circuseternal

[circuseternal]

I saw someone else write it, but I wanted to add more.

Groomers groom their allies too. Predators sniff out the weakest and most damaged to be their prey. But when they find strength, they project their “safe” image. They loudly proclaim their goodness, their support for victims, their feminism. They are counting on this so that *if* they get caught, there will be a group of people who can honestly say “I can’t believe this, I never expected it from them.” Because they need you in their corner to help them discredit their victims.

Don’t beat yourself up if someone turns out to be shitty. Don’t waste a second of your energy wondering how you missed the signs. They showed you *exactly* what they wanted you to see. Their narcissistic manipulation is on THEM, not on you.

The best thing you can do moving forward is to give your strong voice and your power to the victims. Don’t apologize for what you didn’t know, don’t make it about yourself.

“Knowing what I/we know now” is a valuable phrase, use it to speak out against the predator.

They are counting on your doubt: self-doubt, doubting the victim. Don’t give it to them.

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Let there be matter, let there be gravity, let there be everything from pages 11 to 3,000,602 inclusive... (Funny if I did the good thing and you did the bad one, eh?)

GOOD OMENS SEASON 2 + the seven virtues and the seven sins

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Just a reminder that there are NO “SHOULDS” on A03. If you dream it, write it, post it.

Read this beauty 😍😆

https://archiveofourown.org/works/21080057

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It’s perfect.

Since SO MANY of you liked my Aziraphale-cat...🤭✨😺 (THREE illustrations today!!)

1. Introducing: Aziraphale (cat), I imagined him as a British Shorthair✨

2. Aziraphale's must have! You cannot possibly adopt him without each one of these essentials!✨😺

But MOST OF ALL:

3. They're a set, do not separate. (and consider to give them a room... they're quite loud)

🩷🤭✨

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Crowley Knows.

Somewhere in Bethlehem, a long time ago…

Aziraphale: What on EARTH are you doing?

Crowley: Trust me, angel, these are gonna catch on.

I had planned to do something lush for St Stephen’s Day originally but when my spouse came up with this idea I nearly fell off my treadmill I was laughing so hard. I hope it gives you a chuckle.

Happy New Year, everyone 🍾

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If you haven’t tasted the Wagner family of wines (CONUNDRUM, Emmolo, Mer Soleil), run do not walk. IDK how they do it but they make wines that my tannin-hating self can actually drink.

I keep trying to like red wine like a grown-up but like … it’s rotten grapes, guys. You can drink things that don’t taste like rotten grapes. Why

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BLESS THE MODS AT AZIRAPHALES-LIBRARY.

I finally lost one!!

Looking for a fic where Aziraphale(?) is coming out of surgery/anesthesia, and very upset that they have taken his hat. Very attractive nurse?doctor? Crowley is there to flirt with.

I recall it being fairly short. Went back through my bookmarks to read it again but think I didn’t maybe actually bookmark it?

Hello my dear! You're looking for:

They Took My Hat by AppleSeeds [Rated T, 2500 words]

After waking up from surgery, Aziraphale is delighted to meet the incredibly lovely and handsome Mr Crowley, who has come to check on him after his operation. The drugs may have lowered Aziraphale's inhibitions, but the good news is that Mr Crowley seems quite receptive to his advances. Before he can think about anything else though, Aziraphale really needs to find out what happened to his hat.

(Inspired by the 'they took my hat' post-anaesthesia video)

-Mod AB

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Yeah, all of these are true.

Aziraphale does not...

Aziraphale does not need to learn and see how awful Heaven is

Gif by @crowlixcx

Does not need to suffer to 'deserve' Crowley

He suffered and cried enough (and so did Crowley)

He does not need to explain to Crowley why he spent millennia 'pretending' they are not friends

Crowley knows why.

Gif by @capinejghafa

Aziraphale does not need to apologise for how he'd turned Crowley away again and again

Crowley knows they can't really run away. Not for long. Not when the whole Universe is set to be destroyed when the Earth is done with. Not when they are always watched.

Aziraphale does not need to Fall to understand Crowley or be worthy to be with him or to understand anything better

Crowley loves him as the angel he is. And Aziraphale loves Crowley exactly as he is. A demon. A demon with a soft heart.

Crowley doesn't want Aziraphale to change. And Aziraphale doesn't want Crowley to change either.

BONUS

Crowley is IMO not self-destructing because Aziraphale left. I think he understands why he did. And I think he will help him willingly. Because Crowley loves Earth too.

It's not like S1 when the world was about to end and Aziraphale was gone.

Aziraphale is gone because the world is about to end. And that was the case in S1 too, Crowley just didn't know it. He does now. He helped when he found out then, and he will again.

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This came on today and if that isn’t the most Crowley-loves-Aziraphale coded song of all time…

Lyrics:

Come on back see me when you can

Man I can understand how it might be

Kinda hard to love a girl like me

I don't blame you much for wanting to be free

I just wanted you to know

I've loved you better that your own kin did

From the very start it's my own fault

What happens to my heart

You see I've always known you'd go

So you just do what you gotta do

My wild sweet love

Though it may mean that I'll never kiss

Those sweet lips again

Pay that no mind

Find that dappled dream of yours

Come on back and see me when you can

Now I know it'll make you feel sad

And make you feel so bad

They say you don't treat me me like you should

They got ways to make you feels no good

I guess they got no way to know

I've had my eyes wide open from the start

And man you never lied to me

The part of you that they'll never see

Is the part you've shown to me

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The Night That Changed an Angel (or, why does Aziraphale still wear that shabby vest?)

Mini-Meta Musing (#4)

I've been brooding for a long time about, of all things, Aziraphale's worn velvet vest and the long cream jacket he's kept in "tip top condition for over 180 years now." I love the sweet familiarity, but this is the same angel who popped across the Channel and almost lost his fluffy-topped head in 1793 for dressing like an aristocrat.

"I have standards!"

He's the height of elegance, extravagance even. A dandy. We've seen the same at the Globe Theater 1601, Edinburgh 1827, and even as a Knight of the Round Table in 527 Essex, where he's wearing a glorious pelt across his shoulders! However, sometime after Edinburgh 1827, Aziraphale's stylish extravagance ends. He adopts the dress of distinguished but modest gentility. No seamstresses strain their eyes for days hand stitching ruffles and trims for him any longer. When we next see him in 1862, his clothing is refined, simple, and serviceable. It becomes his uniform, with only minor replacements. Why? What happened to change him?

Edinburgh 1827 happened. And his encounter with tragedy ran over his sensibilities like a locomotive.

Aziraphale had, we were told, saved his earnings over time and had bought land, invested wisely, and became quite well off. He used real money, not miracles, to build the bookshop, paying the builders well and taking care of bills honestly. He built himself up to a more than comfortable lifestyle, from nearly nothing. And his clothes are real, not miracled from nothingness like Crowley's. (source: original showrunner)

Aziraphale's wealth allows him to afford luxurious tailoring and fancy shoes and ruffles and trims. He'll certainly pay the cobblers and tailors and seamstresses well for their labors. It will be a substantial expense for the era. (The linked post gives a wonderful perspective on 1793 lifestyles and costs.)

https://agoodflyting.tumblr.com/post/753227014283083776/why-aziraphales-white-satin-pumps-are-ridiculous

The angel's Edinburgh multilayered and trimmed top coat, soft leather gloves, matching scarf, jacquard vest, silk cravat, etc., look entirely out of place in the back alleys where the poor huddle. Walking the clean, gas-lit avenues with Crowley and Elspeth, Aziraphale is oblivious to the privilege he has in this world.

As he strolls along in philosophical banter with Crowley about the "blessing" of poverty, the angel spouts trite pontifications created by the rich to justify poverty. He genuinely believes Elspeth has more opportunities for goodness.  After all, look at Wee Morag.  He respects her goodness tremendously.  It proves to him his “rightness.”  And so he sabotages Elspeth’s attempt to sell the body she dug up in her attempt to support Wee Morag.  Dalrymple gets no body, Elspeth gets no money, and Aziraphale believes he’s saving her soul.

It’s a poignant moment, though, when Aziraphale cradles the jar containing a tumor from a seven year old child who died because there wasn’t enough medical knowledge to save him.  Turning point number one.  It becomes Real, not a philosophical debate.  Selling stolen bodies puts good in the world.  He’s all for it now, and goes back to encourage Elspeth.  Good heavens, he’s even willing to help this time!

But, as we know, it all goes wrong.  Wee Morag is shot by a grave gun, and dies of her injuries.  Elspeth steals laudanum, and plans suicide.  Crowley drinks the laudanum, saves her in a compassionate Scottish frenzy, and is stolen away by hell because of his kindness.   And it is All. Aziriphale’s. Fault.

Turning point number two.  Another watershed moment where Aziraphale’s world changes again.

One of Crowley’s last earthly acts, before getting plunged into hell, is to have Aziraphale give Elspeth all of his pocket money.  What is pocket money to the angel is a fortune to her, one that can set her up for a better life.  I have no doubt that in the aftermath of the traumas of that night, missing and worrying about Crowley, Aziraphale thinks about all of this.  He considers all of the money he casually spends on fine clothing and expensive tailoring.  He wonders how many lives could change if that money was better spent on helping to relieve the poverty that surrounds him.  He wants to help, and to try to make amends for the harm he caused.  What would Crowley do, if he were free to be kind? And so Aziraphale changes.

I’d love to know the story of how it all played out.  Did he sell his fine clothing and donate the proceeds?  Did he become involved in charitable foundations?  Did he buy the clothing of a simple gentleman and decide to preserve it, however worn it became, as a reminder to himself of his past blindness and vanity?  We see in Season 1 how important it is to him to preserve that coat. (Sure, it's also a fantastic opportunity to flirt and flutter those angelic eyelashes... But, nonetheless!)

By Season 2, the angel who took too long justifying a life-saving miracle for Wee Morag, and who hesitated to give Elspeth his 90 Guineas, willingly and freely gave Maggie forgiveness for thousands of pounds of debt. I'd love to know what else he's done over the last 180+ years!

Whatever happened, it began that night in a graveyard.

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Several sets of pearls, in fact.

Aziraphale just SCREAMS pearls girly to me, I can’t explain it.

Look at her

Most convincingly of all:

She needs an extravagant layered pearl necklace immediately.

Think of how dramatic she is. The absolute drama of a good set of pearls

GET THIS BITCH SOME PEARLS TO CLUTCH

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���Oh, I’ve nooot got a clue.” is basically how I live my entire life.

This is so funny!

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Sometimes Aziraphale feels old. Or, he feels weary and achy and tired. He is old, that’s for certain, but angels don’t really get old. He’d been wearing this face since the dawn of time, and sometimes his cheeks were plumper or thinner, and sometimes there were bags under his eyes, but it hadn’t aged a day. Sometimes he remembers the inquisitions, the revolutions, the crusades, the war and the horror of it all, and he laments how much his years have let him see. 

And then Crowley will do something like start humming. He’s wandering around the bookshop, idly rearranging things. Aziraphale doesn’t have his books arranged by the alphabet or Dewey Decimal–no silly human classification. He’s not an animal, he has a system, it’s just that only he knows what it is. And Crowley, maybe. He seems to have figured it out, or otherwise is using his demonic instincts, because he’s putting the books he plucks from the shelves in exactly the worst place he could put them. Aziraphale would be mad, but it gives him something to look busy doing when customers come in asking questions. 

He can’t place the tune. It’s familiar, so familiar, but he can’t place it. He doesn’t realize at first that he’s been following Crowley around the shop, brows furrowed, following the sound like a bee tracking pollen. 

Crowley finally notices him, but doesn’t stop, making contact through his glasses as he reshelves a book. The humming gets a little louder, a little more pointed and teasing. 

“What is that tune?” Aziraphale finally asks. “It’s driving me mad.” 

Crowley quirks a grin, taking a moment before he stops to respond. “Willard Bourke. Pianist. We saw him play in the 70s, in that little tavern, you remember. You thought he was handsome.” 

Aziraphale blushes, but, yes, he does remember now. They’d been there for a drink, and Aziraphale had been mesmerized by the man’s deft fingers. “Ah.” Aziraphale clears his throat. Crowley says the 70s, like there’d been only one of them, but it had in fact been the 1770s when they’d heard him play. “I do remember, yes. I thought he’d be famous. Pity no one remembers.” 

“We do,” Crowley says, and goes back to humming. 

Or that time he stops by Crowley’s flat, just for some tea, just for a chat. He finds Crowley in the middle of cooking, cursing quietly to himself. The demon looks frustrated. He’s positively glowering when Aziraphale enters. 

Aziraphale surveys his ingredients, face screwing in confusion. “Whatever are you cooking?” 

“Stew,” Crowley responds glumly. “Or, at least, I’m trying to. I can’t get it right.” 

“Part of the joy of stew is that you don’t have to get it right.” He waves his hands. “The pot does most of the work.” 

Crowley hisses, raising his fingers to rub against his eyes. “No, it’s … It’s a specific stew. I’ve been craving it for ages, but no one makes it anymore. It came with these little roasted dill seed bread balls and …” He cuts himself off. 

“Crowley–” Aziraphale squints suspiciously. “How old is this recipe, exactly?” 

Crowley sighs, already defeated. “Mesopotamia?” he ekes out, abashed. 

Aziraphale laughs. “Oh, good! It’ll be a challenge, then.” He pulls the spoon from Crowley’s hand, taking a sip. “Juniper berries,” he decides. “You need juniper berries.” 

Or when Warlock is young, maybe 6, not more than 7, though Aziraphale finds it so hard to keep track. He and Nanny Ashtoreth are sitting in the garden, drawing. It’s one of the rare moments when they’re both calm, worn out from a long day of chasing and yelling and plotting. 

Aziraphale pretends to mind his rosebushes, but he’s been watching them for some time. Finally, he breaks and walks over. 

“Ah, young master Warlock,” he says, peering over their shoulders. “What a wonderful drawing you’ve done. You like dinosaurs, hmm?” 

Warlock looks up, colored pencil held tight in his fist. “Nanny is teaching me about extinct animals. Like dinosaurs and thylacines and unicorns.” 

Aziraphale shoots Nanny Ashtoreth a look. She doesn’t look back. 

Warlock pipes up again. “Nanny invented dinosaurs, did you know?” 

“Did she now?” Aziraphale asks. It’s hard to keep his voice straight, because he knows this to be a fact. Crowley had been quite drunk at the time, but he thought it would be hilarious. “Big ‘ol lizards,” he’d said, “just huge, you know. Like a dragon, but they’ll think they’re real, see. Biggest things ever. ‘ould barely fit in the garden, them. Big buggers.” 

Warlock nods. “My favorite is the T-Rex. Nanny says it would eat you in one bite.” 

Aziraphale hums, discontented, as Nanny Ashtoreth quirks a grin. He spares a glance at what she’s drawing, and stops. It’s the most beautiful drawing of a passenger pigeon he’s ever seen. The reds and blues of it, every detail in its feathers. They’d seen them together, before, before they’d all gotten hunted out. 

“It’s a lovely drawing, Nanny,” he says, voice a little more earnest than he means it to be. 

The pencil stops, then keeps going. 

Warlock looks up at him again. “Nanny says she ate the last one.” 

“I did,” Nanny Ashtoreth responds. “And don’t you forget it.” 

It’s the little things, the things that, by himself, Aziraphale might not remember. It’s the feel of the earliest silk, the thrill of his first moving picture, the clamor of a Roman marketplace on a hot day. Aziraphale is good at the experiencing, but Crowley has always been one for the remembering. Things stick with him. Things that, otherwise, would have been lost to time. 

They’re curled up in bed, two commas together, and it’s been one of those days. Every shine is the glint of a sword, every wayward noise a battle cry, and Aziraphale can’t seem to stop remembering. He remembers the mess and the horror of it, he remembers the loss. All six-thousand years of loss. 

Aziraphale swallows, and he hates how thick his throat feels. “Tell me good things,” he asks, meek, tired, and Crowley hums and presses a kiss into his shoulder. 

Do you remember? Crowley asks, and keeps going. Do you remember, do you remember?

Yes, Aziraphale responds. Yes, yes, I do now. 

They lay there, and remember together, six-thousand years of good and light, and fun and joy, and it’s easier. It doesn’t take away all the bad that he’s seen, but it’s easier. He remembers the food and the smells and the heavy cotton, and the music and the laughter and his first taste of wine. The bad isn’t gone, but there’s good, too, pushing it’s way in to make room. 

Do you remember when we met? Crowley whispers, their hands linking. 

Aziraphale pulls them up to place a kiss against his knuckles. It was so long ago, a lifetime, but yes, he does. 

I remember, he says. 

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“Admiring a Roman helmet”. Is that what we’re calling it these days?

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If this isn’t Crowley-coded, nothing is.

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I feel like this scene goes through the head of every AO3 writer who does “self-conscious Aziraphale”.

Kudos to Sheen, it sounds like he put on a lot of weight for this film to get the “used to be a hottie, now a chubby old man” vibe.

"They got Nixon in that way". - A Very Royal Scandal, Ep.2

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They are more interested in getting the look exactly right, rather than being vain.

BBC: Did you work very closely with Michael and David?

Claire Anderson (Costume Designer): Yes. They were both involved in creating their looks. When you put something very distinctive on them, that helps them find the character. They are more interested in getting the look exactly right, rather than being vain. We had mood boards - light for good, dark for evil. Michael’s costume is ethereal. He wanted something timeless that wouldn’t look out of place now or in Victorian England. He found a way of contemporising his Victorian look. We were able to use aspects of his costume all the way through.

We gave him a tartan bowtie, but all tartans are owned, so we had to design our own specifically, incorporating golden thread and heavenly aspects. He also wears a Victorian waistcoat that is almost bald. We dyed things a lot to get the pale blue on his shirt that would give him serenity and warmth. He wears soft suede shoes and soft light cashmere trousers. It’s about balancing colours with his very white hair to give him the right look. He needs an ethereal aura, and all of the colour palette needs to emphasise his heavenly glow. He’s deliciously cherubic.

BBC: How did you go about creating David’s look?

Claire Anderson: It really started with his 1940s look. The tailoring is very crisp and aligned. It’s hard and sharp. Under the colour of every suit, we put red felt which was like the belly of a snake. Underneath that loucheness, David is slightly rock-starry and Keith Richards-esque. His black leather gloves have a tiny red line to emphasise his snake-like characteristics. We also found a 1980s jacket that had a quilted quality. We worked on it until it had a textured feel to it, like snakeskin. It’s all about semiotics.

Full interview here