#BUT my point stands michael sheen is not HUMAN no HUMAN can do what he DOES

[thesherrinfordfacility]

how the hell does michael sheen do it? no seriously - how does he look utterly besotted and wary at the same time, immeasurably old and inconceivably young simultaneously, learned and naive in equal force

i don't understand but i would like it bottled and i would like to buy it, but someone needs to have a word with him and tell him to give 👏 it 👏 a 👏 rest 👏 please 👏✨

[cobragardens]

My Favorite Good Omens Moment:

An Essay on Why It Is Cool and Rad (Part 1)

There's this moment in Good Omens that makes me cackle every time I see it and leaves me full of warmth, so here's an essay on its context and meaning, because explication and analysis are how I show love. I will try to keep my thoughts as tight as possible, but they do have a tendency to spiral outwards, and I am very stoned. Come, sistren, and get nerdy with me.

My favorite moment in the series so far occurs in 1601. To approach it we will first need an assload of context. There's a TL;DR in bold at the end of the Context if you don't fancy reading the whole assload. Key arguments are in italics and bold throughout.

David Tennant gives Crowley a very consistent facial expression every time Aziraphale says something so outlandish Crowley can't quite believe he's hearing it. It's this one:

Chronologically, we see the Eyebrows of Disbelief twice before my fave moment in 1601: once (above left) in that scene on the Garden Wall that familiarizes the audience with Crowley's face before adding the dark glasses, when Aziraphale admits he's given away his sword; once when Aziraphale tells Bildad the Shuhite that he, Aziraphale, has Fallen because he lied to the angels to save Job's children.

The Eyebows of Disbelief always signal surprise and amusement with something Aziraphale has said or done. This amusement is sometimes at Aziraphale's expense and sometimes not.

In the gifs above, Crowley is laughing because what Aziraphale has just admitted to doing is fantastic and unexpected and frankly pretty gd punk rock. He's not laughing at Aziraphale, he's laughing because he is delighted with him. The only record we have thus far of Crowley laughing at Aziraphale is this one:

Crowley laughs when Aziraphale informs him--him, a demon who has personally been through the process of Falling--that Aziraphale is Fallen and must be a demon now. As though of the two of them Aziraphale is the expert on how and under what circumstances this occurs.

And yet when Crowley sees Aziraphale's distress--not his fear of being taken to Hell, but his heartbreak and lostness over the fact that his conscience has diverged from God's stated will--Crowley stops laughing, and instead he acts very kindly towards Aziraphale. He validates the gravity of what Aziraphale has done and assures him he won't turn him in. He sits with him so Aziraphale isn't totally alone (like Crowley probably was) as he goes through the loneliest moments of his existence to that point and picks himself up newly weighted with the secret he must now bear.

And after this scene (in canon as it stands thus far), we don't see Crowley laugh at anything Aziraphale says or does again.

And he really has to work for it sometimes. We talk a lot about the things Michael Sheen is able to convey with his face in Good Omens, and absolutely rightly so; David Tennant earns a chunk of his paycheck in this regard as well. If you haven't given yourself the treat yet, rewatch the scene in Will Goldstone's magic shop in 1941 and focus on Crowley's reactions:

Tennant takes great care to show, with precision, that Crowley is expending effort not to react to Aziraphale's nervous chaos Muppetry and lack of self-awareness. Crowley is self- and socially and contextually aware enough that he knows (better than Aziraphale, at least, which is not a high bar to clear) what's cringe, what's funny, what's ridiculous, how to behave. But whenever Aziraphale crosses a boundary of normalcy, or even sanity, and there is opportunity to laugh at him, Crowley very carefully doesn't react. He doesn't interrupt him, he doesn't try to correct him, he doesn't make fun of him, he doesn't even smirk; he just watches him, as stone-faced as he can manage, no matter how bizarre Aziraphale becomes.

We should be reading this lack of reaction to Aziraphale's social and rational transgressions as powerful positive action. Go watch the Doctor Who episode "Human Nature," or literally any episode of The Inbetweeners, or read or watch Regeneration, and reflect on what it shows you about English masculinity; then consider again the depth of significance in how English- and male-coded character Crowley treats English- and male-coded character Aziraphale in an England created by an English and male-codedpresenting author based off a book written by himself and another male-presenting author. Within its context of English masculinity, Crowley's lack of reaction is not a neutral stance; it is a very fucking loud show of support.

This is not even an inference; it's stated outright in the show. Crowley himself puts it into words 422 years after my favorite moment:

You know how Crowley calls Aziraphale "angel" because the factuality of the descriptor offers him plausible deniability to any Heavenly or Infernal agents who might be listening? Remember how Crowley is a great equivocator? Crowley is equivocating here, too: he's using the cover of what Maggie and Nina will take as a disparaging joke at Aziraphale's expense in order to make a perfectly sincere statement. This is his genuine perception of one of the relationship dynamics he has with Aziraphale and how he feels about that dynamic. Crowley thinks he himself is quite witty (an accurate assessment), Crowley thinks Aziraphale isn't sufficiently self- or contextually aware to hide how strange he is and therefore frequently says and does mad things (also an accurate assessment), and Crowley is Into. That. Shit.

Okay. Now let's look at 1601.

Chronologically it's been almost 1,000 years since we last saw Aziraphale and Crowley. In 537, Aziraphale isn't willing even to consider a labor-saving working arrangement with Crowley of fucking off home out of the damp of Arthurian Wessex; but by 1601, he's worked (and met, and Arranged) with Crowley "dozens of times now," Crowley says, and Azirapahle does not correct him.

In that millienium, Aziraphale has grown to care deeply about Crowley:

In fact he may be somewhat smitten with him:

Seriously, go back and watch Aziraphale here as Crowley approaches and starts speaking to him: he doesn't start smiling until he recognizes that the person speaking to him is Crowley (but he only smiles at Crowley while Crowley's not looking at him).

And Crowley is definitely become smitten with Aziraphale:

Our man(-shaped entity) is so allergic to work he sets up a meeting to weasel, cajole, or (as it happens) cheat a coin toss to get Aziraphale to do an easy temptation for him in Edinburgh, and then in the same conversation agrees to miracle a play into success because Aziraphale gives him a single hopeful look. Crowley's got it bad.

TL;DR: The Eyebrows of Disbelief happen when Crowley is surprised and amused by something Aziraphale has said or done. Sometimes that amusement is delight with Aziraphale; sometimes it is at Aziraphale's expense. Crowley is aware of this distinction, and when his amusement is at Aziraphale's expense, he suppresses it, even when it takes some effort on his own part, and remains stocially composed. This is equivocation on his part: to Celestial/Infernal operatives lacking knowledge of the intricacies of human behavior, this non-reaction would seem like neutrality; to Aziraphale, who shares with Crowley and the audience the contextual knowledge of English masculinity's utter viciousness, this non-reaction is a profound show of support; and in the safety of support from Crowley, Aziraphale lets his weirdness blossom.

As another meta points out [link if I find it again], we also see in Aziraphale's wordless request about Hamlet and Crowley's immediate understanding of it that by 1601 Aziraphale and Crowley have developed an unspoken, coded method of communication with each other.

Now that we have all of that in mind, here's my favorite moment in Good Omens:

Ixi of Fuck Yeah Good Omens has even kindly archived a closeup of the aftermath, for Crowley, of "Buck up!" In gif 4, above, you can see that the tiny smile is an involuntary reaction that happens as Crowley's eyes widen: for a fraction of a second, he's caught off-guard. In the closeup it's easier to see that he suppresses the smile and gives a tiny shake of his head, Eyebrows of Disbelief heading for his hairline.

There are a number of things Crowley's reaction could mean and what messages it could communicate (we'll get to that in a sec), but regardless, his reaction is, unquestionably, one of surprise and suppressed amusement. This is an aspect of Crowley and Aziraphale's relationship and characters that I like very much, viz., that one of the reasons Crowley likes Aziraphale (though Aziraphale is judgy and occasionally, unintentionally, horrifyingly cruel) is that in addition to being one of the kindest and most courageous beings in existence, Aziraphale is mad as a bag of frogs. Crowley does not know what is going to come out of Aziraphale's lovely mouth next, but Crowley does know there's a good chance he will struggle to believe he's hearing it, and Crowley likes that.

That's what makes this my favorite moment. What makes this moment so cool and rad, though, is its ineffability. We know from the Eyebrows of Disbelief that Crowley is surprised and amused, but any of several things could be read in that almost imperceptible headshake. Like:

What are you doing? or

Why are you like this? or

How can you be aware that you say these things out loud and yet still say them out loud? or

How has my existence come to this? this moment of listening to such insanity?

each of which is a fair and just feeling to have/message to communicate to a man(-shaped entity) who is yelling "Buck up!" at Hamlet.

But that's only if we read Crowley's amusement as being at Aziraphale's expense. And I don't think we should. Because watch Aziraphale here:

He's doing it on purpose. He is shouting a hilariously inappropriate, 100% authentic Aziraphale-brand thing over arguably the gloomiest passage of Shakespeare's famously gloomy play--right after Crowley complains about its gloominess--and he is watching Crowley as he does it. Look at his smile! He knows he's being Deeply Uncool, and he is doing it literally right into Crowley's face.

Remember that we just talked about how by this point in the chronology Crowley and Aziraphale have learned to communicate with each other nonverbally through facial expression? So what does it mean when Aziraphale responds to Crowley's grumbling about Hamlet's gloominess by smiling his minxious Mona Lisa Aziraphale smile, looking right into Crowley's face, and yelling at Hamlet to buck up? Aziraphale, in a carefully coded, carefully Aziraphale way, is joking with Crowley. His silliness in this moment is for Crowley.

So with aaaaaaallllll of this essay in mind, what does it mean that Crowley's reaction to "Come on, Hamlet! Buck up!" is widening eyes, an involuntary twitch of his mouth toward a smile, and then, his eyebrows still showing surprise and amusement, a tiny shake of his head?

Once more, with inferences:

I do propose, y'all, on the basis of this web of evidence I submit for consideration, that what we are seeing here in my favorite moment of Good Omens is the ineffable equivalent of Aziraphale and Crowley sharing a laugh.

Crowley's amusement here isn't at Aziraphale, because Aziraphale is eliciting that amusement consciously and deliberately. Aziraphale, in good spirits and happy to see Crowley, uses his Aziraphaleness to offers Crowley not only an opportunity for amusement, but the opportunity to be in agreement with him about what in this situation is funny. They're on the same side of this joke.

And his humor lands just as he wants it to: Crowley, just for a moment, is caught off-guard, and tickled--

But remember, Crowley is worried in this scene about being surveilled ("I thought you said we'd be inconspicuous here"), and he worries about audio surveillance a lot ("Walls have ears"; "Don't say that. If my lot hear [etc.]," etc.), so he's very limited in what reactions he can show or voice. Aziraphale knows Crowley must be perceived by anyone watching or listening to disapprove of his, Aziraphale's, behavior (just as he must be perceived to disapprove vociferously of Crowley's). Both of them know this.

--so Crowley suppresses the smile almost successfully, and shakes his head at Aziraphale, minutely, to say Stop. What you're doing is working, you're close to making me laugh, and if I show how much you have just delighted me, it will blow our cover of "just an Arrangement."

I offer three final data points in advancing my argument that what we see in my favorite Good Omens moment is Aziraphale successfully attempting to joke with Crowley and Crowley recognizing that overture from Aziraphale and being momentarily surprised into a reaction of genuine delight before pulling his face back under control and indicating to Aziraphale that he must stop:

Datum 1. Nothing going on with Crowley's face in this moment is accidental. We know for sure we're not seeing David Tennant react to Michael Sheen here not only because of literally every other point of Tennant's and Sheen's performances in the show, but because Tennant is wearing opaque contacts and sunglasses under film lighting and therefore cannot be reacting to anything more compelling than a level-10-lift blur because Tennant cannot see shit. Crowley's reaction is a deliberate and careful performance choice on Tennant's part, and it's underscored by director Douglas Mackinnon's choice to film Tennant in 1/2 profile to keep Crowley's eyes visible and face readable to the audience. This reaction is supposed to be there and supposed to be meaningful.

Datum 2. The husbands in 1601 is not the only moment in Good Omens when we may be seeing an angel and a demon communicate the message Stop doing that, it makes us look too familiar between themselves with a little headshake:

Datum 3: There is another moment in Good Omens when Aziraphale offers Crowley the opportunity to enjoy a joke with him. There, too, his humor lands just as he intends, so we can use this other moment as a comparison to our 1601 moment. I don't have gifs for it, but go back and watch it, S1E6 49:27-42. Snips below.

Aziraphale says something that surprises and amuses Crowley (he asked Hell for a rubber duck while he was sloshing around in the holy water)--

--but what Aziraphale says makes Crowley smile long before it makes him laugh.

In fact, his laugh, though a genuine cackle, is quite delayed, and he laughs only after Aziraphale starts laughing too.

In other words, Crowley's reaction to Aziraphale offering him amusement they're both on the same side of is exactly the same as his reaction to "Come on, Hamlet! Buck up!" right up until he laughs instead of shaking his head. Here, after Armageddidn't, Crowley doesn't have to suppress his reaction, so he can let the smile bloom; he doesn't have to control his response, so, although it takes him a few extra seconds, he lets the smile turn into a laugh.

But in 1601, it's not safe to laugh at Aziraphale's humor. It's not safe even to smile at him. A single piece of evidence or eye/earwitness testimony that he and Crowley have anything more friendly than the most passing and acrimonious of professional relationships could mean death to either or both of them, and depending on what Falling is like, maybe something worse than death for Aziraphale.

But Aziraphale is so funny, so effervescent for Crowley, at Crowley, that it catches Crowley just for a moment. Crowley's eyes widen and the corner of his mouth twitches toward a smile.

And that's dangerous. If Aziraphale keeps acting so charmingly mad, Crowley is going to laugh, and they can't afford that risk, so he shakes his head at Aziraphale. Stop, or I won't be able to keep a straight face around you.

And Aziraphale apparently receives that message, because he immediately eases off. Less than 60 seconds later we learn that he's deeply concerned for Crowley's safety--and that it's not so much that Aziraphale has Crowley wrapped around his little finger as it is that Crowley has wrapped himself around Aziraphale's little finger like a snake arranging itself on the tree branch it calls home.

UPDATE 14/10/23: HOLY SHIT Y'ALL IT GETS EVEN BETTER! THERE IS A SEQUEL!

[fellthemarvelous]

This is just an idea that keeps rattling around in my head. If anyone else has a unique perspective to add to this, feel free to do so.

Is season three setting us up for Grand Duke of Hell Crowley?

Aziraphale has taken up the position of Supreme Archangel vacated by Gabriel.

And in the first episode we see Beelzebub throwing offers at Crowley just to get their hands on Gabriel (although at that point we don't understand why). Beelzebub even tells him that he can be a Duke of Hell.

It's not a position that Crowley wants, but is that what makes him the right choice for said position?

Heaven and Hell are both equally terrible, but Hell has never been anything other than what it was set up to be. Crowley wants nothing to do with it. He's never played by Hell's rules. It's a place of evil. Crowley doesn't have the capacity for the kind of evil Hell is looking for. He loves humanity just as much as Aziraphale does.

And Aziraphale, for all his misgivings about what Heaven is, is not actually blind to how corrupt it is. He chooses to go back because he is adamant that he can make a difference. He thought he would be able to make that difference with Crowley by his side, but Crowley can never and will never return to Heaven (unless it's to break in and cause problems).

But Hell needs to change as well. Hell is just as desperate as Heaven is to go to war and destroy the Earth and all of humanity.

And if Crowley takes up the mantle of Grand Duke of Hell, that would put him at odds with Aziraphale (and Heaven but we know he doesn't care about that part), but he and Aziraphale have spent the past 6,000 years together and can find a way for Heaven and Hell to meet in the middle and discover their own shades of gray. They have the power to bring about change at the top and the bottom.

Which is probably why the Metatron wanted to separate them in the first place. Together they are incredibly powerful. But the Metatron's greatest achievement at the end of season two might end up being the mistake that causes his downfall during season three.

Because no matter how explosive their break-up was, they still love each other, and they will always find their way back to each other.

And perhaps the systems will remain the same even when all is said and done, but they can shake things up for both sides and make them see that they too have the option of free will. They can have everything the humans have, but they have to see that it's possible.

And the only ones who can show them this path are Aziraphale and Crowley.

But in order for things to change, Crowley and Aziraphale will have to stand on opposite sides before joining together to help save humanity. And maybe they will have a small army of angels and demons who choose to follow them because what Crowley and Aziraphale have is so much more enticing than an eternity of working in miserable conditions and planning another war that involves the destruction of humanity.

And maybe that's how the Ineffable Plan is fulfilled. Maybe Aziraphale and Crowley are the keys to pulling it off. Maybe God and Satan paired them up for their own amusement, but also to see if it was possible for demons and angels to ultimately accept humanity and realize that they actually have the ability to make their own choices as well.

I don't know. I have so many ideas about where season three might take us. I'm not sure how I feel about this one because season two gave us so many possibilities for how this will ultimately end.

That particular moment in 2x1 has me wondering if Crowley will reluctantly agree to become Grand Duke of Hell.

It also doesn't help that Michael Sheen referred to Crowley as the thin dark Duke. I'm way too obsessed with this show.

I just really love my Ineffable Idiot Husbands.

[29-pieces]

Whumptober day 1: Good Omens

Happy Whumptober!! I did Good Omens and The Musketeers (BBC version) this year, alternating every day. All of these will also be on my AO3 and fanfiction.net accounts and I’ll attach the links ^_^  ~*~ Day One: Waking Up Restrained Fandom: Good Omens read on AO3 read on FF.net

~*~

Aziraphale, as an angel, generally had no use for sleep, and therefore generally had little occasion to experience waking up, but even he was quite certain this was not how it ought to go. His head was throbbing, either from being completely drained of all heavenly energy or from being hit in the head from behind. Probably some combination of both, he conceded. He was also still on his feet, but only because he was being held up by a pair of shackles that had been hung over a heavy beam of the rafters, keeping him suspended by his arms.

"Sir, he's awake," he heard someone say close by.

Aziraphale blearily opened his eyes a bit more as the lights coalesced into vague shapes and then the sharper outline of a man in the dress of a General.

From the opposite army from who he'd been lending his assistance to.

Aziraphale groaned, because gracious his head truly was pounding something awful, but even through the disorienting pain he had to admit sincere relief that his captors seemed to be human. He'd been expecting demons, and that was a thought worth shuddering over.

"You," the General said officiously, standing stiffly in an ill-fitting uniform. "You're the doctor here?"

Aziraphale let his head fall to the side wearily, looking towards the room that was housing the remaining ill soldiers.

"Please," he rasped, so exhausted. "They- they're sick. Don't hurt them... please..." Aziraphale had been trying so hard to save them all, but he could only perform so many miracles in such a short time without either being noticed or collapsing from exhaustion.

"There have been rumors," the General went on as though he hadn't heard. "Of a doctor, an Englishman, who is somehow able to miraculously stop illnesses. Normally I would assume it's pure nonsense but for the fact I trust the judgment and sanity of my men."

So much for having gone unnoticed then, Aziraphale thought, closing his eyes. Gabriel was going to be so terribly angry with him. The angel felt the muzzle of a pistol press against his forehead and his eyes snapped open with a soft mewl of discomfort.

"My men are sick," the General growled. "Dying. More men in their sickbeds than on the battlefield. You've been healing soldiers here. So you're going to heal mine as well." He cocked the pistol, shoving it harder into Aziraphale's head. "Or..."

Aziraphale swallowed, testing the chains. He was so tired, though, so weakened by his recent expenditure of miracles, he couldn't feel the slightest bit of his own angelic power.

"I will treat anyone who requires my assistance," he rasped, sagging in the chains. "Only... I- I'm afraid I must recover some of my own strength first, or I will have none to give-"

"Take him down," the General cut him off, nodding to two other enemy soldiers who had come in with him. He twisted towards the front and snapped his fingers at a few of the others. Two men who had been guarding the door hurried back outside.

Aziraphale bit back a groan as the chain was unhooked from the rafters, permitting him to lower his arms although his hands remained shackled and the soldiers who'd retrieved him held him fast between them. The front door opened and a stretcher brought inside with a man lying on it. No, hardly a man. A boy, really, but in the same grey uniform as the others. Far too young to be seeing battle, Aziraphale wanted to reproach them, but the flush of his face and the rash on what little of his body the angel could see told him that a bullet was hardly his biggest concern.

"Heal him," the General snapped, gesturing. Aziraphale was dragged roughly over to the boy, still held fast.

Aziraphale sighed, bowing his head. "Typhoid fever, I fear." Late stage, at that. Nothing short of a miracle was going to save the boy now, and... Aziraphale had none more to offer. Not until he rested. And even if he did heal the lad as soon as he was able, he would need an additional miracle to make these men forget what they had seen, which would take even more power... It would take days to rally that kind of strength, and the boy didn't have hours. Raising his eyes sadly, Aziraphale shook his head.

The General's face turned stony. His fist was so fast and Aziraphale so exhausted that he barely saw the swing coming before it collided with his jaw, knocking the angel into one of his captors.

"Heal him. I told you, I've heard the rumors. You heal with nothing more than laying your hands on them. You will heal him, because he's my son. You understand?"

Aziraphale gulped, straightening up as the gun was pressed to his forehead once again. Yes, he understood. He understood this man was desperate and that made him exceptionally dangerous. He wasn't given a chance to answer as the two soldiers he was sandwiched between grabbed his arms to forcibly set his hands on the sick boy. Then everyone fell silent and waited.

Oh heaven help him, what was he supposed to do? Aziraphale silently sent a desperate prayer up to Gabriel or Uriel or Michael or anyone who might be listening to spare him just a little bit of extra power to heal the poor boy—and to avoid the paperwork of his discorporation. But no help came, no replenished strength, no angelic assistance. Aziraphale sagged; he was on his own. Biting his lip, the angel summoned every scrap of power that might still be within him, but it was practically nothing at all, and nothing was exactly what happened. It was no use.

The boy suddenly sat bolt upright on the stretcher with a gasp, making everyone—including Aziraphale—leap out of their skins. His color evened out, sickly sheen fading into a healthy pallor, and his breathing returned to normal. Aziraphale gaped, stared at his hands, then frowned. No matter the appearances, that had not been him. His eyes darted over the other soldiers in the room in search of a fellow angel. Or, dare he hope...

"Thank you!" the General gasped, pulling his son in tightly against him, all but crumpled with relief. "Joseph, Anthony, take the miracle doctor out to the wagon. We'll have him start on the rest of the boys at camp right away."

"Anthony," Aziraphale mouthed, eyes latching onto one of the soldiers who'd remained silent and barely moved throughout the entire ordeal, hat pulled low over his face. He stepped forwards now, though, taking Aziraphale out of the hands of the men currently holding him. Together with another fellow, they marched him out the door and into the night. A wagon stood waiting, but they hadn't made it four steps into the cover of the night before the second soldier mysteriously collapsed, and the one remaining snorted softly.

"Why is it always you, angel?"

The soldier lifted his hat at last, golden snake eyes meeting Aziraphale's with exasperation. A snap of his fingers had the manacles dropping to the ground.

Aziraphale rubbed his wrists with a rueful smile. "I could ask the same of you," he pointed out. "Thank you, my dear. What ever are you doing here?"

"Same as you, I reckon. Only, you know, the opposite. Discord and all that. Listen, what happened? Kept waiting for you to miracle him, or at least save yourself."

With a sigh, Aziraphale hung his head. "Well, er... I can't exactly, not at the moment. There's just so many sick and wounded, Crowley... I'm a bit worn down, to tell you the truth. I feel as though I can barely move, let alone use any sort of miracles."

"Where's your backup, then?" Crowley demanded. "You didn't tell head office you'd overdone it a bit?"

"Well... I mean, yes, of course, but..."

Aziraphale saw a muscle in Crowley's jaw tick, but he couldn't exactly blame the angels for the reminder that he shouldn't have been so irresponsible as to overdo it in the first place, but it did seem bad form to leave one of their own in such a state. Not that he would ever say so, of course. Aziraphale could tell Crowley was barely biting his tongue, so hurried on, "And thank you for healing that boy, my dear. It was really quite kind of you."

"No, it wasn't," Crowley snapped, still sore. "Saving my own skin, actually. That General really would have killed you, you know, and with the Arrangement and all... I mean, it's been useful to me, can't have those blokes discorporating my business partner."

Aziraphale smiled fondly at his friend and shook his head. "Of course," he agreed kindly. "Pure selfishness on your part, my mistake. What are you going to do now?"

Crowley shrugged, leading Aziraphale the rest of the way to the wagon and helping him up into it. "Desert, I reckon," he said, taking the seat on the bench next to Aziraphale and glowering at the horses until they nervously started walking. "Seems like a devilish thing to do and I could use a break. You could, too, until you're rested up. No arguments."

Aziraphale yawned, jaw nearly cracking. Rest sounded wonderful, providing he didn't wake up in quite so awful a way. He longed to ask Crowley if the demon would possibly deign to stay nearby while Aziraphale slept but held his tongue. For one thing, there was pride to satisfy for both parties.

And for another, Aziraphale already knew that Crowley would.

Feeling safe and at ease, the angel closed his eyes.

[msfilmdiary]

The Twilight Saga: Breaking Dawn–Part 2

Starring: Kristen Stewart, Robert Pattinson, Taylor Lautner, Nikki Reed, Ashley Greene, Kellan Lutz, Jackson Rathbone, Peter Facinelli, Anna Kendrick, Elizabeth Reaser, Billie Burke, Michael Sheen, Dakota Fanning, Jamie Campbell Bower, Christian Serratos, Chaske Spencer, Mackenzie Foy, Rami Malek, Christopher Heyerdahl, Alex Meraz, Bronson Pelletier, Julia Jones, Booboo Stewart, Noel Fisher, Sarah Clarke, and Jodelle Ferland

Screenplay by Melissa Rosenberg

Directed by Bill Condon

Cinematography by Guillermo Navarro

I do not own any of the pictures posted. 

SPOILERS AHEAD 

Bella has just awoken from her human-to-vampire transformation and is introduced to her daughter Renesmee. The Cullens and Jacob stay nearby, and Jacob seemingly acts possessive towards Renesmee, and Bella learns that he imprinted on her. Meanwhile, Bella’s father Charlie has been trying to contact the Cullens for updates on Bella and her health. Carlisle soon comes to believe that they need to leave Forks to protect their identities, and Jacob, desperate not to lose Renesmee, visits Charlie to inform him about Bella. He tells him that Bella is alive and well, but had to change in order to get better. He also tells Charlie that he doesn't live in the world he thinks he lives in, revealing his wolf form to Charlie. Charlie then visits the Cullen house and meets Renesmee, and Bella and the Cullen family are able to stay in Forks. 

Carlisle is monitoring Renesmee’s rapid growth over the course of a few months. When they go to the woods for an outing, Irina sees Renesmee from a distance and assumes that she is an immortal child without asking any questions. Immortal children are vampires changed in childhood who often destroyed villages and towns because they could not be restrained or controlled. Immortal children were executed and outlawed, as well as the parents who created them. A bitter Irina goes to the Volturi to report what she has seen, and Alice has a vision of the Volturi and Irina coming to kill the Cullens and instructs them to find as many witnesses to vouch that Renesmee is not an immortal child. Alice and Jasper leave to try and find their own witnesses, while the others begin to summon various people to vouch for the Cullens that they do not have an immortal child. 

Some of these witnesses include the Denali family. Eleazar, a member of the Denali family, discovers that Bella has a special ability that protects her from Edward’s mind-reading. Even when she was human, she had a powerful mental shield protecting her from many vampire gifts, which translated into her being able to protect others from vampire powers now that she is immortal. 

Some of Cullen's potential witnesses are attacked, and Carlisle and Edward realize that they may have to fight Volturi. Their remaining witnesses agree to stand with them against Volturi. The Volturi soon arrive prepared for battle led by Aro, who is eager to obtain the vampiric gifts the Cullens have as part of his guard. Before any violence begins, Alice and Jasper approach Aro, and Alice shares her vision with him of battle, which would result in heavy casualties on both sides, including Aro’s and Carlilse’s death. Aro believes her vision, giving them both a chance to reveal their witness, Nahuel, who is half-human and half-vampire, just like Renesmee. Nahuel proves that he is not a threat, ensuring that Renesmee isn't either. The Volturi leave, explaining that there will be no battle. 

Now back at the Cullen house, Alice has a vision of the future, seeing Bella and Edward and Jacob together and a fully matured Renesmee also together. Edward reads Alice’s mind and is relieved to find that Jacob will always protect Renesmee. Now alone in the meadow, Bella pushes her mental shield away and finally allows Edward to read her mind, showing him every moment they spent together. The film franchise ends with Bella tells Edward that “nobody has ever loved anybody as much as I love you” and with that, the film franchise finally comes to a close, with Bella and Edward together forever in their own vampire universe. 

Breaking Dawn–Part 2 captured and finalized the Twilight saga, throwing a few twists and turns into the storyline. Now, I will admit, some of the dialogue seems a bit out of place when compared to the franchises previous films, but the overall feel remains the same. Breaking Dawn–Part 2, if anything, ties up the series without leaving any loopholes in an action-packed, bone-chilling way. 

We see the new Bella right at the beginning of them, which I believe is one of the best character developments I’ve ever seen. She’s changed, but not in a way that doesn't seem unrealistic (that is, if you consider vampires, werewolves, and hybrids of some sort realistic.) She, like the Cullens, can run from place to place instantaneously, sees nature in great detail, and has a daggering taste for blood. 

Vampire Bella is not someone I would describe in the same way I would describe human Bella. Human Bella is seclusive, insecure, and sensitive. Vampire Bella is more confident, and more herself. Human Bella is more of a daydreamer, and vampire Bella is more realistic, and excited to live her life as an immortal. 

Spending the last week and a half watching, reading, and analyzing Twilight and Twilight saga reviews, there is one thing that I’ve noticed. Bella, and Kirsten Stewart, who plays Bella, received generally negative reviews from critics. Stewart played Bella exactly how she was written, both human and vampire. Bella, as a character, is not very relatable or self-actualized, which is exactly how Stewart played her to be. 

Now, back to the film and the saga as a whole. Watching Breaking Dawn–Part 2 is thrilling, especially in the later part of the movie. I know what’s going to happen when the Cullens and their witnesses fight Volturi. Nonetheless, I was still at the edge of my seat and holding my breath for these characters. Watching many of these beloved characters die, but not die, even though I knew what was going to happen, was heart wrenching and thrilling. 

Overall, I believe this film to be the perfect and bittersweet ending to the Twilight saga. Built up from Eclipse, I think it gave many what they wanted in an ending. Twilight, I believe, will always have an important place in pop and teen culture, and will always be something that many, including myself, reminisce on. Now, I believe that it’s getting the recognition that it deserves because society has moved past the point of hating something because teenage girls love it. I think that it’s okay to like Twilight, it’s okay to like things that are not deemed as classical or “good” literature, and it’s okay to like something simply because it's enjoyable. 

Breaking Dawn–Part 2 perfectly closed the series, but I don’t think the series will ever fully be forgotten or deemed unimportant by societal standards. I think, in an essence, teenage girls, or everyone else for that matter, will always remember the gut-wrenching, thrilling, bone-chilling, and romantic, vampiric series that is Twilight. 

[dreamonhunters]

please don’t drop me home (because i haven’t got one anymore)

no trigger warnings!

it’s honestly just some soft mavin for the @rtwritingcommunity secret sunshine 2020 ! this was a gift for the lovely @griffinoliverwrites ♡

read it here on ao3!

His eyes open.

Bright sky above him, cornflower blue instead of crimson. There’s a few puffy clouds. No threat of rain, fortunately. A light breeze cools his face. Even after all these years, he’ll never quite adjust to waking up without a thin sheen of sweat covering his entire body. How he managed for so many years is a mystery.

Michael stretches, yawns, listens to the way his jaw clicks. For a moment, he’s content to just sit there. Listen to the birds in the trees. There’s a river nearby - he could’ve sworn he passed it last night, now that he thinks about it - and in the back of his mind he makes a mental note. Head in that direction. His water supply iswas running low.

That train of thought brings him back to reality. There’s still some bread in his bag, left over from the last village he camped at. He’ll eat that as he walks. Won’t be long before he finds something he can kill or another settlement.

And so he gets to his feet. No point in wasting daylight, and Michael hates to stay in one place for too long. Takes a moment to stretch out his cramped limbs, of course. Shoulders the battered leather satchel he’d thrown together and fiddles with the straps. Does this every morning, almost ritual like.

In his right hand, he carries a sword. Distinctive. It’s stolen, but he doesn’t bother himself with fine details like that. Bright blue blade, glittering and dancing in the morning sunlight. The weight is familiar, comforting.

Fortunately, it’s still cool. Dew-spun grass beneath his feet as he walks, a gentle birdsong serenading him. Immediately, he makes a move toward water. Where there’s water, there’s life, or something like that. And life means food.

Michael only stops once, to gather more water. One day too long in the desert can really fuck you up. He learnt that the hard way.

For the most part, he just walks. Hopes to find the edge of this forest before sundown, because he’s getting just a little tired of nothing but trees stretching on for miles. Easy food, sure, but it’s a little tiring on the eyes. Besides, if he can find a nice cave, that’s a useful base for at least a few days. Means he won’t have to carry his shit around for a while.

The day passes uneventfully. For once, Michael’s peaceful. Serene, almost. He makes better progress when he’s in a good mood. Doesn’t drag his feet so much. The sun keeps him warm as he travels. Brings out the little sun freckles high on his cheekbones and smattered across his nose. It’s been a few days since he last saw another human, and he’s more than happy to keep it that way for a little longer. The occasional animal is more than enough company for him.

The sun is low on the horizon before he reaches a clearing. A few horses graze peacefully at a distance, and just behind him appears to be some form of settlement. Stonework, definitely, and smoke curling up from what looks like a chimney. Michael’s heart leaps. That’s a few days of rest.

Well, a few days of rest if he can strike up a bargain with one of the villagers. That’s a lot easier said than done.

He’ll get there before sundown, and hopefully someone will be kind enough to take him in. May not have the charming aspect down just yet, but he can threaten his way into someone’s household for a night or two.

As he approaches, Michael straps his sword to his back. Doesn’t need to get off on the wrong foot by making himself look threatening.

Even at this hour, there’s a few people milling around. A young man leads his horse through the village, horseshoes softly clinking against the cobbles. There’s a small group of women chattering by a well, and a pair of children play close by. Already, Michael can sense that he won’t have to work too hard for a soft place to rest his head.

“You look lost,” a voice chimes behind him, in an accent he doesn’t quite recognise. Whirls around to face a taller boy, deep scowl already marring his features. Gives him a quick once-over. Probably about his age. Tousled hair, sandy blond in colour. Clad in various shades of green, soft fabrics making up comfortable garments. He’s lean, but Michael knows better than to underestimate people. The smile on his face is bright and friendly, considering Michael is a complete stranger.

“I’m not,” Michael answers. Maybe a tad too quickly. Because technically he isn’t, but he’s not exactly familiar, either.

“Nice to meet you,” the boy continues, seemingly undeterred. “I’m Gavin. Are you new here?”

Michael shrugs. “Just passing through.”

“Where are you staying?” Gavin presses. Usually Michael wouldn’t appreciate being pushed for so much information, but this boy seems...genuine.

He hesitates for a moment. Lying probably won’t do him any favours here. “I’m not.”

There’s confusion in those bright green eyes. Tilts his head to one side, as if looking at Michael from a slightly different angle will make the pieces fall into place. “Why are you here?”

“Passing through,” Michael repeats, somehow managing to keep a veneer of politeness to his voice. “Just planning to spend the night.

“You can stay with me then,” Gavin declares, and he’s just a little too excitable for Michael’s tastes already. They’ll be lucky if the house is still standing tomorrow.

Still, it’s an offer, and Gavin hasn’t even asked for anything in return yet. He’d be foolish to turn it down.

After a moment’s hesitation, he responds. “Thanks,” Michael murmurs, managing a tight-lipped smile. Not ungrateful, just...wary. Gavin isn’t a threat, not quite, judging from his lanky body and trusting smile. He’s just a little too enthusiastic.

Gavin doesn’t wait to see if Michael has anything else to say. Turns on his heel, glancing over his shoulder briefly to call to him. “This way, love!”

If Gavin notices his reluctance, he stays quiet about it. He’s chattering away aimlessly before Michael’s even started moving. Not that he knows what about. Just follows a close distance behind, trying to get his bearings with the area just in case he needs to make a run for it.

“...so I’ve been here most of my life, really, and the people are lovely. You’ll like it here,” he rambles, and Michael finally catches onto his stream of conversation. “I can introduce you to my neighbours tomorrow, and-”

“What did you not get about ‘passing through’?” Michael cuts in, eyes narrowed. “I’m leaving tomorrow.”

Gavin stops almost immediately, pouting. “But you can’t just leave, Micoo-”

“Michael.”

“That’s what I said,” he whines petulantly. “Anyway, you can’t just leave. Where are you even going?”

“Have you seriously never met a traveller before?”

“Well, yeah, of course I have. I’ve lived here all my life, give or take, and we get a lot of-”

“Cut to the chase.”

“I’ve met lots of travellers before.”

“So then why can’t I leave?” Michael repeats, exasperation slowly creeping into his voice.

“Because…” Gavin trails off, searching for the rest of the sentence. “Because I think you’d be missing out.”

“This village isn’t exactly big, Gavin,” he points out.

“No, but the people are nice, and we have plenty of food, and I should tell you this area is really safe compared to most of the forest, and-”

Michael cuts him off again. “You talk way too much.”

“Do I?”

He seems genuinely surprised. Michael almost feels bad for this poor, oblivious boy. Painfully unaware of himself. But, and he has to remind himself of this, it’s also his ticket to a comfortable bed. A free one, at that. Can’t insult the lad too much.

“Yeah. Whatever,” he resigns, shaking his head. His intonation is a little too flat for a question, and it’s more of a statement when he speaks again. “Where’s your house.”

“Just round this corner, love,” Gavin pipes up, completely unphased by Michael’s brief irritation. Or maybe he’s just too dense to notice. Michael can’t rule that one out just yet.

He keeps his mouth shut as Gavin lets him in, casting an appreciative eye over his temporary lodging. It’s sweet. Homely. Has that rustic charm stonework buildings tend to. A few torches light up the interior, casting a warm glow over the room. The wooden floor is clearly worn from years of use, but it’s partially covered by thick rugs in hues of forest green and deep emerald. There’s a flower pot in the window. A few chests line the far wall, small labels detailing the contents of each one, and a furnace burns low at the end of the row.

A large table dominates the room, far bigger than anyone who lives alone would ever need, and instantly Michael can tell Gavin hasn’t been alone this whole time. There’s more than he’s letting on.

“Dinner’s ready,” Gavin laughs, shutting the door behind them with a soft click. “Hope you’re not too fussy.”

He’s not. Michael will eat whatever he’s fortunate enough to come across.

The boy doesn’t wait for a response, already moving across the room to finish preparing his meal.

“Make yourself at home, love,” Gavin calls over his shoulder. Easier said than done, honestly, when you’re standing in a stranger’s home and don’t really know what to do with yourself. “I’ve got enough for two.”

In the end, Michael perches on one of the chairs positioned around that centerpiece table. Places his satchel down on the floor beside him, sword resting against the wall. Tries to keep his attention off Gavin for the most part. The flower pot in his window suddenly becomes extremely interesting.

“How long have you been travelling?” Gavin asks, jolting Michael out of his reverie. A wooden plate is placed in front of him. He can smell chicken, and once Gavin is close enough he can see some vegetables on the plate. Doesn’t look badly cooked, either.

“Couple years,” he replies.

Gavin doesn’t seem satisfied. “Why did you leave your home? Did you not like it?”

That’s an easy answer. His home isn’t easy to like. Fire and brimstone gets boring after seventeen years, truly, and there’s something desperately refreshing about feeling a cool breeze on your face in the morning. Even rain is thoroughly appreciated, despite how much it slows down his travels.

“I’m from the Nether,” Michael answers simply, because just those words should offer all the explanation he needs.

“Oh.”

They eat in silence for a few moments. Michael sure as hell isn’t starting a conversation, and Gavin seems to be mulling over his last response.

“What’s it like?” Gavin asks, finally breaking the silence.

“You’ve never been?”

Gavin shakes his head. “Heard stories.”

“They’re probably true,” Michael sighs, although the tension in his shoulders dissipates a little. “We don’t have water, everything’s on fire, the population is tiny.”

“How do you...survive?”

“I mean, you gotta wear face masks an’ shit. Can’t breathe properly down there.”

Gavin nods, seemingly enthralled. “So you came up here instead?”

Michael nods. “I was, like, seventeen? Only just. Got sick of always bein’ too hot and having nothing to look at.”

“But why don’t you stay anywhere? Isn’t it hard?”

If it weren’t for the air of near reverent tone of Gavin’s voice, Michael would be suspicious. He’s asking a whole lot of questions. But it’s his voice, the look in his big green eyes, that air of childlike curiosity he carries. Either he’s a damn good actor, or he’s hanging onto Michael’s every word. It’s endearing.

“Everything’s the same down there. There’s way more to see here.”

“Doesn’t it get tiring?”

Maybe a little, is what he’d like to say. Michael likes to keep moving, longs to explore every last part of the world he’s adopted, and yet something in him cries out for stability. For a home - a real one, not a temporary house he passes through or a cave on the side of a mountain. Something like this, like Gavin’s home, in a little settlement on the edge of a desert. Maybe in a forest. He likes it warm, not blisteringly hot.

“Not really,” Michael lies, the ghost of a smile on his lips. “Get to see some cool shit.”

“You’re so cool.”

He laughs, or at least attempts to. It’s more of a bark in the end, but his intention is clear. “Nothing’s stopping you from doing it.”

“I couldn’t,” Gavin protests. “That’s not my thing.”

“Don’t know until you try.”

Michael pushes his plate away from him, lifting his gaze to meet Gavin’s. “Thanks.”

He beams, gathering up Michael’s plate and placing it atop his own. “Glad you enjoyed. I’ve got a spare bed if you want it.”

“Yeah. Uh, thanks,” Michael repeats, because it’s been a long time since somebody offered him this kind of hospitality without some form of payment. “Do you, like, want something from me?”

Gavin frowns, eyebrows pulling together in a frown. “What’s that mean?”

“Like, payment?” he clarifies.

“What? No! Of course not,” Gavin gasps, shaking his head. “Why would I ask you to pay me? I would do this for anyone.”

Somehow, it’s not difficult for Michael to believe.

“Just...checkin’. Most people do,” he reassures, gathering up his belongings. “Nothing personal.”

Gavin seems to relax a little, nodding slowly. “You can stay here as long as you want, love. I don’t want anything in return.”

It’s more than just a little endearing. As Gavin leads him up the small stone staircase to his bedroom, Michael can’t help but be a little touched by the boy's generosity. He’s not heartless.

The upstairs is similarly outfitted in shades of green, with torches casting that same homely glow over the room. There’s a larger bed, intricate carvings covering the wooden bedposts, and a smaller one on the opposite end of the room.

“I hope this is good,” Gavin smiles, inclining his head towards the other bed.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s...yeah, it’s great,” Michael murmurs, taking a tentative step toward the other bed. Overwhelmed by Gavin’s kindness, really. He couldn’t remember anyone else who’d treated him so well. “Seriously, thanks.”

Gavin waves his hand dismissively. “Stop! I don’t just let every cute stranger into my house. You seem nice and I want to help you. So you don’t need to thank me.”

In any other situation, Michael would roll his eyes, but he can’t quite bring himself to do so. “Sure, cool.”

He tosses the satchel down beside his bed, easily within reach if he needs to make a quick getaway. Gavin may seem trustworthy, but Michael’s been crossed one too many times to fall for the nice guy front. The sword leans against the bedpost.

Gavin is silent for a while, and yet the silence between two near-strangers isn’t as awkward as one would first presume. There’s something strangely comfortable about it, actually, and Michael isn’t sure what to make of that. Chooses to push it to the back of his mind instead. That’s something to think about once he’s far, far away.

“G’night, love,” Gavin calls across the room. He’s changed into different clothes, although they’re still the same hues of emerald and tan. It’s not worth asking what his favourite colour might be.

“Night,” Michael responds. Pulls his shirt over his head, but that’s the only clothing he’ll shed. Gavin extinguishes the last of the torches, and they’re plunged into darkness.

He watches the moon through the skylight. The soft sounds of Gavin shifting stop it from becoming too silent, and Michael lets his heart rate slow. Couldn’t remember when it had gotten so quick, honestly.

Maybe he’ll stay here a little longer than he initially planned. The bed is warm and comfortable, fresh sheets holding that clean scent. He isn’t hungry or cold or miserable. For once, he’s completely at ease.

He can change his plans. Gavin said he’s welcome to stay, and Michael doesn’t think a few extra days would be considered overstaying his welcome.

(And so what if a few days turns into a few months, and a few years down the line he’s still here? And maybe there’s a sandy-haired boy laid beside him, familiar-looking, and the sword doesn’t rest against his bedpost at night. It’s unlikely, but certainly not impossible.)

[spookyspaghettisundae]

So Even Gods Can Die

Beeping. Revolving metallic sounds. Click. Computerized monitors. The light everywhere, blinding at first, then softening until his vision cleared. Click. Whirr. Click.

Bright light from the fluorescent tube overhead and daylight flooding in from a window. But it was not actually that bright. Click. It was his eyes slowly adjusting. The feeling of needles in his skin, taped down, and the plastic tubes hooked up to his nose to help him breathe.

Lips parched, throat dry. Click. When he swallowed, it felt like forcing down a lump of sand and lava. A woman sat in the room, and he did not recognize her. Click. But she looked at him, expectantly. Whirr.

A white box on the table next to the bed. Like one containing a cake. Click. The woman sitting in the room stared at him. The ominous white box stared at him. Click. Whirr.

It wasn’t his time yet. He refused to accept that. But between the woman and the box, he knew he was going to die.

Grit and sand clung to her clothes. Any spots of exposed skin featured myriads of cuts and scratches. Black rings of exhaustion lined her eyes, and her clothing looked like it had been mangled in a meat grinder.

The woman picked up a chart attached to the end of his bed and idly flipped through its pages. Click.

“Who are you?” he finally asked her.

She flapped the pages back up front and tossed the chart onto the foot of his bed. He watched but was too weak to protest. With delay, he registered that he couldn’t even feel it when the clipboard landed on his legs.

“I’m Kim. Here because we need you,” she said. Her words rolled out and sounded even more tired than she looked. Her eyes had a dull sheen, like she hadn’t slept in days or had taken some drugs, or practically had only caffeine in her veins.

Thump.

The white box on the table thumped again. It had moved half an inch. Although he had only seen it from the corner of his eye, he could have sworn that its walls had bent outwards when something thumped inside of it. Like there was a small animal trapped within.

“What’s in that box?” he asked. He lifted fingers, attached to a drip and some cables. Feeble, trembling softly as he tried to point at the gift box.

“Don’t worry about it; it’s got nothin’ to do with you. Or, well, maybe it doesn’t need to have anything to do with you,” she said.

“Okay,” he said. He had heard the threat implied in there.

He blinked—hard. Blinked again. Blinked so hard that it became painful.

The edges of his vision lost their blurriness. The fuzzy edges on everything straightened out—turned sharp. The clouds cleared from his memories.

His name was Gabriel. Gabriel understood his place in the world again. More powerful than his current state of being revealed. Even though his body had begun to betray him, he contained power beyond what normal mortal man could comprehend. More powerful than most of the wretches working in this hospital, or living in this pathetic city all around them.

A living god.

Or so he believed. Click.

“Cut the shit. What do you think you need? What do you hope to get from me?” Gabriel asked. Ordered. Every word he spoke hurt, as if each syllable rasped over his soft insides like sand paper.

“You don’t know us, but you may know Kevin,” Kim said. She crossed her arms and leaned back in her chair. The plastic squeaked, the metal creaked.

Thump.

The box had moved closer yet again. Like something inside of it was trying to get closer.

“Don’t mind it. If you get upset, it gets more violent,” she commented.

They both peeled their eyes off of the innocuous white box of terror and their gazes met.

Click. Whirr.

Gabriel pondered for a second and then sneered. He knew Kevin, alright. Michael’s protege and worst nemesis.

The person who was going to bring everything down.

“We need to find him, help him return from the House,” she said.

Gabriel chuckled. The chuckle transformed into coughing after a few labored revolutions of the laugh, leading to him hacking and wheezing.

His body had truly reached its end, but he refused to let go. Two hundred years was a long time.

Once he had gathered himself and felt her burning stare on himself, he asked, “How long’s that motherfucker been in there?”

“Three months,” she replied.

Gabriel closed his eyes and mulled it over. Bad number.

THUMP.

He ignored it. Probably just a baby of an entity inside that box.

It was more important to figure out what he was dealing with here.

Click.

How he could kill this woman.

Gabriel uttered a string of profanities; with no power in it because of his failing lungs, but more than enough zeal to express his disgust. She listened to his every odious word. He gave it a rest after a solid half a minute of swearing.

Click. Whirr.

“Fuck him,” he finally concluded. “Can rot in that hellish Otherworld for all I care.”

“No,” Kim said. Resolute, like a cliff standing defiantly against the ocean’s waves.

“No?”

“No,” she repeated. The word crashed like thunder. It fed into a headache growing behind Gabriel’s forehead. She added, “Once he’s out of the House, he can finish his transformation.”

Gabriel glared at her. His eyes simmered with rage and his tear ducts burned, not capable of producing the salty fluid anymore. His flesh was weak. But he still had other means. Other power. Power this woman failed to notice.

She had made a mistake by coming here like this.

THUMP.

He couldn’t be sure about the white box, though. He pondered if he was underestimating it.

Resigned to his fate here, he knew this was going to be a brutal battle. Not quite as uneven as his current state looked.

“Falmaghorr,” he whispered. So feebly that it sounded like nonsense, or like he was having a stroke.

“What?” Kim asked.

Click.

“Nevermind,” he sighed. Either she was stupid or he had snuck that past her. “You know, right? That when he completes that damned transformation, the world ends?” he asked her.

“And a new one is born,” Kim spoke with reverence, incessantly staring into Gabriel’s eyes. Into his soul.

She was convinced. Had chosen a side in this war. Her words just now—a declaration. A war cry, delivered with the eerie calmness that only zealots can produce.

“For every dream that is dying, a new world is born,” Gabriel mused, reciting the old poem that his kind were wont to sing. He broke out into another chuckle, dry and sardonic. Erupting into coughs at the tail end once more.

THUMP.

Kim pulled a small silver box from her jacket pocket and opened it to show him something inside of it. A steel syringe that looked like it came from a different age. Weathered, old, scratched.

“You came for my blood?” he asked. “Ridiculous. You could have just—you didn’t need me to be awake for—”

He stopped choking on those words. It dawned on him.

Blood of a dying hierophant—a potent reagent. One with powerful symbolic tension. And like all things magick, one where the symbolic tension lies in just how literal it was.

“Can’t beat the reaper,” he sighed. “Nobody beats the reaper. All you do is entertain ‘im. And hope you get off easy when it’s time to punch your final card.”

Kim took the syringe into her hands, slipped her fingers into its metal loops, but rested the awful thing on her lap. Waited. She was waiting for the moment during which he died. Had she put something into his IV drip to slowly kill him? Was she going to smother him with a pillow?

“Nice speech, asshole. You’ve lived way past your expiration date. After all you’ve done—after all the things you’ve gone and done to people—I think you’re getting off easy. Real easy.”

“Yeah? How you gonna do me in, bitch?”

Click.

Kim’s tired face contorted. With painful slowness, accentuated by the exhaustion written all over her visage, she formed a wide smile.

Click. Whirr.

“I ain’t gonna do a damned thing. Your time’s up, you Rasputin son of a bitch. I have a friend who—well, let’s just say she just knows these things. You’re about to punch your final card—right about now.”

She checked her wristwatch—whether it was out of genuine curiosity or to emphasize her words did not matter. Gabriel felt the weight of time crushing down on him. In his mind, the clock’s arms ticked away, second by second, ever closer to his doom.

The door to the room opened and both their heads turned to behold the new arrival. Kim had whisked the syringe away into hiding, holding it inside her jacket, her entire fist buried in there in an uncomfortable position.

A nurse entered and walked around the bed. She placed a cup of water on the table next to Gabriel. In contrast to the bright and happy colors of her scrubs, the nurse’s head was just a cloud of shadows and tentacles. Despite her name tag identifying her as Beverly Winters, the demon’s name was Falmaghorr.

Kim couldn’t see it. Its power over human minds held true; the entity looked like a normal nurse to her. She even smiled at Gabriel’s servant before Falmaghorr left the room and left them alone again. He sensed his demonic servant’s presence hovering just outside, waiting for him to summon it to battle inside this tiny room.

To think that he, who had seen the rise and fall of empires, would be fighting for his life in such a tiny, sterile room.

Click.

He had no intention of letting this harlot easily take his blood.

“In one last act of defiance against nature, he hopes to transform into a woman,” Gabriel theorized. “Because only a woman can give birth, and only a woman can birth a new world. Is that the idea?”

Kim said nothing. She checked her wristwatch again. Pulled out the syringe.

“You’re out of your fucking minds,” he growled. He suppressed the urge to cough that came with it.

“Time to go, you old bastard.”

“Now,” he uttered, oozing with contempt.

The room’s door burst open and Falmaghorr stomped inside.

The white box exploded. A black fog roiled out from it, churning like oil on water, spreading like a flood, engulfing everything in a flash, continuing to gush out of what seemed to be a bottomless pit inside that tiny white box.

Not a cake emerged from it, but mouths. Eyes. Things that cackled, and gibbered, and gnashed their tiny little teeth. Falmaghorr was consumed within seconds, blood spraying all over the place.

Kim was bathed in blood and gore from the entity’s body being ripped to shreds, but leaning over Gabriel. He felt the needle only after it had ruptured the skin.

Even through the cacophony of alien voices, he could hear the sounds of the machines.

Click. Whirr.

Blood being drained. Kim getting one step closer to breaking the House wide open.

Gabriel screamed.

Even gods can die.

—Submitted by Wratts

[nihilnovisubsole]

Hey man, do you have any advice for describing body movement? I remember your Crowley and Agent 47 (using them as examples that stand out) both had very expressive and true-to-character body language, and I've honestly been killing myself for the past 2 weeks trying to figure out your style, but I either focus on the wrong body parts or choose wrong words - what do you consider to be focal points in mannerisms.. or maybe words/phrases to think about when describing a character's body language?

sorry to hijack your question, anon, but a quick order of business: i’ve noticed something about how i’ve been receiving asks lately. i only tend to get them directly after i post/reblog stuff, like people aren’t sure whether i’m around or don’t want to bother me [which some of them have said outright]. don’t worry about it! trust me, i lurk on tumblr all day. i’ll see it. i’m grateful for the distraction. just because i don’t hate writing doesn’t mean i don’t love to procrastinate.

anyway, body language. i think, without having seen your writing, you’re probably being too hard on yourself. if you’re for-real-for-real using my writing as a style reference, i’m very flattered. if you message me off anon, i’d be happy to chat about it. let’s also not rule out that my style might just be nonsense and you’re struggling to figure it out because it’s, well, nonsense. let’s not forget we’re human here.

but in general, it’s an inexact science - like many things with writing, you kind of just have to feel it out. i don’t follow any body language rules that i don’t make myself follow with the rest of my narration, too. “stay in active voice,” “stay in third-person objective as much as you can,” and “use a verb only once per scene unless you’re really struggling.”

if finding focal points on a character’s body helps you, let’s look at it that way. which body part is changing? what were they holding still, but are now moving? which part of their face is communicating their expression the most? i notice that people emote a lot in their eyebrows, which may be where eyes get their reputation for being “windows to the soul.” some people talk with their hands or interact a lot with the furniture around them. some people are more self-contained.

more importantly, what do you notice? what do you like to think about? your sense of human observation is what will make your writing yours. do you find yourself paying attention to people’s hands a lot? or maybe their posture? you’re not doing it wrong if you’re not doing it exactly like me.

if you want some more detailed thoughts, i’ve included one of my usual tl;drs below the cut. these are less a direct answer to your question and more ideas i have about writing body language in general.

1. acting helps

if you’re writing a character that somebody has portrayed onscreen, you’ll have a big advantage when you try to write how they move. skilled actors are able to give their characters a distinct physical presence, and it’s all just sitting there for you to study and work from.

this is the big reason i like modeling my characters on famous people. i mean, well, mainly i just love movies and daydreaming about what filmed versions of my stories would be like. but when you have that base, you can look up videos of them and analyze everything from their physical habits to the cadence of their voice. how do they sit? what kind of roles have they performed well in? certain people just fit into a time period or aesthetic like a glove. i was completely lost with marcus until i made the connection between him and henry rollins, and then it all fell into place. that stiff, over-disciplined posture and tamped-down nervous energy were perfect for a career military man with a lot of inner turmoil.

in crowley’s case, david tennant is a very physical actor. anyone who writes good omens fic has a treasure trove of lanky, rubbery body language to work with. [aziraphale, my favorite, is kind of the underdog here. i love michael sheen’s performance, but aziraphale’s whole thing is restraint, so i guess crowley ends up being the one who jumps off the page.] on the opposite end, agent 47 is extraordinarily still, with bursts of extraordinary brutality done with extraordinary precision. where crowley is swooshy, 47 is about no wasted movements. his body is wired to be a predator even when he’s off the job. i know it’s weird to compare a video game character to a live actor, but i assume 47 was mocapped, so just… bear with me.

once i have that frame of reference - or i don’t, and i have to come up with my own - i start to act out the character myself. i’ve talked about this before: i feel more comfortable writing a character when i can “embody” them, imitating their body language as i read their dialogue. i must look pretty eccentric when i do it, but it works.

P.S: of course you don’t have to limit yourself to trained actors. you can just as easily reach into your personal life. a lot of authors get incredible results from going back to their mother, or a friend, or some tragic first love.

2. simple, but specific verbs

i’ve heard that a lot of creative writing teachers find their students are timid about the strength of verbs. they’ll bend over backwards to “soften the blow” with gerunds or other unnecessary clutter because they’re not confident that they’ve chosen the right one. “he was sitting on the stump and starting to carefully carve a bar of soap when she came over and he pressed a kiss to her hand.” that kind of thing. my preference is, own it. choose a good verb and leave it naked. let it speak for itself. be declarative. be more forceful in your personality. fight. WIN!

for the record, i’m not averse to using a thesaurus. i think they get a bad rap because of writers who shoehorn in SAT words to make themselves sound more intelligent. did your character walk across the room, or did they pace? did they stroll? did they stride? did they lope? did they run, or dash, or scamper, or bolt? they all feel different, don’t they?

counterpoint: some people add flourishes to their body language so that you’ll really linger on the feature in question. the first thing that comes to mind is romance, where they want you to think long and hard about, i don’t know, the hidden strength in the love interest’s folded hands. this is… i feel… a matter of artistic discretion. it’s not my thing - i prefer to describe more neutrally - but many people love it. it’s something my producers at voltage lovingly bap me on the head about, because lovestruck games are all about zesty High Romance™ and i always wish i could play it down with my plain, unromantic prose. i used to rail away about it in other people’s work. now? whatever. i’m not here to judge you. writing is hard.

3. on the other hand, don’t be afraid to get colorful

if, in the process of writing, you discover some quirky figurative twist that nails dead-on what you’re envisioning, i say go for it. especially if you’re not trying to be wholly detached as a narrator. if i tell you a character “scooted across the bed like a seal,” it gives you a pretty clear mental image, doesn’t it?

if you have a distinctive voice - and i’m sure you do - i think these are the times where you, the writer, as a character are really going to come out. the reason we keep coming back to, say, mark twain is because nobody “prose talks” quite like he did. whether you like it or dislike it, it’s unique.

full disclosure: this is a potent spice, so you may want to use it in moderation. the most fanciful comparisons may work better in comedy, when you have a little more room to be out-there. my mother defines humor as “associating two unlike things in a way that highlights the absurdity of how similar they actually are.” it may not be a coincidence that a curious case of miracles and death and orchids are less serious stories, so i felt comfortable being sillier with my figurative language, and that may have made crowley and 47 seem more expressive. YMMV!

[ryanmeft]

Movie Review: Dolittle

Dolittle, the latest resurrection of a rusting brand, has exciting stunts, gags that mostly land, a wonderfully designed Victorian-adventure world, and an angry pirate played by Antonio Banderas. One should never underestimate the value of an angry pirate. Robert Downey Jr. returns to playing a seat-of-his-pants adventurer after several years being absorbed in an increasingly-too-serious superhero role. It’s a splash of cinematic color and verve for the gray winter months.

The plot is fodder for an adventure. John Dolittle was famous and beloved for being able to talk to animals, and his wife Lily (Kasia Smutniak) was equally admired for her adventurous prowess (we are dealing, clearly, with an alternate Victorian period in which women would be cheered for riding on hippos). His wife left on an quest, died at sea, and he has now retreated to a sprawling estate granted them by the queen (Jessie Buckley). He sees no humans, and lives out his days in squalor and dissoluteness with his animal companions, whose languages he speaks. That’s until his most trusted friend, a parrot named Polynesia (Emma Thompson) leads a sensitive boy named Stubbins (Harry Collett) to Dolittle with a squirrel he accidentally shot. They are soon followed by Lady Rose (Carmel Laniado), a princess who seeks the doctor’s help for the sick queen. This leads him, Stubbins in tow as his self-appointed apprentice and his menagerie along for the ride, on an adventure to find a miraculous fruit which can cure Her Majesty. He’s got to contend along the way with a crooked and ambitious old schoolmate named Blair (Michael Sheen), who is working for a high-placed politician (Jim Broadbent) who would rather the queen did not recover.

The Dolittle series of books---written by Hugh Lofting from 1920 to 1947---concern an older protagonist, one who, in the illustrations, is a distinguished older gentleman with plain looks. This has of course been changed for the movie, primarily based on the second book, though few will be aware of it, as the series has rather fallen off of children’s required reading lists. Downey, who at 54 is very much at an age where he could play a refined country doctor, has his years de-emphasized by makeup and costuming to, I would guess, about his thirties. His version of the character is more than a little inspired by his steampunk take on Sherlock Holmes: he dresses in a shabby coat that is never buttoned, does almost everything with a decided flourish, and regains a little of the wink-and-nod facial and body language he had in his early turns as Iron Man before that became a Very Serious Character. Unlike Holmes and Tony Stark, he is not at all confident in success, being quite shaken by his loss. Dolittle is very pointedly a person children can admire, able to own mistakes and comfort others, the typical Downey persona made palatable for any age. Blair, his opponent, is well-matched. He’s an arrogant, pompous man who envies Dolittle’s success and offbeat charms, and wants to destroy him because he cannot be him. All this, of course, is done with a light touch that, to slide in at a PG rating, avoids the trickier potential aspects of the characters, but they do not feel cloying, so it passes that test. My favorite small role goes to Banderas, whose antagonistic pirate rules an Ottoman-like city of thieves, the adventures at which locale are the film’s highlight.

The movie’s big selling point, of course, and the thing that needs to work, are the animals. Frankly, some sort of award should be on offer for the person responsible for training them, as they do things I’ve never seen animals do in movies, such as talk and take therapy lessons. In addition to Emma Thompson as Dolittle’s right-hand bird, other important animals include a cowardly lion, er, ape (Rami Malek), the squirrel Dolittle saves (Craig Robinson) who believes Stubbins wants to finish the job, a duck (Octavia Spencer) who can’t tell a piece of celery from a pair of forceps, an ostrich (Kumail Nanjiani) who serves as Dolittle’s cranky steed, a polar bear (John Cena), a giraffe (Selena Gomez), a criminally-minded fox (Marion Cotillard) and a detective dog who wears glasses (Tom Holland). It’s fair to question whether the movie needed to balloon the budget with so many high-profile voice actors, but that’s a question for the accountants. What matters is that I found the antics of these animals thoroughly enjoyable, from a godfather impression done by ants to Cotillard the fox’s jail break. Like Who Framed Roger Rabbit?, a big part of the success in having so many animated characters on screen with actors who must interact with a green screen is that Downey, in particular, never once behaves as though they are anything but very real. Visually, they occupy the same space that the humans do, and if one of them must carry a human or crash into them or land on their arms, it is fully believable. The best animal “actor” by far is a neuroses-laden killer tiger voiced by Ralph Fiennes, who Dolittle must outwit.

Less impressive are the two teen characters, who are in the film so that small children may relate to it but who get little of great interest to do. Stubbins has no real plot arc, and with respect to the 16-year-old Collett, it is simply impossible to gauge by this where his talents as an actor will lie. Where the screenplay gives a lot of heart and purpose to Dolittle and the animals and some wonderful scene-chewing to Sheen, it seems completely unable to find anything to do with Rose or Stubbins. Notably, Laniado is somewhat more engaging, but the story leaves her behind to care for the ailing queen, and since Lily is only seen in the occasional flashback, this leaves the movie both without a heroine and without an engaging child character to balance Dolittle out. The screenplay was written by director Stephen Gaghan (Syriana), and initially Dan Gregor and Doug Man from a story by Thomas Shepherd before having the comedy elements tweaked by Chris MacKay during re-shoots. This sounds like a few too many onions in the soup, yet the only time I felt the weight of it was with these two characters. Yes, the plot is also rather throwaway, but I didn’t feel it hurt the film---if we’re going to start talking about plots in swashbuckling adventure movies, we may as well just quit while we’re ahead.

I should own something while I’m here: like westerns, I’m prone to giving fanciful adventure movies the benefit of the doubt. Whales pulling 19th century sailing ships and intimate surgeries that must be performed on fire-breathing dragons voiced by Frances De La Tour are just the kinds of things I long to see in an age where just letting go and letting imagination take over is anathema to increasingly risk-averse studios. A lesser plot keeps Dolittle from standing alongside Holes or the Paddington films in the pantheon of live-action family adventures, but there’s enough fun to be found here for those adults who fancy that animals speak to us.

Verdict: Recommended

Note: I don’t use stars, but here are my possible verdicts.

Must-See

Highly Recommended

Recommended

Average

Not Recommended

Avoid like the Plague

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 All images are property of the people what own the movie.

[the-desolated-quill]

Good Omens, Queerbaiting And Death Of The Author - Quill’s Scribbles

I confess this is the most reluctant I’ve ever been to write a Scribble. When this topic came up, I remember just groaning and putting my head in my hands because I knew that, due to the nature of what I tend to write about on this blog and the fact that I’m an out and out biromantic demisexual queerbo, people would be asking me to contribute to the discourse. And honestly I don’t particularly want to. I don’t get to enjoy many films and TV shows anymore thanks to the industry doing their very best to ruin everything they touch. Can’t I just watch one good TV show without being dragged into some ideological battle?

Okay. Guess I can’t really put this off any longer.

On the 31st May, the long awaited adaptation of Good Omens was released on Amazon Video. I thought it was quite good. Not perfect. There are some things I could criticise, but overall it was a worthy adaptation of the source material and it was very enjoyable to watch. And that seems to be the general consensus with both critics and fans. However over the past couple of months since its release, a ‘controversy’ began to emerge within the fandom regarding the show’s main characters Aziraphale and Crowley. See, a large proportion of both the media and the Good Omens fanbase have interpreted the angel/demon double act as being gay, but this has sparked a backlash from some fans with them going so far as to accuse the show of queerbaiting as the show never explicitly confirms the characters’ sexuality. This then led to a backlash to the backlash, sparking a whole debate as to what constitutes good LGBT representation. Not only that, Neil Gaiman, the showrunner and original co-author of Good Omens, has stubbornly refused to confirm one way or the other whether or not Aziraphale and Crowley are more than just good friends, which has added further fuel to the fire.

Now before we go any further, I just want to disavow one argument that I see cropping up a lot and that really gets under my skin. That Aziraphale and Crowley can’t possibly be gay because they’re not men. They’re genderless beings that feel no sexual attraction. The implication being that the characters are asexual, but the way you hear people going on about it, the Ineffable Husbands seem less asexual and more like soulless robots. First off, you do know asexual people feel love too, right? We’re not Vulcans. Second, can we stop this ridiculous logic that they can’t be gay because they’re not men? It reminds me of the ‘controversy’ that surrounded Mass Effect 3 when BioWare confirmed that you could play as a gay male Commander Shepard. When people pointed out to the critics and haters that you could already play as a gay Shepard if you picked FemShep and pursued Liara, they retorted by saying that Liara doesn’t count as a woman because she’s a ‘monogendered alien.’ And my response to that was... so? She still looks like a woman and she still uses female pronouns. If FemShep is attracted to her, there’s a good chance she might be gay. It really is that simple. Aziraphale and Crowley may be genderless, but they look like men and use male pronouns. So if they were attracted to each other, they just might be gay. Period.

Anyway. Tangent over. Lets talk about Aziraphale and Crowley. You might be wondering where I stand on this whole issue. Do I believe that Aziraphale and Crowley are gay? Well honestly it depends on which version we’re talking about here. If we’re talking about the book version, I would say probably not. Don’t get me wrong. I’m almost certain book Aziraphale is gay as there are a number of references that seem to suggest that. His bookshop is in Soho, which is famous for its thriving LGBT community, the narrator mentions him going to a ‘discreet gentlemen’s club’ in the 1800s, and there’s of course this brilliant line:

“Many people, meeting Aziraphale for the first time, formed three impressions: that he was English, that he was intelligent, and that he was gayer than a tree full of monkeys on nitrous oxide.”

So yeah. There was never a doubt in my mind that book Aziraphale was gay. (And before anyone comments saying that the next line mentions that Aziraphale isn’t gay because angels are sexless unless they make the effort, let me ask you something. Who, out of all the characters in the book, does he make a genuine effort for? Aha!). Book Crowley on the other hand isn’t quite so clear cut. Sure there are occasional flashes of something, but it could easily just be interpreted as being gestures of friendship rather than romance. Personally I always saw book Crowley as being more aromantic/asexual. In fact their relationship reminded me a lot of my relationship with my best friend. I’m more like Aziraphale, due to being very camp, somewhat old fashioned and often quite emotional, whereas my friend is like Crowley in that she displays a facade of confidence to mask her insecurities and is extremely loyal to her friends. Now please note I’m not trying to destroy anyone’s personal headcanon here. I know for a fact many LGBT people have interpreted and drawn inspiration from Aziraphale and Crowley’s relationship for nearly 30 years since the book first came out in 1990, and I wouldn’t dream of depriving anyone of that. I’m just merely describing how I personally interpreted the characters when I read it.

So, while book Aziraphale is almost definitely gay in my opinion, I personally don’t think they were anything more than just good friends. Do I think the same about the TV version? Actually no. In fact completely the opposite. I think TV Aziraphale and Crowley are 100%, unquestionably and unashamedly in love with each other and this view is supported by the extra material Neil Gaiman has written for them, most notably the 30 minute long cold open of the third episode that shows Aziraphale and Crowley’s blossoming relationship over the course of human history, as well as how the show frames them. We hear the kind of swelling, orchestral music you would hear in a romance when Crowley saves Aziraphale’s books from a WW2 bomb, the scenes where the two argue about running away to Alpha Centauri are presented as being like a legitimate breakup (with the addition of some random passerby telling Aziraphale he’s ‘better off without him’), the other angels occasionally refer to Crowley as being Aziraphale’s boyfriend (albeit in a mocking way), and the way Michael Sheen and David Tennant play the characters makes them feel much more like an old married couple rather than being simply friends. There’s even a wonderful moment in the third episode where Crowley asks Aziraphale if he could give him a ride somewhere, to which Aziraphale responds “you go too fast for me Crowley.” It leaves very little room for doubt in my opinion, and yet Neil Gaiman refuses to verbally confirm this, even though the actors and the director have expressed numerous times that they interpreted the characters as such. Not only that, but the writing and filmmaking leaves just enough room for plausible deniability, never explicitly confirming the relationship. So the question remains, does this count as legitimate LGBT representation or is this just a very advanced form of queerbaiting?

Well first it would be useful to talk about what queerbaiting actually is, because a lot of people arguing against Good Omens don’t seem to fully understand the term. Queerbaiting is when a creator hints at a possible same sex romance without ever actually confirming or depicting the relationship. A recent example of this would be Albus Dumbledore in the Harry Potter series. 

JK Rowling first ‘outed’ Dumbledore as gay back in 2007, saying he was in a relationship with the dark wizard Grindelwald, but unless you read the interview, you would never have known this because the book doesn’t provide any sort of hint or clue or reference to that relationship. Worse still, when given the opportunity to rectify this in Fantastic Beasts: The Crimes Of Grindelwald, Rowling chose instead to downplay the relationship between Dumbledore and Grindelwald significantly. This is queerbaiting. Implying a character might be gay or promising to introduce a gay character only to then backtrack or not fully commit. Another example would be Avengers: Endgame where the Russo Brothers announced there was going to be a gay character in the film only for it to be some nameless guy who’s only on screen for about a minute. It revolves around luring people in with the expectation of LGBT representation only to then snatch it away once they’ve got bums in seats.

(Also, just to clarify, queerbaiting is not when a bisexual or pansexual character becomes romantically involved with someone of the opposite sex. Yes it’s important that we see more bisexual and pansexual characters and yes it’s important we see more same sex couples on screen, but do NOT conflate the two. Deadpool’s pansexuality, for instance, isn’t suddenly invalid just because he has a girlfriend).

So, with this in mind, does Good Omens fit the criteria of queerbaiting. Well the sexuality of the characters are often the focal point of many interviews, with the director and actors explicitly describing Aziraphale and Crowley’s relationship as ‘a love story.’ Most notably Michael Sheen, who plays Aziraphale and who has been carrying a torch for the Ineffable Husbands since Good Omens came out. But unlike JK Rowling and the Russos, the makers of Good Omens can back up their words with content. As mentioned above, the way the show frames the relationship makes the implication quite clear. There’s even a bit where Crowley thinks Aziraphale has been killed and he leaves the burning bookshop while ‘Somebody To Love’ is playing in the background. It isn’t really very subtle. So, by my understanding, queerbaiting doesn’t seem particularly accurate when talking about Good Omens. The issue here is one of presentation. The overt subtext is all well and good, but does the fact that there’s no explicit confirmation of their relationship make it invalid? To answer that question, we must look into another relevant term. Queercoding.

Queercoding is when a character is given the traits typically associated with those commonly attributed to gay people, such as effeminate behaviour or ostentatious dress sense. This is used often as a way of getting queer relationships past the censor. Implying a character might be gay without explicitly confirming it for fear of the studio or publisher putting their foot down.

While queercoding is often intrinsically linked to queerbaiting, it’s worth noting that while queerbaiting is always seen as a negative (and rightly so), queercoding is neither positive nor negative. It’s merely a contextual device and can be positive or negative depending on execution. A positive example of queercoding would be Deadpool.

While the Merc with the Mouth has never been officially outed as pansexual, both the comics and the movies in particular have framed him as someone who doesn’t conform to heteronormative expectations. The marketing of both movies present Deadpool in traditionally feminine poses as a way of mocking and commenting on how gender is perceived in these kinds of tentpole blockbusters. The comics often make fairly explicit references towards Deadpool’s sexual flexibility for the purposes of humour, such as in his interactions with characters like Spider-Man or Thor.

The movies follow suit. The first movie is littered with moments where Deadpool alludes to being not entirely straight. He occasionally uses gay slang, we see his girlfriend Vanessa penetrate him with a strap-on during the sex montage, and there are frequent references to how sexy Hugh Jackman is, most notably near the beginning when Deadpool describes how he had to give Wolverine a handjob in order to get his own movie. The second movie meanwhile takes it a step further. Not only is the entirety of Deadpool 2 essentially one big allegory for how members of the LGBT community cope with abuse and discrimination, we also see Deadpool express a sexual interest in Colossus many times, the extended cut even going so far as to depict Deadpool trying to give him a blowjob.

Now as I said, Deadpool has never been officially outed as pansexual. That information comes from one of the comic book writers on Twitter. The comics and movies have never verbally confirmed it. We never hear Deadpool describe himself as such. But to say he’s not queer would be absurd because he clearly is. That’s how he’s framed and presented to us across the majority of media. What makes Deadpool a positive example of queercoding is how we view the character. He’s clearly extremely comfortable with expressing his own sexuality and feels no shame in his antics. While the majority of his queer moments are used for the purposes of humour, we’re always laughing with him, not at him.

Now lets take a look at a negative example of queercoding:

This is Moriarty from the BBC series Sherlock written by Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss. Sherlock is without a doubt one of the worst adaptations of the canon that’s ever been made and the show’s treatment of Moriarty is a big reason for that. When he’s first introduced in The Great Game, when he’s posing as Molly’s boyfriend, Sherlock deduces that he’s gay based on really no evidence at all other than that he puts product in his hair and his underpants are showing. It’s ostensibly playing on that stereotype that any man who takes pride in their appearance isn’t masculine and therefore must be gay. (if that were true then David Beckham would be the gayest man on the fucking planet). While it becomes clear at the end of the episode that this was just an act Moriarty was putting on to fool Sherlock, he never really loses the metrosexual image. He boasts about his ‘Westwood’ clothes, we see him prance and preen like some over the top camp supervillain (more on that later) and he makes numerous double entendres that imply he’s interested in men, specifically Sherlock. There’s even a moment in The Reichenbach Fall where we see Moriarty sitting on a throne wearing the crown jewels. Ha! Do you get it? Because he’s a queen!

What makes this form of queercoding more offensive than Deadpool is, again, how we as the audience are supposed to perceive him. Moffat and Gatiss want us to laugh at Moriarty’s camp behaviour and they clearly find the prospect of shipping Moriarty and Sherlock utterly absurd, as demonstrated in the episode The Empty Hearse where we see the Sherlock fan club suggest Sherlock survived the fall because he and Moriarty were secretly lovers. This bit was there for no reason other than to take the piss out of Sherlock fans who read too much into the show’s intentional subtext. Also, crucially, Moriarty has no real character or backstory other than as a gay stereotype. He’s a lazily written caricature who serves no real purpose other than as a homophobic punchline. There’s a lot more to Deadpool than just being queer. With Moriarty however, there’s simply nothing underneath.

Moriarty is also an example of how queercoding is most commonly applied to villains. There are countless examples of this across various media over the years. The Joker from Batman, for instance. Ursula from The Little Mermaid. Scar from The Lion King. In these cases, whether intentionally or not, queercoding plants ideas of gender identity into the viewers’ heads. A male supervillain like the Joker is presented as being eccentric, arch and incredibly camp while Batman, the hero, is big and strong and serious and honourable. A manly man. Likewise, Ursula is presented as butch and unfeminine, scheming and malevolent, whereas Ariel is attractive and sweet and innocent. The ideal woman. Queercoded villains have been used to demonise the LGBT community for decades by presenting an ideal, hetronormative image of what a man or woman should be like, battling an antagonist that doesn’t fit in with traditional gender roles. Obviously there’s nothing inherently wrong with having a camp male villain or a distinctly unfeminine female villain, but it’s worth bearing in mind where these ideas originally came from and the impact it could potentially have.

So lets bring this back to Good Omens. The queercoding of Aziraphale and Crowley is obvious and it’s never presented in negative terms. (there’s a moment where Shadwell refers to Aziraphale as a pansy, but considering the man is a complete moron who draws eyes on milk bottles and thinks nipples are the gold standard way of identifying a witch, I think we can safely say he’s not to be taken seriously). In fact their relationship is incredibly sweet and endearing. Except... I can understand why Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman weren’t explicit in expressing the characters’ sexuality when the book was first published. It was 1990, both Pratchett and Gaiman were still relatively fresh faces and Western society’s attitudes toward homosexuality weren’t quite as progressive then as they are now. But it’s now 2019. Things have changed. Gay characters are appearing more frequently in books, movies and TV shows, people in general are more accepting of the LGBT community and Gaiman is now a hugely successful author with a lot of influence in the industry. Why not just make the relationship explicit?

Well there are two ways of looking at this. The first is that it really doesn’t need to be explicit. You would never hear a man and a woman talk about how incredibly hetero they are, would you? Actions speak louder than words after all. But when the two characters in question are of the same gender, suddenly the whole thing becomes a massive debate to the point where unless someone comes right out and says they are gay, people simply won’t buy it. Deadpool, tragically, has suffered from this with obnoxious frat boys deliberately glossing over the obvious queer subtext and hijacking the character for their own self-aggrandisement. This really shouldn’t be the case and this whole ‘straight until proven gay’ mindset isn’t the fault of the show. It’s entirely the fault of the viewer. The second involves our last topic of discussion. The Death of the Author. (no pun intended. RIP Pratchett).

Death of the Author refers to a literary essay written by the theorist Roland Barthes in 1967, which argues against critiquing a piece of literature based on authorial intent. Basically, once a book or movie or TV show is released to the general public, any relation to its creator becomes immaterial. The work in question must stand on its own and be judged independently. The intention of the author no longer matters. (I’m simplifying obviously, but that’s basically the gist of it. If you ever get the chance, read the essay yourself. It’s a fascinating read). Gaiman appears to be a firm believer in this philosophy. On his Tumblr account, @neil-gaiman, when asked about the the relationship between Aziraphale and Crowley, he often refuses to comment, invoking the Death of the Author mindset. It’s up the reader/viewer to interpret the characters. If you think they’re gay, then they’re gay. If you think they’re just friends, then they’re just friends. Some could call this a bit of a cop out, and you’re entitled to do so, but I understand where Gaiman is coming from. We’ve seen writers like JK Rowling get into trouble for queerbaiting, saying that she always intended for Dumbledore to be gay, but never actually showing any real evidence for it in the text, and Gaiman doesn’t want to fall into the same trap. Plus it demonstrates that Gaiman respects the views and interpretations of his fans, unlike Rowling who responded to criticism of her queerbaiting on Twitter with GIFs of people sticking their fingers in their ears and ‘blocking out the haters.’

In some ways I do feel very sorry for Gaiman. On the one hand he wants to stay true to his and Pratchett’s original vision, but on the other hand he doesn’t want to disappoint the hundreds of fans who do view the characters as being gay. Good Omens has been cited as an extremely positive influence on many queer readers, some even going so far as to say that it was this very book that allowed them to finally accept their identities and come out of the closet. Heartwarming stories like this can be found all over the web and hopefully many more will emerge now that the TV adaptation has been released. If Gaiman were to suddenly turn around in an interview one day and say ‘oh. No. Sorry. Aziraphale and Crowley were always intended to be just friends. You’re all wrong’, it would destroy people who invested so much in this relationship. Likewise, if he explicitly confirmed in an interview that the two characters are definitely gay, people would either accuse him of queerbaiting if the show doesn’t fully live up to their expectations or accuse him of shoving his political opinions down their throats. He can’t win either way really. That being said, I can’t help but respect Gaiman for sticking to his guns. It demonstrates that he’s confident in his skills as a writer and his ability to make his intentions clear in the text, that he respects the ideas and opinions of his readers and fans, and that he also respects the ideas and opinions of the cast and crew of the Good Omens TV show. While Gaiman has refused to confirm one way or the other, others like Michael Sheen or  director Douglas Mackinnon have made their views very clear. Aziraphale and Crowley are in love. That’s their interpretation and they have every right to it.

So do I believe Good Omens is queerbaiting? In my opinion, no. Does that mean I believe it’s faultless? Again, no. If the intention is to depict Aziraphale and Crowley as being lovers, then I think they could have done a bit more. Obviously I’m not suggesting a full blown sex scene or anything like that. Even something as simple as them holding hands or hugging each other would have done. Some physical intimacy of some kind. Because as it stands, Good Omens does share problems with a lot of other TV shows in how they present same sex couples, in that they’re consciously aware that they are presenting to a heterosexual viewer. This is why a relationship between two women is often sexualised and eroticised for the titillation of straight men whereas the relationship between two men can often be quite chaste. Very rarely do you see two men making out or doing anything beyond a quick peck. Good Omens sadly fits into that camp, though just to be clear, I’m not blaming Neil Gaiman or the show for this. I’m merely saying that this is part of a wider systemic issue that needs to be talked about and addressed as the industry moves forward. (Hell, that might as well be be the title of my entire Tumblr profile). Also, whether you believe the relationship between Aziraphale and Crowley is platonic or romantic, it does not change the impact this story has had on many LGBT readers nor the fact that the story is about love. It’s important to bear this in mind because while, yes, it is important to have this discussion, we can’t lose sight of the positive message it conveys with regards to building bridges and closing divides between opposing groups.

“And perhaps the recent exertions had had some fallout in the nature of reality because, while they were eating, for the first time ever, a nightingale sang in Berkeley Square. No one heard it over the noise of the traffic, but it was there, right enough.”

[taehyungsgrowl]

13 with outpost michael

Thank you so much for sending this in anon! I know the prompt was fluffy but it got away from me and turned smutty oops

Anyway! This is the first non fluffy piece I’ve posted and while I’m really happy with how it came out I’m still kinda weary because I’m not used to writing smut lol I would love love love to hear what you think/how I can improve. Hope you see this anon, sorry I took so long! I rewatched the morning after for help w characterization lol

The bundle of nerves that swell in Y/N’s tummy were unbearable. She fiddled with the cuff of her sleeve, twisting the delicate buttons in between her fingers. Y/N had her interview with Langdon and she wasn’t sure which thought made her more nervous; not getting let into the sanctuary or being alone with him in a room.

She looked up from her idle pass time when she heard the door slide open, allowing Mr. Langdon to stride inside and take a seat across from her. Amber flames wicking furiously in the fireplace, illuminated his long blonde waves and casted a beautiful glow on his pale skin. She often found herself thinking of his skin and how porcelain it was. She wanted to run her fingers over it, the thought alone raised goosebumps to her arm.

“Y/N” he spoke her name out slowly. She hated that she loved how it dripped from his lips. “No need to be so nervous,” he shot her a wicked grin. “All I expect is the truth. And I have no reason to believe you’ll disappoint. Or I am I wrong?” he tested her. “No, sir. I understand.” she chewed on the inside of her lip, keeping focused on what he said.

He crossed his legs, resting his hands in his lap, “Very well, then. Tell me about your chastity.” he leered, eyeing the silver band adorning her delicate finger. Her mouth gaped at the question. She knew humanity was on the brink of extinction and procreation would be expected, but she could not find the answer he was looking for. As if he could read her thoughts, he sighed heavily, “Don’t tell me what you think I want to hear.” his annoyance evident in his voice. “Tell me about the promise you made to your god,” he chuckled. Y/N could tell how much he was enjoying this with the way his remarks weighed heavily in ridicule. Quite frankly it angered Y/N to not be taken seriously by this man. The flash of anger did not go unnoticed by Michael; if anything it only edged him to press her further.

“I’m not playing any games Y/N,” he paused for a moment before standing and walking to the desk. He casually leaned back against it, crossing one foot behind the other. “Did you honor your promise?” he fought a smile poorly. “No.” her cheeks burned hotter than the fire besides her.

He hummed, running his hands over the smooth wooden surface, “Not as pure as you let others believe,” he stated, his eyes wandering up and down her frame.

“I have no control over what others think of me,” she quipped, the cool silver metal of the ring feeling heavier than she remembered. He rolled his eyes, “What did I say about lying?” he was having fun with her. He wanted to see just how far he could push her boundaries. “You prance around the outpost with a holier than thou attitude,” he scoffed, “when we both know how aggressively you work your pretty little fingers on your clit behind closed doors.” The air felt heavy with the tension between the two. Michael kept his composure nonchalant, but the girl felt her heart beating out of her chest.

“Tell me, Y/N” his voice echoed around the room, “do you miss the feeling of having someone’s cock buried in your pussy?” Before she can say anything, he lifts a finger in the air, “I won’t remind you again - honesty.” he licked his lips.

She nodded her head yes, keeping hold of his steel gaze. With the dim lighting of the room and the candles flickering around him, she couldn’t settle on the color of his eyes, but depths of them engulfed her.

A smug smile made its way to his chiseled face as he stood of up straight. He motioned her to him with his pointed finger,  “Come here,” he commanded. “Why?” she furrowed her brows, questioning him. Another sigh came from Langdon, “Just come here,” he fought the innate urge to roll his eyes.

She rose from here seat and didn’t hesitate to make her way to him. He walked around her until she was the one pressed against the desk. He placed his hands at her waist and lifted her off her feet, perching her up on the desk. Standing in between her legs, he got close enough to rub the tip of his nose against hers. Y/N’s heartbeat was increasing and he could sense it. “Relax,” he muttered, another devilish grin flashed across his face. He dragged his finger down your neck and ran it over your exposed collarbone. “Take off your dress.” he instructed easily. Y/N couldn’t keep up with the thoughts racing through her head; all she knew in that moment was the feeling of her panties dampening beneath her gown as her desire for him grew. Hesitation out the window she began riding herself of the dated gown, he held her steady as they watched it fall to the ground, leaving her in silky white panties.

Langdon stepped back to take in the sight of her sitting almost completely exposed to him. Her skin appeared to be glowing with sheen as the shadows danced along it. Her legs were slightly parted and watching her wet her lips with the tip of her tongue made the bulge in his pants twitch.

“Beautiful,” he mummered, closing the gap between them again. She tilted her head up, wanting to meet her lips to his. Langdon blossomed by seeing the desperation in her eyes. Knowing he had the power to watch her come undone was almost enough for him.

Ghosting his lips over her neck, her jawline, and her lips caused a shiver to run down her spine. “Please,” she drawled out, closing her eyes, allowing the sensation of his breath against her skin to tickle her senses.

“Please what?” smugness evident in his tone. “Touch me please.” Y/N’s eyes reopened to hold his gaze. Having her right were he wanted her, he trailed his fingers down the valley between her breasts, past her tummy, and to the waistband of her panties. Dropping to his knees, he came eye level with her pussy. He looked up at her through his lashes, red eyeshadow much more prominent from her new point of view and he looked like he dripped of sin and Y/N was insatiable for him.

Michael could smell her arousal and he knew he couldn’t his charade much longer; he needed to taste her. He needed to see her become his. He began by sponging a wet kiss to her cloth covered core, earning him the most delicate gasp he’s ever heard. He smirked against her, “Did you like that, princess?” he rubbed the tip of his nose back and forth a bit, making her squirm. His hands gripped at her knees, stopping her movements, “Uh - uh,” he shook his head, “Need you to stay still for me.” he said as he slid her underwear down her legs. “Yes, sir.” she bit down on her lip, the nerves she felt before the interview began now placed someone else. With that, he brought his index and middle finger up to her pout, “Get them nice and wet for me.” he chuckled, his free hand roaming up and down her thigh. Y/N opened her lips and began sucking on his digits, she swirled her tongue around them in an obscene manner, causing him to groan and pull his hand back. It was her turn to smirk now.

After what Y/N felt like an eternity of foreplay and teasing, Michael finally touched where she so longed for him. Langdon ran his spit covered fingers down her wet folds before leaning in and licking a stripe down her center. He licked her once more, her sweet taste drugging him into an animalistic state. He attached his lips to her clit, sucking on the bud whilst he entered his fingers in her. Crescent shaped moons began forming on her thighs from the grip he had on her. Above him was a whimpering mess. She could feel her wetness and his saliva spill down her thighs as he continued his attack of pleasure. Her panting increased as her thoughts clouded over with bliss. Michael kept his right hand on her thigh, but his left reached for hers. He laced his fingers with hers as he brought her closer to her orgasm; never breaking his mouth from her pussy, he slid her chastity ring off of her finger and managed to place it around his pinky. He smirked against her and sucked harshly, and brought his hand down to her pussy. “Fuck,” she choked out, “Please, oh god” she begged. Curling his fingers deep inside caused her to unravel for him. Michael continued licking the mess she made until she rode out her orgasm.

Rising from his knees, he took her hands and pulled her off the desk, and crashed his lips to hers. They tangled their tongues together, exploring each others mouths. Michael was the first to pull away, tugging her bottom lip with his teeth as he did. “It appears that we’ll have to extend this interview..” he mused, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear. “I’d like that.” she blushed. She bent down to pick her panties up, but he was quicker. He snatched them and tucked them into his back pocket. “You can get these during phase two.” a playful glint in his eyes, “Tonight. In my room. I won’t tolerate tardiness, Ms. Y/L/N” She shook her head, giggling a bit. “Yes, sir.”

“It’s Michael.” he corrected her. “Okay then, Michael’ she tested the name, “do I get my ring back during phase two?”

“No,” he let out against her mouth, kissing her again, “that’s mine now.” he looked down to admire the little silver band around his pinky. “You’re mine now.”

TAGS FOR PEOPLE WHO ASKED TO BE TAGGED/SOME OF MY FAVE BLOGS: @wickedlangdon @nolixxx @petersfern-fics @ritualmichael @weareallevilmotherfuckers @duncans-donuts @duncvn @sweetlangdon @cryptid-coalition @xtheinevitableprophecyx @xlangdons-evilbabygirlx @michael-lngdon @sinnerfrank @et-tu-bitch @yourkingcodyfern @maso-xchrist @avesatanormalpeoplescareme @langdonsrapture @sacredlangdon @langdonsdemon @lvngdvns @lvngdonscurse @wroteclassicaly @supremewltch @mrperth @michaellangdonn @michael-langdon-appreciation @michaellangyum @spawnmichael @ave–michael @kylossren @litenbaby @cloudyrabbits @confettucini @langdonsoceaneyes

[incorrigible-groupie]

why the "I lost my best friend" scene in Good Omens is the worst

(For four reasons)

Number one ! Someone on Twitter said that the last time Aziraphale was on the phone with Crowley, Crow said that he was with an old friend. So Az thought Crow was talking about someone else when he said « best friend ». Dumbass.

Number two ! That’s something I realized on my own, but when Az is in front of Crow - and let’s not talk about the fact that the only place, THE ONLY PLACE where he materialize is next to Crow, you know, like this is where he belongs… - when he is in front of Crow, he actually can’t see him. He is totally blind, go watch it again if you don’t believe me. So not only he doesn’t know Crow thinks he is his best friend. But even if one day he finds out, he will never know how much devastated Crow was, because he didn’t see him. AH.

Number three ! Does Crow see him, or does he just feel him ? Actually ? Like, Az can’t see Crow and Crow can’t see Az too ? It could make sense, that Crowley can’t see how Aziraphale was disappointed by the fact that he wasn’t his best friend, I mean he would have say something otherwise ! You know, being the annoying demon he is.

Also, Crow seemed surprised when Az stopped to talk to him, like he didn’t expect him to disappear, while we saw clearly that Az was dissolving… like Peter Parker after the Snap!

The fact that we could see it doesn’t mean that THEY could see it.

I have a theory that, we see Crowley as David Tennant and Aziraphale as Michael Sheen because we want to see them that way. The same reason why we hear them speaking english… why would they speak english, of all languages, is God British too? That would also explain why in 6000 years no one in the universe said « hey, they looked like someone I saw on a painting, or an old photograph ! » I mean technically Az and Crow don’t have faces they’re an angel and a demon, you really want to know how they looked like in the Bible ? Don’t. It’s actually terrifying. So maybe some people see them as women, some people see them as men or women of color. The only thing that never disappear is their… mark that represent them, you know like the snake or the golden stripes like… I wonder what is Aziraphale’s mark. Could be his blue eyes (you know like the Velvet Underground song) or his white hair, I mean he never change his haircut !

He never change his haircut... I think that’s most because, well angels and demons are not supposed to look like humans. The best thing about humanity, the thing that Aziraphale and Crowley adore, is this capacity to evolve. But when you’re an angel or a demon you can’t evolve, you have one job to do, one place to go, one thing to deal with for all eternityyyyyyy. BUT Crowley doesn’t give a damn about it, so you can clearly see that he evolves with the humans by watching his haircut, and Aziraphale is WAY to scared to do that. Because the angels are bitches with him, pushing him on the wall, probably even strangling him with his bow tie. (Let’s not talk about the fact that when it’s Crowley he trusts him so much that he’s not even scared, not even if he’s traumatized. OH MY GOSH.)

Anyway, about their appearance, Crowley and Aziraphale recognized themselves maybe because they just feel each other ? How would Aziraphale know Crowley was still demon otherwise ? You know, before the oysters thingy. Az knew Crow was still a demon but the other demons didn’t realize during the trial that it wasn’t Crowley, WHAT KIND OF COLLEGUES ARE THEY ??? 

(((By the way, the whole swapping moment, unbelievable. Every details the actors put on their way to play those character, with such love it’s… DAMN. Thank you so much whoever had the idea to put David and Michael together. I knew David thanks to Doctor Who and Jessica Jones (great season 1 and loved season 3), but I discovered Michael thanks to Good Omens. He is such a great actor and… I’m actually watching Masters Of Sex, a nice show by the way it’s like Sex Education but much mature, and way sadder. Like Michael Sheen is Otis, and Lizzy Caplan is Maeve, kinda. I watch Masters Of Sex, and I’m ace ! WHAT THE HECK ?? What was I talking about again ?)))

Number four ! I really, truly believe that Az and Crow think they are friends, BUT. That’s because they didn’t experience love the same way as we, humans, does.

What is love ? Baby don’t hurt me SORRY

But seriously who was the first one who loved Az and Crow « unconditionally » ? Yeah I’m talking about the Big One. Which I think is gender fluid, you can’t mess up that much while being a woman. Also Big One Almighty have a «woman» voice but it’s okay to call Them Lord ? Also okay to say They are Jesus’ Father ?

Oh yeah and let’s talk about Jesus, because it was a big deal for the angel and the demon. So the Almighty, their Creator, their Dad/Mum, Who should forgive everyone, smashed angels into the ground so they became demons, drown an entire civilization because They weren’t happy about it, let Their own son, Their own son, die ! If this is really the definition of love, then love is an abusive bullshit. Aziraphale is with the angels, who are supposed to be good so probably full of love, a love they like to demonstrate while choking him. And Crowley, Crowley… I really think he is sad about Jesus’ death like, it pushed him on his limits. After Jesus died, he cut his gorgeous hair for the first time, he began to be bitter with Aziraphale, he didn’t even search for Aziraphale ! I’m sure Crowley adored Jesus and it was like « well if even a demon can melt for that little fellow the Almighty must be so full of love for him » and then he was nailed on a cross ! I’m sure J stands for Jesus, and like do you know what are the initials of Anthony J Crowley ? AJC ! Like After Jesus Christ ! Am I going to far ! YES OBVIOUSLY !

All I’m saying is… Letting your son to suffer ? And to die ? Is that love ? Is that what Crowley is supposed to feel for Aziraphale ? Is that what Aziraphale think about Crowley ? Heck no. So they definitely are not lovers. Soul mate ? I saw that some people think Aziraphale and Crowley were one single soul before the fall, which is kinda true because in the first version of the Book by Pratchett and Gaiman there was only one demon. And after the fall their soul might have been split in two, one being Crowley and the other being Aziraphale and… they’re always together because they only feel complete when they have each other. Which is cute. But I don’t really like the fact that they aren’t their own soul, I don’t know. I don’t like the fact that they aren’t their own individuals. Also it doesn’t explain why Az didn’t even know what was Crow’s name while Crowley knew that Aziraphale had the flaming sword AHA.

(((Oh! Some people think that Az is War’s dad, because he gave the first weapon to humanity and I’m like… YES ! And Crow gave people knowledge and free will and to have free will is to have the right to not fight, so to make peace so in a way Crowley created Peace ? Does that make sense ?)))

My point is Az and Crow are really bad at their job because that’s all it is, begin a demon or an angel at the end, it’s a job. Gabriel, Belzebuth, they’re not doing it by conviction, they’re doing it because they think they were told to do so. Well, they have the conviction that they are following a Plan but you know, like okay so we’re on this side, the enemy is on the other side but it’s just like chess there are black pawns and there are white pawns. You just have to win.

And they all follow God’s Plan ? Which is weird because demons shouldn’t follow God’s Plan right ???? Does Lucifer was like « oh yeah let’s please the Big One by creating the being who can provoke the Apocalypse what do you mean I’m a rebel ? ». Lucifer didn’t look like Tom Ellis either, by the way. Maybe, you know, in American Gods way, the fact that we believe so much that Lucifer is a monster he became one, just like the fact that Adam believe Lucifer isn’t his dad made him… not his dad. 

The power of Faith humans have.

I don’t think that it was a test for humans, like yeah the Antechrist who was raised by humans decided that Earth was worth saving kinda mean we won because there is still hope for us can i hear a yahoo… 

But actually I think that God, as messed up as They may be, is the biggest shipper of us all. 

I think the all Apocalypse thing was a test for Aziraphale and Crowley. To show their true nature.

Like I said before, they sucked at their job. Which is what make them lovable. God probably knew and God probably wanted them to be free, free of Heaven and Hell because the Apocalypse was their limit. All the other missions they did on Earth were obsolete compare to that, so all they could do was to raise their voice this time like « no freaking way we don’t want to do this mission ». If God didn’t mess with the delivery of the baby, you know the exchange and all that stuff, none of this would have happened. Az and Crow had been together for 6000 years but this mission ? This mission showed them how much they want to stay on earth, and why, and yes of course one of the reasons is so they could be together pffff…

You know, if they didn’t have the opportunity to scare the angels and the demons so they should leave them alone (during the trial), their relationship surely wouldn’t have grown that much. Having lunch to the Ritz was a big step. They wanted SO MUCH to be together, and only their status was keeping them appart. I read a theory that the main reason why Crow hated to be called «nice», when it didn’t bother him before, was because being nice is something Az love about Crow. He doesn’t care that he shouldn’t be nice, clearly he doesn’t care what the demons think of him, he’s even prepared in case they try to kill him. (YOU KNOW THE KIND OF THINGS YOU DO BETWEEN COLLEGUES !) But Az does care about what his colleagues think because he is scared of them and so he can’t love a demon, even if that demon is nice. So, when Az calls Crowley «nice», it reminds of Crowley that not only Aziraphale likes him, but also that he shouldn’t be and that’s the reason why Aziraphale can’t be with him.

But now that they’re both free, Aziraphale can call Crowley « kind » and Crowley can imagine a future with Aziraphale, they can have a relationship. They can kiss, or not, if that’s not what they are into. Aziraphale could have a beard and no bow tie to be choke with. Crowley could have his snake eyes less obvious, his snake tattoo smaller. 

With a bookshop full of plants.

And maybe one day they will realize that love isn’t something that should be abusive or maybe they will find another human word that describe their relationship. But until then there’s no word to describe how much they are connected to each other. 

It’s simply… ineffable.

[ineffablefool]

Some meditations on being a fat human being, in the era of Good Omens series fandom.  Not n//sf/w, really (hi my name is Jack I’m ace and supremely uninterested in sexytimes), but really personal and also long, so I’ll stick it behind a readmore.  I suppose if another fat human being had thoughts they wanted to tack on, they could reblog to do so, but I don’t expect this to be a particularly rebloggable thing.  Just thinkin’ out loud (via clickety fingies).

I have been... okay, more or less, with how my body looks, for a while.  (Minus all the things about it that make me get “she” and “her” and “ma’am” everywhere I go, with exactly three glorious exceptions in the ~4 years since I realized that those weren’t right.  That is a whole ‘nother bucket of bears.)  I’ve been on Tumblr over on my main account since 2013, and the entire time I’ve been immersing myself in fat positivity and in fat activism by wonderful accounts like ok2befat and bigfatscience and thisisthinprivilege.  So I’ve been basically okay. 

It sucks how hard it is to find clothing that I like which doesn’t completely exclude my particular set of proportions.  It sucks that my saint of a boss had to literally fight our HR department to change the company policy on flights for business, because the previous policy would have forced me to fly 18 hours in an economy-class seat much smaller than I am when I visit India in a couple months.  It sucks that my body is still the “oh, is this disgusting thing a dealbreaker for you” question on dating websites, and that it’s still the butt of every third Trump joke.  It sucks.  But I’ve gotten better over the years at the skill of seeing my body as not the problem, but an innocent bystander in everyone else’s bullshit.  Clothing and plane seats and humor don’t spring from the earth to be harvested and consumed raw.  People decide how to make them.  People can decide differently.

Anyway.  I’ve been pretty much okay with Body.  Body’s fine.  It’s a good pal.  It gets me where I need to be, and it lets me run around in little circles pretending to be an airplane when I’m bored.  I spend some time with it in partial states of undress now and then (I’m too much of a germaphobe to ever be a naturist, let’s put it that way), just so I can keep myself familiar with what it really looks like.  Y’know how the horror movie monster is really scary up until they actually show it?  Same thing, except fewer blood squibs.

But here’s all this Good Omens stuff.

A lot of the fandom has embraced the slight pudginess of Michael Sheen’s Aziraphale, and a lot of artists are putting that into their work.  And a blessed wonderful few aren’t stopping there.  They’re drawing Aziraphales that are more than just a tiny bit pudgy, sometimes that are just plain fat, unquestionably, not just “a little larger than the very thin rendition of Crowley” or “wearing a lot of layers” or “the clothes are just cut that way”.  Really, really adorable renditions of fat angels who are clearly loveable and clearly loved because look, the artist drew them together, Crowley is right there and he doesn’t have that look on his face by accident.

(There are book renditions floating around too where people have headcanoned a fatter Aziraphale, but I’m still talking miniseries right now.  Also, there are plenty of sort of... cartoony/stylized/silly renditions out there with fatter Aziraphales, but I’m not really talking about those either.  There’s a sort of area of artwork where the style or the scene being depicted is such that my brain is surprised when any of the characters is fat, because this is a pretty drawing of two people kissing or whatever and therefore obviously they have to both be thin.  Obviously.  Internalized fatphobia nonsense.  But that’s the kind of artwork I’m thinking when I type all these zillions of words.)

And that’s a choice, to say “I’m an artist and I’m going to draw this character who is worth being the recipient of a 6000-year-long love, and that character is fat, and that’s just how it is”.  And to keep doing it in one piece of art after the other.

speremint was the first artist I noticed doing this, drawing an Aziraphale who is loved by Crowley (the sacred apple tree art still cracks me up, poor Crowley) and who is definitely fat and who is adorable, and if you’ve read the notes on any of my fics you know that she singlehandedly changed how I picture my headcanon’d Aziraphale.  Then I discovered that dotstronaut and lonicera-caprifolium and toastedbuckwheat are out there too, giving me lovely art to shove into my eyeballs and extend my lifespan potentially indefinitely.  I bet there’s more I haven’t noticed yet.  I want there to be like a hundred more I haven’t noticed yet.

And this all ticks over into the second half of what’s apparently a manifesto at this point, boy it’s a good thing I’m a fast typist, which is the fact that in addition to being a fat human, I am also romantically and aesthetically attracted to fat humans.  It’s something I’ve pretty much literally had no opportunity to ever express, because in my Real Life I don’t really admit to having feelings per se and also I am... not the type of human who is the recipient of romantic thoughts from others.  Or who would ever act on my own unless the other party said something first.  (Which nobody ever has since 2006, you guys.  Supremely not the recipient of romance over here.)

So there’s this fandom environment where a fat character is being celebrated and loved, and I started writing fanfiction for the first time this century, and all of a sudden there’s a place for me to express feelings that I’ve been sitting on since I finally realized in about 2001 what it was about that one guy in high school that made me want to hug him, even though I also couldn’t stand his attitude.

Going through my fics from oldest to most recent, it is clear that I am getting more and more comfortable with that expression.  It’s getting ridiculous.  At this rate, in three weeks’ time I’m just going to be writing “Aziraphale is fat and beautiful and I just want to cuddle his belly forever” over and over again for five thousand words at a stretch.

But that means Brain is thinking a lot about how Aziraphale is fat, and beautiful, and perfect exactly how he is.  And then Brain looks down at Body and is like “hmm.  Same hat.  ineffablefool is fat too.  Therefore, [insert math lady meme here]”.  And I will be, like, “okay, so if Crowley were to put his hand on Aziraphale’s belly, what would that feel or look like?  How would his internal narration describe it?  Well, there’s a belly right here, let’s do some science.”  And then the thoughts that I start associating with the experience of my own body are completely good thoughts, all of them, because they’re going to be going in Crowley’s head.  And my written Crowley is never going to be anything other than madly in asexual romantic love with my written Aziraphale, and is never going to see him as anything other than perfect, physically, no matter what he looks like.

And it’s just being a really good positive feedback mechanism, I guess is the tl;dr version.  External validation (via art, via others’ fics, via comments on my own fics, btw if you’ve left any of those then you are also helping extend my lifespan, especially the people who come back to comment on each new story, yes I recognize you and I do a little happy dance every time a familiar name pops up, please rejoin me on Monday I’m going to post my dickwheelie letters fic) is all well and good.  But the mental loop of “own body can be used for realistic descriptions of a fat body -> descriptions based on own body are all lovingly positive -> own body is therefore described by self as lovingly positive” is... it’s nice, is what I’m saying.  It’s very nice.  Last week I expressed, out loud in a group of coworkers, my desire that something be more size-inclusive.  Do you even know how many deaths I would once have suffered rather than say something like that in mixed company.  But why shouldn’t I say it!  There’s nothing wrong with my being fat!  In fact, it’s within the realm of possibility to see it as a positive thing, so let’s just all admit that we have eyes and then move on!  Geez!

So those are some of my thoughts on being a fat human being, in the era of Good Omens series fandom.

now if I can just score a hot fat ace Ineffable Significant Other out of this fandom, I’ll be set

[alulaspeaks]

Someplace Quiet

Title: Someplace Quiet Category: Gen Rating: T Warnings: Major Character Death Summary:  Death said Sam was fated to kill Rowena, so she shouldn't be surprised to see him. The only problem is he should have died decades ago. Word Count: ~2k Notes:  Thanks to @wetsammywinchester for the speedy beta that really helped pull this thing together. Read on AO3

The bellboy opens the door to the suite, rich mahogany glowing in the warm, orange light. He looks ridiculous in his red jacket and the little red hat that has come back into fashion in these “retro” hotels. Despite the ridiculous nods to a bygone age, Rowena still prefers the old style luxury hotels. Give her red carpet and golden mirrors, and alcoves with overstuffed leather chairs that no one ever sits on over metal, and chrome, and wall-high windows with the projectors built in to change the New York skyline into Paris. If Rowena wants to go to Paris, she will go to Paris, but she hasn’t felt the need for a long time.

“Was there anything else?” the bellboy asks as he fidgets with his sleeve. His eyes skitter over her and away, something suspicious in the tilt of his mouth. It won’t do to have him go downstairs asking questions. There was a time when Rowena would have pinned him to the ceiling for less, back when the joy of her power was in being strong enough to be so carelessly cruel without fear of consequences. Now she prefers to focus on the finesse of subtle magic, getting what she wants with the fine application of practiced skill. It would be a simple matter to slip the boy’s worry from his mind. It’s the smart move, but somehow it doesn’t feel worth the effort.

“Run along, dear, I’m sure you have work to do,” Rowena says, raising a pointed eyebrow.

The boy swallows and spins on his heel. She doesn’t bother to watch him go, slipping off her coat and draping it over the settee. The soft thump of someone catching the door makes her freeze in her tracks.

“You’re a hard woman to find,” a deep and familiar voice says.

A chill runs down Rowena’s spine and she turns to find Sam Winchester standing in her doorway, impossible but for the fact that he’s Sam Winchester and impossible gave up on him a long time ago. The light catches on the gray at his temples and the sheen of sweat on his throat. He looks exactly like he did the last time she saw him decades ago, except for the new tears in his shirt, the soot on his fingers, and the notable addition of the pearl-handled gun in his hand.

“Why Samuel, you haven’t aged a day,” Rowena says, sidles around the table, closer to her purse with the hex bags in it. “What’s your secret? Do you moisturize?”

“Don’t,” Sam snaps. Rowena freezes and looks up to find the gun pointed at her heart. Sam may not have aged, but there is something different about his face, something unnerving.

“Are you here to kill me?” she asks, unable to keep the quaver from her voice. She’s never forgotten what’s written in her book of fate, though she believed Sam gone years ago.

“No, I’m not going to hurt you.” Sam opens his hands so the gun hangs from his thumb by the trigger guard.

“And what about your brother, would he say the same?” Rowena asks and sits down at the table.

“Dean’s gone, has been for a long time” Sam says, voice flat. The look on his face doesn’t change and Rowena understands what is different in Sam. His once expressive face has lost its animation, every expression muted and constrained as if he is made of stone. The thought makes her jaw clench. How many times has Rowena looked at her own unchanged face in the mirror, untouched by centuries of time, and wondered if she weren’t made of something other than flesh?

“I need your help.” Sam sets his gun on the sideboard and kicks the door closed behind him, coming to her empty handed. He sits across the table and looks her in the eye. “Something happened to me. I can’t die and I want you to help me figure out why.”

Well, that is unexpected. Rowena eyes Sam up and down, puts the holes ripped through his clothes in a new perspective. There is raw skin beneath but no blood, and he hasn’t aged. A new puzzle is a pleasant surprise.

“Give me your hand.” She should extract a promise from him that he will leave once she helps him, but she doesn’t. When they parted ways last time, soon after Michael was dealt with, she made sure they were even, all favors called in. Everything neatly squared away, with no intention of ever seeing him again. So much for that. She holds out her hand and Sam lays his palm against hers. “When did it happen?”

“I don’t really know. After Dean… well, the world still needed saving. I tried to keep it together for Mom and Jack, but after awhile I just stopped being careful, you know?” Sam fingers one of the slashes in his shirt and Rowena pushes away thoughts of the bellboy that she should have hexed. “At first I thought I was really lucky, surviving wounds that should've killed me, but it didn’t take long to figure out that I wasn’t so much surviving as not dying.”

Rowena calls up her power and presses in against Sam’s skin. She knows as soon as it touches him, but she keeps him talking as she feels out the different threads of energy that tangle up in Sam. “How did you find me?”

“There was a hunt across the street. Saw you arrive. It was dumb luck.”

Rowena hums, she wouldn’t call that luck. She follows that thread of emotion all the way until it meets a road block of energy that shouldn’t be there, and now there can be no doubt.

“You can’t die, because you aren’t human anymore.”

Sam’s mouth presses into a grim but unsurprised line. “Then what am I?”

“I don’t know,” she says as she sets Sam’s hand back on the table. “Something new.”

“Can you fix it?”

“You stumbled into immortality and you want me to… fix it?” Rowena can’t help but laugh. She spent years and years of dedicated study to solidify her power and cheat death at every turn.

“There was a girl tonight. I wasn’t being careful and she almost died and for a second, I didn’t really care.” Sam’s eyes are shadowed, and Rowena catches a glimpse of something ancient behind them. “I’m tired, Rowena, and I don’t know how much of me is left to give. All I’m asking is that you help me become human again. I’m not saying I’ll die tonight or tomorrow or anytime soon, but there has to be a way to stop me if I go off the rails. There need to be consequences for me, too.”

“Sam–” Rowena starts, thinking to say something about mistakes and change, give back what they told her long ago, but he cuts her off.

“You know where monsters go when they die?” Sam asks and Rowena nods. “Dean was still human when he died.”

“But you don’t know where he went or if you’ll go to the same place,” Rowena snaps.

“I can tell you he isn’t in Purgatory” Sam says, “and a one in three shot is better than no shot. Wherever I end up, if Dean is there too, he’ll find me.”

The naivete of that makes Rowena want to scream. Hell is hell and the empty is empty, what chance do they really have? But then she remembers about impossible and the Winchesters, and suddenly it doesn’t seem so strange.

“It doesn’t really matter why, does it? The question is, will you do it?”

She thinks long and hard about the chances for blow-back. Sam may not want to kill her, but messing with something this unknown could backfire. Still, there is no way to know for sure, and it makes sense, doesn’t it, to turn an immortal threat into a mortal one. That’s all this has to be.

“You’re sure?” she asks, and Sam nods, smiles at her for the first time.

Rowena takes his hand again, threads her power in along his veins to the twisted threads of energy knotted in Sam’s core. She closes her eyes and sinks into her task. It’s delicate work, pulling at them enough to untangle them, snapping the ones that don’t belong but leaving the essential ones. There’s one thread of power that’s so enmeshed in Sam that she dares not pluck it out, she works around it until the last strand of foreign energy is severed and the job is done.

“Oh,” Sam gasps and his hand goes clammy in hers then pulls away. When she opens her eyes, Sam’s bent over in his chair, hand on his stomach, forehead creased.

“Sam?”

“It worked,” Sam says voice wet as he leans back in his chair. The seam of his lips is painted red, he lifts away his bloody palm, and Rowena can see the gaping gashes in his stomach through the holes in his shirt. He sighs, face slipping into something like relief.

“You knew.” Rowena says, gut clenching. He’s dying right in front of her and he knew and now there is nothing she can do. Her power holds together and pulls apart but it doesn’t heal.

“I wondered,” Sam says and flashes her a strained half-smile.

“Does it hurt?” Rowena asks, though she knows it must. She wants him to tell her it doesn’t, that pain is something you can transcend, even if she’s never managed it.

“Yeah.” Sam coughs, covering his mouth and his hand comes away covered in thick black blood.

“Oh Sam, couldn’t you have lied to me one more time?”

Sam laughs, red splattering the corner of his mouth, “No, it-it’s good that it hurts again.”

Something must show on her face - disbelief or worry, she doesn’t know, hardly knows what she’s feeling - because Sam’s eyes soften.

“It’s okay, it can’t last forever. Nothing ever does,” Sam says and it sounds well-rehearsed, like something he’s told himself a thousand times, and for a flash of an instant Rowena hates him for still being kind, for forcing her to witness this, for making her want to reach out and hold his hand so he won’t be alone. It doesn’t last long; she can’t hate him, even if that would be easier.

“You’re a terrible guest, getting blood all over my carpet.” She says, because she can’t stand the silence or the way Sam’s legs squirm under the chair, in too much pain to sit still.

“Not yours,” Sam grunts, flicker of a smile subsumed by a wracking cough. He doesn't manage to cover his mouth this time. His hands white-knuckle the armrests and his mouth works silently, struggling to speak. “Thanks,” he says, half-swallowed and strangely clipped. His leg kicks out, and he groans long and low in his throat.

“Hush, now,” Rowena says, her own voice strangled, but Sam has already fallen quiet. His hands slip from the armrest to land upturned in his lap. He doesn’t move again.

A half hour ago, Rowena thought Sam Winchester was long gone and that she escaped her fate. Now she knows that she has. Nothing has really changed but somehow the world feels emptier. She sits there for a while, staring at the carpet and waiting for a Winchester miracle, but it doesn’t come, so she slips on her coat and grabs her bags. Halfway to the door she stops, thinking of the bellboy and his stupid red hat again, of him finding Sam slumped in the chair and not knowing who he is, the enormity what he’s done, the good and the bad of it. The strange hands that will touch his body and lay him out on a cold slab and cut into him as if he were any other John Doe. She can’t stomach the thought of it. She turns back.

A wave of her hand and the blood disappears from his mouth and between his fingers, the puddle on the carpet. Sam’s chin is slumped to his chest, hair falling across his eyes. She reaches out without thinking, hesitating for a moment when she catches herself, but not enough to stop. She brushes back his hair and knows with a sharp and aching clarity that it was a mistake. The look on his face defies her understanding, not a smile, not exactly, but something gentle and welcoming, the beautiful lines of his face made soft again. The image crawls inside her and she’ll never unsee it, knows it will linger for as long as she lives.

“Is this how you do it?” she whispers, tucking one last strand behind his ear. She slips a hex bag on his open palm, wrapping his fingers around it. She steps back, whispers a spell under her breath and Sam’s body bursts into flames. When it’s done, she opens the balcony door, calls up a breeze, and watches it carry Sam’s ashes away.

She looks out over the lights of the city, breathing deep of the cool night air. There is life and power in her yet, but now there is something else, too; a kernel of an idea. When Paris and New York can no longer hold her, if her heart grows too cold again, there is someplace she can go, someplace quiet. For the first time in a long time, death doesn’t feel like an enemy to outsmart and Rowena doesn’t know what she’s supposed to do with that.

[odanurr87]

Let’s talk... TRON, Part 1: Legacy

Let me preface by saying I have not watched the original 1982 TRON movie. I was introduced to the world of TRON in 2010 with the release of TRON: Legacy, a sequel that tried to reboot, or rather re-energize, the franchise, starring Jeff Bridges as Kevin Flynn, Garrett Hedlund as his son, Sam, and the mesmerizing Olivia Wilde as Quorra (admit it, she’s gorgeous!). Neither the critics nor the public were too thrilled by it at the time, arguing it was more spectacle than substance. To this day, the movie stands at a 51% critic score and a 63% audience score on RT. IMDb puts it slightly higher at a 68% audience score. I recently re-watched it on Netflix so I decided to share my thoughts on it. You may have noticed this blog post isn’t titled, “My thoughts on...” as I usually do for reviews. That’s because I’m not just going to talk about TRON: Legacy but also its, arguably superior, animated spin-off, TRON: Uprising, released between 2012 and 2013, starring an amazing voice cast that I will mention in due course. It remains one of my favourite animated series after Avatar: The Last Airbender. But let’s get to it, shall we?

Spoilers for TRON: Legacy naturally follow. You’ve been warned.

Legacy follows the character of Sam Flynn, the son of Kevin Flynn, an employee and eventually CEO of ENCOM corporation, who has been missing for the past 20 years (the father, not the son, obviously). The opening of the movie showcases that Sam has apparently inherited some of his father’s programming genius (even though he never gets to use it again afterwards) but he also has trouble accepting his father’s disappearance and moving on, pulling off reckless stunts for the sake of it. We’re also briefly introduced to Bruce Boxleitner, reprising his role as Adam Bradley, Kevin’s friend and business partner, a return I have no doubt fans of the original appreciated but he’s sadly underused, either as Bradley or in his much juicier role as Tron (for reasons that will become apparent soon). ENCOM is portrayed in a bad light because... they want to sell their products? I know what they’re trying to do here, and certainly parallels can be drawn to corporations like Microsoft or EA (”This year we put a 12 on the box”), even to this day, but it’s rather flimsy. No matter, since it isn’t long before Sam, having received a strange message, goes back to his father’s arcade shop and finds and activates a curious machine that transports him to the Grid.

The Sirens outfit Sam for the games. It doesn’t hurt these women are gorgeous to boot.

The Grid is a vast digital sandbox populated by programs who take on the shape of human beings. From the start, I loved the look and feel of it, with its mixture of black, blue, cyan, and white colours, and the incredible technology on display, from light cycles to light jets, all of these rendered from a baton that is most certainly not used as a sword. The outfits used by programs are also really cool to look at and while I’m partial to black myself, those sirens wearing white almost convinced me otherwise. TRON: Legacy takes advantage of the outfits to distinguish friend from foe: programs with red lights are on the side of the bad guys while programs with cyan or white lights are, mostly, free and can go either way. That’s the short version anyway. The long version is that all programs on the Grid should wear black (or white) outfits with cyan/white lights and stripes. However, those programs that have been repurposed by the enemy change their lights and stripes to red. In any case, it’s a simple way for the audience to tell who the bad guys are. Last but not least, every program on the Grid is equipped with an identity disc that serves both as a storage device, containing a program’s code and its “memories,” and a melee/ranged weapon for combat, as Sam soon finds out.

As you might have guessed,TRON: Legacy is, indeed, a beautiful movie to look at, something that shouldn’t come as a surprise considering it was directed by Joseph Kosinski, who who would later direct Oblivion, a movie with outstanding cinematography and, incidentally, a great soundtrack. Because, let’s face it, as visually stunning as this movie is, it wouldn’t be half as good were it not for its amazing soundtrack, composed by none other than Daft Punk, who curiously make an appearance and feel right at home on the Grid, and arranged and orchestrated by Joseph Trapanese (keep his name in mind ‘cause you’ll see it again). The combination of orchestral and electronic music imbue the world of TRON with a sense of wonder and strangeness, of having been transported to a world that works under a different set of rules. I can safely say without a shred of doubt that this movie’s soundtrack is excellent from beginning to end, with some of my favourite pieces being, “The Son of Flynn,” “Outlands,” “Solar Sailer,” “Disc Wars,” and, of course, “Flynn Lives.” Hey, I did say this soundtrack was awesome all the way through! It is definitely one of the best movie soundtracks I’ve ever had the pleasure of listening to and it’s definitely worth a purchase.

Just knocking on the sky and listening to the sound, man.

What about the story? It starts out as a tragedy. A long time ago, when Flynn created the Grid, he brought over Bradley’s creation, Tron, to protect it, and also created a new program in his image named Clu. Together they were going to create the perfect system, whatever that was supposed to mean. Over time, and with their discovery of ISOs or isomorphic algorithms, programs that spontaneously came into existence, Kevin’s outlook on perfection was radically altered, but Clu’s remained the same and he regarded ISOs as a threat to his goal of creating the perfect system. This eventually devolved into insurrection as Clu turned on Flynn and Tron, killing the latter and forcing the former into exile. Fast forward 20 years to Sam’s arrival and Clu reigns supreme as dictator, repurposing programs to either fight in the Arena for entertainment or join his massive army. Having achieved the perfect system in his eyes, Clu has now turned his attention to Earth and has thus engineered Sam’s arrival on the Grid to force his father, Kevin (whom I’ll simply call Flynn from this point onwards), out of hiding and claim his disc, the key to the portal that links both worlds.

The movie initially plays around with Clu’s likeness to Flynn in order to trick Sam into trusting him, but it quickly dashes any and all potential it might’ve had by revealing the truth. It really is a shame as had Clu actually put some effort into recruiting Sam it would’ve made for a much more interesting movie, maybe echoing some of Jack’s conflict in Robin Williams’ Hook. Instead, the movie elects to follow up with a light cycle confrontation between Clu and Sam and the latter’s subsequent rescue by another program named Quorra. It’s a cool sequence to be sure and a badass way to introduce Wilde’s Quorra, not to mention it was supposedly part of Clu’s plan to ensure Flynn would know he had his son. Unfortunately, it turns out it’s mostly by coincidence that Flynn learns of this as he’s practically a recluse. Had it not been for Quorra’s curiosity and timely intervention, Clu’s plan would’ve ended almost as soon as it began.

An awkward reunion between father and son with Quorra caught in the middle.

Father and son are soon reunited but it’s a rather uncomfortable reunion. After all, how do you explain to your son why you’ve been absent for a large chunk of his life? It’s true Flynn tried to go back repeatedly and failed but it’s still a difficult thing to take in, more so when his father stubbornly refuses to play into Clu’s game and make a run for the portal. Quorra is also placed in a tough spot, immediately picking up on the tension between the two. As Flynn’s protégé sle clearly looks up to him for guidance and would give her life to protect him but she’s also persuaded by Sam’s argument, which is why she helps him get in touch with Zeus, comically played by Michael Sheen, a program who can allegedly arrange for safe passage to the portal. These three, together with Clu, are the core of the movie. How do they fare? 

Jeff Bridges delivers the best performance all around, even if it sometimes lacks the emotional outbursts you’d expect from being reunited with his son after all these years. Even so, he pours a lot of enthusiasm into some of his scenes, such as when he’s describing the ISOs, and he’s a little bit of a matchmaker if you pay close attention to the solar sailer scene. To my mind, Olivia Wilde comes second in the acting department, playing the somewhat naïve but totally badass Quorra. To be fair though, her best moments occur when she interacts with Garrett Hedlund’s character, Sam, so maybe they’re something of a packaged deal. I feel like Hedlund delivered a mostly solid performance across the board but probably not one that will turn any heads. Save for Quorra, the two Flynns appear quite stoic for a good chunk of the movie, or at least that’s how they came across to me. Things change a little when Flynn decides to play Clu’s game and rescue Sam from Zeus’ trap, losing his disc in the process, giving all three some time to bond during the beautiful solar sailer scene. It is then that we learn that Quorra is the last of the ISOs, and that Flynn has been protecting her for all these years.

Sam and Quorra share a moment aboard the solar sailer.

Of course, all good things must come to an end so it isn’t long before Clu’s top lieutenant, Rinzler, catches up to our heroes and captures Quorra. I have somehow managed to avoid talking about him for a while now and it’s decidedly unfair seeing as he’s probably more of a menace than Clu. Rinzler speaks very little in this movie but his mere presence is imposing, backed up by his incredible combat prowess as he proves to Sam during their fight in the Arena. With good reason, as it turns out Rinzler is none other than Tron, reprogrammed by Clu to become his loyal servant. In hindsight, it’s surprising I didn’t pick up on this sooner considering his outfit practically screams this. On the other hand, since I knew nothing about him before this movie, let alone his symbol, it would’ve been nothing short of a miracle had I done so (although the movie sets this up during the flashback sequence of Tron buying Flynn time to escape Clu). It is such a shame then that we don’t see Tron make a comeback, even though the movie hints that he was able to overcome Clu’s programming when he fell into the Sea of Simulation. If a sequel to Legacy is still in the works, it must include Bruce Boxleitner’s return as Tron. If not for his role in this, then most assuredly for his role in TRON: Uprising.

Rinzler is to Clu what Darth Vader is to Palpatine, except he doesn’t even need to speak.

Events now converge. As Clu prepares to lead his army through the portal to conquer Earth, Sam cooks up an intrepid plan to rescue Quorra and retrieve his father’s disc. It’s a great scene made more awesome by Daft Punk’s “Disc Wars” playing in the background. Don’t ask me why but it reminded me of the movie Flash Gordon, with Flash making his triumphant return, or at the very least a most daring entrance (ah, now I know why, it’s because I’m reminded of the drones in Flash Gordon!). I’m in two minds about this scene as it does speak volumes to see Jarvis’ reaction to the ensuing fight rather than the fight itself (it’s certainly more foreboding that way), but it’s still a pity that we don’t get a chance to see how Sam’s disc skills have improved since entering the Grid (probably not a lot going by his performance at the night club). And that moment when Sam takes the disc and alerts Clu to what’s going on... Damn, this song’s good!

Not one to give up easily, Clu follows our intrepid trio of heroes in a light jet chase to the portal for the inevitable showdown with his creator. Props to Jeff Bridges here again, as one does feel for Clu, to some extent, when he argues he was only doing what Flynn programmed him to do, trying to bring about the perfect system they had both dreamed about. Clu is a staunch proponent of order over chaos, he’s the Yin to Flynn’s Yang (Wenli!), something that is referenced several times in the movie through Clu’s baoding balls and Flynn’s Bits (that sounded better in my head). Perhaps if Flynn had spent some time explaining the Second Law of Thermodynamics to Clu all of this could’ve been avoided. Alas, Clu’s not looking for a reconciliation and is tricked by Flynn into letting Quorra and Sam go, or at least ignore them, thinking Flynn has the portal key. As Quorra struggles to push Sam into the portal, Clu realizes the truth and tries to get to them, forcing Flynn to make the ultimate sacrifice to ensure the pair’s escape. It’s a beautiful scene all in all, again greatly enhanced by Daft Punk’s music, that recreates the poster of the original movie. The movie ends with Sam back in the real world, ready to take over his father’s company and change the world, aided by Bradley and the incomparable beauty that is Quorra.

Kiss her, you fool! I mean, I’m half-glad they didn’t kiss but this is Olivia Wilde we’re talking about! Allowances must be made.

From a technical standpoint, TRON: Legacy is a great movie in my book, combining amazing visuals with an outstanding soundtrack, though the use of CGI to rejuvenise Clu and a young Flynn is indeed noticeable and may be somewhat bothersome (though it didn’t bother me at the time). This technology has however, come a long way as we were able to see in Disney’s Rogue One or even in Guardians of the Galaxy, Vol. 2, so it’s not unlikely that a possible sequel could make use of the same, updated, technology, to bring back, say, a young Bruce Boxleitner as Tron (that would be awesome!). The story is perhaps more by the numbers (it certainly doesn’t tread new ground but why should it?) and it’s certainly not a character piece but I found it to be entertaining with a measured pace, carefully balancing the action with the more quiet scenes and executing both rather well. Nevertheless, if I had to come down hard on this movie for one thing and one thing only, it would have to be how underdeveloped the world feels. Beyond the Arena and Zeus’ night club, we don’t see a whole lot of how programs live on the Grid. Do they work? Do they have friends? Do they hang out? Are there (more) cities out there? The movie also hints at the possibility of some rebel movement forming against Clu but it’s pretty short-lived. These are all aspects that a sequel should definitely try to explore and, indeed, one eventually did.

Unfortunately, the year is 2018 and there’s currently no light at the end of the tunnel for a future TRON 3. It’s possible Disney dismissed its attempt to reboot the franchise as a failure considering the movie was only able to gross $400 million worldwide with a production budget of $170 million, and that’s not counting marketing expenses. Of course, if one considers Legacy was a sequel to a rather niche 1982 movie, maybe it didn’t do half as bad. Not having watched the original, I do believe Legacy managed to bring back some of the old cast of characters and do them justice, unlike a certain other franchise that shall not be named. It saddens me that Disney has apparently abandoned this property, and that the likelihood of seeing Olivia Wilde, Garrett Hedlund, Bruce Boxleitner, and why not Cillian Murphy as well (he was seriously underused in this movie), return for one last chapter seems like a pipe dream right now. Yet two years after the release of TRON: Legacy, Disney would give the franchise another chance to prove its worth with the release of the animated series, TRON: Uprising. Did it succeed at this? Stay tuned for Part 2 to find out. Why not watch TRON: Legacy in the meantime?

[jodiwalker]

A Bachelorette Bio Breakdown: They Would Do Anything for Love (And They Will Do THAT)

There comes a time in every 20-something's life…when they must take a season off from The Bachelor franchise. For me, that season was Nick. Not because I don't like Nick—I find him no better or worse than any Bachelor(ette) who has come before him. (Actually I find him better because, uh, I'm pretty sure Prince Farming recently killed a guy).

I just needed a break. Yes I know about Corrinne. Yes, I stand in awe and fear of her. Yes, she has a perfectly round head-shape like a peanut M&M when they forget to put the peanut in that I don't trust, but do tend to admire, a la Stassi from Vanderpump Rules. Though it left a gaping hole in my heart—as if I was forgetting to eat breakfast every single day, and that missing breakfast was made of thigh gaps and man-tears—it was good for me. I return refreshed, and more importantly, completely clueless about what to expect from Rachel, or as I have taken to calling her: the Rachelorette (pronounced R8chelorette).

The only thing I can remember about Rachel from the brief glimpses I caught of Nick's season is that she got the First Impression Rose of Doom and I once saw her in a full-out sprint and not a single part of her body jiggled. From what I understand, she remained charming throughout and some issues of race were (not awfully) addressed in her hometown visit. I have to imagine that conversation went something like this:

Rachel's parents, in unison:  Nick, we can't help but notice that you're white. And also, that our daughter is way out of your league.

Nick: But—

Rachel's parents, alternating back and forth every other word: Yes, even now that you're two percent body fat and there's something different about your face that we can't quite put our finger on.

Rachel: Ha, you right, fam. See ya, Nick, I'm about to be the first black Bachelorette!

Nick: And I…I will take my last titular stand in Dancing With the Stars where I will wear more sequins and bronzer than any Bachelorette could ever dream of.

Since I clearly know very little about Rachel, I also expect very little out of her, which is kind of nice. Rachel can be a robot and it won't really matter—in fact, since she's from Dallas, a place solely populated by gallerias that smell like fancy fountains and hot young women that also smell like fancy fountains (lookin’ at you, JoJo), it will make perfect sense if she's just an average, smart, attractive woman. But she's also the first black lead in the Bachelor franchise, so y’know, the producers will probably run this entire freight train into the ground trying to be cool about that.

Unfortunately, unlike the contestant bios which are full of enlightening questions like "What fruit would you be if you could be any fruit?" and "What brand of high-end blender would you be I you could be any brand of high-end blender?" the Bachelorette's bio is just four paragraphs of excruciating prose. And since Rachel is an attorney, hers is 80 percent lawyer puns, 15 percent conjunctions, 5 percent her own name, and exactly 0 percent concentrated power of will. What I learned is that. 1.) Rachel went to the University of Texas, which checks out because it's almost easier to imagine her with a tiny temporary tattoo of a burnt orange longhorn on her cheek than without, and 2.) "Winning in court has never been a problem, but finding love is a case that unfortunately remains open." Yeesh.

So, let's, uh, call this court to order by meeting all 31 of the, uh, romantic prosecutors who have been, uh, subpoenaed in this case of, uh, LOVE IN THE FIRST DEGREE. Nailed it.

This isn’t necessarily the all-around hottest group of suitors we've ever had. But it is the most diverse. And that's because Rachel is a minority, so ABC will let her date another minority: a black guy, an Asian guy, a Latino guy…hell, she could even choose a white guy if she wants (but they will withhold her daily allotment of Snackwells if she tries to pull any of that shit). They're so open-minded this season, you guys. Honestly! They're very cool with what Caitlyn Jenner is up to; they retweet DeRay sometimes; some of their best friends went to the Women's March.

And while they may have curiously kept Rachel a blank slate in the marketing leading up to her season, all the jacked dudes trying to woo her come pre-packaged with a whole slew of questions by which to judge them. Pretty much every single one of them says they're 6'2 or taller, they're all obsessed with the Rock, Denzel Washington and Matthew McConaughey, like, six of them have inner-lip tattoos, and I don't know if Rachel requested that they all be sexual deviants, or if this is just the Freak House that Kaitlyn Bristowe Built, but everyone has gotten up to some real weird shit in the bedroom. So without further ado…

Rachel's Top 12 Most Interesting Men (according to a questionnaire completed under a distorting blanket of warm Jägermeister served in a plastic cup by producers who lured you out of a food court Sbarro with promises of love and more deli meat than one could ever imagine, plus, if you mention Elon Musk in your questionnaire, everyone will think you're smart, and also, if you say no to doing this, you're probably at least a little subconsciously racist, just something to think about—alright, see ya in Calabasas, buddy!) in no particular order:

Adam—Real Estate Agent, 27

When asked what his typical Saturday night looks like, Adam responded, "Well if it's not with my couch, then I would go out with some friends for dinner and go out to a bar or club for drinks, maybe late night tacos." Dude…you know that sounds like you're fucking your couch. You know that. Adam also said the most romantic gift he's ever received is a threesome for his birthday. Just him, his little lady, and that sweet, sweet couch.

DeMario—Executive Recruiter, 30

Excuse me as I half claim DeMario as my 2017 boyfriend, and half assess him as my 2017 nemesis because he might be the person I wish I was. DeMario's description of himself during social outings is like if a Kanye tweet (RIP) had an exclamation point baby with a Cher tweet: "100% the party starter… always blowing my whistle and making NOISE!!! Let's fire it up, put on some Prince and party like it's 1999!!!!" It could only be better if he threw a little Jaden-existentialism in the mix. And if those are all references you understand, you will also appreciate DeMario's thoughts on being the center of attention: "I won't lie, I love attention… not like '07 B. Spears attention or 2011 Sheen. Natural attention like when Justin and Brit wore those incredible denim outfits." Oh, you mean MY PERMANENT TWITTER THEME?

DeMario has a real Michael B. Jordan thing going for him, he chose a crew neck t-shirt instead of a v-neck, and he seems to choose to capitalize words or abbreviate them completely at random. I love him and I will make him mine. And who does DeMario hope to make his? His ideal mate is, "Outgoing, people person, funny, crazy, calm, cool, loud, funny, geeky but cool like The Fonz." Who has two thumbs, is standing near a jukebox, and is exactly like that? (Hint: It me.)

Anthony—Education Software Manager, 26

Anthony is too young for Rachel, but he also seems like the smartest one in the bunch. He got a Fulbright Scholarship to teach on the Ivory Coast, he name checks that weird carnivorous island in Life of Pi, his favorite movies are the very well-rounded trio of The Iron Giant, Moonlight and The Matrix, and his ideal mate is intellectual. Also he says he has "virtually no limits" in the bedroom"…so he will let you do butt stuff.

Diggy—Senior Inventory Analyst, 31

Homboy wore Warby Parkers to the beach. And they look good! Homeboy also took us on a wild ride via his questionnaire answers—and that makes sense. I don't think you come by the name Diggy because of your mild demeanor. (However, that this is not a grown-up Diggy Simmons is a disappointment that cannot be overcome.) Diggy begins a lot of his sentences with "Now," and it's hard to tell if he's marking the time or speaking like an elderly southern woman: "Now [chile], I'm trying to recover from the day drinking!" But once you get past that, I find his most embarrassing moment hilarious: "When I was stranded on a toilet for hours in 5th grade." Tell me everything, I'm dying for more Dig-Diggy-deets!

Now, where I could have used less information is in his "fun story about a one night stand" answer. Diggy explains that he spent all day with a young lady, then she came home with him and they had sex. Then she got a text that her brother was missing, "so I played asleep so I didn't have to help!" Hey Digs, wtf? That girl just gave you her special wonder gift and waited for you during your hours of patented Diggy Toilet Time—help her find her damn brother! [Ed. Note: They better fucking put that one-night-stand question in the next women's questionnaire or I swear…I have no threat. I will watch this show until the day it kills me. But I WILL make a note of it!]

Bryan—Chiropractor, 37

Thirty-seven?! Get it, Bryan! Bryan is cute and a little shifty, and not just because he's a chiropractor (ed. note: sick chiropractor burn from someone who has never, not once, been to a chiropractor). For example, when asked to list his three best attributes, Bryan replies, "Affectionate/passionate, personable/charming/funny, kind/good heart." Bryan. You can't just use slashes and act like that isn't seven attributes! Affectionate and passionate are not even remotely synonyms, and if they were, you could just say one. But Bry-Guy fits in all those great attributes, and then one more: Bryan's favorite flower…is an orchid. Haaaaave ya met Bryan? He loves vaginas!

Bryce—Firefighter, 30

We're all on the same page that Bryce is an animated character of some kind, right? Like…he's that thing where a cartoon Easter Bunny turns into a human man and is debatably hot, right? Also, "a fresh drink of water with a jolt of lightening" is an incredible way to describe yourself as a lover, right? In return, Bryce only asks that his mate have "eyes you could drown in and a smile that insults the sun." I'm gonna be so mad when Bryce is totally boring and gets eliminated the first night, because describing handwritten letters as "one of the purest forms of materialized emotion" is just really not a diction rollercoaster I expected to take in the Bachelorette Bio Breakdown.

Fred—Executive Assistant, 27

"My greatest achievement is attending two graduate school program from two different universities simultaneously and graduating from both in the same weekend." Fred says he wants to be Ellen for a day, but he is, in fact, living the life of Hermoine with a Time-Turner. Fred also has the single most question-inducing answer of all the 31 men. When asked if he's ever been turned on at the wrong time, he responds, "Yes, there are times that I get aroused at work and I have to go back to my desk to avoid being noticed." Fred, "times?" How frequently this happening? And why is it always happening away from your desk? Where are you going in your office as an executive assistant that's constantly giving you boners? Are you the executive assistant at PornHub? Is everyone at PornHub constantly having to watch you erection-dash back to your desk: "Uh oh, looks like Fred angled his dangle by the fish tank again." I got my eye on your, Fred.

Kenny—Professional Wrestler, 35

I have it on good authority that Kenny is actually a fairly well-known wrestler, and it is my own personal opinion that Kenny contains multitudes. He has a daughter who he speaks of very sweetly, his favorite book is The New Jim Crow, and he once sent a woman a different edible arrangement for a week. Please don't be a dick, Kenny.

He also thinks he and The Rock are "very much alike," which, I get it—I want to think I'm the most charming, beloved man in the world too. But I'm not the Rock, and neither is Kenny. If he's anywhere close though, I demand he be the next Bachelor. And if not, I propose Kenny be cross-network drafted into The Challenge in what I am calling a "reverse-Miz."

Lucas—Whaboom, 30

Hey Lucas, real quick, what the hell. I don't know if you noticed, but everybody this season has 1950s jobs: doctor, lawyer…professional wrestler. You can't just make a made-up word your profession. You also can't say that your ideal mate would be four different animated characters—Belle, Cinderella, Little Mermaid, and Jessica Rabbit—three of whom I'm pretty sure are teenagers. In the very weird Facebook Live Chris Harrison did, he described Whaboom for the confused listener: "It's a lifestyle. It's an essence. It's who he is. It's a noun, it's a verb, it's an adverb. You can be Whaboom, you can be Whaboomed, and you can Whaboom." Hey Chris Harrison, you know what else is a lifestyle? Zippin' it.

Jonathan—Tickle Monster, 31

Which brings us to Jonathan and his stab at being the person with a weird job—sorry bro, who could have known Lucas was going to swoop in with Whaboom, spawning, like, 100 Bustle posts. Like "Twins" and "Dog Lover" before him, Jonathan has given himself an occupation that is not a thing, but my assumption is he's a pediatrician or something. Either that, or he, a.) plays the Cookie Monster on Sesame Street and auto correct really did a number on him, b.) is a real creep. Jonathan does go on to specify that he usually lasts a long time in the bedroom…"in a good way." But when your profession is Tickle Monster, "a good way" really starts to feel relative.

I truly could not have made this joke better myself than this person on The Bachelorette Facebook page:

Blake K—U.S. Marine Veteran, 29

Blake K is very cute and very basic, and Rachel should marry him and have very beautiful children together. The man would want Chipotle on the desert island that exists only in these questionnaires; he loves The Rock and Shark Week; he admires his mom more than anyone else in the world, and his ideal mate has a great smile. Blake K will get voted off the first night or he will win, there is no in between.

Jack Stone—Attorney, 32

Finally, Jack Stone. Jack Stone gives exactly no explanation for why he is going by Jack Stone, and his job is listed as "attorney," not "super-secret antihero agent played by Matt Damon and/or Liam Neeson," so I'm at a loss. There are no other Jacks. No one else lists a last name. Is it a double name? If he gets eliminated before we find out, I will never forgive Rachel…and neither will Jack Stone. Jack Stone has a very particular set of skills, Rachel. Skills he's acquired over a long career. Skills that make him a nightmare for people like the Rachelorette. If you let him stay until the second cocktail party, that'll be the end of it. He will not look for you, he will not pursue you, but if you don't, he will look for you…he will find you and he will kill you.

Best of luck to you, Rachel. I hope none of these weirdos try to wear you like a coat or have a threesome with a couch or make you bounce with them in a moonwalk castle, or whatever. See you back here, friends, for intermittent recaps that will absolutely never be posted in a timely manner. Because I would do anything for you, dear reader—but I won't do that.