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See, that’s what the app is perfect for.

Sounds perfect Wahhhh, I don’t wanna
trusthimhesadoctor inevitablyineffable
linipikk

I’m so used that in modern shows the main characters have to pay the price for winning. There is always a death, separation or some kind of Big Loss, and I was expecting that while watching Good Omens. Getting to the final episode I was unconsciously bracing myself for the final sacrifice. Crowley start the last episode in a trial, after stopping Armageddon they will still face some big consequence. 

But this time the big surprise is that they get to brilliantly break free, and even make heaven and hell look like fools!, it keeps me wanting to rewatch it all over and over and over. They didn’t only save the world, they saved themselves and stayed together, and the world kept existing with even more magic. And for once being happy and alive didn’t mean paying some big price.

trusthimhesadoctor davidtennan-t
laurelismyblackcanary

“…[Eccleston’s] a very good actor, and had done it very well. But then I wouldn’t have had it any other way. I wouldn’t have wanted it to be somebody who was a bit shit, and the show had been on the skids, and it was something that everyone was laughing at. Yes, it is daunting to take over from someone like Chris, because he’s so strong, and such a big actor, but better that than Paul Daniels! The fact that Chris had done it made it easier to say yes to it, because I love the show, and would have always wanted to do it, but it would have been a harder career choice if Chris hadn’t done it and given it the kudos that he brings to any project. It would have been more difficult to convince my agent – or myself – that it was a good career move. So thank goodness for Chris, really.”

— [x] (via fuckyeahecclesex)

That’s why I love David Tennant. And, yes, thank goodness for Chris, really. (via speslodge)

rafaelafranzen forineffablereasons

teledild0nix asked:

a/c 9, 12, or 21 (dealer's choice)

the-moon-loves-the-sea answered:

Thank you!!

9. things you said when i was crying

“Raspberry jam in yours?” Crowley flipped a crepe, reached for the jam jar.

“Oh, yes please. Oh, dear, that smells wonderful. Shouldn’t I start the tea, or something?” Aziraphale was working round a flustered mix of fretfulness and delight that sounded somehow perfectly charming together.

“No, angel. Breakfast, my treat. You just sit there and look pretty.” The morning light was flooding through the window round Aziraphale in a glory, and he looked a good bit more than pretty. Half-asleep yet, and soft-eyed. Well-kissed, if that could be considered a visible beauty, and Crowley thought it could.

It took him a solid minute of silence to realise and look round again. Aziraphale was completely quiet–he was–Aziraphale was crying.

“Oh, I–what–wh–I–” Words! Why wouldn’t words come when it mattered? He was switching the heat off, dropping the spoon and the top of the jam and the rest of his dignity in his bewilderment, but Aziraphale cried steadily on, just small tears brimming and falling past the tremble in his gentle chin. “What–Aziraphale. What did I say?”

“You always say,” murmured Aziraphale, “the kindest things.” He said it like it broke his heart. Crowley hovered uselessly halfway between the spattered stove and a crying angel.

“What in he–in something’s name are you on about. Aziraphale.”

He was blushing rosy amid the light, Crowley realised. Blushing, and beginning to smile. “You called me pretty.” With an emphasis that implied it was significant.

“You are.” Hadn’t he said so before?

“There you go again. I knew you liked me, but I didn’t know–I didn’t know–”

Crowley sat down in a heap on the floor in front of him. Some things couldn’t be taken standing.

“You’re beautiful,” he said to Aziraphale’s small hands, clasped tight before him. The hands trembled, and then one plump, gentle palm cupped Crowley’s cheek, patted and stroked it.

“Thank you,” said Aziraphale, “dear boy.” It sounded like a benediction, and the hand, when Crowley caught it to kiss it, felt like one too.

the-moon-loves-the-sea

Aziraphale was just beginning to drop off in the warm dark when Crowley said suddenly, beside him, “You didn’t know you were pretty?”

“Oh, goodness, no, I knew that.” He turned over, caught Crowley’s sudden grin, and the gleam of attention through it. Curiosity. “No, I didn’t know you would tell me. I didn’t know you would talk to me like this.”

“Nicely?” Crowley’s mouth went sad around the question.

“No–just–so honestly.” It had started with We could go off together and You could stay at mine, and turned shockingly into I love you, Angel, but you know that, don’t you? And that would have been enough. But it had continued. Things are better with you here. Stay in bed a little longer with me. Tell me if I frighten you. You read it to me, your voice is nicer. You just sit there and look pretty.

“I’ve tried to look kindly at the world,” Aziraphale says, searching for some honesty in return. “But I didn’t expect you looking back. And I didn’t expect you telling me.”

“Oh,” says Crowley, as though it hurts him, and then, “I didn’t like how they looked at you. Up there.”

“Oh?” He’s surprised, and yet– “I suppose it was–uncharitable.”

“Uncharitable! It was cruel.” He’s snarling, an angry shadow amid the shadows. And isn’t that like Crowley, to just spit the unspeakable into the dark. He almost wants to be angry at the ugliness of it, and yet–

“Yes, it was. I was cruel, sometimes, too. Sometimes to you. Sometimes I didn’t see you kindly. I wish I had.”

They curl toward each other in the dark.

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