peppergaladriel

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Most shows with overpowered supernatural characters always try to come up with elaborate excuses to explain why the characters can’t just magic themselves out of every situation. Good Omens doesn’t really do that, but you don’t really question it because you completely buy that these morons are so unequivocally incompetent that they straight up forget that they have the powers of fucking demigods. They’re like high-level d&d characters who only use the same three moves and have completely forgotten about the 73 magic items sitting in their inventory. 

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each other’s conscience 

do not remove caption | twitter

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reblog to have Pepper keep the peace on your dashboard

#double peace #my mascot

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They actually stopped the plot in episode 3 to show us for thirty minutes how obsessed with each other Crowley and Aziraphale are that is an actual thing they did

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Sometimes when I’m thinking about Good Omens’ resident husbands jokes and headcanons (as you do) I encounter this conflict -like a lot of times: I usually start thinking of Azi as the idiot

But then I’m like nO it is Crowley the dumb one, so my thoughts evolve to

BUT THEN I remember the truth of it all: they are both the idiot.

here’s the meme source

#tRUTH #THEYRE ALL ACCURATE FJDKS

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David Tennant reads the bookshop scene from Good Omens during Playing in the Dark: Neil Gaiman and the BBC Symphony Orchestra.

Posting here to memorialise this even after the BBC takes it down from their website. Originally performed 12th Nov 2019 at the Barbican, London. 

…his Aziraphale voice is so delicate oh my word, I’m ready to offer my life savings and possibly a kidney in exchange for a full-length audiobook

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That’s it, that’s the story.

#WHOA #i love this #the simplicity but complexity?? #the original book art style but like elevated?? #love!!

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“One time my Nanny and the Gardener were having a heated argument in the car and he took her Queen tape out of the player and threw it out the window with rage and she looked him dead in the eyes and pulled out a second copy of that same tape and put it back in the player.”

— Warlock, probably

#gold.

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So there’s been A LOT of discussion over what the ‘J’ in Crowley’s full self-given name stands for

Tumblr has decided Crowley’s full name is Anthony Janthony Crowley. A valid choice. Other options include Anthony Jezebel Crowley (my personal favourite), Anthony James Crowley, after James Bond, Anthony Job Crowley, and so on. 

Crowley himself declares to Aziraphale in the church scene;

But, consider this. What if the ‘J’ really is just a ‘J’?

Ok, so here we have a generic Egyptian Hieroglyphic to English translation. (While I’m obsessed with ancient Egypt, and @whiteleyfoster ‘s Prince of Omens series, seriously if you haven’t read it go read it now! I don’t claim to fully be able to read hieroglyphics, just a basic hieroglyphic to english translation);

The letter ‘J’ in hieroglyphs is, yup you guessed it, A SNAKE.

In conclusion, Crowley, the Serpent of Eden, gave themself the middle initial ‘J’ because the corresponding Hieroglyph looks like a snake, because they are just that epically nerdy. And I for one think that’s very sexy of them.

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Aziraphale does his best not to step on the lawn, Crowley cuts right across. :)

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“In a jiffy. Two shakes of a lamb’s tail.”

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Do you ever think about how the rescue mission in the Blitz went down compared to how Crowley must have imagined it?

Like he's checking his outfit in the mirror, psyching himself up and playing it out in his head. "He was so mad at you before and you haven't seen him in decades so this has got to be perfect don't you dare mess it up..."

We know Crowley is Imaginative and we know he kind of (desperately) wishes he was James Bond - there's no way he didn't have a little daydream about it beforehand.

Expectation:

Put on your sharpest suit and saunter vaguely into Aziraphale's Nazi meeting.

Reality:

Awkwardly dance into a church like a drunk flamingo because Aziraphale can't double cross Nazis in the back room of a pub like a normal person.

Expectation:

Remain completely deadpan and focused on your mission, you are a professional.

Reality:

Immediately get distracted when the Nazis give away the first name you've been too nervous to tell Aziraphale for years and it seems as though he doesn't like it.

Expectation:

Say something cutting and devastatingly witty, then dispatch the Nazis with one click of your demonic fingers.

Reality:

Panic, redirect a bomb to hit the church, obliterating it completely and forcing Aziraphale to do the actual saving.

Expectation:

Calmly soak up the adoration of a blushing angel, maintaining your persona of flawless cool the entire time.

Reality:

Impulsively save his books in a gesture of devotion so transparent you might as well have handed over your heart along with the bag of books.

Expectation:

Further impress the angel with your fancy new car.

Reality:

Terrify the angel with your reckless driving and earn yourself a lifetime of nagging about it.

Overall expectation for the night:

You look cool, slick and heroic dropping in to perform a daring rescue and allowing the angel to swoon over you.

Actual reality of the night:

Burn your feet, make a huge mess in the middle of London and out yourself as desperately in love with your best friend/hereditary enemy.

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December the Fifth: Fire

December 24th, 1914. The Western Front. 

German Trenches

It was cold. 

Half-frozen pools of mud-slush sat at the bottom of the trenches. Everything was wet and so, in temperatures approaching below zero, everything was icy. Everything was bleak. 

And the War was dragging ever on. 

‘Come, now,’ a middle-aged man in uniform said to the group of dejected soldiers scattered around him. ‘It’s Christmas Day, my dear fellows. Is that not something to be happy about, at least? Heinrich? Otto?’

‘We should be home with our families, Captain,’ Otto replied, bitterly. ‘Not here, sitting in freezing trenches, getting shot at by the bloody English, if typhus or trench fever doesn’t kill us first. There’s nothing to be happy about. It’s just another day like all of the others. What is good is Christmas in Hell?’

The Captain said nothing. He had nothing that he could say. The man was right, of course.

Otto shook his head in disdain, and turned away.

English Trenches

A young soldier sat with his feet propped up on the walls of a trench, trying to keep his feet out of the way of an icy puddle as he struggled in vain to light his cigarette.

‘Your matches are damp. Here.’

‘Thanks,’ the young soldier said as he reached across to take the lighter offered by a dark-haired stranger with a gloomy voice and sunglasses. He lit his cigarette and passed the lighter back. ‘What’s your name?’ he asked. ‘Don’t think I seen you ‘ere before?’

The man took back the lighter and lit a cigarette of his own, saying nothing. 

‘Well, I’m Henry,’ replied the boy - for he was little more than a boy - leaning forward and extending his hand. ‘Henry Watkins.’

German Trenches

‘Hey, come on, Otto, cheer up,’ a soldier whispered. ‘At least Captain Fell is trying to keep our spirits up. Could be worse. Remember Captain Weber? All he’d do is shout all the time. At least Ezra talks to us. Treats us like people . You shouldn’t be so hard on him, Otto. It’s not his fault we’re here.’

‘My sister,’ said Otto, staring up at the grey sky, ‘had a baby three weeks ago. Little girl. She named her Ottilie. Her father, my sister’s husband, he’s a solider too. I don’t know where he’s posted. Neither does my sister. Don’t even know if he’s alive.’

Otto cupped his hand to light his pipe. ‘Ottilie will spend her first Christmas without her father. And without her uncle. And if this war carries on like this, she’ll no doubt spend next Christmas without us, too. In fact,’ he continued, ‘I don’t doubt that the girl will have to spend every Christmas without her father or her uncle. Because, Heinrich, it is extremely likely that we are all going to die .’

‘Ah, Otto, don’t say things like that. You don’t know that. None of us know what–’

‘Go away, Heinrich,’ Otto cut in, dully. ‘I don’t wanna talk to you. I don’t want to talk to anyone.’

‘Okay. Well, if you change your mind—‘

‘I won’t.’

Keep reading

#wow #this was really good #didnt expect it #the wording is beautiful #and just #so pure #aaaa

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Isn't this that angel guy from Good Omens?

#ME DJDJDK #i remember when i didnt know anything about gomens but everyone was already talking about kt and i was just like Constantly Confused #who is this asfjdkxfale fellow??

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Crowley: Oh, come on, angel. Nobody thinks Warlock is my son.

Aziraphale: Raise your hand if you thought Warlock was Crowley's son.

[everyone raises their hand]

Crowley: Warlock, put your hand down.

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Crowley’s hair in the final scene at the Ritz

I mean, have you seen his hair?! LOL It looks like all those millennia of stress and anxiety were waiting for this moment to dump on his head.

No, really. He’s gone through 6000+ years with the best hair, has followed fashion, has tried everything and rocked it every time. I think it’s safe to say that of all his exterior presentation, Crowley takes particular care in having his hair always look good, no matter what. Even when he was wasted drunk at the bar he had better hair than this. Even when he came out of the burning bookshop.

And now, at the Ritz, celebrating their newfound freedom… he just doesn’t care! No, okay, this requires a gif because really, look at him.

That looks like the hair he woke up with. It’s a mess and I love it.

To be fair, in this final, beautiful scene all of him looks a little off. He’s presenting in a way we’ve never seen before - the smile, the lightness - the closest being probably Eden. One could argue that he isn’t himself at this point– or maybe he’s more himself than ever. We’re used to see him strung up, nervous, guarded, while here is relaxing, and he’s SO tired, to the point that he looks like a deflated balloon.

It’s like the tight string holding him together has been cut loose AND THAT’S THE POINT, because he was piling up so much fear and anxiety and it’s actually a good thing that it’s gone. Look at him taking in everything rather than acting on it, like, he’s contented with letting Aziraphale do all the talking, and nothing else, no second purpose, no hiding behind the Arrangement. Just being. Relax by quiet which if you ask me has ‘introvert’ written all over it. Relief by absence of weight. Who hasn’t been there, really? I know I have.

A part of me first thought that he could have been happier at this point, should have been happier, showing it in a more flashy way as we’re used to see him, but the truth is that he is happy. He is like that BECAUSE he’s okay. 

And he’s also so exhausted that he’s basking in the feeling of not having to worry. Maybe that lack of pressure is not the showiest moment of his (especially because of the way he has trained us to see him), but it is so meaningful that now, right now, he only needs the quiet. That the real, best outcome is that he can finally, finally, rest. Not only from Hell and Heaven, but from the continuous effort of trying so hard, repeatedly enticing Aziraphale so that he won’t step back, unable to ever take him for granted. 

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Compare the nervous despair of the first gif with the careless pose of the second one. There’s great meta here about this comparison, but just look: finally, Crowley can trust Aziraphale to stay on their own side, share some of the weight, and his relief is palpable.

So of course he can’t be bothered to look perfect, because who cares honestly? Not today, not after all that’s happened. His priorities have been laid out in front of him, and hair ain’t one of those right now. He has everything he ever, really needed.

Look at him; he’s beautiful.

Gif credit (x)

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To the world. To the world.

#yes #good #good essay i suppORT