are all about. Instead, though, the show is suggesting that hidden language and decoding it is paramount-- but we should focus a bit more on the secret language of our main characters Crowley and Aziraphale instead.

Sexual innuendo/sexual euphemism: A kind of secret language in which something that is not inherently sexual is given a sexual connotation. Relies heavily on suggestive tone and context. Often full of in-jokes. Often done to soften talk of sex-- and, just as often, paradoxically, tends to make things actually a bit sexier. Relies on a sense of humor and so increases a sense of playfulness and fun between partners. Is flirting by way of creating a secret language out of innuendo.

Example: To "mend his shirt" in the (code-named) Mrs. Sandwich's sexually euphemistic speak, as brought on by Aziraphale's 19th century-era magic during The Ball, is to give a blowj-- well, actually, here: Crowley will define the innuendo for us through the use of partner scenes...

"Fine *stable* of ladies"... the horse statue where Crowley keeps his glasses in the bookshop... mending Aziraphale's shirt in a way evocative of mending Aziraphale's shirt...

Mrs. Sandwich. A "seamstress." Not her real name. A walking, talking intersection of secret language, innuendo and sex in Good Omens, whose name and the content of her scenes help us confirm we're on the right track in decoding Ineffable Husbands Speak.

Sandwiches. Popular, common food that can be eaten anytime during the day but are most commonly associated with lunch.

Lunch. Midday meal. What Aziraphale offers to buy Crowley in thanks for Crowley rescuing him from The Bastille in the Paris, 1793 scene.

Paris, 1793/The Bastille. Partner scene that acts as the key to the 1.01 scene-- and its subsequent scenes-- that shows the nature of Crowley and Aziraphale's relationship through their use of secret language.

Let's Have Lunch. The 1.01 scene that, when unlocked using its partner scene of 1.03's Paris, 1793 scene, reveals that Crowley and Aziraphale are lovers. How so? Read on. :)

Armageddon: Round One. The end of the world and what Crowley and Aziraphale both separately learn is in motion in 2008 in 1.01. They meet the following day to discuss it and the show tells us then, at the start of the story, exactly one bullet point on their shared timeline-- the very first thing we ever learn about the entire 6,004 years that they have been living on Earth together since the last time we saw them together in Eden. Something important enough that it received its own partner scene in the 1.03 Cold Open basically entirely to help decode this scene in 1.01-- and re-contextualize the 2008 minisode (and a lot more) as a result.

What is this single, very important bullet point?

A lunch they had together in Paris in 1793.

As Crowley & Aziraphale head through the park and argue over whether or not to stop Armageddon, they eventually reach the spot on the side street where Crowley has parked The Bentley. This brings them to not just a conversational impasse but a physical one-- there's nowhere left to walk because they're now at the car and this is when Crowley says:

"Well, let's have lunch, hmm? I still owe you one from..." At this point, we're too busy being charmed by this vintage-y angel and this rock star demon who lunch together on Earth arguing over Armageddon to barely notice the content of this scene and that might be by design. It is sandwiched between two other scenes, both of which understandably get a lot more attention: the "celestial harmonies" conversation on the bench in St. James Park and the kinky lunch at what we'll later learn is The Ritz. ("Lunch" in Ineffable Husbands Speak is not *just* the food kinky lunch, as we'll get into below.)

We also don't yet have the key the first time we watch this scene to decode it because we aren't given that by Good Omens until the 1.03 Cold Open and its Paris, 1793 scene. We can pick up on some vibes in this scene in 1.01 but unless we use the Paris, 1793 scene to fully decode Let's Have Lunch in 1.01, we aren't actually understanding what they are saying and, as Fraulein Greta Kleinschmidt would say, we must know what they are saying... (since we're all not Nazi Zombies, we'll be able to actually figure it out...) :)

...but we do now have the 1.03 Paris, 1793 scene so now, let's check out the moment this scene becomes, um, important-- and that is Aziraphale's response to Crowley's invitation to lunch:

Oh, what's this now...? Crowley owes you lunch from *when,* Aziraphale? From "Paris, 1793", did you say...?!

You mean from the time that you dragged Crowley to The Bastille to save you from a situation you put yourself in and could get yourself out of the entire time because you have a Neil Gaiman-Ask-confirmed, canonical thing for him rescuing you (and because, as a fun S2 partner scene suggests, rescuing you always does make him so happy) and you were so very grateful for the rescue that you offered *to buy him lunch*?! A lunch that this scene in 2008 will confirm you went and had together? A lunch that we had *an entire, separate scene about* in the middle of the 1.03 Cold Open-- alongside The Arrangement and the 1862 breakup and 1941 and the 1967 holy water scene, in terms of importance to understanding this relationship from the show's perspective? THAT LUNCH?! lol

Paris, 1793. The ONE TIME IN THE ENTIRE HISTORY OF THIS RELATIONSHIP lol that it can be safely said that Crowley absolutely, 150%, *most definitely does not owe Aziraphale lunch*. The time we had a whole extra scene over, just to confirm how much Crowley does not owe Aziraphale lunch from this one time in Paris in 1793...

Well, well, well... seems we have ourselves a key. :)

Lunch. Code word in Ineffable Husbands Speak. A code word that, when unlocked, helps to unlock additional language, as we will see.

If Aziraphale's reply to Crowley's lunch invitation is to say the one time in history from which we know Crowley doesn't owe Aziraphale lunch, then Aziraphale's reply is really in response to the hidden, second layer of meaning beneath the lunch invitation, which means that Crowley isn't just asking Aziraphale if he wants to go grab the midday meal together and Aziraphale is more than aware of that. As we will see from the dialogue below, this suggestion that they have lunch on the surface level is also, on the hidden language level, a suggestion that they have sex.

So, ok, let's try this 1.01 scene again, now that we've started to factor in the information we have from its 'Paris, 1793' partner scene from 1.03...

What Aziraphale Is *Not* Saying When He Replies "Paris, 1793" to Crowley's Lunch Invitation in 2008: That he would like to time travel to The French Revolution for lunch; that he would like to go to Paris in the present for lunch; that he wants to go to their favorite creperie; that he wants to go get himself locked up in a maximum security prison so Crowley can come rescue him...

What Aziraphale *Is* Saying When He Replies "Paris, 1793" to Crowley's Lunch Invitation in 2008: That he would like to go to lunch and also that he would like to go to *lunch*-- which is to say that he's in agreement that sex sounds perfect-- and that what he "wants for lunch" is a repeat of how they made love in Paris in 1793.

Let's repeat that because mmhmm lol...

Sitting there in the middle of the second half of Crowley and Aziraphale's second scene in person together, in the middle of the first episode of the show, is Aziraphale recounting sex he and Crowley had over 200 years prior to when this scene is taking place in response to Crowley's suggestion that they shake off the Armageddon blues by sexy lunching their way to spending the night in Aziraphale's bed.

This conversation on the surface is about going to lunch and they are very funny with the literal part of their secret language, as they will actually go to lunch, as we know-- and during that lunch, Crowley will make a joke about the dual layers of meaning of their language when defining the next word in their language for us, which we will get to in a moment. For now, though, let's just go back to the "let's have lunch" scene here and look at the rest of it now that we can understand it on both levels of meaning...

"Well, let's have lunch, hmm? I still owe you one from..." Crowley does not actually owe Aziraphale lunch; this is a way to throw the decisions to him, keeping it sounding like they are just talking about eating lunch-the-midday-meal on the surface when we now know that it's more than that. He trails off and both verbally and non-verbally indicates a whole "you tell me" attitude, having offered up the idea and now giving the choice to Aziraphale. (It's not a magical influence "you tell me" like he did with Sitis, just a verbal ellipsis/non-verbal head shake that hands the conversation over to Aziraphale.) As a result of this and their responses in the rest of the scene, this becomes:

"Well, let's have lunch, hmm? I still owe you one from..." Well, let's have sex, hmm? Let's do our kinky lunch thing. Tell me what you want for later and we'll do that. Whatever you want. Armageddon already fucked up our lunchy dinner that we were supposed to sneak out to have at the fascinating little sushi restaurant where they know you last night-- it can go fuck itself for the afternoon. We're both depressed and tired. Eleven years left. We're almost out of time. I just want to be close to you. Let's have lunch.

"Paris. 1793." I could eat. I never can resist you, you know that. Remember Paris? After The Bastille? I'd like that.

Does Crowley remember The Bastille?

Oh, Crowley remembers The Bastille...

Someone had a very nice time in Paris in 1793 if that little smile and that look and the little "yessss" are any indication. Crowley is down with revisiting The French Revolution and after this, they're both just heading to The Bentley as they continue talking because lunch is on. But why are we even talking about Paris 1793 when we have all seen this episode and know they aren't about to instantly drive back to the bookshop and get their Bastille on?

Anticipatory kink. When partners arrange to have sex in the short term but not immediately and spend the interim time discussing the sex they plan to have as a way of arousing one another over anticipation of the future lovemaking. A form of psychological edging/delayed pleasure. Fancy way of saying 'teasing the fuck out of each other' lol.

The first part of lunch for Crowley and Aziraphale is deciding what's for lunch-- before they go to have lunch-as-in-some-food-- even if part of lunching is that they aren't going to have sex for hours still to come. In addition to the anticipatory element, it's just fun to talk to your partner about sex and the way they do so also has them euphemistically refer back to past times they made love as a way of turning each other on with the memories of those past encounters-- so, doubly fun.

"Yessss. The Reign of Terror. Was that one of ours or one of yours?" Crowley's response to "Paris, 1793." He says 'The Reign of Terror' a little sarcastically, implying that while that is the historical name for the era, he and Aziraphale were actually pretty happy during it, which goes along with what we saw in The Bastille scene. On the surface, though, Crowley and Aziraphale are still attempting to make it sound like they're talking about The Reign of Terror so, technically, "was that one of ours or one of yours?" is a question that is supposed to be about who (Heaven? Hell?) was responsible for The French Revolution but oh, that Paris, 1793 scene is a good partner scene as we know the answer to this question, too...

The French Revolution. Not Crowley's demonic work. The humans thought it up themselves. Established in the Paris, 1793 scene, to help us better understand this bit of the Let's Have Lunch scene.

"Was that one of ours or one of yours?" Look at the wording of that. By definition, since Crowley is speaking to Aziraphale, the "ours" has to include Aziraphale. It's a subtle but present indicator that this isn't entirely smooth language on the surface here because it's accounting for two layers of meaning at once. If it is just about who is responsible for The French Revolution, the sentence doesn't actually make sense but that's because it's designed to sound like something of a casual reply to the surface question about The French Revolution but this conversation is now happening more on the second, hidden level and there, it really means:

We had all the sex in Paris in 1793, angel. Talk to me more about what's got you all hot for The Bastille. I remember all of it but want to know what's lighting you up here so to keep us talking about it, I'll start throwing out some options from Paris under the guise of pretending I'm talking about who is responsible for The French Revolution. Was that one of ours or one of yours? Meaning: do you want to fuck each other later or am I fucking you? By tossing these both out as options I'm obviously also saying that, if you're up for it, I'm in the mood for "ours". I currently have both the need to be inside you *and* the need to get done into next Thursday right now...

"Can't recall." Aziraphale's response to "one of ours or one of yours?" A blatant lie on every level lol. He remembers that the humans were responsible for The French Revolution and, based on how quickly he reached for it when asked what he wanted for lunch on an especially harrowing day, Aziraphale remembers every damn minute of the two of them in bed in Paris in 1793. He knows as much as Crowley what they got up to. "Can't recall" is a reply designed to sound like he can't remember who is responsible for The French Revolution on the surface level but answers Crowley's question on the hidden language level by using "can't recall" to signal that he doesn't have a preference. It's whatever you would like is fine with me. He's definitely noted the "ours" request, though, as we'll see later on.

But Aziraphale also still needs to answer Crowley's underlying question of what's he's wanting that's got him all hot and he keeps the euphemistic, hidden sex chat going by telling Crowley what he's picturing from Paris exactly that he wants later on:

"We had crepes."

Did Crowley and Aziraphale go to lunch-the-midday-meal in Paris after Crowley rescued Aziraphale from The Bastille and have crepes-the-food for lunch? They absolutely did. Lunch-the-midday-meal (or, really, *any* food/meal that is probably not breakfast, which they seem to had yet to sort out by S2 because of Crowley not staying the night) is part of lunch. But we know that this conversation in this scene in 2008 is not really about lunch-the-meal so crepes is our next bit of Ineffable Husbands vocabulary. We can tell at this point that this is a sexual euphemism. That The Guardian of the Eastern Gate and The Serpent of Eden use types of food as euphemisms for types of sex because of course they do lol...

Does the show get into what, exactly, "crepes" are in Ineffable Husbands Speak? Oh yeah. They do lol. But it's mostly on the other side of kinky lunch so we're going to come back to it...

Off of Aziraphale's crepes declaration, they get into The Bentley and peel off and the next time we see them, we're at...

The Ritz-Carlton, London. One of the finest restaurants in the world; known for their famed afternoon tea and world-class service. The origins of the word 'ritzy.' Where Crowley and Aziraphale have lunch in 2008, for what we will learn in the subsequent scene between them is the first time. We won't know that this restaurant is The Ritz until the S1 finale, when they return there after specifying that it's where they are going. We won't begin to understand fully what it means to them in their language to do so until then. The first hint happens around midway through S1 in the 1967 scene, when it becomes apparent that they are speaking to one another in a coded way-- even while alone, as they are just used to their own language by this point-- and that Aziraphale's "dine at The Ritz" aspiration was something tied to the idea of them taking some more steps towards being more openly and fully together.

In 2008, Crowley and Aziraphale decided to go to The Ritz while in The Bentley after the "let's have lunch" scene, in a scene we aren't shown, likely because the decision to do so would include directly referencing their relationship in a way the show has avoided doing so far but, as the 2.06 kiss showed us, won't be doing forever. (We also are never shown them past a certain point at night-- the show choosing to leave them in 2008 after the "godfathers" conversation in the bookshop and again in 2019 after we last see them holding hands during the ride back to Crowley's flat in London from Tadfield. This seems likely to change in S3, especially because there is almost certainly a The Blitz, Part 3 and we last left them late at night drinking wine alone in the bookshop making eyes at one another.)

Right, so, back to The Ritz in 2008 and the kinky lunch part of lunch...

Foreplay. Activities between partners-- physical, psychological, emotional, or all of the above-- that are designed to stimulate sexual arousal, in order to put the mind and the body in the mood for sex.

Kinky lunch is a form of foreplay, as Aziraphale is into the pleasure of being watched by Crowley as he enjoys the pleasure of his food and Crowley is into watching Aziraphale enjoy himself. This is also where the anticipatory kink starts to make even more sense as if they've already decided a bit of what they're going to get up to in bed later on, then they know what each other is thinking about all afternoon-- but especially during kinky lunch.

First date. There's also something of a romantic element to this, which a partner scene in S2 provided, which is that kinky lunch is essentially repeating what first happened thousands of years earlier in Job's cellar in 2500 B.C.. That night was, more or less, Crowley and Aziraphale's first date. Not all the sex they have is tied to lunching but part of lunching is, essentially, weaving their first date into these little sexy dates they're going on throughout different periods in history. Pretty romantic stuff for these two who also literally cannot say the word 'couple' but are basically married.

Biblical "fruits of knowledge." In Good Omens, what happened in The Garden of Eden is canonically known and it's that our Serpent of Eden Crowley tempted Eve into eating an apple from The Tree of Knowledge, which she then shared with Adam. The two of them then followed up the pleasure of eating with exploration into other sensual pleasures, discovered sex, and Eve-- whose biology really is something-- was basically eight months pregnant about two days later when Aziraphale snuck them out of Eden, jumpstarting humanity. Humans, though, have had ongoing debate over Genesis in The Bible as to what, exactly, the "fruits of knowledge" were that Adam and Eve consumed.

One argument is over what kind of food it was that Eve actually ate. In Good Omens, it is the most commonly thought food-- an apple-- but arguments have been made for everything from grapes to different berries to figs to even wheat. While Crowley does eat and different things than this, most of what we've been shown that he's consumed is humorous because it's almost all things related to speculated foods of the Biblical fruits of knowledge (wine-- grapes/berries; whisky-- wheat; an apple-looking tea in the S1 finale at The Ritz, etc..)

The other argument that is made is whether "ate fruit from The Tree of Knowledge" is actually just a metaphor for having sex. In Good Omens, the answer to this question is the opening of its story and it's not an either/or. It's both, with one leading to the other. Crowley and Aziraphale are more than aware of this and of the parallels with Adam and Eve to their own relationship and, like with everything else, they're very dryly funny about it. The two who are responsible for all sensual and sexual pleasure for all of humanity since the literal beginning of time have kinky lunch and a language full of food euphemisms for sex and flirty innuendo mixing the pleasures of eating with the pleasures of sex ("constitution of an ox!") because they're witty and playful like that.

Scrumptious. How Aziraphale describes his dessert at The Ritz. Means both "delicious" and "attractive/sexy enough to eat." Is basically the foremost adjective that describes human, physical beauty in terms of taste. It's kinky lunch-- a mix of the the sensual pleasures of eating food with sexual desire-- in a word.

Scrummy. Shortened version of 'scrumptious.' How Aziraphale describes the grapes he buys at The Globe Theatre in 1601, which he then spends the scene eating in front of Crowley, who flits around him like the horny little murder hornet he is, trying to flirt his way into Aziraphale's bed. 192 years before The Bastille.

Affirmative consent. Verbalized, informed and positive consent to participate in a sexual act. Needs to be direct and clear-- the more explicit and enthusiastic, the better. Good sexual practice is checking in with your partner before and periodically during to ensure that you're both still on the same page and having a positive experience. True of every relationship-- but especially true if one or more partners has had their autonomy violated in any way in the past, as Crowley has (and as Crowley had again the night before in 2008, when attacked by Satan in The Bentley, which was one of his many motivations for wanting to lunch with Aziraphale the next day.)

A cleverly-worded partner check in need not break the mood but is still equally important to do, even if everything seems to be fine. A sense of safety brings about trust and trust is sexy, after all.

"So, what are you in the mood for now?" Aziraphale's pitch-perfect partner check-in after he finishes dessert at The Ritz. He knows Crowley well enough to know that he's alright so this is flirtier than it might have otherwise been had Crowley not been. Still, it's presenting an opportunity to stop and giving Crowley the same sense of control and choice that he gave Aziraphale at the start of their lunch date. It's all done with a practiced ease and a subtle, sexy confidence that highlights that Aziraphale is very good at this and probably undid Crowley even more than watching Aziraphale eat lunch did.

Alcohol. Fermented fruit, wheat/grains or the like. Consumption of alcohol can lower inhibitions and the ability to be fully in control of yourself. To drink with someone then is to let them experience your most vulnerable self and to trust them to keep you safe and unharmed while you're not in a state of full control. It's intimate. It's sex, in food/beverage euphemistic terms, and we already know that Crowley and Aziraphale have a whole food-related sexual vocabulary... which Crowley jokes about in this scene.

When Aziraphale asks Crowley what he's in the mood for now that they've finished their dessert course, the point of the initial shot of the scene comes into focus-- the way the camera swoops a little over the surface of the table before settling back to show us Crowley and Aziraphale. The swooping shot illuminates what's on the table. It shows us that they've already eaten lunch, as Aziraphale is on the last forkful of his dessert. The key bits, though, are the beverages-- the coffee and the wine glasses.

Aziraphale has a larger, cappuccino-sized mug of some form of coffee drink while Crowley's dessert was a dessert coffee, based on the size and shape of the mug he's drinking it from. This is also where it's fun to point out that Mr. Six Shots of Espresso in a Big Cup has drunk half of what would be less than two shots of coffee, in a normal-for-the-drink-sized cup, and that the coffee is light in color, suggesting that it's cut with cream. But while the coffee and its symbolic freedom tied to S2 is fun to look at, the point here is that Crowley's coffee looks to be a dessert coffee, most of which frequently contain alcohol and, even more prominent in the shot, are two, empty wine glasses-- one in front of each of them-- that each have a little hint of red wine stuck in the spot above the stem in each glass, confirming that they both had at least one glass of a red wine with lunch.

The point is that they had wine with lunch and Crowley's likely been sipping an alcoholic coffee with dessert, and they're literally surrounded by bottles of wine behind them, as they're in a restaurant lol-- they're at The Ritz, which is known for their service and isn't exactly rushing them out. They could sit there for hours drinking more alcohol, should they want to... so, when Aziraphale asks Crowley what he's in the mood for now and Crowley-- who has spent this scene looking like he's considering freezing time and throwing Aziraphale over the table-- picks up the spoon from his likely Irish coffee and uses it to ding his wine glass-- that is empty of the alcohol he already drank out of it--to get the check lololol and says he wants "alcohol-- quite extraordinary amounts of alcohol", well...

Alcohol (in Ineffable Husbands Speak). Literal, surface level: Alcohol. Hidden language level: Sex.

"Alcohol. Quite extraordinary amounts of alcohol." "Sex. Quite extraordinary amounts of sex." Enthusiastic, affirmative consent from Crowley over here. He loves kinky lunch and he's glad you asked, Aziraphale, but he's very, very okay at the moment and wants to go to the bookshop now for more alcohol and, later, for quite extraordinary amounts of alcohol.

"An extremely alcoholic breakfast at The Ritz." A complete sentence in Ineffable Husbands Speak in S2 that Muriel doesn't understand but that we can by this point. Muriel not being able to speak Ineffable Husbands is the point of the moment-- it's to highlight that Muriel is missing information because they don't have the information needed to decode what Crowley is saying or to even realize that there is something to be decoded. It's to point out to us that we have this information and that's why we can understand what Crowley is saying. It, along with "no nightingales", is a moment designed to point out the language and how we can't interpret what we're seeing without being able to understand it. The context of the "us time" scene in S2 helps to reinforce that we have this language correct then also makes it an additional partner scene to the 2008 minisode, as it reinforces this interpretation of the language and the relationship between Crowley and Aziraphale that suggests.

Why does Muriel need to leave the bookshop in 2.06 if Crowley and Aziraphale are going for breakfast at The Ritz? We know it's because breakfast is the latest step they want to take when it comes to dining at The Ritz and alcohol is also sex so the Inspector Constable needs to leave because Crowley is out to have some lunch for breakfast.

Right, so, after kinky lunch at The Ritz back in 2008, we then catch up to Crowley and Aziraphale as they are walking up Whickber Street towards the bookshop.

Romantic stroll. They seem to like to go for a little walk together as part of lunch, if they can swing it. In 2008, they're caring a little less because they've just dined at The Ritz for the first time and they have 11 years left until the end of the world, so they're taking some moderate more risks. This might not be always typical of lunch but it is in 2008. They did this on their first date in the Land of Uz, sneaking out of the cellar to take a walk under the cover of night after the storm stopped. They also take a little stroll from the park to The Ritz in 2019 at the end of S1. All three of these times are possible exceptions-- it was night in 2500 B.C. on their first date and 2008 and 2019 are examples of not just lunching but dining at The Ritz, in the sense that they are in an era of being a little less guarded, if still cautious enough to maintain a sense of secrecy. There is a practical reason for the walk, though, as well as well as a romantic one, and that's related to:

The Bentley. Parked nowhere near the bookshop. On a side street somewhere, like we see Crowley has been doing ahead of S2 and is doing during S2 (including the night before the season began.) Crowley staying in the bookshop late into the evening is a given since they're lunching and have already planned to have some alcohol after their alcohol. The Bentley cannot be parked for hours in the evening in front of the bookshop without them running the risk of being caught so, even if they are coming back to the bookshop during the daylight of the mid-afternoon, The Bentley is already parked away from the shop because lunching comes with an understanding that Crowley will be staying in the shop well into the night.

This all seems routine for them at this point. As speculated in another post, this is probably how Crowley became friends with Mrs. Sandwich, whose work has her outside a bit in the early morning hours just outside the side door to the bookshop. Either way, the car is away from the bookshop so Crowley can stay most of the night with Aziraphale.

1921. The year in which Aziraphale bought a dozen cases (144 bottles) of Chateauneuf-de-Pape "for special occasions", as he either tells or reminds Crowley on their walk up Whickber Street. Twenty years before The Blitz.

This is an interesting comment for this exact moment here because one of the two pretty large gaps of time in the last few hundred years in their history is 1862-1941, right? We don't know much about what transpired between their whole breakup mess in St. James Park in 1862 and The Blitz. One of the flashbacks that was cut from S2 might have illuminated some of this, as it was the one set during The Gold Rush in America, which means it would have had to have taken place before about 1893. We know about Aziraphale learning to gavotte in The Hundred Guineas Club in Portland Place in the 1880s, we know that Maggie's great-grandmother started The Small Back Room with Aziraphale's help in the 1920s and we know that Crowley bought The Bentley sometime around 1933. In the midst of all of that, though, there's this one reference to 1921 here in the 2008 minisode that is pretty interesting when you consider why Aziraphale might be bringing it up in this moment.

Aziraphale is saying that he made an investment in the idea of them having a future of special occasions to celebrate together-- in whatever way they could manage to do so-- in 1921, which is a year in which, as far as we can tell so far, he might not have had a lot of hope that this would be possible. They do seem relatively incapable of breaking up for very long but it's also evident that they don't really fully start to get beyond 1862 until 1941 from what we've seen so far so it might have been a bit slow to heal. We do know that they were in contact and not just from the deleted America flashback but from the canonical reveal that Aziraphale got his driver's licence in the early 1930s, after Crowley bought The Bentley. But Aziraphale might be trying to say to Crowley that things didn't seem especially hopeful for them in the early 1920s, either, but Aziraphale has always held out hope.

1941. A special occasion, as that is Chateauneuf-de-Pape that they are drinking in The Blitz, Part 2.

2008. Year in which this minisode about lunching is taking place, when Aziraphale says that there "are a few bottles left" of the Chateauneuf-de-Pape he bought 87 years earlier, implying that they've drunk their way through almost 144 bottles worth of *just* "special occasion" wine *alone* in the last just under 90 years.

"For special occasions." Would be a truly insane way to refer to learning that the world was ending so safe to assume that Aziraphale is wanting to bust out the Chateauneuf-de-Pape in 2008 because what we see in 1.01 is the first time they dined at The Ritz. It was maybe not the most ideal way they'd ever wanted to as it was largely reactionary to learning they were almost out of time but they did it so time for the Chateauneuf-de-Pape.

Chateauneuf-de-Pape. Wine with quite the holy history. Translated from French, means "The Pope's New Castle". The Catholic papacy in early 1300s were big fans of the Burgundy wines in the area, spearheaded their popularity, and used the church to help spur the economic growth of the Avignon viticulture in that area. They drank the wine exclusively themselves and the papacy had been relocated to Avignon so, to an extent, Chateauneuf-de-Pape is something of a "holy water", symbolically. Maybe the antithesis of it-- holy water (water blessed through the power of Heaven) can kill Crowley, Chateauneuf-de-Pape (wine made by humans; symbolic of sex and love and a lifetime of special occasions with Aziraphale) is the stuff worth living for.

Wine is alcohol is, therefore, in Ineffable Husbands Speak, sex.

"Not very big on wine in Heaven, are they?" What Crowley says on their walk to the bookshop, in response to Aziraphale's suggestion that they break out the Chateauneuf-de-Pape.

A very funny line made even funnier by this partner scene in S2:

Well, you'd better pop off and get it then, haven't you, Aziraphale? lol

What, exactly, was going on between these two Influencer Brats of Job and their usual angels-- do we even want to ask? Probably not. The way Keziah says "they haven't brought the wine" with that little emphasis makes it feel like it's possible that their usual angels bring some Heaven-blessed wine as a pretense but that 'bringing the wine' is sexually euphemistic. Ennon hitting on Aziraphale adds to that sense by giving us the feeling that Job being God's favorite human means that, prior to the bet, Heaven was sending angels to see to the needs of the family and the elder two siblings have a pair of usual angels who service their, uh, beverage needs. All of which is, objectively-speaking, against what Heaven says it disapproves of (sex, alcohol/drunkenness, etc.), emphasizing the hypocrisy of the fascist state of Heaven.

The Job minisode then serves to reiterate the wine/alcohol = sex throughout the series and makes even funnier the fact that Crowley then drank the rest of the house's existing wine in revenge for these older kids being such brats and Ennon treating Aziraphale like a whore.

What it shows, though, is that maybe the only consumable beverage that Heaven *is* very big on-- if not on drunkenness-- is wine, like many big religions on Earth, right? As a result, Crowley's "not very big on wine in Heaven" line is then emphasized to really be "not very big on sex in Heaven, are they?"

Ok, back to 2008...

"Not very big on wine in Heaven, are they? Or Chateauneuf-de-Papes... Or single-malt scotch... Or frou frou cocktails with little umbrellas..." Crowley's full response to Aziraphale's Chateauneuf-de-Pape discussion on their walk. Translated from the Ineffable Husbands Speak below.

"Not very big on wine in Heaven, are they? Or Chateauneuf-de-Papes..." Not very big on sex in Heaven, are they? Forget music and food and books and our life here with our human things and our special occasions and spending time together, you are going to spend an eternity trapped in a open-floor-plan office building in the clouds with a bunch of prudish religious zealots. Forever and ever and ever... We have, potentially, eleven years until we'll never make love again. You *love* sex and if we don't stop Armageddon somehow, you're never going to come again...

"...Or single malt scotch..." Scotch is whiskey made in Scotland. Talisker, Crowley's favorite whiskey and recurring drink order, is a single malt scotch. So, this is: Not very big on *me*, either. Not exactly like I can just ride the elevator up for a visit... if I even survive Armageddon. You might have noticed Heaven is not tagging everything on their Tumblr #bildaddy. In case it wasn't obvious that this entire time, I've been listing other things you like about life on Earth while under the surface basically screaming "WE WON'T BE ABLE TO BE TOGETHER, ANGEL..."

"...Or frou frou cocktails with little umbrellas..."

Frou frou. American slang for "fancy", sometimes overly so. The American English sister word/answer word to "ritzy". Spoken by Crowley after they've just left The Ritz and as they walk past what will be the American-themed Give Me Coffee or Give Me Death in S2. Comes from America's longest allies--the French-- where it means the rustling sound made by skirts as they move and is onomatopoeia (words derived from the sound they make, rather than rooted in a language.) To reference Scotland, the United States and France within two sentences while bashing Heaven is very Crowley, who doesn't see Heaven as The British Empire or anything lol.

Cocktails. Mixed drinks. What you get when you combine alcohols. Also ties to the scene in S2 with Mr. Brown of Brown's World of Carpets in The Dirty Donkey, which is now a partner scene to this as well. Crowley's "a sherry for you, a whisky for me." It's another example of alcohol as symbolic of sex as Crowley bringing Aziraphale his preferred drink is their attempt at getting Mr. Brown to get the hint that they are a thing and they like now to keep the alcohol just to the two of them.

A cocktail, though, being a mixed drink, can refer in the context of discussion of Heaven and their relationship to the fact that they are an angel and a demon and Heaven is not very big on that particular cocktail.

Frou frou cocktails with little...

Umbrellas. Canopies.

Canopies. The essential setting component of Crowley's Vavoom in S2, as we heard him talking about (while having a drink) with Aziraphale in S2: "You mean like a sudden rainstorm forces them together beneath a canopy... and they look into each other's eyes and realize they were made for each other."

Vavoom. Alternatively: va-va-voom. Voluptuously sexy. Of or portending to sensual pleasure. How Crowley described his hypothetical-for-Maggie-and-Nina erotic-gazing-into-a-passionate-kiss-while-sheltering-from-rain-together-under-a-canopy thing that is absolutely not Crowley and Aziraphale's first kiss recounted back to Aziraphale by Crowley as his definition of romance. Not at all. Crowley just has a thing about tree canopies and their modern rain-sheltering cousins, umbrellas, ok? We didn't just spot The Vavoom hidden there in 1.01 a bit, too. Absolutely not. ;)

"Or frou frou cocktails with little umbrellas" (in Ineffable Husbands Speak). Heaven is definitely not very big on opulent mixed angel-demon drinks like us and our little romance... We're never going to kiss again, angel. Do you really want to spend *eternity* without ever kissing one another again?

According to S2, the answer to that question is that Aziraphale cannot handle the thought to a point of having a complete breakdown of 'what if you were an angel again so we never had to worry?' desperation, so this is probably why Aziraphale's downward hands of 'argh, not right now-- I can't handle this' show up at this point in 2008, as they finish crossing the street and arrive at the entrance to the bookshop.

This is when Aziraphale starts in on his whole "I'm an angel; you're a demon" stuff again but the tone of it is pretty soft and he adds this bit into it:

"We're hereditary enemies." Something which is hereditary is something which you've inherited through no fault of your own and without your agreement. Often, something foisted upon you that you would not have chosen. Aziraphale's comparing their situation to things like hereditary disease-- they didn't ask for it. It's not their fault. The reality of it, though, is still present. This is a way of reassuring Crowley that, even though Crowley could see through the Yay, Heaven! from the earlier St. James Park scene, that Aziraphale doesn't see him as the enemy and would never have chosen this whole mess. He's not yet agreeing to help Crowley stop Armageddon-- the odds are good that he never was going to while they were outside of the bookshop anyway and Crowley knows that. Everything Crowley has said so far is preamble to his argument for stopping Armageddon later on, when they're inside, sobered up, and Aziraphale is ready to work on a potential plan with him.

After "hereditary enemies"...

"Get thee behind me, foul fiend." Blasphemous Bible-speak delivered flirtatiously as a sexual invitation. Not the only scene in the series with blasphemous innuendo but this one line alone could be its own meta so, in an effort to keep this at under 4 billion words lol, we're just going to look at how this is relevant to lunching.

Foul fiend is just Biblical speak for wicked demon. "Wicked" and "demon" are words in the same vein as "wily", "thwart" and "smitten"--words with dual layers of contradictory meanings that Crowley and Aziraphale love to use in their language. To be "wicked" is to be evil in the sense of in line with Satan, yes, but it's also to be playfully mischievous and is a positive adjective used in place of "excellent" at times. To be a "demon" is to be a familiar of the Devil, yes, but it's also to be extremely skillful and talented at a particular thing.

Aziraphale does the whole "I'm an angel. You're a demon. We're hereditary enemies" thing but then turns around and uses "foul fiend"/"wicked demon" in the non-satanic definitions of it through his fond and suggestive tone. He's not calling Crowley evil-- he's calling Crowley playfully mischievous. He's calling him trouble in a light and fun way. He's not calling him a demon in a derogatory sense but in the skillful sense. The same words that mean "evil ally of Satan" also mean "playful and talented"-- Aziraphale has added context by situation and tone of voice/delivery to essentially turn "foul fiend" into calling Crowley "a demon" in bed, in the "skillful" sense of the word. It becomes fuck me, my very wicked demon by use of a suggestive tone.

But it's the use of "get thee behind me" that is most relevant to 2008 here because remember when I told you we'd come back to crepes?

Crepes. Thin, French pancakes. Can be had almost anytime of the day because they are quite versatile-- savory, sweet, for lunch, for dessert, you name it lol. As sexual euphemism, though, we are really looking at how 'pancakes' have been used traditionally by people using food as euphemisms for sex and that is, unsurprisingly, in relation to how a pancake is cooked. I think we've all probably made actual-pancakes-the-food before or at least have seen it done so it probably will not come as a surprise to you that you have to turn a pancake over to griddle it on both sides for it to be done.

As a result, any sexual euphemism involving pancakes is referring to sex that involves a switch from an initial position to a second position that is literally just the receptive partner turning over. So, in order to fully get Aziraphale's love of his romantic French pancakes here, we'd have to have the starting position of crepes and that is something the show actually gives us because why not at this point lol.

"Get thee behind me" after they've spent the afternoon setting up this 1793-inspired crepe-a-palooza indicates that the starting position of crepes is Aziraphale getting done from behind but he'll turn over because he likes to finish his French pancakes facing Crowley.

Vavavoom Yellow. The color of Crowley's eyes and the actual name of the actual paint the actual people involved with this show painted the actual walls of the bookshop. The color Aziraphale turned The Bentley after making it take off its black and silver sunglasses. Crowley's only out here trying to seduce Aziraphale in every other scene by looking at him over his glasses or taking them off or going on about their tantric eye sex into their first kiss... Seems possible Aziraphale might have a thing for Crowley's eyes, no?

"After you." Aziraphale wants crepes for dessert, though. After "get thee behind me, foul fiend", he gestures Crowley into the bookshop with a very witty "after you", which is both politely letting him go first into the bookshop and insisting he is in bed later as well.

Inviting Crowley inside the bookshop with the "after you" in tandem with inviting him inside with the "get thee behind me" is also then using the fact that Crowley is allowed into the bookshop as sexual metaphor for being allowed inside, well, Aziraphale. This gives it a partner scene in S2, when Aziraphale turns The Bentley into a sexual metaphor and is going for the innuendo gold when he then again uses the bookshop to euphemistically refer to himself with "... just as that bookshop is, technically, my shop... but we both get *plenty* of use out of it, don't we?"

God. The only other character on Good Omens aside from Crowley and Aziraphale themselves who speaks Ineffable Husbands Speak. Character responsible for teaching us one of its most important code words-- "nightingales"-- and who ships it so hard that She had a literal nightingale singing as a joke on their dual-meaning-happy language in the S1 finale. Our narrator in S1.

"...while, in London SoHo, an angel and a demon had been drinking solidly for the last six of them." As we cut away from Crowley & Aziraphale's scenes in 2008 to see The Youngs leave the satanic nunnery with their new baby, God points out-- with a hilarious 'oh my stupid children, scared of a baby' tone-- that "The Antichrist had been on Earth for 24 hours." If we can assume that The Youngs were not sent home from the hospital with a new baby in the middle of the night and that it's closer to the more civilized option of a dinner hour, then that would also go with the fact that Aziraphale was having dinner during all of this the night prior, right? Which means it's dinner time, if we're at 24 hours later. Which means that if, in London SoHo, an angel and a demon have been "drinking solidly" for the last six hours, then God is counting the entire afternoon since Crowley and Aziraphale met up for lunch as "drinking solidly" and that's because "drinking" in Ineffable Husbands Speak isn't just alcohol but sex. Yes, that's God making a sex joke. (She has a few more in S1, too.)

"Baby." Term of endearment for a romantic and/or sexual partner that has been documented as having been in existence since at least around the 1830s but was mainstreamed by American jazz, soul and rock 'n roll music and cinema.

While Crowley and Aziraphale are in the alcohol stage of their alcohol, they get plastered on Chateauneuf-de-Pape and Crowley, in a drunken ramble that we will realize by S2 is inspired by Aziraphale's magic words and their conversation in 1941, is going on about what is going to happen to the creatures of Earth when the world ends. He begins to try to say that the fish will be "turned into bouillabaisse" but that word is too difficult for him to say while drunk. While attempting to, he gets distracted gazing at Aziraphale and calls him "baby" in a low voice and then we get their hilarious very drunk kissy faces. Crowley manages to translate "bouillabaisse" in his mind enough to "fish stew-- anyway!" and they sober up soon afterwards to have an actually semi-coherent conversation and some actual alcohol.

In the context of lunching, this becomes getting drunk and distracted by thoughts of later in the middle of trying to talk-- and we know now thanks to S2 that Crowley is also distracted by thoughts of 1941 here at the same time, as he's going on about bananas, fish, and gorillas. We've never heard him call Aziraphale anything but his name or "angel" with the exception of this scene, when they're alone in the bookshop with alcohol on the brain. Aziraphale is drunk but he also doesn't react like it's unusual-- if he heard it, to be honest, as he seemed a bit devoted to stringing together his thoughts related to The Kraken... that great, bigggg bugger, as Aziraphale described him, not at all thinking about the quite extraordinary amounts of buggery they were going to get up to later on.

But, anyway, there's the scene where Crowley calls Aziraphale "baby" in 2008 and that might suggest that he does if they're alone and there's no risk of anyone overhearing it. (As "angel", at least, is theoretically meant to be calling Aziraphale by what he is in a semi-derogatory way but Crowley's honestly never made that work a day in his life lol.)

Thwarting. See: separate meta on my blog on "wily", "thwart" and "smitten" as examples of words with contradictory, dual meanings that Crowley and Aziraphale like to use in the 'angel-and-demon' sense on the surface but in their 'sexy/romantic' connotations in their hidden language. While talking about a plan to stop Armageddon, Crowley uses "wiles"-- the enticing and feminine-leaning-in-connotation definition of "wily"-- in a dry joke where the surface level is about how it's the role of an angel to stop the Evil One (his demon counterpart) at every turn but is really using "wiles" in its seductive definition. He also uses "thwarting" in a way that is substituting it in a sentence for "fucking" on the hidden language level: "You can't be certain that thwarting me isn't part of The Divine Plan, too."

Indeed, Crowley. Indeed.

"...at every turn." Ha. Crowley has crepes jokes. Think of all the French pancakes we can have for eternity if we thwart Armageddon, angel...

Godfathers. The 2008 minisode scenes end with them deciding to have a baby. Crowley's like I have a plan to stop the end of the world and it's that we crash this mansion and live together raising a kid like a little family and I've thought of a way you can sell it to Heaven-- whaddya say? And Aziraphale melts into a puddle of sparkly-eyed joy and they have some quippy lines about being damned that feel like foreshadowing for Aziraphale something fierce but this is where we leave 2008. Right here.

After alcohol, but before alcohol, ya dig?

Lunch (in Ineffable Husbands Speak). A recurring date of kinky lunch and spending time together that is pre-determined to end hours later with sex that is at least somewhat decided upon at the start of lunch, often euphemistically through discussion of " lunch food" and/or their romantic encounters in their shared past.

Off of this, let's go look at our partner scene of The Bastille again, now using 2008 to illuminate parts of it.

Paris, 1793. Crowley and Aziraphale playing 'damsel in distress and dashing hero rescuer' in The Bastille. Seven years before Aziraphale opens the bookshop; thirty years before Crowley's dragged to Hell in Edinburgh. They've been getting away with this forever at this point, to a point that while they're still overall cautious and terrified of getting caught, they're starting to think it's possible they never will because they've managed to keep it a secret this long. Aziraphale is dry and arch when referencing the recent "strongly-worded note" he apparently received from Gabriel about doing "frivolous miracles". Even though the note might not exist as this whole scene is, basically, a roleplay game, the attitude there is that they're getting one over on Heaven & Hell and are taking advantage of it.

We all know things like Aziraphale lighting up when Crowley shows up and the "oh, good Lord" while raking his eyes over him-- we're just going to look at some bits here that have more significance in Ineffable Husbands Speak.

As a side note here: the buttons on the black part of Crowley's outfit in Paris also are very similar in style to the jacket he's wearing in the Let's Have Lunch scene in 2008, in a fun bit of visual paralleling between the partner scenes via the costuming. This scene is also a great one for the consistent thing in the series where Aziraphale will casually reference God and Satan ("oh, good Lord"/"luck of the devil" in the Tadfield Manor scene) but Crowley will not ("what the deuce are you doing locked up in The Bastille?").

So, Crowley does his whole haughty and faux-put-upon thing upon arriving and S2 actually makes how he arrives even funnier because he spends the first half of the scene lounging on the floor across the room, which has real Job's cellar vibes. Later in the scene, we get the "well, you're lucky I was in the area" and Aziraphale's reply of "I was", both lines of which are arch as all fuck. They ring with a kind of knowing playfulness that honestly signals the whole thing is not exactly an organic situation. Crowley has come to Aziraphale's rescue out of nowhere before and odds are solid that led to Aziraphale's whole rescue kink awakening here lol but this scene in 1793 is not that. Crowley was absolutely "in the area" with his calendar cleared for whatever sexual hijinks the angel wanted to get up to that afternoon. He's committed to the bit and asks near the start: "what the deuce are you doing locked up in The Bastille?", prompting Aziraphale's response of "I got peckish."

"Peckish", meaning "slightly hungry", but you don't wade through a revolution because you could use a snack so Aziraphale's downplaying it for humor-- he's fucking starving. And not really for food. They have food in England. Aziraphale has intentionally got himself locked up in The Bastille because he's horny, which he's expressing using food terms because of course he is. Ineffable Husbands Speak was created by this dry-humored and self-deprecating duo, one of whom is the Serpent of Eden and the other of whom is a bit of a raging gourmand and, together, they've never met anything consumable that they can't make into sexual innuendo.

To learning that Aziraphale on the surface needed a snack and, in Ineffable Husbands Speak, needs a snack, Crowley has this hilarious response:

Go on, Crowley, keep pretending like you're offended that this is all just because Aziraphale is horny and like you think it's not specific to you, like you wouldn't let him nibble on you whenever he wants lol.

Tell him he's special, Aziraphale, and not just one of your favorite toys. You dragged him to a prison cell feet away from a guillotine for this.

"Well, if you must know, it was the crepes. And the brioche. Can't get decent ones anywhere outside of Paris." is Aziraphale's quite illuminating reply.

Paris is France and anything Parisian or French is coded as romantic and as related to love to them, even if we know how much they speak around those words. We know what crepes are now from the 2008 scene and we'll look at brioche in a moment but we can already see that this sentence, translated from Ineffable Husbands Speak, is Aziraphale saying that he can fuck his way around the world (and we know it's suggested that he has at times) but he feels that it's never as good for him as it is with Crowley because the crepes and the brioche are better when they're had in Paris-- because sex with Crowley is better for Aziraphale than with anyone else because of how they feel about each other.

Probably also worth mentioning that crepes and brioche both originated in France (many societies around the world have versions of crepes but the crepe itself is French) so this is also really saying it's just always been Crowley for Aziraphale since the start and Aziraphale was alluding to that to Crowley in the Paris, 1793 scene.

Brioche. A bit of a bread, a bit of a cake, it is a bit sweet and rich like a pastry and falls mostly somewhere there on the French deliciousness spectrum between the two and treated by chefs and bakers as a bit of both. As a result, can wind up in many different meals throughout the day, in different ways. Brioche = Crowley, in food form. Can be used to make sandwiches (ha) but is most well-known as the signature bread used to make French toast. French toast is traditionally made the same way as crepes-- involving turning, like pancakes.

Brioche (in Ineffable Husbands Speak). Both Crowley himself, in food form (bread is necessary for sandwiches, after all) and crepes-as-sex reversed between them with Crowley as the receptive partner.

[Crowley is also suggested to be black bread, according to God's narration, in the St. James Park scene, leading me to believe that he's just every kind of bread Aziraphale likes, which is probably most of them.]

Aziraphale invites Crowley to lunch and we know now that lunching was already a thing for them then. True to form, the scene ends with their first step of lunch-- the anticipatory part-- with Crowley asking "what's for lunch?", which we now understand to mean the same thing as "I still owe you one from..." in 2008. He's asking Aziraphale what he would like for lunch and we know already from 2008 that they went out for crepes and had a whole French buffet.

Armageddon: Round One. 2019. Averted. Afterwards, they meet up in a park and swap bodies back unnoticed because we didn't have enough secret sexual relationship stuff already happening on this show lol so yay metaphor and now there's a full-circle back to the bench at St. James Park in 1.01 but now with them having survived and at least temporarily halted Armageddon. Then, as they start to adjust to the whirlwind being over, it's Crowley with:

"Time to leave The Garden." Crowley likening Aziraphale and himself to Adam and Eve-- and just prior to proposing that he and Aziraphale go get their Garden on with a little lunch. Shows that Crowley and Aziraphale are more than aware of how much they parallel the first humans and reinforces that all of the Eden references and related humor in their romantic relationship that we've seen is not coincidental but intentional.

To ask Aziraphale if you can "tempt him to a spot of lunchchch" while opening up your hip to spread your thighs and angle yourself to suggest that your body is also on the menu. Complete with the 'wanna go to bed?' head tilt of 1601 and 2008 fame. I mean...

Meanwhile, Aziraphale's barely conscious of the fact that he's rubbing his thighs and looking at Crowley's lips...

To reply "Temptation accomplished." with a cutely dorky little laugh to Crowley's invitation to lunch. To never be one to say no to a spot of lunch and accept the invitation, while joking around about how neither of you ever actually tempt each other, you just find each other tempting, in the 'attractive' sense of the word.

Anticipatory kink. The first part of lunch.

To say that a table at The Ritz has miraculously come free. To suggest that you have 2008/Eleven Years Ago for lunch, coming full circle back to 1.01 in the S1 finale. 2019 is 2008 is 1793 is...

Champagne tea/high tea. The meal that Crowley and Aziraphale are actually eating when they go to lunch in the S1 finale. Features champagne and macarons, both of which are French, adding to the romance and the ties to 1793. There also appears to be an apple-hued tea on the table, nodding to Eden.

PTSD. What causes Crowley to sometimes go quiet and zone out. In 2008, we came in on the end of their meal at The Ritz and Crowley was in the moment. In 2019, we see the start of their lunch part of lunch and Crowley is not at all present. He's facing ahead and staring into space at nothing, exhausted and not in the moment. Aziraphale's partner check-in is different this time, as he can tell that Crowley is not with him. He draws him back to the now with a bit of romance.

"...if you weren't, at heart, just a little bit of a good person." I love you, you know.

"And if you weren't just enough of a bastard worth to be worth knowing." I love you, too.

"A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square." Romantic 1940 song containing the lyric "angels were dining at The Ritz" that formed the basis for Aziraphale creating "dining at The Ritz" as a code phrase meaning a more acknowledged and somewhat more open relationship in the future... which they then celebrate agreeing to try by literally dining at The Ritz, in line with their dual layers of meaning-happy language. We're still awaiting the origins of the song as their song but it is to a point that one of them has the pianist playing an instrumental version of it during this afternoon tea lunch in 2019. We also get Tori Amos' cover playing over the scene because dual layers of everything.

Literal nightingale singing. God showing only us the bird that Crowley and Aziraphale don't know is actually singing is the show acknowledging that our perspective is, like God's, on the outside of the relationship but we are now able to understand it. To see the literal nightingale but know what it means both symbolically and in Ineffable Husbands Speak is to see that there are different levels of meaning beneath the surface of what we've been watching.

Nightingales (in Ineffable Husbands Speak). Romantic love. Specifically, Crowley and Aziraphale's word for their love for one another.

[metanarrates]

there are a LOT of things you can speculate about regarding what twsa was actually like as a novel but what's most interesting to me is that you can make the argument that twsa was an "unpolished" version of what orv is. it's a version of a similar novel that likely dealt with a lot of similar themes but was seemingly bogged down by poor structure, pacing, expository handling, and focus. (all of which are things that orv is shockingly excellent at.)

and of course, han sooyoung's novel, sssss-grade infinite regressor, is the "polished" version of the idea. it's well-written, probably well-plotted, and was successful enough to make han sooyoung rich and famous. we don't know what sssss-grade infinite regressor is like as a novel either, but we sort of get the impression that it's not very emotionally rich even if it is good on a technical level. han sooyoung herself doesn't seem intensely attached to it despite being proud of her work, and kim dokja of course doesn't hold it in high regard. (though of course he's a gigantic unreliable narrator and also a hater.)

what's interesting is that despite orv very strongly emphasizing the ways these works are flawed from the outset, orv itself functions as an argument in these works' favor. both twsa and infinite regressor are stand-ins for the "mass-produced" genre of webnovels. they are popular fiction, relying on a very familiar pool of tropes and clichés in order to deliver on a relatively predictable story to appeal to a wide audience. it's not a coincidence that they are so similar - both literally and in a meta sense, they are drawing on the same exact story-building and genre material. twsa is just the unsuccessful version, and infinite regressor is the successful one.

orv is what I would consider the most "impressive" version of the genre. it's well-structured, thrillingly plotted, interestingly written, has fascinating ideas and characters, and is even "literary" - that is, it has deeply considered themes and is often drawing from the realm of literary, postmodern fiction in order to express its ideas. a less sincere story would disavow itself from its pop-fiction origins and claim to be the best version of its genre. nothing else could be like it, so the worst versions of its genre wouldn't be worth considering.

but orv, while technically functioning as an argument that the genre can be "good" simply because it's a great novel that is deeply rooted in its genre, goes much further. it argues in-text that any sort of story, even those that are bad on a technical level or those that were somewhat cynically produced for a mass audience, are worth finding value in, simply because stories have meaning to their readers. the most uncritical reproduction of a genre's conventions can still mean something to someone who likes it. twsa, if it existed in our reality, would still probably be considered a very bad novel, but it wouldn't need to be polished up and turned into infinite regressor or orv in order to have value. orv itself is telling you that you should find value in twsa as it is, and by extension, every badly-done work of fiction that twsa could be a stand-in for!

[steveseddie]

go for it

steddie | rating: t | cw: none | wc: 4,6k | tags: eddie and steve have a crush, they finally do something about it, the hellfire club is there whoops, first kiss, getting together

for my stficbingo: “This is a dictatorship and I’m in charge!”

click here to read on ao3

***

“You drag yourselves out of the tunnels and find what seems to be a friendly tavern in the woods,” Eddie narrates in a low voice, his eyes sweeping over everyone sitting at the Harrington dining table. They’re all at the edge of their seats, collectively holding their breath, looking suitably daunted yet excited as they brace themselves for some other twist in the story. “The innkeeper welcomes you with warm food and offers you a place to stay. She assures you that you’re safe.” 

He pauses for dramatic effect. Watches as Henderson bites his knuckles, Wheeler squeezes his eyes shut, Jeff covers his face with his hands-

“Tonight you get to rest,” he finishes with a flourish of his hand and the party sighs in relief. 

“Thank God!” Gareth says, slumping back on his chair and wiping his brow where beads of sweat started gathering during the final moments of the campaign. “I thought we wouldn’t make it.” 

“Holy shit, me too,” Sinclair agrees, shaking his head in disbelief. He’d been one bad die roll away from dying by the time they finally defeated the goblins that attacked them out of nowhere. “That was brutal!” 

“It was fucking awesome!” Henderson says with a squeaky laugh and everyone around the table heartily agrees.  

Eddie grins widely, resting his chin on one hand and doing a flourish with the other one in lieu of a bow. “Glad it pleased you, Master Nog.” 

The kid flashes him a toothy smile and then he and the rest of the party start discussing tonight’s campaign- the best moments, the ones where they thought they would all die, their predictions for what will happen next week. 

They’re so caught up in their conversation that they don’t notice when Eddie slips away from the table.

The Harrington house is easy to get lost in, bigger than any house Eddie has ever been to. Even after weeks of being friends with Steve and coming over for movie nights and pool parties, Eddie isn’t sure he’s seen all of it. He knows there’s a third garage somewhere and he’s only been to one of the three guest bedrooms and that was back on the first night he slept over. 

(Since then, he and Steve realized that they sleep better when they have company and Eddie never saw the inside of that or any of the other guest rooms again, sharing Steve’s bed with him whenever he spends the night instead.)

Eddie has been to Harrington kitchen plenty of times though, so he makes his way there easily. 

As he gets further away from his friends and their noise, Eddie’s ears pick up on the music coming from the Harrington kitchen, which further guides him in the right direction. He belatedly recognizes the song as part of the mixtape he made for Steve a couple of days ago in an attempt to improve his music taste. When he gave it to him, Steve eyed it warily (“It’s real music, Stevie, not a rabid animal, it won’t bite you!”) before shoving it into his car’s glove compartment. He didn’t bring it up since then and Eddie assumed he forgot about it. Knowing that Steve didn’t forget and he’s actually listening to it now fills Eddie’s stomach with butterflies. 

Those butterflies flutter pathetically when he finally reaches the kitchen and finds Steve doing the dishes. 

He’s standing in front of the sink, his hips moving with the music (not heavy metal but some soft rock that Eddie thought might be more Steve’s style while still being cool) and there’s a flowery apron tied around his waist which matches the rubber gloves he’s wearing. Both were a gag gift from the kids, Steve told Eddie the first time he saw him wearing them, one that actually turned out to be quite useful and now he wears them often. 

For a moment, Eddie lingers at the kitchen doorway, giving himself a few seconds to stare at Steve, filing away how he looks for later when he’s daydreaming embarrassingly domestic fantasies of a life with Steve. Then he raps his knuckles twice on the door frame to get his attention. 

(Eddie knows better than to sneak up on him now. The one time he did Steve had him pinned against a wall before Eddie could even realize what was happening. He thought it was hot more than anything, but Steve had been mortified. He spent the rest of the night apologizing and acting like a kicked puppy around him. He didn’t relax until Eddie reminded him that the first time they met, Eddie did the same thing, only he also held a broken bottle to Steve’s throat. So now they were more than even.)

Steve’s head whips around at the sound and his face lights up when he sees Eddie leaning against the door frame. 

“Hey!” Steve says, grinning like he’s delighted to see Eddie. Like he missed him, like he didn’t see him less than forty minutes ago when they all took a break to have dinner. “You finished early tonight.” 

Glancing at the clock on top of the fridge, Eddie realizes that Steve is right. “I figured they had enough for one night,” Eddie says, stepping into the kitchen and joining Steve by the sink. “Usually the brats would throw a fit, but I think they were actually glad this time.”  

“That bad?” Steve asks with a snort.

“Wheeler rolled four nat ones in a row, Steve, four!” Eddie says, dancing in and out of Steve’s space until Steve hip-checks him out of the way with a chuckle. 

“Four, huh?” 

“Mhm, the odds weren’t in their favor tonight.” 

“Well, it was nice of you to let them off the hook for once, Mr. Dungeon Master,” Steve says, crinkly eyes meeting Eddie’s momentarily before looking down at the sink and picking up another plate. 

“I’m always nice, Stevie,” Eddie says, leaning back against the counter, arms crossed over his chest.

Steve gives him a bitchy face. “Dude, I’m pretty sure I heard you threaten to chop off Dougie’s hand.” 

“That was the goblin, not me!” Eddie protests, wagging his finger in front of Steve’s face. “Who Jeff killed shortly after, so who’s the one that isn’t nice here?” 

“Right,” Steve deadpans. He takes off the rubber gloves after rinsing the last plate and picks up a dish towel to start drying. “You can always get your revenge next week I guess.” 

“Oh I will, Stevie. I will,” he says, grinning manically. Oh the things he has planned. Eddie hops on top of the counter, right next to where Steve stands as he dries plates and glasses and everything else he used to make the most delicious lasagna for the party. His feet dangle from the counter and he lightly nudges Steve with one. “Hey, thanks for letting us play here. And for dinner.”

“You know you don’t have to thank me every time, right Eds?” Steve says with an exaggerated sigh, but his annoyance is downplayed by his playful smile. The lopsided one that makes Eddie want to kiss him stupid. 

After Spring Break, Principal Higgins was quick to shut down Hellfire once and for all, leaving the party with no place to hold their campaigns. Eddie wasn’t surprised but like everyone else, he was pretty fucking bummed about it. No one in their party had enough space at their house to host their campaigns, and the only two that did, Wheeler and Sinclair, failed to convince their parents to let them use their basement for their alleged satanic cult gatherings. 

But just when they thought their club was done for, Steve swooped in like the knight in shining armor that he is and offered up his house, which is why for the last couple of weeks they’ve been gathering at the Harrington residence where Steve not only hosts their campaigns and puts up with the noise and the mess they leave behind, but he also cooks or buys them dinner every week and makes sure to stock up his fridge with each of their favorite drinks, even indulging in Gareth’s weird obsession with Bubble Up soda because he is unreal and the nicest fucking guy Eddie knows. 

So Eddie can’t not thank him every time. Contrary to what people might believe, he has manners. He also likes the pretty pink flush that covers Steve’s cheeks whenever he does it.

“Hm, I think I do,” he says, nudging Steve’s leg again. “Hellfire would be over if it wasn’t for you, sweetheart.” 

“And what a tragedy that would be,” Steve jokes but aha! There it is- that pretty pink blush. 

“Hey! I know for a fact that you don’t hate it as much as you pretend to,” Eddie says, shaking his finger in a reproachful manner. “You sat through the whole session last time and didn’t even yawn once!” 

Last week, Dustin begged and pleaded so that Steve would sit and watch their campaign instead of retreating to the kitchen or his bedroom. Steve held his ground admirably until Eddie joined in on Dustin’s pleas, batting his eyelashes and pouting exaggeratedly until he caved, sighing in defeat and sitting down next to Eddie. He didn’t expect Steve to make it through the whole thing, but he did and while he did look a little confused at times and complained that there was way too much math involved, he also seemed to actually enjoy himself. 

Steve shifts from one foot to the other and bites his lip. “Yeah, I guess, but that’s because I was watching you the whole time,” he shyly says.

Eddie blinks. “Me?” He remembers Steve’s eyes on him while he led the campaign, but he didn’t think much of it then. But now Steve’s shy admission that he enjoyed himself because he was watching Eddie makes his heart stutter in his chest. 

Flushing deeper, Steve keeps his eyes on the glass that he’s drying, not meeting Eddie’s gaze as he says, “Yeah, you, uh. You’re very good at doing those voices and you know, drawing people into your stories. It’s, um, fascinating.” 

Fascinating. No one’s ever used that word to describe Eddie before. He can’t help the way his breath catches when Steve Harrington of all people calls him that. 

“Oh. Well, thanks,” he stammers out, feeling his own cheeks match Steve’s flush. “And here I thought you were going to say I’m just pretty to look at,” he adds with a slightly shaky laugh.

And that’s what he expects Steve to do- laugh it off. Instead, he finally meets Eddie’s eyes and says, “Well, that too.” 

Eddie’s jaw drops. Holy shit. 

Steve does laugh then but not because it was a joke. He laughs at Eddie’s reaction which consists of him gaping like a fish because Steve Harrington just called him fascinating and pretty. 

And it’s not that Steve hasn’t given him compliments before or hasn’t flirted with him before. He plays along most of the time- sometimes with a playful smirk and sometimes with that baffled puppy look that Eddie saw for the first time after calling him “big boy”.

The thing is he’s never flirted like this- shyly, without a hint of a joke. And it’s- 

Well, it’s a lot. 

But if Eddie learned anything after Spring Break is to roll with whatever the universe throws at him, which in this case isn’t an army of hell bats or an apocalypse, but Steve Harrington finally, maybe, possibly making a move. Something that Eddie has been waiting for after weeks of the two of them dancing around each other. 

He couldn’t see it at first, or rather he refused to, afraid to get his hopes up only for his heart to break when he turned out to be wrong. But there are things that not even his cynical eyes can ignore. The way Steve gravitates towards Eddie in any group setting or the way Eddie catches him staring when he thinks he isn’t looking like last week when they went swimming at the quarry and Eddie took off his shirt or like two weeks ago when Eddie tied his hair up to keep it off his face while he played his guitar. Or the way Steve’s eyes seem to dart to Eddie’s lips constantly when he talks and the way he can’t go more than a day without seeing him before he’s knocking on Eddie’s door to spend time with him.

It would be slightly easier to ignore all of this if it wasn’t for the fact that Eddie acts the same way when it comes to Steve. And Eddie is halfway in love with the guy, so. It makes him wonder. 

But despite all of this, Eddie still hasn’t made a move. Steve either. Until now maybe. 

Eddie clears his throat, finally finding his words. “Well, as entertaining as it must’ve been to watch me.” He grins. “You’ll have more fun if you actually play with us. Maybe next time I can finally convince you to join.”

Hazel eyes narrow at him. “If I play, will you threaten to cut off my hand too?”  

“Nah, I promise to go easy on you since it’s your first time.” He winks and Steve’s eyes widen, the blush from before making a wonderful return. 

“I- I haven’t said yes-”

“Yet.” 

Steve huffs. “What makes you so sure that you can convince me?” He asks with an arched eyebrow. “The kids have tried and failed and you know how relentless they are.”

“Yeah, but I can be very persuasive.” He gestures at himself with a hand flourish. “You know, as a cult leader and all.”

Steve hums. “Of course.” He leans his hip against the counter, only an inch away from Eddie’s thigh.

“There’s gotta be something I can do to convince you,” Eddie says, moving his thigh until it touches Steve’s hip. “Something I can give you in exchange. To make it worth your while.”

Steve’s eyes immediately dart down to Eddie’s lips. Eddie’s stomach swoops. There it is.

“You’re right,” Steve says, and in one quick movement, he pushes himself away from the counter and moves to stand between Eddie’s legs. Holy fuck. “There’s one thing.”

Anticipation bubbles up in Eddie’s stomach. “Yeah? What- what is it?” He asks with a suddenly dry throat. 

Steve ducks his head, glancing at Eddie through his eyelashes. “A kiss from the Dungeon Master?” He asks in a shy whisper. 

Eddie stares at him for a second, lips parted in surprise because goddamn shitting fuck. Then-

“Not the goblin?” He asks in his stupid goblin voice. Like a fucking loser.

As soon as he blurts it out he slaps a hand against his face. “Fucking Christ, I can’t believe I just did that. That was so lame. I’m just fucking nervous, sorry.” 

Steve wraps his fingers around Eddie’s wrist, lowering his hand. His eyes are sparkling with fondness. “Don’t be, it’s cute,” he says with a soft chuckle. 

A nearly hysterical giggle bubbles up in Eddie’s throat but it abruptly cuts off when Steve places his hands on Eddie’s thigh and leans in. 

“Eddie.”

“Yeah?” 

“Are you gonna give me that kiss or what?” Steve asks oh so sweetly.

And Eddie doesn’t waste a moment after that, he finally goes for it. He cups Steve’s cheeks and tugs his face closer, pressing their mouths together, feeling his chest explode with warmth as he thinks finally and pinch me and holy fucking shit. 

The kiss is sweet and slow. It starts a little tentative, just lips slotting together, Steve’s bottom lip fitting perfectly between Eddie’s. But then something shifts- Steve’s hands settle on Eddie’s waist, his thumbs digging into his hip bones while Eddie’s fingers find their way to Steve’s hair, scratching at his scalp, tangling with the soft strands, tugging on them. The last one makes Steve’s mouth fall open in a gasp, just enough for Eddie to press in, catching Steve’s lower lip between his teeth and biting down hard enough to earn himself a small whine. Then he lets it go, easing his tongue across Steve’s lip and licking into his mouth. 

He loses track of anything else that happens when Steve’s own tongue licks into his mouth in return. 

After a while the kiss softens again, turning into something slow and tender until it comes to a natural stop, once they can’t ignore the need to breathe anymore. 

Steve pulls back but Eddie doesn’t let him go far, keeping a firm hold on the lapels of his dorky polo shirt. “Definitely worth my while but-” 

Eddie cocks an eyebrow. “But?” 

“But,” Steve says, his red, wet, well-kissed lips stretching into a wicked grin. “I think I’m gonna need more convincing.”

Eddie grins back. “Oh, I think that can be arranged.”

He tugs Steve closer again and he comes willingly, sighing happily when their lips slot together once more. God, Eddie is so fucked. They’ve kissed once and he’s already addicted to kissing Steve. He’s convinced that he could stay like this forever, lazily making out with him on his kitchen counter, tongues exploring, hands wandering.

And he probably would’ve- if a shrill voice didn’t make them jump apart. 

“What the hell is going on here!” Dustin yells.

Steve whirls around so fast he almost faceplants on his kitchen floor and Eddie jumps back and hits his head against one of the upper cupboards.

He lets out a string of creative curses as he rubs the back of his head, seeing black spots when he opens his eyes. Despite those, he can still see the whole party standing in the kitchen doorway, staring at them with expressions ranging from utter shock (Sinclair and Henderson) to disgust (Wheeler) to smugness (Jeff, Gareth, Dougie, and weirdly enough, Erica). 

“Uh,” Steve says dumbly as he tries to find his words, but there’s no lying their way out of this one and they both know it. They were just caught with their tongues down each other’s throats and Eddie’s hands on Steve’s ass. 

“Well?” Dustin prompts in a bitchy tone.

“I was, uh, convincing Steve to join D&D next week,” Eddie says, which is, technically, the truth. 

Gareth snorts, raising an eyebrow. “With your tongue?” 

Eddie gives a gleeful laugh. “As a matter of fact, yes.” 

“Eddie,” Steve hisses, flushing to the tips of his ears. 

“That’s gross!” Wheeler cries, his face scrunching up which is rich coming from him, Eddie thinks, considering he saw him sucking face with El more times than he would’ve liked in the short time she was in Hawkins after everything. So he knows Wheeler has nothing against kissing and it makes him wonder if he might have something against Eddie kissing a boy, or boys kissing boys in general and Eddie loves the kid, he loves all of them but he will sit him down for some tough love if he happens to not be okay with-

There’s a slapping sound as Erica smacks him upside the head.

“Ouch!”

“Not cool, butthead,” she says, crossing her arms over her chest and glaring at Wheeler. “Boys can kiss boys too.”

The corner of Eddie’s mouth tugs up in a smile. Just like that, she’s currently his favorite. 

“What?” Wheeler asks, rubbing the back of his head. “I know that. I don’t care that Eddie wants to kiss guys, I care that he wants to kiss Steve!”

“Hey!” Steve protests with an affronted frown.  

“Eddie is cool and Steve is so lame! And he’s my sister’s ex!” He says with extra snark. 

Eddie can’t help it, he bursts out laughing. Steve’s head snaps in his direction, his offended expression now directed at him. “Sorry, sorry,” he says between giggles. He clears his throat and gives Wheeler a stern face. It’s a much different scolding than the one he thought he would be giving him just a few moments ago and he’s grateful for that. “Steve isn’t lame. Yes, his music taste is shit and he owns more polo shirts than an 80-year-old-” 

“Dude, are you defending me or helping Mike insult me?” Steve mumbles with a pout. 

“But!” Eddie says, ignoring him. “He’s also badass and he’s saved your sorry asses multiple times and he’s nice enough to let you pipsqueaks eat his food and trash his house every week and he’s hot as fuck, so. Show some respect, Wheeler.”

Mike’s face scrunches up. “What does Steve being hot have to do with anything? Ew!”

But before Eddie can reply to that, Dustin takes a step forward, looking between the two. “So this is a thing now? Are you guys a thing?” He asks, narrowing his eyes at them.

Steve and Eddie exchange a look, both of them trying to communicate the same thing- do you want to be a thing? Steve gives him a sheepish smile and a nod, and in response, Eddie wraps his arms and legs around him, essentially hanging off of Steve’s back like a koala and trapping him against the counter. “Yes, Henderson. We are, as you so eloquently put it, a thing.”

Eddie expects more outrage, but Dustin nods solemnly. “Okay, cool. Just- no flirting at the D&D table. And no kissing!” There are nods and noises of agreement from the rest of the party. 

Eddie lets out an indignant squeak. “Excuse me, this is a dictatorship and I’m in charge! And the Dungeon Master decides that there will be kissing, butthead,” he announces, and then to prove a point, he smacks a sloppy kiss against Steve’s cheek. 

There’s a lot of groaning and whining and fake-gagging. 

“Dude, it’s like watching my parents kiss,” Sinclair says and Henderson nods, rubbing at his eyes like it physically hurt him to see Eddie kiss Steve. 

Eddie rolls his eyes- and they call him dramatic.

“Fine, fine, no kissing,” he says and sees Steve pout out of the corner of his eye. “But I won’t be deprived of the joy of flirting with one Sir Stephen.” 

Steve leans back against Eddie’s chest, twisting his neck to arch an eyebrow at him. “Sir Stephen?”  

“I’ve been working on your character sheet for weeks,” Eddie says with a grin. And it’s true, he had the feeling that he would be able to convince Steve to play and he wanted to be ready. If he’d known a kiss was all it took to do it, he would’ve done it much sooner. 

“That’s presumptuous of you,” Steve mumbles, but there’s a smile teasing at his lips. Eddie shrugs, nuzzling his face against Steve’s shoulder. 

“Fine!” Dustin groans, reminding Eddie that he and Steve aren’t alone. “As long as you stay in character.” 

Eddie grins wickedly, already looking forward to flirting with Steve through all his characters, even the goblin. 

“Anyway,” Jeff says, clapping his hands on Dustin’s shoulders. “We were on our way out. We would offer to take the kiddos home, but Dougie’s piece of shit car won’t fit them all.” Dougie protests with a “Hey!” that they all ignore. 

Usually, Eddie doesn’t mind driving the kids around, but right now, a part of him does wish that he could stay a little longer with Steve. The other part can’t wait to get home so he can scream into a pillow. 

“Nah, I got it. Gentleman, lady, grab your things, we’ll head out in a second,” he says, making shooing motions with his hands. 

Sinclair rolls his eyes. “He just wants more time to make out with Steve,” he mutters as they all start to pile out of the kitchen. 

“Correct, Sinclair!”

He and Wheeler make gagging noises, earning a shove from Erica as she follows them. Yeah, she’s definitely his favorite. 

Henderson lingers on the doorway. 

“Any other rules you wish to impose on us, Master Nog?” Eddie asks, raising an eyebrow. 

Dustin shakes his head, curls bouncing. “No, I’m just- I’m happy for you. Both of you.”

Eddie blinks. “Oh,” he exhales softly, touched by the kid’s words. 

“Thanks, Henderson,” Steve says, and he sounds touched too. 

“Yeah, thanks, kid.” 

“And I love you both, but if you get divorced, I will pick sides.” And with one final narrow-eyed look, he turns on his heels and leaves.

“Which side?” Eddie asks, but the little shit pretends he doesn’t hear him. “Henderson! Which side?” His shoulders slump. “Brat.”

“Too bad we’re never gonna find out,” Steve says, turning around to face Eddie without dislodging his arms or legs that are still wrapped around him.

Eddie’s heart stutters in his chest. “Never? That’s presumptuous of you,” he says, echoing his words from before. 

Steve shrugs. “I just know I don’t plan to break up with you- or divorce you like the kid said.” 

Oh yeah, Eddie definitely needs a pillow to scream into right about now. “Um, yeah, me neither, so I guess we’re stuck together.”

Steve nods with a dopey smile. “And we’ll never know who Dustin would’ve picked.” 

There’s a short silence. 

Then, “He would’ve picked me,” they both say at the same time. 

Steve squawks. “Me!”

“No, me!” 

“I’ve known him longer!”

“He thinks I’m cooler!” 

And so on until Eddie gets tired of arguing and shuts Steve up with a kiss. Before they can deepen it though, they’re once again interrupted by the kids. 

“Eddie!” Dustin yells. 

“Stop sucking face and let’s go!” Wheeler adds and Eddie can’t see him, but he knows his nose is scrunched up in disgust. 

“We’re gonna be late!” Sinclair adds, urgently, and Erica mhm’s in agreement. 

Eddie throws his head back with a groan. “Jesus H. Christ! They’re so annoying.” 

“They are,” Steve chuckles, brushing their noses together. “Hey, you wanna come over tomorrow? We can work on that character thing together. Just you and me.” 

Eddie’s eyes widen, lips parted in awe. Steve and D&D? There must be hearts in his eyes right now or bursting out of him like he’s a cartoon. “You’re offering to do nerdy shit with me? God, you’re a dream, Jesus Christ!” He says, hands coming up to cup either side of Steve’s face and peppering kisses all over it- his cheeks, his nose, his forehead, and finally, his lips. 

Steve giggles. “So, that’s a yes?” 

“I’ll be here,” Eddie says with a grin. 

Steve wraps his arms around his neck. “And since the kids won’t be there I expect there to be kissing and flirting.”

Eddie inches closer, smirking. “Hm, you can count on it, sweetheart.” 

This time they don’t even get to kiss before the kids are yelling again, this time in unison. “Eddie!”

Eddie lets go of Steve’s waist and slaps his hands against his face. “Motherfucker!” He groans. Then louder, “I’m coming!” 

Steve shakes his head with a laugh as Eddie hops down from the counter.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Eddie tells him. 

Steve gives him another dopey smile- or rather the same one since it hasn’t left his face at all. “Can’t wait.”

Eddie sweeps in for a quick kiss, one that the kids can’t interrupt, marveling for a second at the fact that he can simply do that now. Then with a final tug to Steve’s flowery apron, he skips out of the kitchen, turning around at the doorway to look at Steve one last time. He’s leaning against the counter, smile firmly plastered on his face and looking at Eddie like- 

Well, exactly like Eddie is looking at him. Lovestruck, he thinks comes close to describing it. And ain’t that something. 

He gives Eddie one of those little finger waves, and in return, Eddie blows him a kiss. Steve’s cheeks turning pink is the last thing he sees before he leaves the kitchen and joins the kids in the living room. 

“Okay, shitheads!” He says, clapping his hands together to get their attention. “Which one of you am I sending home walking?”

[wheeboo]

admire me (like I do for you) | choi seungcheol

SYNOPSIS. in which seungcheol shows you his tattoos.  PAIRING. choi seungcheol x gn!reader GENRE. fluff, just very intimate fluff, implied idol au (because his tattoos are dedicated to svt + carats) WARNINGS. some suggestive undertones, cheol takes off his shirt, touching, one curse word, cheol teasing reader, reader jokingly calling themselves a pervert cuz cheol is shirtless, terms of endearment (love), a kiss at the very end WORD COUNT. 1.9k

notes: um this was just a random thought I had. ik we have never gotten a full glimpse of his tattoos so this is just my imagination and from the research i’ve done heh.

You find your body buried deep in the comfort of your blanket, eyes closed shut as the faint moonlight squeezes its way through your closed window blinds. Nothing but peace and quietness floats in your bedroom, but the only thing that is keeping you awake is knowing your boyfriend was still awake right next to you.

Seungcheol thinks you are asleep, often sneaking glances in your direction to make sure before returning his attention to the video game on his phone, the brightness of the screen illuminating his bare face. But when he isn’t looking, you would sneakily peek an eye open, smiling softly under the blanket to his concentration𑁋the subtle furrow of his brow, the way his lips occasionally curve into a satisfied smile of victory, or his quiet whispers of narration to himself.

“No, no, no. Shit,” Seungcheol murmurs to himself, his fingers manuevering expertly on his screen. “Did he have to sneak up on me like that?”

He leaves the game in a pit of disappointment, before realising the awfully late time displayed on his phone. Slowly stretching his arms upwards, Seungcheol lets his gaze flicker towards you.

Somehow, you can feel his eyes on you, even with them closed. There’s a soft smile that plays at his lips as he turns himself around to place his phone on the bedside table, turning on his alarm and shutting off the sound of his notifications. And during this moment, you open one eye, and you manage to catch a glimpse of something that has been running through your imagination for the longest time.

Just barely, you notice the dark ink of his tattoo peeking out of his shirt at the base of his neck. It looks like a tree. You’ve seen many glimpses of it before, but not in its full glory, simply because of your nervousness to ask and how intimate and overwhelming crossing that boundary might feel to you and him. 

The bed dips down from Seungcheol’s shifting movements as he settles himself back in the bed, careful not to make any noise. But you get yourself to elicit a deliberate groan, making Seungcheol glance back down at your worriedly.

“Sorry, did I wake you?” he asks quietly.

You let out a soft chuckle, trying to appear groggy as you shift and open both of your eyes. “No... it’s okay. Could barely fall asleep without you.”

A tender smile eases its way onto his face that deepens his dimples. “Well, I’m here now. Shall we?” 

Seungcheol comfortably scoots himself closer to you, a contented sigh leaving his lips as you feel his hands grab onto your arms to encircle around him. He pulls you closer to him, and you feel the relaxing rise and fall of his chest and the quiet rhythm of his heartbeat sync with yours. 

As the quietness lingers around you both, you still find yourself to be wide awake. Though perfectly content in Seungcheol’s arms, your mind is still clouded with the thoughts of his tattoo. It’s not... that you want to see it right then and there𑁋it’s Seungcheol’s choice, of course𑁋but the curiosity and desire to explore that part of him continue to tug at your heart. 

With a sudden surge of courage, you take a deep breath and muster up the calling his name. “Cheol?” 

He stirs a bit in your hold, or is he holding you? It’s hard to tell. “Hmm?” 

You hesitate for a moment, your voice barely above a whisper. "Um... You don’t have to if you don’t want to, but would it be okay if I...” A momentary pause. “...if I could see your tattoo one day?" 

Your words make him pull back from you, but it’s hard to see his face from the pitch blackness of the bedroom. However, you can hear him reach over to turn the lampshade back on, and the room is immediately casted with a warm, dim glow. The two of you sit up in bed together, with Seungcheol criss-crossed right in front of you, and there’s a hint of vulnerabilty in his eyes from the way his lips seem to quiver. 

“Like I said, you don’t have to. It’s just, uh...” You think about the times you’ve caught glimpses of it. The first time was when you accidentally caught him changing to go to the gym, and you caught a fleeting glance of it when he had his back towards you in the doorway and you were quick to dismiss yourself to tend to your racing heart. Ever since then the visual thought had crept up into your mind, and each time he would turn around, you try to visualise what it look like entirely... not in a creepy way, of course. 

Seungcheol moves closer to you on the bed, his eyes seemingly searching through yours.

“I can show it to you,” Then he takes a pause. “but only if you’re really sure, because it’s... in a tough spot, sort of.”

You chuckle lightly. “I just... didn’t know how to ask or if you were, you know, comfortable.”

“Are you comfortable?” he asks. “because you already know I’m willing to do anything for you.”

As his words wash over you, you feel the heat sprouting in your face. You have always loved how he always made sure you were comfortable with anything you do together. He is cautious and careful with you, and understands your reasoning for wanting to take things at your own pace. And he has told you many times just how important you are to him, even more than himself.

But now maybe you can show him just how important he is to you.

“Yeah, I... I’m good,” You tell him, though you can still feel that pint of nervousness inside. But you want this𑁋you want to see this small, meaningful part of him. “Can I... see it?”

His gaze is warm, comforting, as he gives you a nod before positioning himself so that his back was facing towards you. Reaching down to the ends of his shirt, he slowly pulls it upward, gifting you with the sight of the bare skin of his back inch by inch. The dim light of the lamp dances on his skin, casting soft shadows that accentuate the contours of his back muscles along with his arms𑁋you can’t believe these are the same arms that he uses to hug and cuddle you. The sight makes something catch in your throat. 

And as you trail your eyes up his body, you finally see it𑁋the tree tattoo, along with two other small ones you never noticed until now on either side. The tree was larger than you thought, but it wasn’t any less beautiful in your eyes; in fact, you take in its simplistic design with nothing but admiration. 

You couldn't help but reach out, fingers trembling slightly, as if afraid to rub away the ink of the tattoo despite it being permanent. Your touch grazes the edge of the tattoo, tracing the lines that make up the bark of the tree. As your fingertips make contact with his skin, Seungcheol flinches, feeling a sudden shiver run down his spine. 

“Sorry,” You apologise quickly, taking your finger away from his skin. “I should’ve asked.” 

“It’s okay.” You can’t see his face but you know he is. “You can... you can touch it. You can touch me.”

For some reason you feel your heart skip just from that last sentence alone𑁋the way he says it with such vulnerability and intimacy, as if he’s giving you full permission to let your touch wander anywhere. His breath hitches again when your fingers meet his skin once more, this time with more confidence. Instinctively, he feels himself leaning in more to your touch, feeling the way your hands wander over the story etched into his skin. 

“What does J.O.Y mean?” You ask him, bringing your attention to one of his small tattoos. 

“Ah, it’s the name of one of our albums,” he answers willingly. “It’s supposed to symbolise the journey of youth, like a source of motivation to the younger generation.”

The thought makes you grin. Seungcheol has always been proud of his accomplishments for his group, so him putting meaning into his tattoos makes them even more special. 

“I love that,” Then you move onto his other small tattoo. “and you have the date you debuted here?”

His body vibrates from the chuckle that leaves him. “It’s a reminder of when it all began.”

You let out an acknowledging hum in response before continuing to graze your finger over his tattoos, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your touch. Each stroke reveals a little more of his story, his passions, and his journey. He seems to be more relaxed now𑁋at least from what you see. Seungcheol, on the other hand, is trying so hard not to make it obvious the effect your touch has on him is. 

Finally, you make your way towards the tree at the base of his neck. The feeling makes him shiver once more.

“What does the tree represent?”

“It’s an olive tree, the birth flower of our debut date,” Seungcheol explains. “but it also serves as a symbol of peace and growth.”

You take a moment to let the meaning sink in, quietly appreciating his words. The significance of the olive tree as a symbol of peace and growth intertwines just perfectly with the journey he's been on as an artist and as a person.

"It's beautiful," You murmur, voice filled with genuine admiration. "just like you."

A blush creeps onto Seungcheol's cheeks as he turns to look back at you for a moment, a bashful look to his face.

“You can’t say that,” he says, a deep exhale leaving him as his shoulders relax. “You know what it does to me.”

And because of that, you watch as he turns around to face you before you could respond, and your eyes immediately shoot down his bare chest, his abs, and then quickly dart back up to meet his gaze, feeling the embarrassment shoot up your face. Your voice catches in your throat, suddenly feeling the overwhelming nervousness take over. 

Seungcheol notices your sudden shift in gaze and chuckles softly.

"Caught you looking." he teases, a boyish smile tugging at his lips.

Your cheeks heat up even more, and you fumble for words, feeling like a deer caught in headlights. "I... uh... I-I wasn't... I mean..."

Seungcheol's laughter fills the room, and he reaches out to cup your face gently, letting his touch soothe your nerves. 

"I'm just teasing, love," he reassures you, letting his thumb stroke your cheek. "Don’t feel embarrassed.”

“I feel like a pervert,” You admit aloud, an awkward laugh leaving you. You already knew there was no reason for you to feel this way, but you can’t shake the feeling away because your boyfriend is shirtless in front of you and you have no idea how to react other than wanting to sink yourself deep into your bed in a pit of shame.

You feel his hand trail down to your chin, causing you to look back up at him. However, his face contains nothing but affection. How does he manage to look at you like this, nothing but adoration in his eyes but be this attractive right in front of you?

“I love it when you admire me,” He leans in awfully close, voice lowering. “just like I do for you.”

His words send a shiver down your spine, and you can feel the intensity of his gaze as he leans in closer. You swallow a lump in your throat, glancing between his eyes and his mouth. 

And then as his lips brush against yours, it’s like a soft caress on your skin. There’s a surge of warmth that spreads throughout your body as it deepens ever so slightly, and you could feel the smile tug your own face when you feel his own lips curl too.

taglist (open) ʚɞ @enhazen​ @haowrld​ @ylliris-hanniehae​ @icyminghao​

[tls12lessthan3]

one thing i enjoy about orv is how morally grey kim dokja is, especially in the beginning. during the beginning of the novel kim dokja seems to have almost no empathy for the people around him, and his number one priority is progressing the scenarios with himself being a secondary priority and saving others coming later. he does undeniable good, like saving jung heewon and caring for lee gilyoung - and he does some much more questionable things, like selling his food for coins knowing that it will disappear soon and people need the coins to survive.

this part of orv gets ignored a lot and chalked up to kim dokja's self-hatred, which i disagree with. yes he hates himself and yes he's an unreliable narrator who paints his actions in a worse light because of it but sometimes he just does objectively bad things. and it's interesting when he does! particularly in the beginning, he is focused completely on self-preservation and often steps on others in the process. his actions force you to ask questions like how responsible is kim dokja for those deaths on the subway car, or at that first subway station? is he obligated to try and save the people around him? how strong is that obligation? is it right of him to use his future knowledge the way he does, to decide who lives and dies? they're fairly basic questions, and orv doesn't particularly insist on answering them, but i enjoyed thinking about them nonetheless. the fact is kim dokja was often cruel, to strangers and his companions both, if different types. and you lose these questions when you ignore that. and thats not even to discuss the parallels between his exploitation of yoo joonghyuk's story and the way constellations gobble up incarnations while enjoying their pain. even if yoo joonghyuk eventually decides he considers it worth it, kim dokja still subsisted off of a living being's immeasurable pain for years, and that's a fucked up thing!

and to ignore kim dokja's less-than-moral actions also ignores kim dokja's character arc! kim dokja feels guilt at the end of orv for actions he wouldn't have thought twice about at the beginning and that is because he has changed and matured over the course of the novel and pretending he was always that way erases that. and i dont see why you would want to!! his journey towards seeing his companions as human and learning to care about the 'extras' he previously discarded and coming to understand the damage he inflicts with his self-sacrifice is interesting to watch and discuss. i've seen the stark contrast in empathy from early kim dokja to later kim dokja chalked up to sinshong not being quite sure how to write him yet and while i think that may have played a role i also think they did a good job of building and showing these changes through arcs like the demon world arc, the fruit of good and evil arc and the journey to the west arc

i think i lost my point somehwere but in summary kim dokja does some fucked up shit and some of it is basic edgelord apocalypse murder and some of it is genuinely interesting to contemplate and all of it is important to his character

[gentrychild]

BNHA 407 : AFO is a lying liar who lies

Today is a very sad day because I am about to do something I genuinely dislike: I am about to defend All for One. In order to cope, I shall make fun of him the whole time.

AFO and Yoichi's backstory is finally out, with AFO narrating it, and there are two possibilities: he is either completely lying about it (boring) or he is lying a little about it (very in-character for him) because he is also lying to himself.

Lie number 1: AFO was born evil.

The narrator (AFO, seriously, it's AFO) says things such as "The baby drained the lifeforce of both his mom and his brother.", "It was born an arrogant baby." and such but it really reads at AFO villifying himself to add to his own legend.

That's what babies do. Children, before they're born, kinda have to take their strength from their mother. That's why pregnant people aren't supposed to do anything taxing.

AFO and Yoichi's mother didn't die because baby AFO drained her like a vampire. She died because she was a homeless woman who had access to nothing and had to go in labor alone.

Same thing here: during twin birth, a twin is often bigger than the other (well, probably not to extent of Yoichi and AFO, but you get my point).

Lie number 2: AFO, as a demon baby, is shown killing for no reason, just because he can.

(First slaughter by Baby AFO shown in that chapter.)

There are two things that are strange in this scene (apart from... you know.... a baby murdering people...)

AFO had no reason to go after them because they don't have any quirks to steal.

It makes no sense for someone to attack a group of people with nothing to gain. I doubt that's the kind of behavior you have when you're in survival mode as you're barely surviving in the street.

However, a previous panel points at some context we might be missing.

The same panel that indicates that those guys don't have a quirk to steal also shows that they are wiling to do some "preventive attack" on a bunch of quirked people who might or might not be those who assaulted a protest group (reminder that in this context, that protest group are protesting the rights for quirked people to exist).

I could be wrong but odds are that they did something to be qualified as a threat to All for One and we are missing the additional context.

(Second slaughter by Baby AFO shown in that chapter.)

Now, the poor souls who just got absolutely wrecked by a toddler wearing what I suspect to be a garbage bag have quirks, which makes more sense than the previous scene.

However (and thank you for @aimportantdragoncollector for pointing that out to me), we also have this panel.)

Yoichi is shown with bruises on his face and might be broken teeth.

Probably because those same people AFO is shown killing attacked him.

Lie number 3: AFO never loved Yoichi because he can't love, he just considered that he was his. That's all. Nothing more.

(Just... Just ignore the rats.)

AFO didn't care about Yoichi so much that the very conscious first act of his life might have been to swim a river upstream while dragging his brother above the surface with what must have been the deathgrip of all deathgrip.

AFO didn't care about his brother so much that Yoichi was fed and clothed by an AFO who was malnourished enough for his ribs to show and who wore what's basically an improvised toga.

But he just keeps sacrificing what little he has for someone he doesn't care about one bit, that's just his first possession. Nothing more.

Okay, I am going to be clear: anyone who sees that panel and thinks that it's the proof AFO didn't like his brother... You just outed yourself as an only child.

Siblings punt each other for no reason. (There is a reason why the first recorded murderer was an older sibling.) In this case, the reason was Yoichi throwing a can at him.

AFO: "You're not inviting me to a fun activity? You're leaving me out, in the cold, unable to partake in brother bonding activity? Oh, vault for Little Brother! Vault for Little Brother for one thousand years!"

AFO: "Nevermind, we're reading together. All is well, I guess."

Lie number 3: AFO killed the glowing baby for power, because he could, or because the Glowing Baby didn't deserve it

Still laughing about AFO's flawless reasoning... "Comic books heroes' life suck. Better to be a villain. I already did the whole struggle thing, I want an easy life."

AFO killed the glowing baby because he was jealous. It's as simple as that. The glowing baby was considered the first official quirked individual (even though it's not true), was protected by his family (if I remember correctly, the mother of quirks was his mom) while AFO and Yoichi had no one but each other (EDIT: I was wrong, the Mother of Quirks was Destro's mother. thanks to the people in the tags), and had a ton of people following him (while, for some strange reason, people start running away screaming when AFO shows his quirk... What a mystery...).

The last panel was basically AFO saying "I want to be loved' but not having the frame of reference to even know what love is.

In conclusion...

While AFO is definitely a bad guy and a monster, he didn't begin his existence as one. He just wants people to believe that. Because his pride and his ego can't allow him to admit that he lived a childhood full of horrible trauma where he was a victim abandoned by society (to an even greater extent than the LOV) or he would probably combust out of rage and mortification.

Ergo facto, AFO is a lying liar who lies, especially to himself.