#I wrote this between 11-2AM and edited it for like 5 minutes

[forest-sh]

Good Omens Theories - I wrote this instead of sleeping, excuse my rambling

Starter theories i wrote before "analyzing" anything:

Somethings in the coffee

might be fighting whatever "it" is

The Metatron and Crowley have ISSUES together, personally as a headcanon and not a theory, i think it was most likely that Metatron was the one that damned all the demons into, well, damnation. what i mean is that he was there and all that.

35:32 - as someone previously pointed out, he changed his speech to appear more like aziraphales.

aziraphale is sure of what he wants (to stay out of heaven and stay on earth) and through out the ep that changes quickly. suspicious.

as someone else pointed out, he changed his description of the almond syrup in the coffee. After further research, i found almonds symbolizes the purity of the Virgin and the birth of jesus in Christianity. Which might mean, that what the tumblr posts are saying is true and he maybe coming in s3. Some depictions of divine favor and approval, and divine guiding were also shown but appeared less often than the first. That "I should jolly well hope so" comment from Metatron does add some suspicion to the coffee as well. In another context, an almond (although its the tree here not the fruit) is also a shown as a message of god watching.

39:37-39:56 - THATS SUSPICIOUS AF- That whole interaction was suspicious as hell,

rn aziraphale looks like me when I'm trying to flee from a conversation from one of my teachers (aka one of my superiors someone i have too respect immediately without question and try not to get in trouble with(unless they have given me reason not to of course)) just agreeing with everything their saying to get out of the conversation faster.

"Well then, go and tell your friend the good news." aziraphale here looks nervous, as he's walking off he thinks for a moment, i think his face is showing a (what the fuck is happening rn) kinda vibe. and afterwards his whole demeaner is (lets get this over with.) WHY THOUGH. if he's nervous which obviously he is, he's gonna ask a pretty big question here not knowing if Crowley is gonna say yes or not, BUT HE DOESNT LOOK HAPPY/EXCITED NERVOUS. he looks like accepted his fate/i know this gonna go badly nervous.

40:52 -

LMAO aziraphale is like NOWS NOT THE TIME CROWLEY looks over to the window NOWS NOT THE FUCKING TIME. to me this implies that he knows Metatron is looking and that he is warry of him, WHY ARE YOU WARRY OF HIM, HUH AZIRAPHALE?? HMM??? THIS IS SOMEONE WHO YOU TOTALLY 100% AGREE WITH HIS STUPID PLAN WHY ARE YOU WARRY?? i don't know why, just that he shouldn't be if he actually believes the shit he was spouting, I'm not that smart-

42:03 - LOL LOOK AT AZIRAPHALE dudes like (What the fuck are you saying right now-)

43:12 - that giggle was hysteric almost.

OH GOD that "not at all" has been BUGGING ME and i don't know why! he says it through clenched teeth like he's lying or is OH! LIKE HES TRYING NOT TO SAY IT!! like something is coursing him into saying it but he's trying not to, and that smile slipping as Crowley gets angry HURTS ME, but the smile is almost awkward like he's trying to keep it in place but he doesn't want it too.

I feel like when Crowley starts talking here ("confessing") aziraphale continues looking at the window and is giving a "oh please don't do this now Crowley NOT right now" look

why am i starting to think that metatron is controlling aziraphale.. why am i getting that feeling-

NOW IK WHY im paying attention to aziraphales expressions and half way through crowleys confession he SQUINTS at him HATEFULLY

oh nvm hes just confused- WHEN I TELL YOU I DID A DOUBLE TAKE-

"We don't need Heaven, we don't need Hell, they're toxic. We need to get away from them" AZIRAPHALE WDYM= WHAT DO YOU MEAN NO TO THIS STATEMANT, OH EXCUSE ME THIS FACT, THAT YOU SHOULD KNOW BY NOW= WHAT YOU SHAKING YOUR HEAD FOR

have i pointed out the smile? ITS JUST SO FAKE- LIKE COME ON HES NEVER and i mean EVER SMILED LIKE THAT also should i point out that he's smiling but also looks like he's going to cry.

That "No. No, I don't suppose it does" HURT ME, like its what he should've said slay queen but still- he looks so HEARTBROKEN

"Good luck? Crowley! Crowley" BISH WHY ARE YOU SAYING Crowley! LIKE YOU GUYS ARE ARGUING ABOUT WHALES OR SOMETHING?? THIS IS SERIOUS! dudes acting like their having one of there little bickering fights and Crowley's being difficult.

" Anything you need to take with you? " pretty sure aziraphale wanted to take his diary with him, you know just incase what happened with Gabriel happened to him too, seems only logical. (he had a diary with him right- that wasn't a fanfic i read, RIGHT??)

Final Theories

The Metatron is somehow controlling/affecting aziraphales actions and aziraphales fighting it.

theory number two is the most obvious theory, and the one where every single observation points towards it. Aziraphale GENUINELY thinks he can outsmart the Metatron by being in heaven and fixing it from the inside, for whatever reason (probably because he thinks his days are numbered if he stays on earth, it took only a few years for heaven to bother them again and the result was that he was almost erased from EXISTENCE) he wants to be up there in heaven not because he WANTS too but because he has too. through out the final 15 i think he was trying to signal to crowley his plan and Crowley didn't know he WAS throwing any signals. dude was genuinely confused af when crowley started confessing. The miscommunication tag is at it again folks.

[letlhogonolotakesuclalaw]

Shelved Memories, Fractured  Relationships, Loss and Healing

It’s a beautiful and sunny Tuesday afternoon in Los Angeles. Today will be good day I tell myself. It is a  particularly exciting day because a certain distinguished lecturer from the  University of Free State will be giving a lecture in the history department.  Yes, another South African in LA. I was told that it is going to be an  exciting lecture. The lecture is on the sixth floor of the history  department. I don't know where the history building is and my google maps is taking  me around in circles and I finally sent a text to the Black Grads UCLA group and  someone directs me to the building. I get there and the lecture begins  shortly. Dr Chitja Twala delivers a lecture on Culture activities and  resistance art as tools of the liberation struggle in the Free State, South  Africa, 1970s -1990s. It wasn't a particularly interesting lecture but the  Americans were impressed, I think anything about South Africa impresses them.  

I get a WhatsApp call from my uncle  and I can't answer. I sent him a message to tell him I can't answer and he  says that I should call him after the lecture. I immediately got this sick  feeling in my gut and my gut keeps saying that something is terribly wrong. I  have a look at the time and it is probably passed ten in the evening in South  Africa and he calling me means that something has to be wrong.

 This lecture needs to end so that I can  call him. After the lecture, I call him and he asks me where I am and I tell  him I am walking on campus. He tells me to find a quiet place and sit down.  His tone confirms my suspicions. I tell myself that something is terribly  wrong. I proceeded to the Grad office and go into Sidney's office. She seems  excited to see me and asks about my weekend. I tell her that something is  wrong and I start crying. She closes her office door. I call my uncle. He  relays the story that my mom fell that morning and proceeds to tell me all  the details of that day and then he says "I'm afraid I don't have good  news for you." I'm not sure what he is saying, although I am. I asked  him "what exactly are you saying?" He says "your mom has  passed away". I let out a loud cry. I think my heart stopped for a  minute. I thought I was dreaming. I thought that I was having a bad dream I  was desperate to wake up from. I put down the phone. He calls again. I'm  uncertain how to answer his question when he asks how I am doing, I wasn't  sure myself.

You see the last couple of years of  my mom's life, we had a very complicated relationship. I think it came with  me working. It reminds me of an essay called The Eternal Intern I read in  "We write what we like" edited by Yolisa Qunta. I

 As black people working, we shoulder  and take on a lot of responsibility and for many of us we are our parents’  saving grace, their ticket out of poverty. But sadly, the system works  tirelessly to ensure that we do not truly become that ticket. The system is  not created to allow me to be in full flourish. In theory, my big 5 law  salary after my degree should have been able to take good care of my mother  and her family. All the sacrifices finally paying off, but it didn't. I moved  to Johannesburg, which meant that I had to get a place to stay, a car, buy  working clothing, live in Johannesburg and send money home to my mom and take  care of my sister. I did the best that I can but in many ways it was not  enough. This caused a drift in our relationship. I am a new age person  and my mom is of the older generation, a clash between the generations. I  expressed my discomfort a lot and I felt that she didn't care about me, but I  was completely wrong - I didn't see her point of view. I didn’t see that  I was her ticket to a better life.

 So, when I left for LA I was uneasy,  I felt that there was unfinished business in South Africa and my first two  months, I was uneasy and now I see why I was. She was going to pass away. My  mom and I last spoke two weeks before her passing. It was  a video call. She was happy to see me alive  and well. I was too. I am saddened that when she passed she couldn't call me.  I am saddened that I was many miles away in another country. Her death cut me  deep. I was angry at life for being so cruel. I mean, I had come to LA to  follow my dreams but inadvertently it would mean that this degree would  better her life as well. After my crying, I become the lawyer that I am, and  starting thinking about what is going to happen. I won't lie to you. The Grad  office at UCLA is incredible, within minutes - a flight back was booked (just  changed my initial return flight) and my Professors would be notified of the  horrid news.  But being the lawyer that I am, my first question was  to ask about the contract I signed to be at UCLA, I had many questions about  what happens if I don't come back. I was assured that it should be the least  of my worries.

I messaged my friends in LA and  South Africa and broke the tragic news to them, the number of texts and calls  were overwhelming, my people were showing up for me. I went to my house. I  was never left alone until I made it to the airport the next day. It was  incredible how black people were showing up for me in my time of need. At  embarking on the hardest journey of my life - 27 hours of travelling back to  SA all by myself. It was a brutal and lonely time for me. I cried in  airports, in flights and had to constantly let people know not to be alarmed  if they saw me cry. It was the worst 27 hours of my life. I wrote a lot, I  cried a lot.  I wrote about my grandmother who passed when I was in  grade 11. She was an amazing womxn, who took care of me on her social welfare  - she died while she was in her 50s. I was reminded of the death of my aunt,  who took care of me - her death happened suddenly in her early forties and  now I was flying across the world to bury my mom who died at 50. Who fell and  died at 50. This was all too much to handle. I arrived in South Africa on  Friday morning and had friends come meet me at the airport and sit down and  cry with me. I needed that. To be held close and to be given the space to  cry. The loss seemed insurmountable.  From the airport it was  straight to Kimberley. My uncle - the same one who broke the news - drove us.  While driving, he asked me if I had any dollars with me because he hadn't  seen one. I told him yes and proceeded to show him. It is these moments that  remind me that traveling abroad is an act of revolution. It reminds me of the  words of Koleka Putuma "crossing  oceans is an achievement even for those left behind."

We got to Kimberley, got to my mom's house and the work began. This  was going to be the longest week of my life. I had to plan the funeral of the  womxn who birthed me. It was an incredibly difficult time. Guys, black  funerals are a lot. As the younger generation we need to think of a new way  of grieving and celebrating our loved ones. A week-long of feeding people and  prepare for the funeral by the bereaved is not on. I didn't have many moments  to grieve and mourn the death of my mom. I was too busy running around  ensuring that everything was going well. It was lot. An entire mess. To make  matters worse, I was jet lagged. Waking up at 2am each morning and having to  function until 10pm each time was  cruel  on my well-being but had to be done. It's only by the grace of God that I  managed to do all things. The Bible says

The LORD is close to the  brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit. - Psalm 34:18 Some  of the hardest things I had to do was choose the casket she was doing to be  laid to rest in. There is nothing as final as choosing the casket. What rang  in my head was she is gone. Another task was finalising the program. Yoh! Guys!  Finalising her program broke me, I cried.  The preparation gave me some time to think  back. My mom raised me in a shack - this is significant. She opened a spaza  shop in her shack and put me through my primary school and took care of our  needs. My mom taught me about the Pan Africanist Movement - she'd always say  " I am pure PAC". She introduced me to Robert Mangaliso Sobukwe and  Stephen Bantu Biko. She was my library, she was a wise womxn with great  ideas. She was not university educated but she was  intelligent.  She always wanted her children to get what she  couldn't. She was an active member in the fight against apartheid. She used  to tell me stories of her fighting the system, her time in detention and when  she was electrocuted more times than I can count. . She was brave. I had  forgotten these things when our relationship soured but during that week I  was reminded of the womxn who gave me life and her  passion for learning. This is why black  womxn will always be it for me. Mosadi  o tshwara thipa ka bohaleng

 There is a song on the album Moya  called Nobanzi. It brought me so much healing. Nobanzi is a song by Khanyisa  Buti, who sings about his grandmother who was in informal trader. This song embodies  the womxn who raised me. 

 The day of the funeral I had barely  slept. It was the longest 4- hours of my life. We saw my mom in her casket.  She looked different but the same. She was resting. She was gone. She was gone.  My little sister and I spoke at the funeral. My little sisters reminded me of  two things mama always used to say "life  is a bitch" and "over my  dead body" and these phrases seemed appropriate for the occasion. We  were standing there over her dead body and life was a bitch for taking her  away so soon. The service went beautifully, mama is resting in dignity. The  dignity that she deserves.

 And how am I feeling? I'm mostly  calm. I am very grateful for the opportunity to have come to South Africa to  bury my mother. I am grateful for all the people that showed up in various  ways. The people who held my heart and prayed with and for me. I am grateful  to have come home to a solid support network. Home has been so healing.  

And now I'm writing this on my  flight back to the US - a decision I didn't take easily. I don't want to go  back. I felt like there was no point for me to go back to LA and finish this  degree.  I am afraid that I won't do well and I wouldn't cope. I'm  afraid to embarrass myself. But I'm going back to honour her memory. I'm  going back because all my achievements belong to the womxn in my life - who  have nurtured me. I wrote this as part of a longer piece when I was traveling  back. 

 Dear Mama,

Now like  your mother and sister, you will never get to see get how all your traumas  have created miracles. 

How your  shebeen and tuck shop money made a dreamer of out of your seed. I will become  your wildest dreams my whole life. For you, your mother and your sister. I am  going back to LA. Afraid, broken and on my way to healing.

 Robala ka  Kagiso Tlhapi. You are deeply loved by me. 

 Your son,

Tlhogi