Good Omens season 2 referencing Powell & Pressburger films
Crowley's angel hair is modeled after Kim Hunter's hair as June in A Matter of Life and Death (1946).
Maggie's shop is called The Small Back Room in reference to 1949's The Small Back Room.
The red ballet shoes on the door of Give Me Coffee or Give Me Death are a nod to The Red Shoes (1948).
(Note : the klaxons sounding in Heaven at the end of episode 1 are said to be a nod to the alarm bells in The Other World in A Matter of Life and Death. Personally, I don't think they sound at all alike; they are only similar in both being alarms. Plus, it's an audio reference, which I don't have the skill or patience to include here. But it's there!)
In The Small Back Room, Maggie has a poster for the film Stairway to Heaven displayed. A Matter of Life and Death was released under this title in the US.
The tartan hills welcoming Aziraphale to Scotland are a reference to the tartan hills welcoming Joan to Scotland in I Know Where I'm Going! (1945). And of course, the third episode is itself titled "I Know Where I'm Going."
Jim drops the book My Best Games of Chess, 1924-1937, by Alexander Alekhine, onto a table in the bookshop repeatedly as he is discovering how gravity works. This book is featured prominently in A Matter of Life and Death.
When Aziraphale enters The Resurrectionist pub in Edinburgh, I Know Where I'm Going! is playing on both televisions (I'm pretty sure I found the right scene to match this screenshot). You can also make out the name 'Pressburger' on one of the posters in this screenshot, but we'll get to that later. . .
The family name on the mausoleum where Aziraphale and Crowley hide out with Elspeth and Wee Morag is Archers. It's never clearly seen in the show, but it can be seen in this BTS photo of the model used for Crowley's embiggening. The Archers was the name of Powell and Pressburger's production company. The interior of the tomb and the urns outside the full-size set also reference the Archers, and Powell & Pressburger individually.
In Mr. Arnold's record shop, one of the posters on the wall is for a UK music tour; either the band or the tour is titled Met By Moonlight. This is referencing Ill Met By Moonlight (1957), the final film Powell & Pressburger made together. (I personally think this one is a reach, as the title of the film is a line from A Midsummer Night's Dream and thus not really clockable to the outside viewer as a direct Archers reference, but apparently the intent was there so we're counting it!)
The Pressburger posters are more clearly visible during the Gabriel and Beelzebub rendezvous scene in The Resurrectionists pub. We can see they advertise 'Pressburger Scottish Lager,' which is of course a nod to Emeric Pressburger himself. (Unclear if Michael Powell has his own label that we just don't get a clear view of. . .)
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I clocked a couple of these myself, but they are all referenced in the X-Ray trivia on the Prime Video player. Would love to know if anyone has clocked anymore that aren't divulged. . .
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angel of small death (könig x reader)
the new recruit gets on könig's nerves.
3rd person, König's pov, she/her pronouns for reader, rivals to lovers, romance, slow burn, König does not trust pretty women who act interested in him, reader is determined to jump this man's bones
1k words
tw: none really, just swearing and König gets a boner at the end
besties I don't even know what this is. I was listening to angel of small death and the codeine scene by hozier and went "yeah we all love when König is creepy and stalkery and insistent towards the object of his obsession affections, but what if his love interest was the one pursuing him". enjoy this lil tidbit before shrike ch3! I'll probably write more about these two, it's a fun dynamic.
König knows how to read people.
It was a survival instinct. Reading into every micro-expression, every intonation in a voice, every shift of the shoulders. As a child, it served him well predicting what torment his bullies planned to inflict on him. As a soldier, he knew how to read his coworkers and establish that he was not to be fucked with. He had a reputation, and he was proud of it. Perhaps it was a little isolating, being the giant boogeyman of the base, but loneliness was not new to him. He knew how to deal with loneliness.
He doesn’t know how to deal with her.
The new recruit flutters onto base entirely unlike a soldier of her caliber. Flutters is really the only way to describe her, regardless of the way she moves physically. She’s the definition of a social butterfly—whether her candor is genuine, or a mask to hide a deep well of insecurity and anxiety is anybody’s guess. But there’s a grace to the way she manages to endear herself to nearly everyone, regardless of the friend groups and casual cliques the soldiers have formed.
Except König.
Oh, bite him. What was he supposed to think when she full body slammed into him coming around the corner, and then looked up at him with that mischievous glimmer in her eye?
“Whoa, you are one huge motherfucker!” she says, the profanity slipping out of her without hesitation. If she were any other woman, perhaps some nice little civilian lady, her wide smile and twinkling eyes would have turned him to mush. But instead, it puts him on his guard. The boys who bullied him as a child hurt him with their fists. The girls cloaked their insults with honey, with cloying little chirps about his size before crushing what little self-confidence his height afforded him. Just some awkward lanky giant who takes up too much space.
He glares down at her, eyes boring into her from behind the hood. “Watch where you’re going, recruit.” He stalks off down the hallway, but not before he hears her tut and exclaim “what crawled up his ass?” to the coworker she was walking with.
He doesn’t want to know anything about her. He’s not interested, he tells himself, in learning about who she is. But he learns anyway, from hearing snippets of conversation around the base.
She’s on the young side for their line of work, but she’s good. She’s a dead-on shot with a gun, and a whiz with throwing knives. Her specialty, of course, is sniping. König bends the metal fork he’s eating with in his fist when he hears this particular tidbit. Of course, she has the job he wanted when he first joined special forces. Of course she would be outstanding in the one thing he wasn’t allowed to do.
He tries to avoid her—it irritates him, how goddamn pleasant she is. Friendly, outgoing, warm. All adjectives that nobody would apply to him. He was hoping his cold initial reception would keep her away, but she seems almost determined to pop up wherever he finds himself. If he’s eating with the others, she’s nearby, perched on a table and making everyone near her laugh. If he’s at target practice, she’s there, shooting bullets through the same hole punched in the target almost every time. (He has to admit, that does impress him. He knows enough to recognize a master at work.) If he’s getting coffee to stave off his sleepiness, she’s at the coffee maker, engaged in conversation that annoys him with its peppiness.
He somehow makes it a whole week without having something resembling a proper conversation with her, and he was liking it just fine that way. Alas, there’s a mission briefing, and now she’s walking up to him beaming, hand outstretched.
“Hey, big guy! We haven’t been properly introduced yet, have we?” König looks down at her hand, then back to her face.
“König.” He watches with a nasty bit of smugness as her smile falters for a moment and she drops her hand.
“König, huh? German for king.” It happens so fast, he can barely register what’s happening. She steps closer to him, her voice lowering a whole octave. “Impressive callsign for an impressive man.”
The room suddenly shrinks, and the low chatter of the others filing into the room and exchanging pleasantries fades away. She’s close, so close to him that if he weren’t wearing a mask, he’s sure she would feel his breath. She runs a single fingernail across his torso, right over his pecs, and an involuntary shudder runs through him.
“The name’s Monarch.” He watches, frozen like a marble statue, as she looks up at him through her lashes. It’s undeniably sensual, but there’s the faintest touch of venom in her teasing tone. Her eyes are still as bright as always, but there’s a sharpness to them. He’s only seen this look on her in one situation: the split second between her letting out her breath and her pulling the trigger on a sniper rifle at the range. It’s calm. Collected. The deadly gaze of a confident predator before she blows a target’s head off. He wonders if she’s imagining his head exploding right now.
For the first time in a long time, he feels vulnerable, laid bare in this perplexing and irritating woman’s gaze. Monarch. He’d snort if he wasn’t trapped like a mosquito in amber. Of course she’d have a callsign like that. He’d thought her a butterfly this whole time: fluttery and pretty, but ultimately harmless to him personally.
Now, he feels like he’s staring down a checkmate.
“I look forward to working with you,” she purrs.
In an instant, the moment is gone. Whatever bubble she had encapsulated him in pops, and the mess of overlapping conversations and shuffling feet surges into his senses, like someone pressing the fast forward button. He blinks, and she’s already moved away, bouncy and energetic as she greets another coworker. He’s never been so confused in his entire life.
He sits down before anyone can notice his throbbing hard erection.
if you want a visual on what I was imagining when Monarch touches his pecs, it's exactly what Black Cat does in this video (time stamped)
yes, I did at some point have the thought "this would make a really good plot with Ghost" but I think Ghost's thing is that he's stoic and keeps people at a distance because he doesn't want to get close to someone and put them at risk. with König he doesn't trust people who are sweet and kind to people all the time because he has trusted people who were kind to him before, and they took advantage of him. alas, this König did not have a Thorn in his life. but Monarch is a thorn in his side!
also. monarch. butterfly. monarch as in king. my brain is so huge (I have impressed myself by coming up with the most surface level metaphors)
I'm not overly pleased with how short this is, but I was trying to capture the attitude of these two characters, so it's kind of like establishing a certain mood. I have PLANS for Monarch though. she's a freaky little lady.
as usual, please send me your feedback, brainrot, literally anything you have to say about these two I want to hear!! I mean this so sincerely. they live in my head rent-free. (also if you want to be tagged drop a reply)
one last thing before I go: I love troubled birds so much. you can't convince me that the one in the moodboard (moodboards are so hard to make, wtf? I have renewed respect for authors who make moodboards as their fic images) and this one are so Königcore
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