ineffable plants

[gingerhaole]

After the Flood, Crowley drifts a while

[hattersarts]

some gomens that got left on my canvases (husbands & wives)

[empireofthesin]

Maybe they did kiss 1941

Maybe they were tipsy, nightingale played on the radio, they danced a little, ended up lying on the floor, laughing and talking and they looked at each other and it just felt right to lean forward and kiss.

And it felt so good that they both just made that little noise from the sheer pleasure.

And immediately thought oh shit

Both jumped to their feet, Aziraphale screeching that he doesn’t dance and Crowley just choking on whatever he tried to say and he ran

This is why “you don’t dance” and Aziraphale’s cheeky smile to him because he’s ready to dance, he’s ready for them

This is why “hear it? no nightingales” no us when you’re gone

This is why “we pretended we weren’t” we knew since then and pretended we didn’t

This is why he kissed him, to bring him back, to remember

[most-normal-eccles-cake-ignorer]

The products of trying to recreate what was going on outside the frame during the kiss. (for ENTIRELY SCIENTIFIC purposes)

@actual-changeling altered my whole outlook on life with this post about Aziraphale's left hand (I'd only been looking at his right hand) and I couldn't stop thinking about it, so I painted the rest of the fucking owl (and his bf).

so normal about this

[dragonmouth]

Magic hands 👀

[crikeyoryland]

more crowley sketches baby

[books-and-omens]

oh BY the WAY

This scene proves, doesn’t it, that living in the car is Crowley’s choice. When Aziraphale comes back from Scotland, Crowley shoves the box at him before he gets to the threshold. He gives Aziraphale no option to even say, “won’t it be easier to leave the plants here” let alone to propose anything else. Was Crowley, by any chance, actively avoiding a conversation about him living in his car this whole time?

Crowley is absolutely not okay, we know, we know. He is frustrated, he is struggling; he is asking what the point of it all is. Yes, he is fiercely protective of his independence when he says “my car”, “the precious, peaceful, fragile existence I have carved out for myself”—and the same time, he is still not willing to talk. He probably does not even see a way to have important conversations safely; the fear of rejection might still be too much. His instinct remains to run away from trouble. With something as terrifying as vulnerability and openness, he needs Nina and Maggie to tip the scales.

He has the swagger. He acts like he knows what’s happening, like he has things figured out.

I think we’re just starting to see how much that has not been true.

[forineffablereasons]

I think the car thing goes one step deeper than just not being open to a conversation, which is that Crowley living in the car is a symptom of lingering fear.

It’s a getaway car.

This is established in s1 when Crowley literally tries to load Aziraphale up and, apparently, drive the Bentley to Alpha Centauri. It’s a very strong symbol of safety for Crowley - he survives the wall of fire on the M25 because he believes the Bentley will carry him through, and he drives it all the way to Tadfield on fire believing beyond the shadow of a doubt that the car will deliver him safely.

S2 shows that Crowley’s flat is owned by or paid for by Hell and thus he’s had to move out. Fine. There’s a suggestion that Crowley is or has been submitting expenses for reimbursement anyway, and Crowley is still capable of doing miracles. There’s no real reason at all for him to be living in his car.

But he’s always ready to move. He’s always ready to go to Aziraphale. When Aziraphale rings him up and says, come here, he’s two minutes away. By living in the Bentley, Crowley is always, always ready to run away.

Presumably the only reason he hasn’t yet is because he can’t ask Aziraphale to leave the bookshop - both because Aziraphale loves the shop but also because doing so would require the same bravery he finally pulls together in ep6. But he’s ready on a moment’s notice.

In s2e1, Crowley is tense, struggling with what he’s supposed to do now, anxious about what will happen next. He’s doing regular check-ins with Shax, keeping tabs on what Hell is up to despite his fear of being found out (asking Shax if she thinks Hell knows, Shax responding that Hell wouldn’t care anyway). He’s lingering within a 5 minute radius of the shop. When Aziraphale leaves with the car, he monitors them - he can tell that Aziraphale is going too slow (urging Aziraphale to be faster about going and coming back). And Crowley doesn’t officially give in to Aziraphale’s request to use the car until Muriel arrives - until Heaven’s representative shows up to monitor Aziraphale.

Then Crowley immediately capitulates. Tosses over the keys. Literally minds how they go.

Because Crowley trusts that Aziraphale will be safe in the Bentley. Because Crowley thinks of the Bentley in terms of protection and escape. He grounds himself with Gabriel and Muriel to allow Aziraphale to leave in the safest way possible, away from prying eyes.

He’s living in the car so he can leave on a moment’s notice. So he can get to Aziraphale on a moment’s notice. He knows they’re not safe.

Which means that his “offer” in the Final Fifteen™️ to stay and just keep on together is just as much of a fantasy as Aziraphale’s plan to fix Heaven, and they both know it.

[burnttongueontea]

🎯

[sayuri-of-the-valley]

Which means that his “offer” in the Final Fifteen™️ to stay and just keep on together is just as much of a fantasy as Aziraphale’s plan to fix Heaven, and they both know it.

@forineffablereasons this is so spot-on I wanna open your head and kiss your brain directly

[mymycorrhizae]

Crowley "tempting" Aziraphale with food

[halemerry]

In case you were wondering I'm still thinking about the composition of this shot. The absolute split down the middle between light and dark colors. The way that despite that both sides have their own lights and their own shadows because one cannot exist without the other. The fact Aziraphale's side is a warmer sort of light that compliments Crowley's colors and Crowley's is a blueish sort of dark where the windows even look like tartan. The fact Crowley's side isn't the green dark of Hell and Aziraphale's isn't the sterile white of Heaven but are both shades shifted slightly to the left into something distinct and totally their own. It's balance - even in the middle of heartbreak - and it drives me absolutely wild.

[queenofthecute]

Thoughts and feelings behind the cut!

I still don't entirely believe that Good Omens *needed* another season, but gosh I sure enjoyed it.

Prior to watching, I couldn't really guess how they'd manage to get Aziraphale and Crowley separated from each other again so that they could keep the tension of the story going. After all, they spent s1 breaking up and getting back together... until they finally got together so hard they literally turned into each other. Like, where do you go from there?

But I think s2 got it right in the end. They get Aziraphale and Crowley to a point where yeah, ok - there IS no happy ending for them anymore. They can't stay where they are but there sure isn't anywhere else they can go.

I know a lot of fans give Aziraphale a hard time for agreeing to go back to heaven (rightly so lol), but they'd have been just as miserable on Alpha Centauri or wherever. The only place they can be happy is on Earth, which is unfortunately still slated for annihilation.

So anyway, we better get that s3 because otherwise I'm going to eat the drywall or chew cement or SOMETHING

[empireofthesin]

Legend striking again

[tonydaddingham]

i desperately need to see michael sheen's mf bingo sheet of longing gazes and sultry touches that he wanted to get into s2, i want to know the ones that got vetoed bc if the chest stroke got in IMAGINE how deranged the other ones were

[tonydaddingham]

no im serious

what the fuck didn't make the cut?????

[shoemakerobstetrician]

The stage version of Good Omens David and Michael have joked about is going to be off the rails!

[cheers-to-the-world]

[actual-changeling]

so you're telling me in six millennia, during which they got drunk so many times they probably lost count before they hit the 2nd century AD, they never kissed? never got so drunk they couldn't stand anymore, got all clingy and human and needy?

you're telling me they never ended up on the same couch, the floor, a bed, too drunk to keep themselves upright, and forgot for a moment that they're on opposite sides?

that crowley never leaned in like a puppet with its strings cut, reaching for aziraphale like he is the only thing in the world he has ever wanted (he is) and kissed him with wine-bruised lips and a dizzy head?

that aziraphale never reciprocated, just as drunk, just as in love, and chased after the pleasure of crowley's body like any other?

(they never forgot about it, immortal beings don't have blackouts, but they never, ever, talked about it)

[empireofthesin]

Metatron: Almighty, it’s done.

God *hungover*: Wait, what’s done?

Metatron: I told Aziraphale ‘fuck Crowley’. So he did.

God *groans*: You weren’t actually meant to tell him… ah never mind, at least they finally did it. Six thousand years is way too fucking long. Satan said it’s gonna take them at least ten thousand, so I won. Again. Fucking brilliant. I’m gonna call him. Tell Aziraphale I can marry them when they’re free.

Metatron: ……. M-marry them?

God: ???

Metatron: ???

God: Metatron?

Metatron *sweating*: Yes?

God: I feel like your fuck is different to my fuck.

[empireofthesin]

I hope Crowley discovers in S3 that Aziraphale has a book of drawings of him, each and every look.

Unlesssssss he found out a long time ago and hence he decided to keep on changing his looks to give Aziraphale new material to draw

[runnerfivestillalive]

Crowley lounged in Aziraphale’s armchair, one leg kicked over the side, stretched his head back to look at his angel sideways, smirked a bit, and said “What, you don’t like this one?”

Aziraphale had been staring at him, contemplatively, and the question seemed to jolt him from his thoughts. “Don’t like… I’m sorry, my dear, which one? One what?”

Crowley watched him, enjoying catching the angel out at things, enjoying springing the trap. “My new look. You don’t like it?”

And ah, there it was, the little look of panic Aziraphale couldn’t hide. The angel was picking up deception from the humans, slowly, but he had a long way to go. “Like it? I have no idea what you’re talking about.” His voice rose in pitch. “Why would you think I don’t?”

“Well.” He turned himself around to face Aziraphale properly… but made sure to still be rather impressively posed. “This is the second time you’ve gotten me drunk enough you think I won’t notice you drawing me, and you still haven’t drawn me.”

Aziraphale’s only response was a few flustered syllables of embarrassment.

Crowley watched him squirm, something old and gentle and playful feeling warm in his chest. “What’s wrong? I sat in your armchair both times. You like drawing me in your armchair.” And before his bookshop, it had been a settee. And before he’d gotten Crowley comfortable coming into his home, it had been a park bench, and before park benches had existed… Well, in any case, he’d liked drawing Crowley in his armchair ever since he’d gotten it for his then-new bookshop. It was 1982, now, over a century later, and Aziraphale had drawn Crowley sprawled over his armchair in every style he’d passed through.

“I… I have no idea what you’re…”

Crowley stared at him, always fascinated by watching his angel try to lie. He raised one eyebrow, encouraging, waiting.

Aziraphale wilted. “Oh, alright. I didn’t think you knew! You’re… You’re just interesting to draw. Your outfits are… Well, your hair…”

“My hair?” Crowley prompted, pleased. He gave his hair a little shake, glad long hair on men was currently acceptable.

“Oh, you know what your hair looks like!”

He did, but he had to admit - only to himself - that he hadn’t been sure Aziraphale had noticed. “Well? What’s the hold up? I drank, I posed. I’m ready for my portrait.”

Aziraphale squirmed.

Hmm. “Hell’s sake.” Crowley murmured, softly, starting to feel embarrassed himself. “Is it that bad? Should I change it?”

“No! No, it’s…” Aziraphale sighed. “I wanted to draw you looking at me, for once. I always draw you looking off somewhere, or with your eyes closed. But I wanted to draw you looking at me.”

Crowley straighten up, abruptly interested. “Yeah? I can do that. How do you want me?” He’d seen humans posing for each other, in art schools, and suddenly the idea seemed intoxicating. Somehow intimate. To be allowed to look at Aziraphale, to watch him draw, to know Aziraphale was looking at him, studying his expression, in every minute detail.

Expression was, at times, the most honest communication they dared.

“Just there. Just… don’t pose. Just… look like yourself.”

Aziraphale disappeared into the next room, presumably getting his supplies, and Crowley attempted the suddenly challenging task of looking like himself. Yes, just how exactly would he sit, to watch Aziraphale draw? How exactly did he sit in chairs? If he were, for instance, himself, how would he appear?

He leaned back in the chair, crossed his legs at the knees, and put his arms on the armrests. No, too prince-of-Hell. He threw one leg over the armrest, but now he was tilting away from Aziraphale’s own seat. He jumped up, turned the chair, and tried again, but now it felt ridiculous, too obviously seductive, too- He moved the chair again, heard Aziraphale’s steps coming back, then flung himself back in the chair and just tried to look like he’d been casually taking his ease there the whole time.

“Do you want me to move or something? I don’t mind.” he drawled, in his most casual, bored drawl.

Aziraphale smiled, sitting down with his drawing pad, and pencils. He spent a few moments fussing about, getting settled, and when he looked up, Crowley realized he was staring.

“Yes.” Aziraphale said swiftly, firmly, before Crowley’s millennia of habit could kick in, before he could catch himself and looked away. “Just like that. Like how you look at me when you think I don’t notice.”

“I don’t… What?”

But the protest was weak, and Aziraphale didn’t even acknowledge it.

Quiet fell. There was just the scratching of pencil on paper. Just Aziraphale’s eyes, flicking up to study him, then back down to his paper, then, again, up to Crowley’s own. Just that beautiful look of concentration, relaxation, the look of creation, on an angel who had learned human ways to do it.

Just Aziraphale’s eyes, so warm and intent, focused on Crowley alone. Crowley wasn’t sure he took a breath the whole time.

Then it was over. It hadn’t taken long at all. “Done.” Aziraphale said.

Crowley leaned forward, eagerly. “Can I see?”

Aziraphale actually blushed. “I suppose it’s only fair. Do you want to see the others?”

“You have them?” Crowley actually felt his heart speed up, at the information. Somehow he’d always imagined the drawings filling an unused page somewhere, just a bit of scrap paper, then absently thrown out in Aziraphale’s next cleaning. “Yes!”

Aziraphale got up, probably intending to get the drawings and bring them back, but Crowley followed on his heel. And when Aziraphale knelt to pull a folder out of a bottom shelf, Crowley knelt with him, perfectly happy to look at the drawings right there.

Aziraphale sighed, an exasperated little breath that held a whole conversation of commentary on his impatience, and then indulgently handed Crowley the folder.

Crowley opened it, and the pages spilled, loose, across his lap, and Crowley shuffled delicately through them. He knew well how to be careful with old paper, but these seemed suspiciously, one might say miraculously, well-preserved. And the drawings showed…

Crowley hadn’t expected soft. He hadn’t expected this. He’d wanted to know, wanted to see what his angel saw when he looked at him; he’d been expecting pretty, maybe dangerous, and hoping for hot. He hadn’t expected… gentle. Or relaxed. Or happy. There were the drawings he’d known about, but there were others. Crowley in Aziraphale’s shop, smiling at an old woman as he helped her carry her books. Crowley in ancient robes, smiling out at a sunset. Crowley sprawled on his settee, asleep, looking vulnerable and yet safe.

And one, at the very bottom of the pile. It must have been drawn ages after the fact, because humans hadn’t yet invented paper back then. Crowley was smiling at Aziraphale, looking right at him, long curls loose down his back, snake eyes bright. It must have been drawn from memory, but Crowley remembered looking at Aziraphale exactly like that, while the angel’s wing had shielded him from the rain.

In every picture, every single one, no matter what time period it was from, Crowley looked happy. And in every stroke of pencil, every glide across the page, there was love. Love.

He looked at the newest one. His smile was softer. Unhurried. But his eyes were just the same as in the first one. Fixed on Aziraphale, as if there could be nothing better to look at in all of creation.

Oh.

He scrambled through the pages, forgetting to be as gentle as he could, needing to search for some, any, other interpretation.

“Oh, angel…” He looked at him, and Aziraphale’s eyes were gentle, shy, but not denying what Crowley saw. Crowley wanted to kiss him. He wanted to put a hand on the back of the angel’s neck, and pull him close, and kiss him until all the lies they had to hide behind fell away, until they were one being, and Heaven and Hell could never part them again, until…

Because his angel loved him. That was what these drawings said. His angel loved him, and had all along. And yet.

“Angel,” His voice came out rough, his throat strangely tight. “Are you sure I go too fast?”

He could hear Aziraphale’s breath catch, they were so close. Aziraphale nodded, the movement tiny but urgent, and he looked away.

Crowley lowered his eyes as well, heart hurting.

Then, so quickly it was over before he knew what was happening, angelic fingers were on his chin, lifting him up, and for the briefest moment, soft lips were at just the corner of his mouth.

Then Aziraphale was up, hurrying away, probably off to make tea and any other distraction he could think of.

Crowley watched him go, and his fingers rose to the ghost of Aziraphale’s lips on his. A smile spread across his face.

He could go slow.

[queerfables]

A dash of nutmeg...

Look I feel a bit like I'm throwing soup at a dart board and calling it analysis, but I have some thoughts about Aziraphale's magic words in episode 4, and it's going to kill me if I don't share.

The thing is, these words have been nagging at me since I heard them. They sounded familiar, and I've been trying to figure out why. Today, it finally clicked.

Banana. Fish. Gorilla.

Those initial three words are all key words from Crowley and Aziraphale's drunken conversation about Armageddon. It's right at the start of things, when Crowley convinces Aziraphale to help him stop the world from ending.

We'll start with the fish, because they come up first.

"The point I'm trying to make," [Crowley] said, brightening, "is the dolphins. That's my point." "Kind of fish," said Aziraphale.

Their entire exchange here is hilarious and iconic but I'll try to keep this to the point. After some banter about the difference between fish and mammals, Crowley argues that dolphins don't deserve to be caught in the crossfire when the kraken rises and the seas boil. Which conveniently brings us to:

"Same with gorillas. Whoops, they say, sky gone all red, stars crashing to ground, what they putting in the bananas these days?"

Banana. Fish. Gorilla. It got me curious, so I searched for other places these words show up in the book. There's nothing I think is really significant: a couple of things are described as banana flavoured, fish show up in rains that herald the impending doomsday, gorillas aren't ever mentioned again. If I'm on the right track at all, I think this part is here to signpost a connection between this string of words from the show and the specific moments in the book.

If that's true, it must be pointing to something. What's left? Shoe lace and nutmeg.

Shoe lace.

The word "shoelace" isn't actually in Good Omens. Neither is "shoe lace" with a space in between. There's a couple of unremarkable descriptions involving shoes, and one miraculously conjured lace handkerchief, and then - and then. Right at the very end of the story, we have Adam, grounded by his parents, being described as "a scruffy Napoleon with his laces trailing, exiled to a rose-trellissed Elba". It's tenuous. I could dismiss that as nothing. Except Adam's laces show up again, and it's the very last passage of the book.

If you want to imagine the future, imagine a boy and his dog and his friends. And a summer that never ends. And if you want to imagine the future, imagine a boot . . . no, imagine a sneaker, laces trailing, kicking a pebble; imagine a stick, to poke at interesting things, and throw for a dog that may or may not decide to retrieve it; imagine a tuneless whistle, pounding some luckless popular song into insensibility; imagine a figure, half angel, half devil, all human . . . Slouching hopefully towards Tadfield . . . . . . forever.

I'm not ready to say much about what I think the significance of this passage might be. But an allusion to the book's ending does feel significant, doesn't it?

The one thing I will say, for people who may not know, is that this passage is riffing on a line from Orwell's 1984. The line it's playing on is a lot darker: "If you want a picture of the future, imagine a boot stamping on a human face – for ever." I think it's probably relevant that this is referencing a book about a totalitarian regime. I also think it's probably relevant that it's taking that reference and twisting it into something much sweeter, more optimistic and empowered.

I'm still thinking through all the connections and implications, though.

Nutmeg.

And that brings us to "nutmeg". I have to be honest, I wasn't hopeful. I didn't remember any references to it and if I were betting, I wouldn't have put money on it appearing in the book at all. But the word does show up, and it shows up exactly once. Crowley is reminiscing about a cocktail he had once, made out of fermented date-palms. It's part of a conversation with Aziraphale, where they discuss losing the Antichrist. And here's the really interesting part:

"You said it was him!" moaned Aziraphale, abstractedly picking the final lump of cream-cake from his lapel. He licked his fingers clean. "It was him," said Crowley. "I mean, I should know, shouldn't I?" "Then someone else must be interfering." "There isn't anyone else! There's just us, right? Good and Evil. One side or the other." He thumped the steering wheel. "You'll be amazed at the kind of things they can do to you, down there," he said. "I imagine they're very similar to the sort of things they can do to one up there," said Aziraphale. "Come off it. Your lot get ineffable mercy," said Crowley sourly. "Yes? Did you ever visit Gomorrah?" "Sure," said the demon. "There was this great little tavern where you could get these terrific fermented date-palm cocktails with nutmeg and crushed lemongrass-" "I meant afterwards." "Oh."

Book Aziraphale differs from his characterisation in the show in a few ways, and this is the big one. In the book, Aziraphale is much more cynical about his own side, and much more aware of heaven's flaws. Here, he's convincing Crowley that the threat heaven poses is just as serious as any threat from hell.

If I'm right about any of this, if these nonsense words mean anything at all, I think they are saying that heaven and hell are two sides of the same very nasty coin, and more to the point, that maybe Aziraphale is more aware of it than he seems.

I need to think about this more, still. I'm not sure if I really think this connection is something, and if it is, I'm still figuring out what sorts of conclusions we might draw from it. But if the script is trying to point us to these three sections of the book, maybe there's a deeper analysis to be had here.

I do think it's interesting that the last two words each only show up in one section of the book. It's not like I'm skipping around trying to decide which passage involving shoe laces is most relevant - it shows up twice, only in the last few pages of the book and only in relation to Adam (and in particular, humanising Adam. He's Napoleon in exile, but he's a kid with trailing laces. His future isn't a boot stamping on a human face, it's a sneaker with those same trailing laces - and a stick that his dog can choose whether or not to chase).

I could talk myself in circles on this point, so I guess I've got to open it up to the floor. Am I making something out of nothing with this? Or do you think there could be something here?