#I had names for characters in a thing I’m writing

[hitomisuzuya]

Soft smut with Aventurine, I want to praise him, tell him how much I love him, and how he’s doing so well for me

I wasn’t sure if you were taking requests from Aventurine but then I saw what you just posted

If you don’t want to write this feel free to ignore!!

Anyways I love your writing so much and I’m glad you’ve picked up writing for Aven, now one of my favorite writers writes for by far my two favorite characters to read about :)

Aventurine x fem!reader. Soft smut. Cunnilingus. Praise. Pussy drunk! Aventurine. Aventurine cums from praise.

I am always taking requests for Aventurine. I want to spoil him with praise, so he cums from it. Spoiling him is the name of the game, isn't it? Thank you🥺❤️

It was Aventurine who seduced you into this position, using his silver tongue and teasing phrases that made you red faced and flustered. However, as his hand caressed your inner thigh, his eyes glinting satisfied hearing your shaky moan as he parted your folds with his tongue, you did something that softened the playful look in his eyes.

You'd reached down to stroke his hair. It was such a tender, and loving action. One that made that usual playful look melt into one of complete adoration. Adoration for you.

Aventurine sighed into your cunt, content as you ran your fingers through his hair again. A soft moan of pleasure escaped your parted lips, pleasure spiking through you as he lovingly kitten licked your clit. His eyes were trained on your every movement, ears keenly focused on your noises.

Between your thighs, he was looking up at you like you are the center of his whole world. Without you, he would have nothing left to grasp onto and cling to. It was hard for him to feel vulnerable, but you made him secure enough to show vulnerability.

And it was liberating for him.

Your back arched off the bed, your hips rolling up into his mouth as he latched his lips around your clit. The prodding and licking of his tongue sent your clit throbbing, louder noises of pleasure for Aventurine to feed off of keened from you.

"Y-You are doing so good for me," You stumbled over your words. And Aventurine loves when you do that. That told him he was really making you feel good.

He groaned into your cunt, his mouth leaving your clit. He flicked his tongue at your hole, his eyes nearly rolling into the back of his head feeling it clench around the tip of his tongue. He slowly lapped at your hole, moaning huskily as you pushed his face further onto your cunt.

Aventurine's fingers trembled as he held your thighs apart. Your body was starting to tremble in his hands, your legs shaking as you grinded against his mouth. "Good boy, Aventurine. Your tongue feels so good," Hearing more of your praise made his tongue feel more ravenous.

His cock pulsed hard between his legs, muffling the sweetest whimper into your cunt as he rutted into the mattress. He knew you were eager to please him too, but that was the furthest thing from his mind. He was soaking up your words of praise, lapping and sucking, starved.

"Please," Aventurine groaned, swirling his tongue around your clit as he held your cunt against his mouth, determined to soak the taste of you on his tongue. "I need to hear it," With every fiber of his being.

He couldn't even be embarrassed about already being so close to cumming just from hearing your praise. But he couldn't get enough of it. He knew it wouldn't take the much to push him over the edge.

"I-I--" Pleasure quaked so strongly through you that you stumbled over your words again. Aventurine vibrated a moan of anticipation on your clit. "I love you, Aventurine I love you so much!"

He moaned like he had just heard the one thing he'd been waiting to hear all his life.

"Good boy, good boy," Your words keened another whimper from Aventurine. "I'm so close, please don't stop!" You were writhing on the bed, your fingers urgently tugging on his soft hair.

Your pleas, utter praise, and chants of good boy finally pushed him over the edge. His body shook as cum soaked his pants. He rode out his orgasm by further tasting you. His tongue was frenzied on your clit.

He was determined to be worthy of soaking up and basking in your praise. And the way you looked at him, your body trembling in the wake of your orgasm told him that he deserves it.

[blackjackkent]

Another answer for one of @astreamofstars 's prompts from this ask for this ask meme: Kiss Roulette.

"33. A kiss to a scar, birthmark, injury, or other marking - Lae'zel/character of your choice"

Some context-less Shadowzel from Act 3 after the House of Grief, bc I haven't fully figured out how to include them in Rakha's playthrough yet. XD This is my first attempt at writing this pairing; hopefully it scans well! :D

-----

“Do you wish me to call you Jenevelle?”

Shadowheart peers out from her tent at Lae’zel sitting by the fire. “Why would you ask that?” she snaps irritably.

It’s not a fair response, and she knows it as soon as the words are out of her mouth. To her credit, Lae’zel doesn’t flinch from the moment’s sharpness, but answers in kind. “A thing true across all planes, I find, istik, is that most prefer to be called by their names.”

“It’s not my name. My name is Shadowheart.”

“A simple ‘no’ would have sufficed.” Lae’zel looks over her shoulder to meet Shadowheart’s eyes. A slight pause. “I am not your enemy… Shadowheart.”

Shadowheart lets out a heavy breath and her head ducks. “No,” she says. “No, you aren’t.”

She should know better, really. They certainly began as enemies, but so much has changed. They have suffered so much together. They have stood side by side, watching their religions burn to cinders in front of them, and found each other amidst the ashes.

It was meaningless sex at first, half-desire and half-anger, driven by a need for some kind of nameless forgetful oblivion where they could forget that their worlds had fallen apart. Gradually, though, it has become more than that. She has been allowed to see gentleness in the gith, and Lae’zel has been allowed to see her vulnerability in turn - and both things have been hard-won knowledge indeed, secrets held between the two of them, shown to no one else. 

Zhak vo'n'ash duj, Lae’zel called her once in a moment of passion. She hasn’t explained what it means, but Shadowheart can guess the implications.

And here she is, lashing out yet again anyway, as if it were still their first few days on the road, when preemptive strikes felt like the only way to survive. Gods, she’s so scared. Gods… it hurts.

“I’m… sorry,” she mutters, hunching her shoulders - as if still in expectation of mocking after all these months. “That wasn’t fair.”

“Chk. You owe no apologies,” Lae’zel says - still curt but quieter. “I am no yank to be felled with a harsh word. And it is not the first I have had from you, nor will it be the last.” She turns back to the fire and prods carefully at the meat roasting there, turning it carefully. “Nor would I wish otherwise.”

Shadowheart finds herself mesmerized by watching the other woman's fingers, surprisingly dexterous in counterpoint to her battering-ram combat style. “Do you know your parents?” she asks abruptly. “Did you leave family behind, in Kliir?” 

“The yanki are raised together in creche.” With quick, efficient motions, Lae'zel pulls the meat from the fire and lays it out on a platter nearby. “A cadre of nestmates is our first and only family.” She frowns. “Still, I am not blind to what you have lost.”

Shadowheart nods silently. Lae'zel's experiences are so alien at times that it is hard to imagine the places where they overlap. But they are both alone in a world full of shadowy uncertainty. 

“You're all I have left, you know.” The words emerge in a sudden rush; she looks down at her hands, ashamed without knowing why. 

And then Lae'zel's hands close over hers, calloused and rough from a life of swordwork, but gentle in their touch on her skin. 

“I am not blind to that either,” she says, her voice low. “You will not be alone while I am here.” She considers for a moment before going on, “In creche we are taught ra'quith vlaak - the frail perish. To cover for another's weakness is to open your own flank.” Her eyes lift to meet Shadowheart's, intent and serious and sad. “Perhaps once I found wisdom in this, but no more. You shall find me guarding the scarred places in you, and you shall guard mine.”

Slowly, with scrupulous care, she lifts Shadowheart's hand and presses her lips over the heavy black scar, the last mark of Shar's torments, that lingers on her skin.

Blood rushes to Shadowheart's face. She feels acutely conscious of the fact that Lae'zel has never before showed her any gesture of warmth in view of the rest of the camp. And she can see the flicker of anxiety that goes through the gith's cat's-pupil eyes with the action. 

But Lae'zel has been afraid a long time. She has never let it drive her actions - never before and not now. 

And Shadowheart feels her own courage rise in answer to it. “Yes,” she agrees softly. “As long as you'll let me.”

“Chk,” Lae'zel mutters. “You speak as if you think such promises come with endings.”

Shadowheart doesn't answer for a long while. “I have suffered many broken ones,” she finally says softly. “But not from you.”

Lae'zel's eyes brighten, and she kisses Shadowheart again, this time cupping a palm to her cheek. Like all of their kisses, it is fierce and rough, commanding, unrelenting, but it carries certainty in it that Shadowheart desperately needs. “Nor shall you,” she murmurs. “Zhak vo'n'ash duj.”

[nerdieforpedro]

The old switcheroo

If you could take one Pedro character and switch them into another of the characters universes, which one would it be? Let’s say, throw Dave York into The Great Wall. And what do you think that would look like? How would he do? Run with it. I even dare you to write a short dribble drabble. Well, I just wanted to write dribble drabble.

I'm unsure if my Drabble...if it can even be called that at this point 🤣 truly answers your question. I interpreted it, to mean that Dave and Pero switched places.

Our man Pero is dealing with it better than Dave, though, that could just be favoritism on my part. 👀 It's not all easy for Pero either, just different.

The question could have been any Pedro character, but I figured these two would be interesting.

I present: (I found Angela Lansbury! 💖)

Two Men out of Time

Dave York and Pero Tovar

Word Count: 1169 (I giggled - I am stuck in middle school).

Warnings: Limited understanding of Middle Ages, insults to ponytails, movie and video game references, William slander (I'm fine with this.), NAKED PERO, implied past sex work, Ogling a naked Pero, implying possible future sex work, maybe some inappropriate touching (I mean, she likely did, let's be real here), I think that's about it.

Notes: Like I said, no idea if this answered the question. This is what I wrote today after sipping two things of hot cocoa while brainstorming because you always have thought-provoking asks.

Silence can be a tool when done correctly. Honestly, it’s the best choice right now. He would close his eyes and try to picture himself back in the hotel, which he remembered falling asleep in, but he did that while he was laid out on his back near a river. 

Did not work. 

Had his face licked by a horse of all things. Dave has never had a reason to encounter a horse, and would have liked that to have been his only encounter with one, but with the horse, came three men. York tried to get up, but his clothes were much heavier than he remembered. The men called him a name he didn’t recognize and rather than correcting them, he remained quiet and nodded. They chuckled and patted him on the back after helping up, mocking him for falling off of his horse and that it was unlike him to not be able to handle his drink. Laughing with the men, Dave saw that they were all wearing armor like out of one of his daughter’s world history books. 

Which time period was this? Is he wearing armor too? Is that why it’s so hard to move? He also has weapons on his back. They’re swords, three of them. Looks to be one main and two twin swords. York was still clean shaven which appeared to confuse his comrades. They mocked him for his face, the pale one with the ponytail mocked him the most. Dave could break his neck, but he chuckled along before making a scowl. The men seem to be heading toward a village, maybe they’re in the middle ages. 

How is he going to navigate this? Is this ‘Pero’ supposed to be an ancestor of his? Wasn’t this a video game? Or that Michael Fassbender movie?

Their group arrives in a tavern where they drink some sort of barley based drink. Dave is by no means a lightweight, but five mugs in and he’s having trouble seeing straight. One of the barmaids? He assumes that’s what they're called, she helps him upstairs, but he shoos her away as she appears to want some money for certain services. Dave knows next to knowing about this time period, but he remembers hygiene not being a top priority. So in addition to not wanting to entertain that woman, the food may make him sick, he also may have rashes and expect vermin. Many of them. Maybe if he sleeps this time, he’ll wake up back in the bed with those two women he’d enjoyed the night with. Even if they weren’t there, just back the bed, in his own time would be great. Is he going to die from dysentery? Is that still a thing? Should he be concerned about a plague? “This is bullshit. When I wake up. I’m gonna smack that guy with the ponytail. I don’t look like a drowned rat. His name was William, he will pay.” Dave drifts off to sleep with anger in his heart for Will. The man in question’s ears burn while he continues to drink downstairs. 

Pero’s back felt good for once. He was on something soft, he rose out of bed too quickly. He’s naked. Unsure why and there’s two women looking at him curiously. “Dave, we don’t know where you’ve been but you can’t come here smelling like that. We got you washed and everything but he had to toss those sheets. The madam will be in to see you to talk to you about it.” For some reason, there were two women wearing undergarments he’s never seen telling him that they washed him and put him back in this bed. They were calling him Dave. He has no clue who this Dave is but apparently he is at this establishment quite a lot. Pero is familiar with this type of place. Maybe this is how the aristocrats have their brothels set up, though there are still many confusing things here. 

Moving to the edge of the bed, it doesn’t feel bad to be this clean, only odd. He wouldn’t even be scrubbed quite like this before meeting generals, lords or ladies. Cracking his neck, the door to his room opened and he was greeted by a stout woman in a silk dress. Her eyes focus between his thighs for a moment before going back to his face. She studied that as well. The two women were behind her and she closed the door on them, locking it. “You are not Dave York. A curious specimen of a man. You resemble him though, not quite in all the ways I see.” The woman moves to stand two feet away from Pero. “You can call me Ms. Magnolia. What should I call you handsome?”

“I am Pero Tovar Señora Magnolia. I do not know how I came to be here. I last remember falling off my horse. Who did you think I was?” His eyes follow her as she sits next to him on the bed and pats his shoulder. Tovar eyes her carefully, he can overpower her easily, but he knows little about what has happened. It’s best to get information first. 

“That’s no matter. You’re clearly not him. I feel that you’ll be more amenable to me supporting you as I help you navigate this strange world. You’re not from here or this time. So auspicious.”

“Are you a witch?”

“No. Just sensitive to the natural world my dear gorgeous man. If you don’t want my help, you’re more than welcome to use what money you may have on your person to pay for our services, but…” Ms. Magnolia stands and looks over her shoulder. “Given your current state, you may have trouble with that.”

“You would be correct Señora. May I have some clothes to put on so I can explore to get my bearings?” Pero placed his hands on his knees, if the madam might be swayed to help him in any fashion, he’ll need to use what he has. Tovar doesn’t see any of his weapons so his body is on deck then. 

“I don’t mind you like this Pero, but I understand you wouldn’t want to walk around like this. I can get you some clothes. There might be some things we can do to get you accustomed to things. Do not worry.” Her wide smile did in fact make him worry, but soon he was brought clothes and she ‘assisted’ him in putting them on. He next asked for food, which she did leave the room to go retrieve. Alone with his thoughts, Tovar closed his eyes. He had on what they call a t-shirt and sweatpants. They were loose, soft and comfortable. Easy to move in, but offer no protection. 

What the hell kind of mess had he gotten himself into now? Pero can’t even blame this one on William and his stupid ponytail that he never cuts off. No, Tovar will always blame that silly hair choice. 

Tagging @soft-persephone (for the drowned rat 🐀)

@604to647 @avastrasposts @tinytinymenace @morallyinept @iamskyereads (five Pero girls)

@megamindsecretlair Because she'll giggle - I know it

[rowanhoney]

names will always hold so much importance and I love that

[ninyard]

this fic I’m writing has “original characters” in it (jeremys estranged brother, trojans who would’ve graduated by tsc + the date jeremy brought to his first banquet) who are essential in some way or another to the plot, but it means there’s some parts where it looks like this, with a whole bunch of names that aren’t from canon, and I don’t want it to be uninteresting

[omaano]

I wouldn’t have been mad if this was the first or second episode of the season tbh

[animationismycomfort]

would y’all be mad at me if I was and have been working on a fankid sth AU project

[evanescentdawn]

hhehehehe I love being able to write abt my ninja boys, I had a long period that was Just frustrating struggle akin to dragging through mud cuz nothing was wording but the stars must be aligned right now cuz I was working on this wip I had and it’s been GOING (rereading bookmarked ninjago fics did its wonders<3) n it’s v insanely fun to work on. and oh my god I have to say Jay is my fav character to write so far he’s so <3 I want him in my pocket!!!!!!!!!!

“Hey, guys!”

Jay looked over. Cole was walking towards them, Kai alongside him. They went out to scout the area. There was something in their expressions that lit up hope in Jay.

He sprang to his feet. “What is it? Did you guys find something? Are we going home? Did you hear from Master —”

“Woah, hold your horses sparky.” Cole said. “Nothing like that.”

“There’s pretty much nothing out there,” Kai said. “Just a bunch of more weirdly tall trees —”

—“Weirdly creepy tall trees,” Jay corrected —

“But just as we were about to give up, we came across some kind of weird pavement.”

“Weird pavement?” Zane questioned.

“Yeah,” Cole said. “It was made of yellow and pink coloured stone. We followed it and found a place I think we can shelter in.”

“That’s the best news I could have heard. No, the second best news.” Jay said, excitedly. “The best news would be being able to get out of this place but this is the next best thing. I hope it has a bath. I need a bath desperately.”

He felt all sweaty and awful under his ninja garb. It wasn’t warm here, leaning on the cold side but — Jay didn’t know what exactly it was. His skin felt weird under his ninja garp. Itchy, too warm and terrible. Because he hadn’t, urgh, changed out of it in hours even after they had that fight and got rolled in dirt. A lot.

It wasn’t their greatest moment.

“I don’t know about your bath,” Kai said. “We didn’t check inside. There’s some kind of lock but we figure Zane should be able to crack it.”

[mycological-mariner]

I can finally finish writing what I actually enjoy writing about (the made-up people who have been living in my head for 9 years)

[belligerentjingling]

“Warda” | Pre-SDC Alessi Lore

       The hose hung in his left hand, mouthpiece mechanically tapping against his bottom lip and teething between each puff. An overwhelming scent of cinnamon lingered all throughout the lounge, save for the small, secluded haven where he sat by the corner patio. After having stuffed the bowl full of rose shisha, his island was at least bearable with a view away from garishly hung rugs, nazars, and locals who had packed inside.

    His efforts to stray from the others only went so far. Even then as the evening dragged, alongside pungent traces of cinnamon, whatever they had been chattering on about wafted over: the radio broadcasts only last week; the metallic husks left deserted; the news of conflict down south; some poor, withered sap that had only been identified as Tawfik.

    Sharply, Alessi turned and blew a puff outside, the light finally reaching dusk as the sun set towards home. Regardless of that play soldier — dying clutching a bottle of rosewater — somebody back in that welled city had been left with his sadaqah.

[cowboyhorsegirl]

trying to write a fic with no identifying 3rd-person pronouns for the two main characters & it’s so hard & also will it even be worth it???? Idk idk idk

[trashbatistrash]

,

[fingertipsmp3]

Reading an actual published book that is really, confidently bad gives me more confidence in my writing than just about anything actually

[micer2012]

a reflection on MatPat's plagiarism

Hello, my name is Della, or micer2012, and 2 years ago Game Theory plagiarized three Tumblr posts of mine, making a video that now holds almost 6 million views.

My posts explaining his plagiarism made their rounds on Reddit, Tumblr and Twitter, but despite the Hermits and Pooka commenting on it (generally in support of me or saying they don’t know enough details about the situation to say either way), MatPat and his team have never owned up to anything, and no mention of my name is present on the video. The one Reddit post they made denying it (which was made before my detailed takedown, which they have never responded to (though the mods on the r/GameTheorists Reddit were kind and made sure it stayed up)) didn’t even mention me by name, just referring to me as “a tumblr user���. (Though one of the screenshotted comments in the body of the post does say my name)

This experience was baffling, but it’s overall had a positive impact on my life. r/Hermitcraft gave me a Golden Apple Award (post of the year, 2021). My inbox was filled with excited fans, wanting to ask me questions or pose their own theories, far more than the hate I got. (Though the hate I got from Game Theory fans was VERY funny. I wondered why none of them gave me shit about saying “MatPat misgendered Evil Xisuma” before realizing none of them read that far into the post.)

And getting on a more personal, and much more important note, I met most of my current online friends through this, including my partner. It helped me grow closer with my irl friends as well and gave me an entertaining story that I tell whenever I have the chance. It was one of the first things in my life that really made me feel like my talents, my autistic hyperfocusing and analyzing of things I love, could be valuable. Useful. Exploitable. It blew my mind that MatPat thought an autistic kid’s ramblings about a Minecraft Youtube joke character were good enough to steal. To put an audible sponsorship on. To get 6 million views off of.

And that’s why I’m writing this post, this update years later. As you might’ve been able to guess, Hbomberguy’s Youtube video on plagiarism reopened this wound. It was really hard for me to sit through, it took days of pausing and taking breaks, because I had experienced everything he was talking about firsthand. 

In my 10 page long takedown post, I wrote about how his rewording of my sentences made him say things that were incorrect, just like Filip did. The content farm production style that made big companies like Cinemassacre take one creator (AVGN/MatPat) and turn him and his content into a brand, a voice that reads out scripts by other people with other opinions/theories, is a history shared with Game Theory. What really hit me was Harris talking about how big creators only do this to people they think they can get away with doing it to. How they view their victims as lesser, as not deserving of their words, repackaging them as their own to give to an audience that can gain from hearing them, but deserves better than to have to listen to the original victim.

That’s the thing, I 100% think a video version of my theory to expose to a bigger community than “Evil Xisuma Fans on Tumblr” is a great idea!! Near the end of the video Harris talks about how video adaptations of things could be a great market, even an accessibility tool, and I completely feel that about my posts. I wrote them quickly assuming the reader was someone well versed on Evil Xisuma lore, after not even watching most of the CarnEvil series, and the diagrams I made to explain them are even less comprehensible. Harris makes a joke that I completely agree with, 

“I’m sure some of my videos would do very well if someone translated them into English.”

I don’t think I would’ve ever made my posts if I didn’t have autism, and a special fixation on Evil Xisuma and Hermitcraft. I made them because I felt the character was being done an injustice, and because I wanted to share with other superfans this theory that might explain it away. I do think that MatPat plagiarizing me was ableist. I used to wonder a lot if this would’ve happened if my posts were articulated better, if they had been peer reviewed, if the posts themselves had been spread to a wider audience before MatPat made his video. At one point when the discourse was fresh (before I had the time to write out my 10 page rebuttal), a bigger YouTuber (100k subs at the time) messaged me and started talking on Discord, interested in possibly making a video on the discourse, but I think my style of typing and general enthusiasm drove him away. You can tell by a single look at my blog (or my original 3 posts!) that I don’t usually type like this. This post you’re reading now has been peer reviewed and edited, and took me hours to format correctly. That video could’ve been huge, the entire outcome of this MatPat situation would probably be much different.

I also used to stress a lot about “being the one who ruined Evil Xisuma’s story”. If you didn’t know, to me S8 Evil Xisuma’s story got wrapped up pretty quickly and unsatisfying (in my personal autistic opinion). (though this might’ve been due to s8 being experimental and ending early with moon big) There was no real culmination of the plot points and arcs going on, and I don’t want to blame myself, but when Xisuma said on stream (when the MatPat thing was first going on) that he didn’t want to focus on the discourse or draw more attention to it, it makes a lot of sense to me that he just wanted to wrap it all up as quickly as possible. For a while I beat myself up about it, of ruining the story of this character I love, but it’s not my fault. If anyone’s, it’s MatPats, but I don’t think it’s useful to just blame someone else. That’s how the story ended up going, and that’s fine. This is Evil Xisuma we’re talking about, their inconsistent lore is what made them such an interesting character. And notably, Pooka made an animation with an awesome culmination of Jeff, the Dreamer, Evil Xisuma, and his own sona’s story, and it makes me so happy to watch. Whatever Pooka does is of course his own choice, but I’m glad he got to give this personal story his own ending (if it is an ending, and not just the start of a new chapter!). 

Typing this all out and getting it off my chest has made me feel a lot better. For a while I wanted to make my OWN video essay about Evil Xisuma’s lore and CarnEvil’s lore, actually going episode by episode to explain it instead of just assuming you knew as much about Evil Xisuma as I did. That idea is still not off the table, but MCYT isn’t something I’m that into right now. Maybe if something else comes out about Evil Xisuma I’ll get back on it, but for now I’m fine with letting that go. But I want to make other videos, share other theories and analysis… if I have the freetime I’d love to make YouTube videos, and if I don’t have the time I’ll continue posting to my tumblr and infodumping to my friends. Apparently my infodumping is valuable enough “content” to steal! Writing this out has made me feel a lot better though, I’m really glad I got it out.

If anyone ever wants to talk to me about the things I’m obsessed with, or reach out to me as a source in a bigger discussion about Game Theory or other channels, my inbox is more than welcome :] Thank you for reading! 

Sincerely, a tumblr user.

[ariaste]

The Magic Trick You Didn’t See: Being An Analysis of Good Omens Season 2

(or: Neil Gaiman, Your Brain is Gorgeous But I Have Cracked Your Sneaky Little Code And Have You Dead To Rights*) (*Maybe)

***

Soooooo I just spent the last 48 hours having a BREATHTAKING GALAXY BRAIN EPIPHANY about Good Omens Season 2 and feverishly writing a fuckin16,000 word essay about the incredible magic trick that @neil-gaiman pulled off. 

Yes, it’s long, but I PROMISE your brains will explode. Do you want to know how magic works? Do you want to know what Metatron’s deal is (I’m like 99% sure of this and it’s EXTREMELY FUCKING GOOD)? Do you want to know about the Mystery of the Vanishing Eccles Cakes and the big fat beautiful clue I found in the opening credits? Do you go through the whole inventory of Chekov’s Firearm & Heavy Artillery Discount Warehouse? 

Here is the essay, go read it: https://docs.google.com/document/d/193IXS11XN46lziHRb6eUpM17yK0BQkRqke1Wh64A_e0/ When ur done u can tell me I’m an insane crackpot, and u know what, i won’t even be offended

In case you don’t know whether you want to bother reading the whole enormous thing on google docs, I’ve put the first couple sections of it under the cut. JUST TRUST ME OKAY, HEAR ME OUT, THIS IS VERY EXTREMELY COOL, NEIL IS GOOD AT HIS JOB--

Proem

A dark theater. The rustling of the audience: clothes, breathing, whispers of anticipation. The lights come up. A man enters, stage left. He is a magician—a master magician—and he performs for you a magic trick so good and so subtle... that you don’t even notice you’ve seen it. 

You know there must have been a trick—after all, you came to the theater to see a trick performed, didn’t you? And he claims to be a magician. So there had to be a trick somewhere. There had to be.

But maybe there wasn’t. Maybe there was just a man on a stage, talking to you, telling you a story with a strangely unsatisfying ending you didn’t quite understand. 

I know. This is a weird beginning to an analysis essay. But hear me out, because I have to explain the mechanisms of the stage before I can show you what the trick was, where the trapdoor was hidden, and how Neil Gaiman pulled the whole thing off so gently and elegantly that you didn’t notice a thing. Ready? Here we go.

The Facts As We Know Them

Let us begin by establishing a baseline—some fundamental, logical assumptions that underpin the magic trick. These will seem obvious as soon as I say them, which is precisely the point: They are self-evident, loadbearing foundations for my entire argument, and if I don’t point them out, I’m going to sound like a crackpot conspiracy theorist. (Which! To be fair, I might be. I could easily be wrong about all this—but I don’t think I am.)

Our baseline, loadbearing assumptions that preface my Grand Unified Theory of Season 2: 

1. Neil Gaiman is extremely good at his job.

2. Neil Gaiman loves these characters and wants with all his heart to do them justice; likewise, he has a great deal of respect, love, and admiration for Terry Pratchett and is striving VERY HARD to write the show the way Terry would have been happy with.

3. The devil, as they say, is in the details: Neil Gaiman and the entire Good Omens cast/crew are fully capable of doing extremely subtle detail work, as conclusively proven in Season 1 Ep 6, specifically the whole sequence of the body-swap scenes.

With me so far? Great.

The Elephant In The Room

Season 2 was... odd. It was odd, wasn’t it. This isn’t a matter of whether you loved it or hated it—there was just something odd going on.

I spent the entirety of my first viewing very much enjoying myself and being very happy to be back with these characters and this world, but I was also liveblogging to my groupchat as I went, and a theme soon began emerging:

“Neil, what are you doing? Where are you going with this?” “What in god’s name is going on here? I’m so lost lmao.” “What is going on with the music situation?” “WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE NEIL” “zombies, ok, I trust u to pull this all together in the end, Neil, but I still don't know what you're up to” “What is going on LOL” “Incredibly what is going on here” “NEIL! WHAT IS HAPPENING!” “Literally what is happening” “Neil Gaiman why have you constructed a regency au for mystery VIBES reasons” “just????????? lesbians????????? dancing what's HAPPENING. just all the background characters are gay here ok sure sure sure NEIL GAIMAN WHAT IS HAPPENING--” “mmmmmmm neil what u doin”

All these are copied verbatim from my liveblogging, and apparently I am not the only one to have this reaction. And to be clear, I was having a good time! I came out to this theater to see a magic trick, and this Neil Gaiman guy on stage is a master magician—but I didn’t see the trick, even though there must have been a trick. 

At first, I wasn’t sure how I felt about the season. I wanted to like it! Indeed, there were many things that I liked about it! But I felt a bit muddled and jumbled up and confused—I felt like there was something I didn’t understand about it, and so I couldn’t yet understand how I felt about it either.

I started chewing on this question in a friend’s DMs: Why is season 2 so fucking odd? What is going on here, Neil? What are you up to? The matter of whether he was up to something was never in question. I knew that he had to be up to something. Writers are always up to something, and as I watched season 2, it was as if I was watching Neil scamper around the room with a mischievous expression as he messed with things here and there and made little tweaks and adjustments to the arrangement of all the Chekov’s guns he’s stockpiling on the mantelpiece. 

You see, Season 2 has some very bad writing in it. HANG ON, DON’T ARGUE WITH ME YET! THIS IS NOT A JUDGMENT CALL!! This is the rug that the trick’s secret mechanism is hidden under!!! This is the hidden mirror that makes the trick work!!!!! This is the trapdoor in the stage!

Yes, of course I will explain myself.

Neil Gaiman is a master magician, but I am a pretty damn good magician myself—I’m a professional fantasy author who has published nine books, and I teach workshops for apprentice writers online and at universities—and if there is one thing I have learned about the process of achieving mastery of your craft, it is this: 

Regardless of what medium they’re working in, the apprentice artist is concerned primarily with achieving realism via an expansion of their control—control of their brush strokes as they paint a photorealistic eye; control of their deck of cards, the mechanisms of their magic tricks, and where the audience’s attention is being directed; control of all the little factors of voice, plot, character, setting, suspense and surprise that go into writing a good story. However, the master artist has achieved that control—so much so that it often looks effortless to an untrained eye—and sometimes the master artist returns to a messy, amateurish style simply because they have control even over this too. 

As an example, consider Picasso and his entire body of work. He begins as an apprentice focused on achieving control, doing portraits of people that look like people—like what we expect a portrait of a person to look like. Then, as he grows in skill and gradually achieves mastery, he pulls away from realism. He develops a style, he experiments with faces that don’t look like any human alive  colored in ways that do not appear in nature. He expands his control. His work becomes abstract. Towards the end of his life, he starts experimenting with what’s called “Naive art”, something that a 5 year old could theoretically draw... but you have to achieve mastery before you can do it on purpose and have it look good. 

On one hand, Neil Gaiman is extremely good at his job. On the other hand, Season 2 has bad writing in it.

What does that tell us?

Well, we know from our Baseline Assumptions that Neil Gaiman is simply too good of a writer to fuck up through garden-variety clumsiness and lack-of-control the way an apprentice writer would. Additionally, he cannot fuck up by accident in this case because I am positive that the man is scrutinizing his work on Good Omens far too closely to let anything slide—for Crowley and Aziraphale’s sakes, for David and Michael’s sakes, and especially for Terry’s sake. The stakes are sky-high, and he cares too much to write a weird, kind of “bad” season by accident.

Which leaves only one option: He did it on purpose.

(Am I sounding like a crackpot conspiracy theorist? Baby, you ain’t seen nothin’ yet. I’m gonna get SO MUCH MORE CRACKPOT.)

If he did it on purpose, then the natural question to ask is: WHY!?!?!??

It’s a great question. Not “Why?” in terms of why he as an individual person with emotions would decide to do that, mind you. More like, “What purpose does this serve for the structure of the narrative?” There is a story he is intending to tell, and out of all the choices he could have possibly made, for some reason this one was necessary and correct in order to achieve that end goal—so what was that reason?

See? Intentionality. He knows exactly what details he left in, and he did it on purpose. (Editing! It’s important!)

So there has to be a reason. It’s like when a master magician “casually” rubs an itch on his nose—why did he do that? What is he sneakily slipping into his mouth by hiding it under the excuse of this little gesture that does not even register to you as meaningful? (If you haven’t watched enough stage magic to know what I mean, watch this.)

This question is, of course, impossible to simply answer out of thin air without any further evidence. It is a dead end—so we must adjust the question and come at it from a different angle.

The one I settled on when I was chewing on this was: Well, okay, what do I mean when I say “bad writing”? What is it about S2 that makes it feel so goddamn odd?

The Pledge, The Turn, and... The Conspicuous, Expectant Silence

There are three parts to a magic trick: Pledge, Turn, Prestige. 

First, the Pledge: You show the audience something ordinary. Second, the Turn: You make that ordinary thing do something extraordinary, like vanish. Third, the Prestige: You bring the ordinary thing back.

To quote the 2006 film The Prestige just after its explanation of the first two parts: “You want to be fooled. But you wouldn’t clap yet, because making something disappear isn’t enough. You have to bring it back.”

You have to bring it back.

When I teach apprentice writers, I call this a “setup-payoff cycle”. Achieving control and dexterity with this tool is crucial, because the setup-payoff cycle is the engine of the story—it’s what makes the story run. You can have a setup-payoff cycle at any scale—I have read ones that were a single sentence long; I’ve read ones that were two books long. Additionally, all jokes, no matter how long they are, are structured on a setup/payoff cycle. These cycles work precisely the same way a magic trick does:

You set up the audience’s expectations. (Optional but generally considered stylish and elegant: You give those expectations a firm jolt to throw the audience off-balance.) You pay off the audience’s expectations in a way they weren’t expecting, while saying “TA DA!!!!” really loud with your arms flung wide.

Audiences really like this. A setup-payoff cycle executed just right makes the audience’s brains light up like Times Square and hammers on their mental “reward” buttons like nothing else. It’s like you’ve personally handed them a cookie and a gold star. They go wild for this.

Here’s an example of a setup-payoff cycle, though it’s not a perfect one—and you’ve probably heard it before, so you’re not going to be throwing chairs and tearing down the theater from sheer glee:

The Setup: Knock knock. Who’s there? Banana. Banana who? The Jolt: (the joke starts over and repeats several times without reaching the payoff (aka the prestige) while the audience grows more and more annoyed and frustrated about the unfulfilled expectations, until finally...) Knock knock. Who’s there? Orange. Orange who? The Payoff: ORANGE YOU GLAD I DIDN’T SAY BANANA?

Good Omens Season 2 feels so fucking odd because the setup-payoff cycles are incomplete—nearly all of them are, and the ones that do close the loop do so in really weird ways which, as a professional author, make me feel kind of, “Bwuh?????? But where’s my cookie? Excuse me??? Sir???? Neil????? My cookie, tho???”

When I realized this, when I finally put my finger on why the whole season was giving me some uncanny valley heebie-jeebies, a chill ran down my spine. (The rest is here: https://docs.google.com/document/d/193IXS11XN46lziHRb6eUpM17yK0BQkRqke1Wh64A_e0/ I’M GOING TO GO STARE INTO THE ABYSS NOW BYE)

[gojoest]

the one with the role play — gojo satoru

— your husband breaking character during role play after you mention the one thing you shouldn’t have

suggestive, MDNI, established relationship (you’re married), written with f! reader in mind but think i kept it pretty gn, alcohol (nobody gets drunk, just a super quick mention of it as a choice of drink at the bar), strangers at the bar role play (or a failed attempt tbh), based on this talk post of mine, wc: 1.3k

“hey, love”, satoru broke the silence while the two of you were folding the laundry one afternoon. (yes, the strongest sorcerer always helps his wife with chores)

“say, love”, you quickly responded, without looking at him.

“you know, i was thinking — we’ve never tried role play”

“that’s what folding clothes made you think of?”, glancing at him you chuckled, “interesting”, raising an eyebrow teasingly.

“we’ve done pretty much everything but that. you’re not curious?”

now was not the time to tell him that you had done this before, with your ex, and that it was fun. no need to remind him that you had other partners before him and make him lose sleep for days to come, like that one time when he found your diary from high school in the attic and read about all the crushes and boyfriends you had. it took weeks and a lot of coddling on your part (you even had to start a satoru only diary and write his name into little hearts) for him to get over it. so you figured you’d keep this little detail to yourself and take it to the grave. or it would be your husband taken to the grave due to lethal jealousy steaming from the fact that another man had laid his hands on you in the past.

“s-sure”, you stuttered, thinking back to that excruciating memory, then cleared your throat before continuing — “yea, we can do that, why not”

“good then”, he tossed the shirt in his hands aside and stepped closer to you. circling his arms around your waist from behind — one hand eventually resting over your chest while the other stopping at your navel and gently rubbing it — he possessively pressed you against his chest and hummed contently.

“someone’s very excited about this, huh?”, you placed your hand over his and tilted your head back to peek at him.

“oh? can you tell?”, he grinned, playfully pushing his hips against you.

“that giant thing in your pants poking me from behind is giving you away, i’m afraid”

“it’s your fault though”, his head craned down so his lips could reach your forehead and trail soft kisses down to the tip of your nose.

standing on your tip toes you raised your hands to cup his cheeks and pecked him on the lips. “of course, it’s my fault that you’re getting all hot and bothered in the middle of the day like some pervert”

“i always get hot and bothered thinking about you”, he pecked you back, then slowly turned you around (concerned that you might hurt your neck if you kept that position up).

“any ideas?”, you asked.

“8pm, the bar around the corner”

“we’re to enact the classic strangers meeting at the bar, huh? okay. anything else?”

“nope, let’s improvise”

[8:13pm, at the bar]

sitting alone on the stool at the bar counter, you kept playing with your now half empty martini glass, drawing circles with it on the surface. you felt a bit weird sitting here pretending to be single and ready to mingle. but oh well.

he was late. you took another sip of your drink and grabbed your phone to check the time again.

“next one’s on me”, a painfully familiar voice approached you from behind. “if you would allow me, that is”

he was late on purpose, you figured. waiting for you to almost finish your drink so he could easily start a conversation by using such a lame but still quite effective line.

“i don’t normally accept drinks from strangers”, you gazed at him, “but an exception every now and then wouldn’t hurt, i assume”

a puckish smile curved on his lips. “may i?”, taking his sunglasses off, he asked for your permission to sit next to you.

“sure”

you were quite impressed at how seriously he was actually taking this, not breaking character even for a second so far. he had made up a brand new persona of himself, introducing himself as “sato kouya” — the ceo of a leading pharmaceutical company, temporarily living in tokyo for the purpose of a big business project.

“enough about me though”, eyes focused on you, he leaned his elbow on the bar counter and placed his chin on his palm. “tell me about yourself — what’s a beauty like you doing alone?”

you giggled (he was just so cute right now). “you’re lucky that i am alone — if we had met a week earlier, i would’ve still been married”

his expression froze at your words. the smile from a few seconds ago was now bleeding into a confused, almost creepy, look on his face — his lips still stretched into a grin while his eyes told a different story.

“hmmm… how so?”, he spoke in a monotone, his grin slowly fading away.

it would be a lie to say his weird reaction didn’t concern you at all but you decided to brush it off, and continued. “you see, i just got officially divorced. my ex husband and i tried our best to keep the marriage going for as long as we could but we were simply not meant to be”, you sighed. “this was the best for both of us”

“no way”, satoru whined. “no fucking way”

“umm… excuse me?”, you tilted your head in confusion.

“i don’t like this”, his face giving you a dejected grimace — brows knitted, lips pursed into a pout and eyes filled with a mix of panic and sorrow taking over the blue in them and turning it into a darker shade. “divorced? not meant to be? don’t even joke about this”, he almost cried out. the thought alone rubbed him the wrong way, tugged at his heartstrings so intensely that it forced him out of character right then and there, putting an end to your little role play escapade (rip sato kouya, you will be missed).

“satoru”, you caressed his hand, “baby. love of my life. this is just an act, please get it together”

“oh”, he gasped in utter shock after his focus fell on your hand and he noticed you were not wearing your ring. “you even took your ring off? why would you do that?”

great, this was getting worse now.

“because of the role play”, you spoke each word slowly, stressing on the last two very carefully.

“but i’m still wearing mine”, he protested, pointing at his ring, “see? you could’ve still acted fine with your ring on and without bringing up divorce and not meant to be’s”, he cried again, a hangdog look splattered on his face.

“i didn’t want to play the cheating wife, that’s why i took it o—“, you were cut off by another dramatic reaction.

“cheating? CHEATING? you considered this scenario?”, his voice was hitting desperate notes at this point. you couldn’t believe he had lost all reason over a play pretend.

you pinched the bridge of your nose before you spoke, “okay, that’s enough. you’re being ridiculous right now. i’m going home”

he followed after you like a kicked puppy, whining all the way home. but you had to admit — part of you really loved the fact that he went completely out of his mind over something so silly, that he didn’t know what to do with himself just thinking about you possibly leaving him even in a made-up scenario, that you held so much power over him…

extra:

[later that night, in bed]

done reading for the night and ready to sleep, you placed your book on the nightstand and looked over at your husband sitting with his arms crossed next to you in bed.

“still not over it?”, you nestled your head on his chest.

“no. hurts like hell just thinking about it”, he mumbled.

“come on, stop pouting”, you pinched his cheek, “you can’t go to sleep with a grumpy face”

“yea?”, he glanced down at you, “sit on it then — it’s the only way to wipe that pout off of it”