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weirdly-specific-but-ok · 1 year ago

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healthy disagreement tip by crowley

[Hello, it's the good omens mascot here, for legal purposes can I please state here that I do love Aziraphale as a character it's simply that this post is about Crowley so no one eat me, okay? It's been a week since I finished GO, I'm not stable enough for discourse]

I noticed that Crowley doesn't ever insult Aziraphale as a person. (Have I missed anything?) Even when they're fighting, Crowley is careful to disagree with decisions that Aziraphale is making, views that Aziraphale may have, but he never implies that Aziraphale is in any way lacking as a person.

The only instance when he ever seems to insult Aziraphale is when the angel refuses to come with him to Alpha Centauri after Crowley drives up to him and apologises. He asks how Aziraphale can be so stupid.

But he says it in such a way that it's very clear he isn't calling Aziraphale stupid, or that he even remotely thinks that about him. He's calling Aziraphale's decision stupid. And he makes sure there's no misunderstanding about this.

In the middle of this disagreement, before he says anything about stupidity, he first tells Aziraphale he's clever. With the endearment added. And he's being entirely sincere about it.

You're so clever, angel.

But he doesn't stop there. He says it again.

How can someone as clever as you--

and only then does he talk about the decision

--be so stupid?

And to me that's just. That's such healthy behaviour? Obviously both of these idiots are constantly shit at communication, but Crowley is very, very clear about this. His 'insults' to Aziraphale are always thinly veiled compliments about how he's all good and has the moral high ground, and during their fights, Crowley still never puts Aziraphale down.

The world is about to end, the timer is ticking, Crowley is scared and frustrated and they've had a massive fight where Aziraphale insisted that they're not friends and there was no our side, and Crowley is stretched to his limit with stress.

I'm sure a lot of us would say things we didn't mean in those circumstances. Even in casual situations, we say things like don't be stupid or why are you being an idiot, and that's mostly okay, if everyone knows that it's not meant seriously.

Aziraphale does that, he says things like you're the bad guys and we're not friends, banking on the knowledge that Crowley will not be hurt and will understand why.

But Crowley, even under that high stress situation, a fight with everything at stake, doesn't call Aziraphale stupid, even though no one would have thought twice about it. It's a manner of speaking, Aziraphale would know what he meant, etc. He still doesn't do it.

He takes the time to remind Aziraphale twice that he is clever, so clever, and then begs him to realise that the decision is stupid. He's so careful, so respectful, even in the literal apocalypse.

During the final fifteen, too. He never implies that Aziraphale is of the same material as Heaven, or even that he would make a bad leader. Even before he says that he, Crowley, doesn't need Heaven, he first says You don't need them.

It's just something that would make a lot of inevitable fights in any kind of relationship so much healthier. To know that even though you are fighting, you are loved. Even though the other person disagrees with you, they respect and admire you as a person.

Not judging the person, as Heaven loves to do, but judging the decision or the view.

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sxdapopcurtis · 27 days ago

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hi friends!! i wanted to share some writing i did tonight! i don’t consider myself a writer but im really proud of this!

a little while back @too-damn-good-for-growing-old and i chatted about a bandstand x the outsiders / vet soda au! in this au, soda and bob become friends across the pond through their shared love for music. this scene is based on the song “right this way”!! most lines in italics are lyrics from the song! i hope you enjoy!!

“and on the top — a rooftop garden

with a bandstand in the sky”

there is a train, it leaves the station at a quarter after five

and it's direct from union terminal

right there in public square

a quarter after five

and where does it arrive?

at grand central station

sodapop curtis stared with empty eyes down at the letter in his hands. he heard the chaos of his closest friends behind him, yelling, crying, and interrogating the poor man who broke the news to them. they won the state preliminary; they were supposed to be off to new york. they were supposed to make it directly to finals; they were supposed to get everything they wanted. soda stared at the teardrops on the paper he was given. they would need to front the money themselves. they would need to go through yet another round of eliminations. they would need to fight tooth and nail again just to secure their spot in the broadcast. this wasn’t what he was promised. this wasn’t what he promised them. this wasn’t what he promised bob.

he was pulled out of his daze when he heard the crashing of johnny’s drums. he turned around to a sight he wished he could forget, sometimes more than the destruction overseas. johnny was desperately trying to hold in tears as he picked up his set. ponyboy scrambled to help his best friend, though not a member of the band, still feeling the loss as strongly as they did. he spent countless hours awake with soda till god knows when listening to him write the song they just performed. the song each of them poured their heart into, and still, it wasn’t enough to get them to new york city. though pony wasn’t a veteran, he could only imagine this stinging as much as some of the stories of their battle scars. steve, in his rage, had not only knocked down his music stand, but johnny’s snare as well. two-bit paced the stage like a madman, chewing on his nails as he muttered to himself about how worthless it all was. he needed a drink, soda could tell that, and he could only estimate how large his tab would accumulate that night. darrel walked back and forth between the group, trying to logistically explain what the letter meant and how they could do that. he went over the original documentation the band signed over and over again, trying to see if there was a loophole in their contract to warn them of this bad news. dallas was cursing out the preliminary official, swearing that he should put himself in their shoes. there was no way the band wouldn’t get a demerit for the way dally spoke to him. that’s if they even got to compete in the first place.

it was cherry that grounded soda’s mind back to reality. he wasn’t in the trenches. he wasn’t in the camp playing the piano next to bob. he was standing shellshocked center stage. soda was supposed to be their fearless leader, guiding them through everything. but now the dog tags around his neck clung to his skin too tightly, his ears rung like the day that grenade dropped, and their army general couldn’t get out a single command. what would bob do? bob wouldn’t have allowed them to get in this circumstance in the first place. they would’ve had all the money they needed if bob was still here. he promised bob, he needed to keep his promise to bob.

they'll say, right this way

we've reserved this just for you

you've been waiting for this day

it's the least that we can do

who was this man in his fancy suit and perfect hair to tell them what they deserved and what they didn’t? the suffering each of them experienced, the loss they weathered, the physical and emotional wounds they wore on their skin every single day. soda slowly circled, taking a good look at his closest companions. they never knew bob the way he did. they never sang around a fire together or hummed quietly to keep the other calm during an attack. they didn’t swear a vow that they would make it out together and finally do something with their lives. but soda had, and somehow, all the people he loved most in the world worked together to make that dream a reality. he couldn’t let them down. he couldn’t let himself down. he couldn’t let bob down.

after bunks on cargo ships

after trenches in the rain

after running for cover

while dodging the flack

and three years and eight months

to fight my way back

the competition official left, muttering a quick apology, though soda knew that he didn’t mean it. he had done what he was supposed to do here. he listened to countless bands sing their passion out, he judged the best, broke the bad news, and he said he felt bad. yet at the end of the day, he would go back to new york, first class at that, while the rest of them scrambled to bear with the tragedy they faced.

and losing my faith

while busting my ass

sodapop took a deep inhale, gulping the air down and shutting his eyes tight. it was too much, it was all too much. they fought so damn hard to get where they were, just to have it ripped from their hands. he started absentmindedly crumbling the letter in his hands, throwing it to the ground. all of his thoughts came rushing up his throat, stinging like bile, until he could finally shout loud enough to hush the chaos.

“i think,” he cleared his throat,”we’re entitled to travel first class.”

quickly, every eye in the room darted onto him. soda couldn’t stand their looks. the pain, the anger, the distraught, the confusion, the pity. everyone before him suffered in their own way, and yet they looked upon sodapop with pity. pity because this was his idea. pity because, though they loved music, they didn’t need to use it as an outlet like soda needed to. pity because at the root of “curtis and company featuring cherry sheldon”, there was a dream that soda had to make it out of tulsa. and he would be damned if he didn’t keep trying.

“don’t you?” he added when no one else had the courage to speak up. soda watched as his friends looked at one another rather than him. he could see the gears in their head-turning, all asking the same question. they didn’t have the money. they didn’t have the time either. how were they expected to pull this one out of their asses? they used all their miracles to get back home.

“how?” steve deadpanned. he wasn’t trying to be harsh; everyone knew that steve loved soda more than anything and wouldn’t purposely shut his dreams down. but half of them couldn’t see how this dream could continue to be a reality. the cards were too highly stacked.

soda didn’t expect a kickback. he stood there, almost in a state of tranquility, as his brain tried to rattle around any idea to get them off the ground. the speaking issues from the injury silenced him completely when he needed it the most. when they needed him to speak up and guide them through the dark. he closed his eyes shut again, opening his mouth for something to come out, but nothing did. the lump in his throat contradicted every ounce of confidence he had built up, straining both his mind and his ego. the singer, without a voice, he thought.

he was shaken from his thoughts when he felt a hand interlace with him and squeeze it tightly. soda opened his eyes, and standing at his hip was cherry with her reassuring smile. she looked out to the rest of the guys, reading soda’s mind. he didn’t always need to have a voice. he had a duet partner for a reason, always willing to speak when he was silent.

“whatever gigs we can get. we’re playing every single one of them. and we’re making our way to new york city. you all fought your asses off across the water, and there’s no way we’re letting this go without a fight either. johnny, you know a few liquor dives we can get into. dallas, i know you have connections to pull in towns over. steve, here’s your time to pick up an extra lesson or two. darry, whatever extra scraps you can loan out instead of school-”

“they’ll go to the band, i swear.” darrel cut her off, placing a hand on his cousin’s shoulder,”we’re going to make this happen.”

“and i can pick up some extra shifts!” pony chimed in, wanting to be a part of their fundraising rally,”and when i’m not busy, soda, i can help you write a whole new set of songs so that we can bring in new audiences.”

“we aren’t done here yet,” cherry said, picking up the letter soda had tossed and shoved it into her pocket,”i’ll talk to marcia, see if she knows any extra way we can get in with the higher clubs in town. better audiences, better tip.”

we'll fight for ourselves now

soda felt like he could finally breathe again. they weren’t giving up on their dream. his friends weren’t giving up on him. he took another inhale, letting the darkness off his chest, as he squeezed cherry’s hand back. he nodded at her affirmingly, stepping away from her to help their band gather their instruments. they couldn’t stay in this dive any longer; they had places to go and money to raise. soda began throwing out orders, watching as his friends fell into place and gained the confidence cherry clearly had in them. they weren’t going down without a fight. as he watched his loved ones gain momentum by packing up their belongings and counting their cash, soda couldn’t help but take a moment to appreciate all that they had done for him and his vision. all that they continued to do for it too, and all they would do for bob. all of this—every gig, every song, every dollar earned—was for bob. they had the opportunity to do what he couldn’t do any longer. they had the privilege to create. the privilege to live.

and all of the wrongs

will be made right this way

sodapop was the last of the band to leave for the night. he stayed around after steve had left for his home, two-bit went to meet with marcia, dallas had slunk off to buck’s with johnny, and darrel took ponyboy home, despite arguing that he could have given soda a ride too. instead, he asked to be alone for a moment. it wasn’t often that soda wanted to be by himself. when he spent too much time in his head, he was rattled with nightmares and dark thoughts. but he felt grounded with his shoes scuffed in the wood of the stage. he was at home, at last, but he finally felt it when he performed with the band. and hopefully, all of new york city would feel that way too.

he was picking up his music binder when he felt a gentle hand on the back of his shoulder. due to the grenades and the nature of their loud music, soda’s hearing wasn’t as it used to be. he hated reminiscing on what he lost, knowing that without one sense, he didn’t feel in control. but cherry always knew how to make her presence known without scaring him. soda stood up straight and looked down at her big eyes, filled with compassion and honesty. he let out the deepest sigh before dropping the binder and falling into her arms. cherry didn’t hesitate to wrap him into a hug, knowing the weight he carried not only today but every day since he made it home. words couldn’t even begin to describe how thankful sodapop was for cherry. she had a talent beyond measure, not only for singing and writing but for understanding exactly what was going on inside his messed up head. he was thankful that he had her by his side and that though both of them lost him, soda got to relish in the good bob spoke about cherry, almost every day.

“let’s get you home soldier.” cherry hummed, breaking the hug to pick up soda’s binder.

she took his arm in hers, guiding him out of the dive bar and out onto the dimly lit streets. since getting back, every day had been a challenge to pick up and keep moving. but nights like these, with cherry by his side, made them feel ever so easier.

“you got to get some rest. you lead us to new york starting tomorrow.”

troubled times are at an end

and they're waiting to hear our song

you can bet we intend to stay

right this way

#the outsiders #the outsiders musical #the outsiders broadway #original writing #bandstand #bandstand musical #the outsiders au #sodapop curtis #darrel curtis #ponyboy curtis #johnny cade #dallas winston #two bit mathews #steve randle #vet soda #cherrycola #cherry valance #bob sheldon

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