okay, just putting this all together for ease of access, since it's been spread out across several posts now--
The day after it aired I watched the ending like actually 30 times and I became fully 99.999999% certain they switched places. I was initially thinking during the kiss, cuz of how the camera angle changes, but after watching an additional 20 times a few days later, I'm personally leaning much more towards them stopping time in the instance after "no nightingales".
Before the kiss, Aziraphale is saying "nice" things about the Metatron, but his face and voice keep switching to broadcasting distress, and they make it a point to show in ep 1 that Crowley can read him just from tone of voice
As they're pulling away after the kiss, they lock eyes and "Aziraphale's" expression shifts in the teeniest tiniest way, like a confirmation glance, before they shift back (and Michael Sheen is a master, so no chance it's not on purpose)
---(Like really, go back and watch how Aziraphale's expression shifts literally *a second* before "I forgive you" cuz the change is SO minute, but entirely different emotionally.)
Also the way he moves his jaw right after he pulls his hand away from his lips, is a bit from MS's Crowley (you can see it in the very last two seconds of this vid- link)
Aziraphale's hands -stay by his sides- after that, he doesn't clasp them at all, and it's particularly noticeable while he's walking to the elevator with Metatron. The way he walks is very stiff and precise, similar to after the swap in S1.
We don't see the underside of Crowley's jacket collar after the kiss, at any point (it is for sure red at the beginning of the ep, you can see it right before he changes in Heaven)
The Bentley drives away SLOWLY, which is how Aziraphale drives, and we're specifically shown that it only plays other music for Aziraphale
the seats in the Bentley are black as it drives away. They're usually brown, and the only other time they're shown to be black is when Aziraphale drives (@picturesque-about-it broke down the times so you can see-link)
---extra pic for anyone saying it's "cuz Aziraphale is lighter"-- the seats are still brown behind Crowley when he wears white
there's people wearing yellow in -every- part of the scene showing the Bentley both before and while it drives away! (link for pics/credit)
Aziraphale's smile in the elevator looks more like MS's Crowley. It's very similar to the trial during S1, but also (link)
This also explains why they're on opposite sides than they're usually shown while the end credits roll
Extra points--
many good points made by other folks here, about cues and snakes in beehives and swap motifs throughout the season-- link
The clock! Someone mentioned how the scene is so quiet you can hear it ticking, so I watched the ending a further 50 times to double check----I need to preface this by stating, I don't think this is a working clock, mainly cuz the hands aren't 100% where they should be between the minutes and the hours, like -a person- moved them to that time manually
When they're talking, the clock is at approximately 9:25 (?, again the hour hand isn't precisely set), then they walk across the room, and kiss, and immediately after that the clock is set about 15-ish minutes later (link to timestamps)
thanks to these bts shots, we can see that the clock on the opposite side of the room registers the SAME time difference before and after the kiss (link)
the first time Aziraphale looks "towards the window", I'm petty sure he actually looks further back towards the clock, *focuses on it* as Metatron walks up to him, and then spends the ENTIRE REST OF THE EXCHANGE blocking the Metatron's view of the clock
we're shown earlier in the season that Crowley can localize his time-stopping to a certain extent, like when he stopped the doctor and the rest of the room kept going, so it is possible he only stopped everything -outside- of the bookshop
---I KNOW Neil said it's a continuity error, but he also fully said "No" about there being a season 2 just days before they announced it was already written and in production, so. Take him at his word if that's what you wanna do.
---also I DID go back and look it over, and the clock IS consistently specifically set the entire rest of the episode as far as I can see. From the shots when you have a clear view of the clock, the angels and demons enter the shop at around 6, Maggie and Nina leave at around 7, the Metatron comes in at 8-ish, Aziraphale comes back in at that approximately 9:25
(insight from someone who works in production- link)
the music right before the kiss scene is the same leitmotif (Life After Death) used when they originally started formulating the swap in season 1! (link)
the movie Stairway to Heaven (1946) is featured as a poster in both the opening credits and in Maggie's shop (link)
the climax of the film has one of the leads willing to "take the place" of the other in heaven
(they also used a time-stopping mechanic, and the chess book Gabriel tests gravity with also plays a key role in the film)
and one last mention, extra food for thought--- the season's focus on their trusting one another, their history of performing "death (and heaven/hell) defying" feats together, and how they always get the trick right when it truly counts the most
that's what I've got so far!
If I'm right, they're apart now, but are actually more together then ever, and I find that terribly exciting. (And if I'm wrong, that's okay too! I'm just here to have fun.)
I'm not particularly concerned with very specific reasoning (that's for season 3 to tell us!), but I do think this theory is extra fun cuz pretty much any of the others could be the "why" driving it.
I'm not trying to convince anyone, or put down any of the other theories, so if you're not feeling it, that's okay! I'm just sharing what clues I'm seeing, so you can check if you see them too. 💕
How to Maintain your Strained Relationship with your Alcoholic Younger Brother
A fanfic in the style of a detailed to-do list about Abby and Cecil's relationship during the latter part of Carlos' time in the DOW.
Tw for alcoholism, mild emetophobia mentions, and emotional abuse from a parent.
(I appreciate your patience with me! This is the first fanfic I've ever been brave enough to post! Let me know what you think!)
Step one is to enjoy time with your family. Without fail, every time it happens, you're having a great time with your daughter and husband. For instance, you could enjoy a nice dinner. You could bake rolls, make sides, slave over something both your husband and your picky daughter enjoy. Buy a pint of ice cream for dessert. Call your husband in from the garage, where he is vacuuming the car out with his shop vac, like he does every Thursday when he gets home from work at the bank. Kiss him on the cheek as he comes into the house. Ask him something like, "How was work today, Steve?" Listen and respond, despite not understanding much of how a bank is operated. Help your daughter into her kitchen chair since she's been in a mood where she wants to sit in one instead of her wheelchair. Serve your daughter, and then yourself. Enjoy the look on her face and your husband's as they eat the meal you prepared. Make small talk. "Do you have any homework, Janice," and "I got us a surprise for dessert," are things you could say.
Step two: Ignore your phone the first time it rings. You're having dinner, after all. There would be nothing to distract you from this time. Everyone you care about is at the table with you, right?
Step three: When the phone rings a second time, almost immediately after it stops ringing the first time, sigh begrudgingly. Pull your cellphone from your pocket and check the caller ID. Feel your stomach drop when you see that the call is from Old Woman Josie. Feel a sense of dread creeping into your throat at the sight. Debate, for a moment, whether or not you should answer. When your husband asks, "Who is it, dear," and his green eyes study your expression, tell him. He will give you a knowing look, and ask you if you need to answer it. You have two choices from here. The first is to decline the call, to refuse to help the old woman who is almost certainly dealing with a problem that is only scarcely more YOUR responsibility than it is hers. You could turn your ringer off. You could try to swallow the guilt back as you and the family you made enjoy the dinner you also made, and dessert, perhaps a movie. You could lay in bed, unable to sleep, reasoning with yourself that it's not, he's not your responsibility anymore, that he needed that tough love. Or, you could answer the phone call, knowing, or mostly knowing, that the pleasant night you planned was about to be flushed down the toilet, for the sake of someone who was hardly in your life anymore. You always, always choose option two. You're sentimental. You feel guilty for things that are not your fault.
Step four is to answer the call and pretend you're surprised when Josie starts explaining. "Abby, dear, how are you this evening? I hope I'm not interrupting dinner." Lie to her. Tell her she's not interrupting anything. Listen as she tells you that your brother is on her front porch again, that he's not belligerent or causing any trouble, but that he's crying a lot and shouldn't be driving in the condition he's in. Apologize for his behavior. Josie will insist she doesn't mind, that mostly she's worried he'll catch a cold, since he always refuses to come inside since the beings who call themselves angels moved in. Notice the look in Janice's eyes as she tries to comprehend one side of the conversation. The confusion. The worry. Notice the look in Steve's eyes as he tries not to look disappointed, knowing what's coming, that you'll be gone until late tonight. Tell her you'll be there in about twenty minutes to collect him.
Step five: Apologize to your daughter and husband, collect the keys to the tan corolla you two share, and head out to the garage. Raise the garage door and get into the car, without slamming the car door, if you can manage to calm your anger. Take a few deep breaths. Remind yourself that driving angry is barely safer than driving drunk. Remember that you're living a life of privilege, compared to your brother, the opposite of how your childhood was. Remind yourself that he's doing his best not to ask you for things anymore. Curse your dead mother under your breath for leaving alcohol around while he was young, but know that it probably wouldn't have made a difference. Curse his boyfriend under your breath, this man who told Cecil he loved him but stopped trying to come home to him, holding his love for science above his so-called love for your brother.
Back your car out of the garage and into the street, being careful not to knock over the next-door neighbor's trash cans. Head down the street and out of your neighborhood. Flip the radio on to pass time. Listen to the four government approved songs for this time of day. Remark to yourself that it looks like it might rain. Turn the music up a bit louder, to drown out the sound of the sunset. As you head west towards Josie Ortiz' house, out by the used car lot, notice the first few drops of desert rain splash onto the windshield. Turn the windshield wipers and the headlights on.
Step six: Try, once more, to quash the anger that you feel spike at the sight of your brother, slumped against the railing of Josie's porch, head in his hands. Remind yourself that anger isn't going to do anything but escalate the situation. Remind yourself that Cecil has been in many fights he doesn't remember at bars he remembered entering and never remembered exiting. Remind yourself that being shoved to the ground by someone shorter but stronger than you leaves bruises that worry your daughter and anger your husband. Remind yourself that he has nobody else to worry about him. Park your car next to his. See Josie sitting on the porch step above the one he sits on, rubbing his back gently. Pick up your raincoat from the floorboard of the passenger side, and exit the car. Watch as he sits up, eyes glassy and face red, at the sound of your car door shutting. There will almost inevitably be tears in his eyes. He will try not to cry anymore. He doesn't like you to see him this way. If he wasn't so drunk, he'd feel betrayed by Josie for calling you the way she always does when he shows up drunk on her porch. Come and stand under the awning and talk to Josie for a while, usually small talk at first. She doesn't want your brother to feel ashamed for having come to her, and you're grateful for that, but she's getting much older, and staying up late to baby a drunk adult who isn't even her own son is not something she has the energy for these days. She will hand you his car keys, and you should put them in your pocket for later use.
Step seven is to stoop down in front of your brother. He will avoid your gaze at first. Speak softly to him, not gently, but softly. Wrap your rain coat around his shoulders. Try not to let him know you're frustrated with him, but be aware that he knows anyway. Remember when he was a child that you were raising alone, and he refused to tell you he was in pain when his appendix was infected, how he refused to look you in the eyes just like he is now. Realize to yourself that he's hurting this time too, but a different kind of hurt.
Ask him if he's okay. Don't be surprised when he lies, slurring that he's fine, just sleepy. Tell him you're going to take him home. See the flicker of fear in his eyes at the idea of being in his apartment alone, even as he nods and reaches an arm to you, wordlessly asking you to help him stand. Help him to his feet. Wrap an arm around his back to support him, and tuck his arm around your shoulders. Try not to reel at the heavy scent of something strong on his breath. Walk him, slowly and fawn legged, to your car. Listen as he giggles a bit at his own lack of coordination.
Remember when he was a baby, back before your mom left, and he giggled as he played with his own shadow on the floor as he was just learning to walk. Wonder why things had to end up this way.
Tuck him into your passenger seat and buckle his seat belt. Shut his car door and utter a sigh as the rain soaks you to your core. Wave to Josie, who stands on her porch under the awning, waving at you. Get into the driver's seat and shut your door. Rebuckle Cecil's seatbelt before buckling your own. Tell him not to touch it again. Smirk at his pouting face.
Remember the time you told him the same thing while teaching him to drive. Remember how he told you it felt like the belt was choking him, but you told him he had to wear it anyway, too bad, so sad. Remember when you and he argued, causing him to run a bit off the road and knock over John Peters' (you know, the farmer) mailbox. Remember both of you going up to his front door to apologize to the man.
Step eight: Make the 45-minute drive to his apartment. You can choose whether to drive in silence or make small talk. The end result will be mostly the same. Ask him how work was. Listen as he answers, slurring his speech, and pretend to understand how a radio station operates. Ask him if he's seen anything good on TV lately as you pass the bar where Cecil likely got himself into such a state. Listen as he tells you that he watched Cat Ballou again, his comfort movie. Be reminded that he's in need of comfort by this. Feel guilty that you don't want to give him that comfort, that you feel like it shouldn't be your job anymore.
Remember the first time you saw him drunk, when he was only sixteen years old, when he'd come home from some classmates' house with a black eye, lipstick marks on his face, and no idea how he'd gotten home. Remember berating him until he cried. Remember how he screamed at you, "You're not my mom!" Remember slamming his bedroom door and leaving him alone in his bedroom to cry. Remember finding his bedclothes covered in sick when you went into his room the next day, after he'd gone to school hungover. Remember the clutch of guilt and terror in your chest at the idea that he could've choked to death in his sleep, your only brother. Wonder if your reaction to this first time is the reason why he shows up on Josie's porch and not yours in times like these.
Feel the weight of the silence as you drive past the subdivision you live in, the subdivision you both grew up in, the house where so much took place, where so much continues to take place, where your daughter and husband clean the dishes and prepare for bed. Notice him eyeing the street sign anxiously as you pass. Notice that he's pale. Ask him if he's okay, and when he nods, yes, don't believe him. Keep an eye on him as you continue. Make it only two more blocks before you see him become increasingly fidgety and uncomfortable. Pull over in the parking lot of the Ralph's just in time for him to open his car door and be sick. Fuss at him to pull your raincoat over his head, and when he doesn't, unbuckle your seatbelt and adjust it for him. Quash the urge to pat his back, reminding yourself that he's an adult, and that this is a repercussion for his actions, that he needs to learn not to behave this way, tough love or something like that. When, after several long minutes of silence, sickness, and rain sounds, he sits back up, offer him the napkins in the glove box to wipe his mouth with. Watch as, with shaking hands, he opens the glove box and takes out the napkins, wiping the sick from his mouth and nose, the sweat from his forehead, and the tears from his eyes. Don't spend too much time wondering if these are involuntary tears or if he is actively crying. He will apologize to you, his voice gravelly and low. Tell him it's fine. There will be a few moments of silence before he apologizes to you a second time. Know that he means that he's sorry for more than just needing you to pull over this time, and reiterate that it's fine, not to worry about it. Drive the rest of the way to his apartment, listening as he babbles drunkenly on about trees.
step nine: Park your car out front of his apartment complex. Unbuckle your seatbelt, then his seatbelt, then your car door, then his car door. Pull him onto wobbly legs once more. Make an angry remark about the fact that it's been nearly nine months since the elevator at his apartment complex was functioning. Try to fake solidarity as he mumbles angrily something to the same effect. Do your best not to let him slip around in the mud that separates the parking lot and the sidewalk. Make the agonizingly slow trip up two flights of stairs with him in the rain. Stop in front of room number 436. Pull his keys from your pocket and fumble through each of the three bronze keys on his key ring, finding the correct one last, naturally. Open the door for him. Notice how he hesitates, at first, to go inside. Struggle to support his weight as he struggles to remove his shoes as soon as he's inside. Try not to let him see your grimace at the state his apartment is in; now is not the time to berate him for his cleanliness. Take him through the living room. Stop in front of the bathroom door. Ask him if he needs the toilet. Wait for him outside the closed door while he takes several long minutes to use the bathroom, so long that you momentarily debate on peeking in the door to make sure he hasn't fainted or fallen asleep. When he comes out of the bathroom with only his underwear and undershirt on, leaving his clothes and your rain coat discarded on the bathroom floor, try not to roll your eyes. Guide him to his room and sit him on the edge of his queen sized bed, made up on one side, while you fetch him a shirt to sleep in that doesn't smell like alcohol, sweat, and vomit; second drawer from the bottom, left side, the same place he kept them when you still shared a house. Bring it to him. When he asks you what it is, tell him to take his undershirt off and put it on, doofus. Turn away to give him a moment of privacy as he changes shirts. Notice the framed picture of you and him and his mother on the wall next to a thumbtacked Polaroid of himself and Carlos. When you turn back to him, debate on not telling him that he put his shirt on backwards, but tell him anyway. Help him turn it around when he doesn't understand what you mean.
Remember when he was first learning to dress himself and did this often, sometimes with Your shirts, much against your will. Remember how stubborn he was about help when he was that age.
Notice how he doesn't shy away from you in his space. Notice, without the bulk of his over clothes, that he seems to have lost some weight. Wonder if he's eating well enough. Consider briefly the idea of bringing him food when you cook once a week. Know that he would refuse it. Tell him to lay down, and when he does, cover him up. Tuck a pillow underneath him, to keep him rolled onto one side. Watch his grey and glassy eyes follow you as you turn off the overhead light and turn on his bedside lamp. Take a deep breath, in knowledge that the worst and hardest part of the night comes next. Tell him you need to go home.
Step ten: Do your best to ignore the look of fear and anguish, and then right after, a look of emptiness, resignment, in his eyes. Turn around to leave, and as you do, feel his soft, warm, clammy hand reach for yours, his fingers interlocking with yours. Turn back to him, his eyes fixed on your hand in his, expression empty, eyes full of tears. Make the decision that you don't care. Make the decision to leave anyway. Fail to act on this decision. Ask him if he needs something. Wait for him to answer when you see a word form on his lips, but die in his mouth a few times. Feel your heart sink when he finally asks if you can stay a few more minutes. Sigh loud enough that he can hear you, to let him know you don't really want to. Know that you can't refuse. Take your hand from his. Go to his desk and take his desk chair to his bedside. Have a seat, and take his hand back into both of yours. Be unsurprised as he slowly degrades into a quivering, weepy mess. Gently run your fingers over the mountains and valleys of his knuckles to try and soothe him. Know that he likely won't stop crying, no matter what you do, until he falls asleep. Answer gently with as much compassion you can muster when he cries about being lonely. Fight a scowl that tries to surface on your face as he cries, "I just miss him so much" and "sometimes I don't think he wants to come back" and "nobody stays". Make a mental note to beat the shit out of this Carlos guy if he ever comes back from the desert he's "trapped" in. Tell him he should break up with this guy, that he deserves better. Wonder where, inside yourself, that came from. Try not to be frustrated as he says he can't, that he loves him, that he's scared. Know that he sees it in your eyes anyway. Feel helpless, as well as annoyed, and then guilty about feeling annoyed, as he covers his eyes with his arm and repeats over and over that he's sorry. Hush him gently, and pull him upright. Hug him. Feel his hot tears on your shoulder, and his hand grasp at the back of your blouse. Feel the urge to cry yourself, but push it down.
Remember the time you found him in his closet crying hard when he was eight, gripping his arm to his chest. Remember how he was inconsolable, just like he is now. Remember how he told you that he fell off the swing set and hurt his arm, and that when he told your mother, she told him to stop crying because he didn't exist. Remember how angry you were at your mother that day, finding her day drinking and half asleep when you went to confront her. Remember walking him up the street to Teddy Williams' house and asking him to examine your hysterical brother's arm. Remember how your mother didn't even react when he came home in a cast. Remember how much you hated her. Wonder to yourself when that hate was transferred to your brother. Feel guilty.
Hug him a bit tighter, even rub his back if you're feeling particularly sentimental. Wish things hadn't turned out this way. Wish your brother would talk to you like this when he was sober. Wish that he wouldn't be so hostile to your husband, who did nothing to him except be a better provider than your brother was capable of.
Remember when you found out Janice's father wanted you to abort the baby when you found out she had spina bifida. Remember how hard you cried when your refusal to do so, just grateful that you'd finally conceived, caused him to walk out the door and never return. Remember how your brother held you, how he had promised he'd take good care of the two of you, and how he had, to the best of his ability, before Steve came along. Remember how you hid Steve from him until your wedding day. Realize to yourself that any brother would react that way, in anger and betrayal. Consider for a moment how a relationship is not generally strained by only one party's mistakes.
Stroke your brother's hair, trying not to gag at how greasy and sweaty it is. Tell him that you're sorry too. Sit in the quiet as he eventually calms, his grip slackening in yours. Help him lay back down, tucking the pillow beneath him once again, and pulling the covers up to his chin. Place one hand on his chest and pat him gently.
Remember doing something similar when he had pneumonia when he was ten and was scared he'd die if he fell asleep.
Wait with him until his eyes drift shut, until his breathing slows, thickens. Wipe the tears from his face.
Step eleven is the easiest step. Go to the kitchen and find a glass. Pour him some water. Put the glass on his bedside table. Go to his bathroom and find a container of ibuprofen in his medicine cabinet. Collect your raincoat and his clothes as you do.
Try not to remember, as you pass his covered bathroom mirror, the time when he was seventeen and you came home to find every mirror in your house shattered, and his hands bloodied from shattering them, and how you screamed at him for breaking the mirror in your jewelry box, and how he dislocated your shoulder when he shoved you into the wall, and how he remembered none of it when he calmed down.
Put the ibuprofen on his bedside table, next to the glass of water. Put his clothes in the laundry basket at the end of his bed. Drag the trash can by his desk to his bedside, in case he wakes up feeling nauseated. Wonder if he will remember any of this when he wakes. Wonder if he remembers any of the previous times. Hesitate for a moment, but then take the first piece of paper in his open notebook and write a note that reads, "You can call me next time, you know. Take a shower when you wake up. Call if you need me. -Abby." Slide it under the medicine and the glass. Wonder what happened to the note you left last time or the time before that. Imagine to yourself that he crumples them up and throws them away when he's sobered up. Wonder if he gets angry, knowing you were in his house, or if he's grateful. Turn to put his desk chair back at his desk. Notice, for the first time, that every note you ever left on his bedside table is pinned, one on top of the other, onto his corkboard above his desk. Stand and stare at them for a few minutes. Exit the apartment, locking it behind you. Go down two flights of stairs in the rain. Sit in your car. Find yourself overwhelmed. Cry. Cry for nearly thirty minutes in the car by yourself.
Additional steps may include calling your husband when you've calmed down and driving home while talking to him on the phone. When he asks you how Cecil was, tell him that he was a mess, like usual, absolutely plastered, shameful. Tell your husband you're worried about your brother. Arrive home, microwave your dinner and eat it in bed next to your husband. Change out of your wet clothes, shower and go to bed. Hope, with every fiber of your being, that when you hear your brother's voice coming through the radio tomorrow, that he sounds like he's okay.
i truly think earl was a real one for catering cecil and carlos' wedding. like itsn ot even about the tragedy of watching the love of your life marry someone else for me. its about earl knowing in his soul that ultimately cecil being happy is the most important thing and its his job to make sure cecils happy. doing everything he can to make this the perfect day for him, everything hes dreamed of since they were kids, and once hes certain that its a dream come true, he goes and drinks alone on the patio. knowing his role in the narrative is to be cecils best friend. hes already mourned that, already accepted that, already committed to that. and hes gonna be the best damn best friend the universe has ever seen
Early night vale cecilos was so funny. Imagine being Carlos. You move to a new town and turn on the local radio station and you just hear the host talking about how he wants you carnally.
duck newton’s ‘convincing lie’: nah, so, okay. right, so - the pizza hut sign started to fall - cause of the, weather? and, he ran up there on… a fire escape? and tried to - push it… with a bat… dammit, nah he just pushed it - and it fell - but then he fell - cause he got shocked. i bet - mmm! i didn;t see, i was, uh, ah, shit! hey fol- hey, guys rewind, i. hey guys rewind a second ah fuck! i was inside i didnt see anything! i dont know thisman! i do know this man. his name - fuck! alright. i uh, i - here nnnnnn alright so. this man is name is ned and he’s, uh a friend of mine and i don’t know what the hell happened to him but,,, you know this guy. hes always getting into something. i don’t know i was in the building i almost got killed by a pizza hut sign i might be in shock
i know we’re all v excited about neil and the trolls but please do not forget that it is also the 5th (!) anniversary of
[id: screenshot of The Adventure Zone: Balance episode 60 “Griffin: Um, one think I kinda want to make clear - we’re gonna learn a- a lot more about Lup during this session, um, and pretty much on through the rest of the campaign, but I wanted to say as long as we’re talking about your backstory that the two of you are twins, and that Lup was assigned male at birth, but like at a fairly young age she transitioned, and identified as a female elf, and as, y’know, as Lup-” /end id]
[id: screenshot of the TAZ wiki page for the episode reading “Air date: April 13, 2017″ /end id]
Lup Trans Day
🌿Good Out Here🌿 @sevenbirds - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
jacobvanloon
snowghoul
dailybridgerton
ellievsbear
theartofmadeline
discoholicmusic
vaporwave
