[crowleys-bentley]

[assiraphales]

crowley’s bentley is such an asshole like anathema just got fucking wrecked after crashing into the car with her bike and the bentley is like “u know what would be the funniest shit? if the song bicycle race played just as the lady who got into a minor accident on a bike is talking about her….. you guessed it…. BIKE. wouldn’t that just be hilarious??????” & tbh yah its fucking funny as shit 

[iwilltrytobereasonable]

[glumshoe]

I used to get so mad when other counselors would tell the campers that the fruit trees around us were poisonous, or that they were all sprayed with dangerous chemicals. They weren’t! They were Himalayan blackberries. Salmonberries. Thimbleberries. Raspberries. Oregon grape. Cherries. Apples. Pears. All good, delicious stuff!

I know some of them did it out of ignorance, and probably really did believe that the fruit was inedible, or were too afraid to say “I don’t know”. But others did it because they wished to keep kids on-task for activities so that they weren’t distracted by ripe berries. You fools! Nothing is worth that—nothing! I can promise you that no camp activity was of more worth or value or general life enhancement than allowing children to find delight and appreciation in nature. No game or ceremony or arbitrary rule can offer more joy or freedom than plucking a wild fruit off the bush, knowing it is good to eat.

Sure, you can make it on time to lunch if you tell a child that a salmonberry will kill them. But you’re lying—you’re teaching them to view wild things as innately hostile and foreign, when you ought to be teaching them how to identify plants, how to be cautious, and how to see themselves as part of the world. Let them be late to activities! Let them hop fences if no one’s around to complain! Let them be distracted and juice-stained and sticky! Let them be sweet-seeking animals, and, if you really want to be responsible, just make sure they wash the fruit before eating it. When are they going to have another, better chance…?

[iwilltrytobereasonable]

[kaelidae]

listen yall carry on with Ineffable Husbands but tbh? to me? aziraphale radiates the biggest Asexual Energy i have ever seen

couple that with my long-held belief that angels are non-sexual non-binary beings, and id just rather imagine it as the representation for non-sexual but exactly-as-meaningful, pure love that ive always wanted in media and havent gotten since lord of the rings graced my life with sam and frodo, and gimli and legolas

[iwilltrytobereasonable]

Oh, I still see that as marriage material, partly because that’s something I hope for for myself: a marriage of companionship, like George Bernard Shaw and Charlotte Shaw had. Romantic or not, and sex either not part of it or insignificant. And there’s a decent amount of fic that seems to agree: that calling them “husbands” is entirely separate from the accessibility of sexuality to their experiences.

[trusthimhesadoctor]

[stabasoccasionserves]

How did Michael Sheen of all people make such a good Aziraphale? That man exudes such a manic feral energy. And David Tennant irl is like, so soft? And blissfully oblivious? I mean, how did anyone look at the two and go, I want that one as the angel, at the man who’s penis is apparently named The Great Christine Baranski, and I want that one as the demon at the guy who still thinks an 🍆 is an aubergine.

[trusthimhesadoctor]

[dead-scorpio]

Aziraphale once decided to gift Crowley a plant, because he knows that Crowley likes them, and it’s all good, except, Crowley can’t put the fear of, well, himself into this plant. It is a gift from Zira, after all.

Crowley: YOU ALL, YOU’VE DISAPPOINTED ME. GROW BETTER!!!

Crowley, turning to the plant that Aziraphale gave him: not you, sweetie, you’re doing great

[trusthimhesadoctor]

[thestrangeronthemoon]

Listen, I love Michael Sheen to bits but I need to get it out of my system.

He absolutely has no business having the voice he has. Every time I hear him after a while I’m always, with no fail, left completely baffled by his face not matching his voice.

I mean, I see this adorable, small woodland creature-like man with twinkling eyes, curls and giddy smile and I’m always expecting a somehow high-pitched, squeaky voice and instead I get hit like a 10-ton truck by the fact that he has a voice that sounds like red velvet and chocolate cake.

It’s like how Sean Bean’s name doesn’t rhyme. It’s a glitch in the Matrix.

[trusthimhesadoctor]

Good Omens and the greatest trick the devil ever played on me personally

[junietwohundred]

I packed off to college in 1998, before many of you were twinkles in anyone’s eyes. Back then, internet piracy was just really taking off, and it was accomplished by means of FTP server. These servers had “ratios,” meaning that their owners expected you to upload a certain amount of data in certain file formats before you could download a certain amount of data in that format. Most servers were 1:2 (Simplified, I upload 1 .mp3, and I’m allowed to download 2 .mp3s) or 1:3. There was a lot of trash to sort through, but you found your treasures eventually

I took to this internet piracy like most other freshmen took to drinking at frat parties. I stayed in Friday nights downloading music and movies. I had everything my 18-year-old heart could desire - these were the Wild West days of the internet, when the dorms had ethernet, but the universities hadn’t bothered to set any kind of codes of conduct. You could download and upload whatever you wanted, and no one was going to stop you.

One evening, when my roommate was out of the room having a healthy social life or some damn thing, I was on yet another FTP site - a really good one this time, full of stuff I wanted. It was a 1:1 server, an unforgiving ratio, but I had spotted goodomens.mp3, and I had set my lights on trading for that audiobook. I’d read the novel in high school, see, and I wanted to hear if the narrator did any funny voices.

We had ethernet, sure, but you have to understand what speeds were like back then. It took me half the night to upload that many tracks of Third Eye Blind and Goo Goo Dolls and whatever the hell else I had lying around my hard drive in 1998 to reach the ratio, and it probably took the other half to download the audiobook. But eventually I had my prize, and I booted up Winamp (It was a music player; ask your parents.) to listen.

Is this the real life? Is this just fantasy?

Caught in a landslide, no escape from reality

It was Queen. More than a gig of Queen tracks strung together and labeled as the Good Omens audiobook. I’d been, as they say, played for a sucker.

Now, there are one of two conclusions you can draw from this little misadventure:

1) Good Omens fandom has had a wicked sense of humor since the very beginning,

or

2) Anthony J. Crowley had the File Transfer Protocol figured out at least as early as 1998, and he was prepared to take advantage of that knowledge.

I know which one I believe.

[ineffableplan]

[crowleyraejepsen]

another interesting difference between book crowley and the david tennant tv show au slow burn historical 100k: tv show crowley actively took credit for the spanish inquisition, but book crowley?

he’s a sweet boy and VERY worried about us as a species

[evilphrog]

I always read it as TV Crowley told Aziraphale he took credit for it.  I still absolutely picture him getting the commendation, being horrified, and then blustering about it to sound cool later on when Aziraphale found out and inevitably accused him of being responsible for the latest human tragedy.

[crowleyraejepsen]

that’s true. we don’t really get to see inside of their heads, and even the insides of their heads in the book involve like a stupid amount of doublethink because of the pressures of heaven and hell. i like that

[trusthimhesadoctor]

[forineffablereasons]

the thing about crowley is that he’s had 6000 years to think up the best one-liners to use on aziraphale. make him go wobbly-kneed with passion? he’s got it. make him blush in front of customers? he’s got it. tease him? get him hot under the collar? crowley’s got it. make him laugh? crowley’s got hundreds. 

make him understand? make him certain, make him sure, make him realise how long and how deep and how wholly he’s loved? how completely he’s wanted? how entirely he’s needed? crowley has these lines too. he’s less sure of how effective they’ll be, but there’ll be words, someday, for him to say. things he wants to tell aziraphale, as soon as aziraphale is ready to hear him. things he wants aziraphale to know, not because he wants to make a point but only because aziraphale deserves to know everything there is to know about love. 

he waits for aziraphale to ask for these; he waits for aziraphale to want them too. aziraphale’s choice, always–aziraphale has had so few, with heaven breathing down his neck. crowley wants to stand at aziraphale’s side, not push or prod him forward. he’s waited a long time already. he can wait a little while more.

besides, he thinks, looking at aziraphale from across a table at the ritz, watching his eyes light up, watching his hand twitch toward crowley’s–he doesn’t think he’ll have to wait much longer. 

[trusthimhesadoctor]

[forineffablereasons]

aziraphale taking crowley stargazing on a date…taking him out to where there’s no light pollution, out to where it’s quiet. aziraphale takes him to where they can see the northern lights, to where they can see alpha centauri, so bright and far away. 

i’m sorry, aziraphale says, that i didn’t say yes, when you asked me. about alpha centauri. 

crowley turns to him, facing him on the blanket they’re sharing out in some field. he reaches for aziraphale’s hand, twines their fingers together. i’m not, he says. i’m glad we’re here, angel. i don’t think we could’ve been this if we’d run away. we’re not made for running, i don’t think. 

i suppose not, aziraphale agrees, smiling up at him. he reaches his free hand to touch crowley’s cheek. i think we’re made for earth. and, maybe, for each other.

maybe? crowley scoffs. maybe for each other? if there’s one thing i know, angel, and here he stops, leans in, kisses aziraphale in the starlight, it’s that you and me, we were always going to find each other. we always have. we always will.

so certain? aziraphale asks, but he’s teasing, petting the back of crowley’s neck, freeing his other hand from crowley’s to pull him closer. is it written?

yes, crowley says, kissing him again. we’re the ones writing it.