#good omens 1967

[cinnamonthearsonist]

Things the GO fandom as a whole have just accepted as canon

Crowley's favorite word is "ngk-"

They kissed in 1941. That's why the vibe was so awkward during the Holy Water scene in 1967.

The fire extinguishers in s2 are all from Crowley because of the bookshop fire in s1

Aziraphale is a huge flirt. Crowley gets flustered easily.

They adopted Jimbriel and Muriel

Crowley steals all the genders but Aziraphale is content with the lack of them

Crowley would go to bars and rant to Hozier, not knowing it was him, then hear his songs on the radio and break down because the lyrics understanded him.

He was also besties with Freddie Mercury

Oscar Wilde was in love with Aziraphale

Gabriel is Kenough

[brainwormcity]

I've seen people remark on how awkward the 1967 scene is and that is so frustrating because, for me, it is one of the most emotionally resonant flashbacks in the entire series. It is so multifaceted and ripe with implication and that assertion is baffling. As though just because this conversation appears to be hard for them, it must mean that there has to be some sense of weirdness or awkwardness between them?

This scene feeds heavily into my theory that 1941 ended in some sort of aborted romantic moment between the two, most likely initiated by Crowley. Aziraphale can barely stand to look at Crowley because the very first moment he looks him in the face, he can't stop himself from giving him this hooded eyes, barely contained look of longing.

The next thing we see is Aziraphale immediately launching into a statement about his fear for Crowley's existence that is as brutally sincere as it is heartrending. His eyes are wide, his voice is heavy with emotion, and it's clear that he is terrified beyond belief to lose Crowley. Even as he acquiesces and gives him the holy water, you can see that he wants to take it back and deny him it all over again.

Then, of course, Crowley asks if he can give him a lift, which is definitely something that they both know is a totally different question than what lies on the surface, given that they're mere feet from the bookshop and at first Crowley frowns so deeply that it's almost cartoonish but a moment after Aziraphale turns him down you get this glimpse of very real sadness:

Aziraphale sees it for what it is and in an attempt to comfort him, without being able to do what currently seems impossible to him, shares a fanciful but resigned fantasy about spending time together unbothered and unrestrained, all to the tune of these tight little, loving smiles:

When he asks again, you can just see Crowley's desperation for Aziraphale not to go. It's hard to say how long they'd been apart, but it's safe to say that for them, that previous interaction likely is very fresh in their minds.

Aziraphale has always been more fearful than Crowley when it comes to their feelings for each other. You could even potentially look at the holy water as a metaphor for their relationship. In his expressions of concern about The Arrangement, Aziraphale has always been remarking on how Crowley could be destroyed, similarly to his words here. So when he's telling him, "You go too fast for me, Crowley," what he's really saying is, "I'm terribly afraid and I'm not ready to take that step if it means that I could lose you." And it's plain to see by the wistful look on his face that it pains him greatly to say it:

The scene so quickly cuts to Crowley looking intensely at the holy water after Aziraphale has left the car (as if trying to convince you that that was the real point of the scene) that it's easy to miss this devastated expression on Crowley's face:

There's no look of perceived rejection on his face. Just a somber look of resignation. There are so many barriers in front of them, and I think that Crowley was willing to risk it but understood that Aziraphale wasn't ready to.

This is the most honest and laid bare we ever see these two be when it comes to their emotions. There's so much being said without being said and even their actual words (i.e. Crowley remembering exactly the amount of time when the 'fraternizing' conversation happened) are so full of emotion that it might even be a bit hard for some people to watch.

It's not awkward. It's just that the scene is just so incredibly earnest and heavy with coded language that it's easy to be swept up by the fact that the two aren't engaged in their typical banter and bickering. What we truly have here is an incredibly difficult and loving conversation between two people who are stuck in a seemingly impossible situation.

[rodyartt]

Cute ✨❤️

[beebopboom]

y’all- it’s the SAME FACE as 1967

excuse me while I never recover from this…

[innefableidiot]

Finally got around to drawing more duck omens so here is 1941, 1967, and 1970 crow-duck!

Also how would you put a mustache on a duck

[actual-changeling]

History repeats itself. Somebody says this. // Richard Siken

-

aaaaand we're back to siken. sorry guys. playing around with colour visions and 1967 works so well

[thewitchoflove-art]

"A forbidden kiss" in 1967

I'm so sorry🥲

[knifeforkspooncup]

1967: The Velvet Underground releases their first bebop album. Radio pulsars (neutron stars) are discovered. Britain decriminalizes homosexuality.

And somewhere in Soho a demon gets cockblocked by an angel.

[rainbowpopeworld]

1960’s Crowley

Original photo from @consanguinitatum’s recent blog post about David Tennant’s early role in What the Butler Saw. I made the hair more red and added sunglasses

[ladybracknellssherry]

Thinking about 1967 Aziraphale popping into the Bentley uninvited and Crowley saying “What are you doing here?” lol babygirls you are literally less than 50 feet away from Aziraphale’s desk.

[cobragardens]

Aziraphale's Ascot: An Analysis

What's most interesting to me about the ascot Aziraphale is wearing when he turns up in Crowley's car in 1967 is that it's very fashionable.

An ascot (American), or day cravat (British), is a band of material meant to be worn inside the shirt collar, terminated on each end with a long wide tongue of that same fabric.

The band goes around the back of the neck, and the tongues are tied in the front and tucked into the open neck of a collared shirt. An ascot displays a wide sweep of color just below the wearer's face to flatter their complexion and show their personality.

And the late 1960s was the ascot's peak of popularity. The Duke of Windsor wore them; the mods wore them; British Invasion bands wore them. Fred wears an ascot in the Scooby-Doo cartoons. Lance Corporal Shadwell wears one. They were a huge trend.

On the surface this doesn't seem like Aziraphale at all. His previous appearances indicate his stylishness in ancient Rome is merely serendipitous overlap of Roman fashion with his personal preferences for white robes, blond hair in a Brutus cut, and gold wing-themed jewellery. In 1601, 1793, 1941, and all contemporary scenes, his style is decades to more than a century off the fashion of its time. We know he's into bow ties by 1941, and he's hardly one to adopt a style merely because it's popular; so why the ascot in 1967?

One possible explanation is that Aziraphale misses the clothing of the Victorian period and leaps at the chance to wear something that harks back to a time when he felt at home, sartorially speaking.

I don't think that's it, though, at least not in Show Omens. For one thing, traditional ascot ties (what a British person would call an ascot or an ascot tie, rather than a day cravat) are not at all the same accessory as the ascots of the 1960s: they're formal rather than semi-casual daywear; they're made of thicker silk, often with a woven rather than printed pattern; and they're worn outside the shirt and collar. More importantly, we've got two scenes of Aziraphale in the Victorian period, and he's not wearing an ascot tie in either of them: he's wearing a long cravat tied in a wide bow, a precursor to his bow ties.

I therefore propose a different explanation for the ascot of 1967.

As Aziraphale has clearly never been anywhere near a polyester fibre in the whole of his celestial existence, and as he always affects an appearance of idle hereditary wealth, we must presume that this--

--is silk. (In fact in the 1960s, a silk ascot in light colors was a signal of upper-class status.)

And we know Aziraphale likes silk, because by 2023 he's been wearing a silk velvet waistcoat for 200 years.

I again advance the argument that, despite himself, Aziraphale is a voluptuary by nature: a person who directs their energies toward the pursuit and enjoyment of pleasure, especially (but not solely) sensual pleasure.

He can control his appearance at will, and yet he has a barber; that means he enjoys the pleasure of a haircut and maybe a hot shave. (I have similar suspicions about his manicured hands.) The barber has recommended new cologne, which means Aziraphale has an old cologne, which means he likes to smell beautiful scents. He eats for sensual pleasure. He drinks for sensual pleasure (much more so than Crowley, who drinks for the pleasure and escape of inebriation). He listens to music for sensual pleasure. He attends the theater for pleasure. Reading is as much a sensual pleasure inside your own head as it is intellectual self-stimulation (which is its own kind of pleasure in turn); and believe me, collecting books is as much a sensual pleasure as a logistical and a philosophical one.

Aziraphale even agrees to an Arrangement with a demon to give himself more spare time for his pursuit of human pleasures. And then he and the demon become friends, because what could be a greater pleasure than indulging yourself in the good company of someone clever and kind and beautiful, who flirts with you and tells wicked jokes you mustn't laugh at--except perhaps for the pleasure of making that person smile in return?

Fun fact: The silk of which casual ascots are made is finer than the silk of either traditional ascot ties or neckties, because ascots/day cravats are made to be worn inside rather than outside the collar.

In 1967, instead of his usual crisp bow tie around his usual tightly buttoned collar, Aziraphale wears an open collar and a day cravat because the fashion of the 1960s lets him keep silk against his skin.

And there's one other thing, too. Compare Aziraphale's ascot to Lance-Corporal Shadwell's, or to the standard ascot knot:

The edge of Azirapale's ascot sits below the edge of his shirt collar where it should sit above, and the cascade spills almost an inch in front of his Adam's apple instead of flush against his neck. Aziraphale has tied his ascot low and loose.

It allows him to bare more of his throat to Crowley than has been sanctioned by custom for 2,000 years.

How long after Aziraphale reverted to bow ties did Crowley think about that?

[wistfulnightingale]

Promises to Keep (or, When It All Goes Too Fast - Lost Picnics, Dancing, & Regrets)

Mini-Meta Musing #12

This may not be an original thought in the world of Good Omens Meta, but I was working on a little fluff fanfic, and thinking about Aziraphale's glowing, hopeful, but also pleading expression as he asked Crowley to dance in E5. You know-- the night their peaceful, fragile world really started to fall apart.

"You don't dance," Crowley responded, just before he was tugged onto the floor by his giddily radiant angel.

Aziraphale had desperately wanted to create a romantic evening for them both. (He's been criticized a lot for that, unfairly, I believe.) You can see the strain on his face as he watches his plan collapse moment by moment. I believe Aziraphale knew that it might be the last chance for romance that he and Crowley would have for a long time. (See my meta, Ineffables in Check). That alone is reason enough for the angel's seemingly "foolish" single-minded focus on dancing with his beloved demon.

But, what if it meant even more than a last sweet romantic evening before the chaos hits? What if a dance was meant to be a gift he felt was long overdue? What if, on a certain night in 1941, a song was played on the gramophone, Crowley had extended his hand in invitation... and Aziraphale didn't take it? And has regretted that decision every moment since?

"Perhaps one day we could... go for a picnic. Dine at the Ritz."

Wished-for moments, hoping for a Someday, back in 1967. With the scrutiny and fears and dangers pushing them apart, it probably felt impossible to fulfill. But now... Maybe our angel looks at them as unfulfilled promises? A picnic, dinner at the Ritz, a special dance... What if the Ball was the way he hoped to fulfill another of those promises? Before the Powers-That-Be took away their chance. Again.

"You don't dance." Crowley stated at the Ball. In Crowley's world, it seems, this is a fact. Despite all their years together, the only dancing Crowley apparently has seen Aziraphale do is the Apology Dance. Even though they've been a couple since that night on the bus, after the almost-Apocalypse, they never have danced together! (See An Old Married Couple)

"You don't dance," Crowley had said dryly, head pulled back, chin pulled in, eyebrows raised. There's also a question there. His tone, and especially the way he physically drew back, makes me wonder. Is there a reminder in it? Does it recall a memory, long forgiven but not forgotten? Crowley, we know, is secretly a hopeless romantic, at least as much as Aziraphale. Oh how he wanted that downpour to cause a sweet va-voom kiss for Nina and Maggie!

"Shades of grey...?" Dark grey, light grey... So much teasing and gentle flirting that 1941 night as they toasted and dickered! Crowley started showing a bit of the raised chin and extended neck that slips into his countenance when he's feeling especially romantic for his angel. The gramophone is just a few steps away. Did one of them put on a record? Was it "A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square"?

What happened that night in 1941 remains a mystery. Most of us ponder and imagine and long to see more! I wonder, though, did Crowley gracefully rise and, playfully or gently or gallantly, offer Aziraphale a dance, and did Aziraphale falter? Did danger threaten again? We've seen so many times how the angel would pull back from Crowley, trying to protect him, afraid that admitting even their friendship would cause Hell's punishment. Lesser things than that certainly had drawn Hell's wrath. (See Anything to Protect Crowley)

Did this moment in 1941 become a regret that still shadowed the angel over 80 years later?

They eventually became a couple, and "A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square" still became their song. (See The Nightingale DID Sing!) Yet, if they had never danced together in all this time, I can easily imagine Aziraphale blaming himself, and seeing that as a personal failing he'd want to make amends for. But life gets busy, and even now it's not entirely safe for them, and missed opportunities tend to pile up quickly when you're not looking -- even when you have the most loving of intentions.

You know how sometimes serendipity strikes, and you get inspired? A few unrelated events happen in sequence, and they link together in your mind to give you an exciting new idea? I wonder if that's what happened for Azi. Crowley is willing to do whatever it takes to make amends for hurting his angel, and does a reluctant but beautifully graceful Apology Dance. Then Maggie cries and Azi lies to protect Jimbriel, and he and Crowley contemplate romantic scenarios to try to turn the lie into truth. Va-voom! Aziraphale has a brilliant idea that's not reeeally just about his heartsick neighbors -- he can FINALLY make amends for a hurt he feels he caused long ago. He can gift his sweetheart with that long overdue dance.

If you listen to that va-voom conversation believing they are already An Old Married Couple, you can hear a subtle flirting going on. Crowley teases that he saw it in a film, but we all recognized the memory of Crowley familiarly sheltering from the first rainstorm under Azi's wing. Was that when he started to fall for the surprisingly daring and compassionate angel? Was he beginning to realize they were "made for each other"?

Aziraphale's imagery, though, isn't one we recognize. A ball? A dance? He acknowledges he's venturing into fiction. I don't think it's an actual moment from their history like Crowley's is. It's a retelling of what Azi wishes had happened. And Crowley's cynical response, "Now that's unlikely," doesn't sound light and teasing anymore. One dance together does not, in fact, fix misunderstandings. Are they remembering a dance in 1941 that did NOT actually resolve past misunderstandings, but deepened them instead? Did the angel refuse Crowley from the start, that long ago night? Were they interrupted by danger? Did Azi playfully accept, then realize their feelings were a bit too serious, too risky, and step back again?

"I- I'm sorry, I don't dance, actually," he might have stammered (not quite accurately). Could that be the specific moment he meant in 1967? "You go too fast for me, Crowley."

So Aziraphale plans a Ball. He KNOWS you can't miracle people into love and romance. "Miracles don't work that way," he told Crowley. He'll do his best for Maggie and Nina, stubborn and somewhat miracle-resistant though they prove to be. But the Ball is for Crowley.

"Don't look so disappointed. Perhaps one day we could, I don't know... go for a picnic. Dine at the Ritz."

So much longing in Azi's expression, but only when Crowley isn't looking. He hates saying what he feels he must say to keep him safe.

They've dined at the Ritz, at least several times that we know of. The last time we saw was quite romantic, in fact. That's one promise kept. I suspect a picnic in a park would feel far too vulnerable and exposed to ethereal and occult forces for our Ineffables, despite having been "fired" by both. Perhaps that promise is still waiting. I think that would weigh heavily on Azi. But, A-Ha! Aziraphale also owes Crowley a dance -- and dancing can be done in the safety of the bookshop. So Aziraphale decides to make it especially memorable.

It would be a lovely gift to give to Crowley, one that Aziraphale may feel he's overlooked far too long. He's been forgiven for that night, but from what we saw in the bar, when Azi talked about dances healing misunderstandings, it's not an easy memory for Crowley. Giving Crowley this dance is Aziraphale's way of asking for that freely-given forgiveness, of acknowledging his regret for the hurt he caused. Add to that the angel's regret for all of their lost time. Even if it was time that they never safely could have had anyway. Because now, demons are at their doorstep, Heaven is watching again, and the Metatron is threatening their safe little world.

And Aziraphale cannot let it be too late. He will not accept it.

I just realized something, this moment. So I scooted off to make a dual photo. Serendipity. In both scenes, the lighting and tones are warm and red. Aziraphale's look is filled with longing, and his face is half shadowed.

There aren't many scenes, comparitively, where Azi's face is half in shadow. When it is, it seems to have been done meaningfully. Maybe these two moments are actually intentionally similar (?). One is a promise made, the other an attempt to fulfill an unkept promise, but both moments are shadowed by outside threats that make that impossible, for now. The past was more deeply shadowed and unpleasantly red -- they weren't together yet, hadn't discovered how much stronger they are together. Maybe it means there's more hope now.

(Also, the greatest threat in 1967 was from Hell. Red light. Now, the danger is coming from Heaven.)

Maybe I'm on to something more than a wistful little musing after all.

And I can't tell you how MUCH I need to see these Ineffable Husbands HAPPY and CONTENTED in their little cottage in South Downs! Someplace quiet, with a garden and a cozy kitchen for baking and plush sofas to cuddle on and an ancient tree to picnic under and a little duckpond nearby....!! (And a cat or two, lots of fluff and lots of cattitude!)

I'll meet you all there!

..........

I hope you enjoyed my speculative meta. Here are links to the other metas I mentioned, and another I think you might like:

An Old Married Couple

Anything to Protect Crowley

Ineffables in Check (from the Chess Moves Theory Set)

Finding Forgiveness

The Nightingale DID Sing!

Aziraphale's Jubilant Smile (NOT the crazy elevator grin)

[inezrable]

I know that Muriel, the Bentley, and their one shared braincell are the children of the ineffable divorce, but y'all are sleeping on THE TARTAN THERMOS!! That thing is the child that knew that Mum and Dad were having problems, and didn't want to explain that to its siblings.

[indigovigilance]

Restoring Angel!Crowley was Aziraphale's hope for at least 2,000 years

inspo post by @waywardwendy

I'm going to briefly draw attention to a weird little one-off statement that generally only gets cited for comedic purposes, due to Crowley's quippy response:

Aziraphale: Still a demon, then?

Aziraphale has had it on his brain since at least 44 AD that Crowley's demon status could be temporary in nature. He's been waiting, hoping for that status to change. The fact that it hasn't isn't enough to keep him from tempting Crowley to some oysters, but it is his opener.

Flash forward:

In 1967 Aziraphale brings Crowley a thermos of holy water. Crowley offers him a lift, anywhere he wants to go. Aziraphale declines, but mentions that perhaps one day they could go for a picnic. Dine at the Ritz. I argue elsewhere that it's a callback to A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square as they first heard it in 1941 (not yet canon).

But let's recall what those lyrics are.

There were angels dining at the Ritz And a nightingale sang in Berkeley Square

Not "an angel and a demon."

Angels.

So taking a second look at Aziraphale's delivery of Metatron's offer:

AZIRAPHALE: He said I could appoint you to be an angel. You could come back to Heaven and... and everything, like the old times. Only, even nicer!

And his response to Crowley's rejection of that offer:

AZIRAPHALE: Good luck? Crowley! Crowley, come back, to Heaven! Work with me! We can be together! Angels... doing good! I... I need you! I don't think you understand what I'm offering you.

I'm not saying that Aziraphale was complicit in a conspiracy by Metatron against Crowley, but it seems to be indicated that Aziraphale saw Crowley being restored to angelic status as a solution to their relationship problems long before Metatron ever made his offer. The Metatron's offer was a fulfillment of a long-held secret (or not-so-secret) wish, and the perfect bait to tempt our angel.

[irradiatedwarlock]

[zeldahime]

Highway to Pail Day 2

[Day 1] [Next] @do-it-with-style-events

February 2: You can always trust someone who works at a music shop. They give sound advice.

Aziraphale had known dear Caroline for forty-five years, and he knew she was suspicious. Humans usually were, after about twenty or twenty-five years of acquaintance, and she was no mere acquaintance. To her credit and his relief, she kept her suspicions to herself, never so much as alluding to his corporation's failure to age a day while she herself grew from a confident young woman serving on the home front to a raucous grandmother and pillar of the community.

He also knew she was suspicious for another reason. A reason with beautiful red hair currently cut in an atrocious bowl cut, trying to get his long, delicate fingers on the only thing that could actually kill him. This was suspicion that he knew Caroline felt was well within her jurisdiction, as the unofficial denmother of Whickber Street. He was not really one of her charges, but as she had told him so many times, he was something close to family. And human families, he knew from millennia of living among them and hearing their stories, meddled in each others' romantic affairs.

Caroline and Crowley hadn't often met, but they'd pass each other on occasion, if Caroline closing up The Small Back Room coincided with Crowley coming round to the bookshop to collaborate on paperwork. Aziraphale had never introduced them, but Caroline had always been sharp as a tack. He'd been mentioning Crowley offhand to her for twenty years before they were reunited during the war, and the very first time she saw a red-haired man in a sharp suit enter the locked bookshop after curfew in 1943 and not come out again until morning, she'd cheekily gifted him a small cake and ribbed him gently about his night.

She referred to him as "your Crowley," when she spoke of him. It always made him feel a little warmer, even though it wasn't true. Crowley was Hell's, just as Aziraphale was Heaven's. What Crowley might want was irrelevant and what Aziraphale wanted was even less of a possible consideration.

Caroline had been the first person to ask him about Crowley's activities in Soho, a month ago. "Your Crowley," she had told him with raised eyebrows, "asked our Jenny if she knew anyone who could lever themselves down into a secure facility on a rope. She pointed him to the BDSM hall on Duck Lane." She rapped her knuckles on the desk. "What is he up to, Mr. Fell?"

He hadn't answered, but whatever look was on her face must have told her something, because she had just tsked at him a bit and said, "Whatever he's doing, Fell, he's going to get someone hurt. If this is about that fight you had that you talk about, the one before he left, it's best time to try to fix the root." She had winked. "And maybe that will keep him from leaving before dawn like he does. Everyone knows you've a flat upstairs; nobody needs to know there's only one bedroom in it."

Meddlesome old woman, his Caroline Service. Aziraphale adored her.

Aziraphale had asked around, of course; he knew already, but what he heard confirmed it. Crowley was planning to rob a church, get holy water.

Caroline was right. He had to get to the root of that fight in 1862, one hundred and five years before. Crowley had asked for the only weapon in Creation that could really hurt him. Did Aziraphale trust him with it?

Did Aziraphale trust Crowley with his life?

Well. That question had been answered in 1941, he had thought. But—

No, it hadn't been. Aziraphale trusted Crowley with Aziraphale's life, but that hadn't been the argument. The argument had been about whether Aziraphale trusted Crowley with Crowley's life.

He took his favorite flask, solid and leak-proof and decorated with his personal tartan, and headed to St. James' Park to gather some water from the duck pond to bless. If he was going to give Crowley a suicide pill, Aziraphale would at least make sure it was his own holiness that would kill Crowley, not the impersonal, clinical holiness of a Heaven that had already cast him out.