Is there anything more iconic in Good Omens than David Tennant driving a flaming Bentley down an English road while Bohemian Rhapsody plays?
Possibly, but it’s still an awesome moment.
Especially when our lanky demon steps out, swaggering like an action movie star here to save the day, giving the one-liner he clearly spent half the journey thinking up: “You wouldn’t get that sort of performance from a modern vehicle.”
I wrote “In Love with My Car” because Crowley loves his car, period. It’s his home, in a way his flat never really is. When filming it’s final destruction, David Tennant’s only acting direction was: you are the Doctor and you just saw the Tardis destroyed. (Side note: that is the perfect kind of direction to give DT, not because he used to be the Doctor, but because he’s a huuuuuge Doctor Who fanboy and has probably written that fanfiction.)
Now, I learned more than I really ever thought I’d need to know about vintage cars while researching this story, but for those who have not, in the book Crowley has a 1928 Bentley, and on the show a 1933. This is rather a big difference.
I mean the ‘28 is cute and all. It’s like an old timey cartoon of a car. If I saw one of these on fire driving down the road, I’d be like “no, that’s fair, I expected that.”
The ‘33 is, if nothing else, much more in line with modern ideas of what a cool car should look like. Graceful, curving, solid. This was a car that was made to have good performance - above average, but you know, not German automobile levels - but also made to make you look rich and awesome in a decade where most people were not.
But book or TV show, it does NOT change the fact that Crowley loves the Bentley. Perhaps even more so in the book - like scroll back up and look at that thing. It’s like a sports-tractor. Book Crowley is very concerned with always having the latest, coolest flashiest things, yet he has a car that looks like it frequently gets outpaced by snails. Even TV Crowley, with his fondness for mementos and antiques, is constantly changing and updating his look to match the height of cool in every era, and the vintage Bentley look probably peaked in like the 1960s in the James Bond era.
What I’m saying is, if the point was to just look cool, both Crowleys would probably be driving some model of Jaguar at the very least.
But also in both - though you can obviously see it better on the show - the Bentley performs like a modern Jaguar (or, whatever). Like, Crowley shouldn’t be able to do 90 in Central London for the simple fact that a vintage Bentley can’t reach those speeds. The ‘33 could, as its max speed, under ideal circumstances which included “going downhill” and “perfectly smooth and straight road.” But Crowley drives it, screeching up the road, handling corners perfectly, at speeds that would make any driving instructor pass out.
But the Bentley is the Best Car. Crowley knows this, believes it, feels it in his soul. So when other cars start getting better, the Bentley does too, to match them. No fancy foreign Ferrari is going to outperform his awesome Bentley!
There’s been a lot written about how Crowley interacts with the spaces in his apartment. He keeps everything clean and open and minimalist, because space is such a luxury in Hell. He shouts at his plants because he’s reliving the abuse he suffers in Hell, and the rejection he received from Heaven.
The Bentley, though, represents the face he shows the world. Dark and powerful and cool and a little out of place but full of so much unmistakable style that really you have to question what every other car is doing wrong by not being a Bentley. This is exactly the kind of being Crowley wishes to be. The kind that turns every head when he comes in a room, the kind that always handles everything with effortless grace and style, the kind that everyone makes space for and just watches pass in utter awe.
Even when he talks to the car, primarily during the bits where it’s on fire, he’s encouraging it, telling it how good of a car it is, how it can do this utterly insane thing that it really, really can’t. It’s the complete opposite of how he treats his plants (degrading and berating them when for every tiny failure), because while the plants represent a part of himself he’s trying to distance himself from, the Bentley allows him to be who he wants to be.
And that is something that he would never, ever exchange for any other vehicle.
Anyway, you can read more about my thoughts on Crowley’s thoughts on his car in my fanfiction, “In Love with My Car” over on AO3!
(Note to readers: looking like a very good chance of no update this week. I will post this evening with current progress on my upcoming stories.)
The most important rule when raising an Antichrist is: never get attached.
At least, it was for a demon sent to prepare the child to destroy the world and rule the ashes. The angel, as always, had a simpler job.
Brother Francis could present Warlock with his first kitten, watch the little face fill with wonder and joy. Nanny Ashtoreth had to teach the boy to let it go. He could comfort the child after a fall; she had to teach him to stand up and try again.
Brother Francis only had to love Warlock, and teach him to love in return.
Nanny was there to hone the boy, teach him to be strong, to command, to put his desires above all else. But she had another job, too.
The most important rule when preparing an Antichrist for his apocalyptic duty is: never get attached.
Particularly when one is preparing him to fail.
At any moment, the carefully laid plans of angel and demon could erupt into disaster. Someone had to be ready to act. To remember that the whole world was more important than a single child.
Nanny Ashtoreth stood always at Warlock’s side, watching like a serpent. Cold-blooded. Ready to strike.
“Warlock,” her voice snapped across the room. “You cannot bring every toy you own to America.”
“But I wuv dem!” The boy, not quite seven, clutched a teddy bear half his size.
Nanny folded her arms, stern as ever. Eyes concealed behind black lenses that reflected the world, showing nothing of herself. “What did I tell you about inanimate objects?”
He sighed. “Dey’re not f’me to wuv, dey’re tools t’be essploided in my quetht f’domination.”
“Correct. And save the baby-talk for the gardener, it doesn’t work on me.”
“Sorry, Nanny.”
“Better.” She studied the suitcase on Warlock’s bed, overflowing with stuffed animals, dinosaurs, gadgets, everything that held his interest these days. “This suitcase has to hold everything you need for your trip—”
“Ido need them!” He wrapped his arms more firmly around the bear.
Nanny raised her eyebrows, unmoved. “You need fourteen pairs of underwear. Is there room for those?”
One of Warlock’s hands worked itself loose to poke at the mess. “Mmmmmmaybe?”
“No. Nor is there room for your clothing, your spare shoes, or your toothbrush.” She gestured to the pile she’d prepared the night before. “The things you need. How do we solve this?”
He furrowed his brow while Nanny waited patiently. His parents were outside, watching the staff prepare the luggage for their trip to America. Likely wondering where their child was, but Nanny never rushed important lessons.
Finally, Warlock brightened, bouncing with excitement. “I know! Twosuitcases!”
Posted last night as part of @whiteleyfoster’s Write This In Your Style challenge! There’s quite a number of fics there, so browse them all!
Across the centuries, Crowley comes to his favorite chateau, to watch his favorite angel at work and listen to his favorite poetry…
A centuries-long tale of devotion, pining, and love that is at once illicit and elevating, passionate and disciplined, human and transcendent… courtly love.
Crowley’s eyes stayed locked on the trobairitz and the crowd of men hanging on her every word. “What can I say? With entertainment like this, I barely need to lift a finger.”
A mildly annoyed tsk. “I hardly think a little flirtation even counts as wickedness.”
“Does if they’re already married.” She thought over the angel’s statement again, then snapped her head around, eyes wide, to study him. “Hang on, are you saying—”
“I’msaying that I expected you to be here because you always lurk in this corner when we come to Soifort.” The hall had changed very little in two hundred years. The tapestries were more numerous and complex, the stained-glass windows brighter, and the guests more vivacious. Aziraphale had changed even less, though his tunic hung longer and now incorporated a great deal more silk, particularly in the long flowing sleeves, and his cloak was now pinned on the right. But the most startling change was the look in his eyes. They shone merrily in the dim hall, and cast a light, a heat Crowley had only glimpsed a few times before. “Don’t expect me to do your work for you again.”
“Already done. Just taking a well-deserved break.” Crowley pushed away from the wall, circling Aziraphale, the dark train of her bliaut trailing behind her. “Or didn’t you notice this entire region has fallen to heresy?”
“Oh? And I’m to believe this was yourdoing?” He laughed, a delightful sound echoing through the room. “My dear lady, I doubt you could even tell me what Catharism is.”
The Ritual of Propagation has succeeded, and Aziraphale and Crowley prepare to welcome the newest member of Our Own Side, but the Archangels have other plans. No angel has ever been raised outside of their care, and they have no desire to see that change.
In this chapter, Aziraphale struggles to hold onto his faith in the face of their hopeless situation.
Aziraphale stared at his mug, trying to think what it might be. The temperature was fine, and he hadn’t added any milk that might be spoiled. Did it need sugar? But he didn’t like sugar in his tea.
Another sip. Bitter. Slightly metallic. Probably steeped too long. A mistake he hadn’t made in ages, but today certainly had him doing… and feeling… and thinking… strange things.
He managed to force himself to take one more sip before setting the mug down.
“That’s the most I’ve seen you drink all day,” a warm voice said as arms slid carefully around to embrace him under his wings. “Feeling better?” Crowley pressed a kiss to the top of Aziraphale’s head, a slow trickle of love winding around them.
“I… perhaps.” He pushed the mug away and rested his hands on Crowley’s, tracing the shape of his long fingers. “You… could be right.”
“Usually am.” Aziraphale could hear the grin in his voice. “Don’t have to sound so upset about it.”
reading fanfic in your target language can help you pick up new vocabulary words! I just finished ‘Batman R.I.P’ a series of vignettes of different characters grieving the loss of Bruce Wayne.
la bêta lecture- beta reading
une étude des personnage- character study
le Chevalier Noir- dark knight ‘black night’
le canon- canon
le casque- helmet, helm (in this case, batman’s cowl)
la cape- cape
la poussière- dust
un enterrement- burial
la presse people- tabloids, news about celebrities
jouer dans la cour des grands- to punch above your weight, to play in the big leagues, to compete out of one’s skill set ‘to play in the big courts’
Il n’y avait aucune trace d’elle. Des meubles dérangés. Une pièce étroite avec des tapisseries hideuses. Des vêtements négligemment rangés. L’impression que quelqu’un ou quelque chose était passé en coup de vent et avait emmené la Reine hors de sa prison. Tous les événements se sont déroulés si rapidement, Arthur tentait de garder son sang froid. Dix années qu’elle était retenue prisonnière et après avoir retrouvé la cachette, Guenièvre leur filait entre les doigts.
A “Special Edition” of The Rise of Skywalker using the TROS Extended Edition Novelization by Rae Carson with some changes from Hal 9000’s TROS Ascendant movie fan-edit, lore from supplementary materials, and a few minor additions of my own to create what I hope will be the best version of TROS possible. I give credit to both creators throughout, as I DO NOT claim this as an original work but more of a “fan-edit”.
When it’s discovered that the evil Emperor Palpatine did not die at the hands of the reformed Darth Vader, the rebels must race against the clock to find out his whereabouts. Finn and Poe lead the Resistance to put a stop to the First Order’s plans to form a new Empire, while Rey anticipates her inevitable confrontation with Kylo Ren.
prudence sinclair hargreeves and the universe created for her AS WELL as carrie “011” and the universe created for her AND princess porcelain’s universe have been moved over to @bbrowningbooks for PERSONAL REASONS so if you want to read their stories and see edits for their respective stories follow @bbrowningbooks
PLAYLIST RECS | did you get enough love, my little dove?
❝After her papá disappeared and her younger cousin, Mirabel, wasn’t blessed by the miracle, Moerai Marigal knew that her family was in shambles although they bury it under layers of denial. And then nearly a decade later, Mirabel starts claiming that the miracle is dying and it’s up to them to save it. But after all the miracle’s put her through, Moerai wonders if it’s worth saving.❞
… “"You better not be encouraging Camilo’s antics, mi pequeña luciérnaga, you know that your Tía Pepa won’t like that.”
She hadn’t been playing games with Camilo today, he had recently been blessed by the Casita and his gift was that of shapeshifting. Herself, little Mirabel, and Camilo had been having a blast with his gift, much to everyone’s chagrin, since his birthday.
Moerai shrugs her shoulders nonchalantally “Tía Pepa doesn’t scare me, papá! ‘Sides, I don’t mind her storms.”
❝Prudence Sinclair was quite certain that Klaus Hargreeves happens to be her father, given the fact that she can see ghosts just like he can, she thinks the chances of him being her father like her file said, are pretty high. Was she certain enough to crash Reginald Hargreeves’ funeral, not exactly, but she does it anyway …❞
❝catherine cullen, born out of wedlock to the late carlisle cullen and elspeth fynch, was born late spring of 1664. presently in the year of 2015, catherine cullen, the ancient being that she is, is extremely tired of bella swan’s monster-fucking ways.❞
Jin-Ah isn’t unaffected, no matter how much Jin-Woo may wish otherwise.
Paranoia and tendency to find fault in one’s own self runs in the family.
Warnings: None for this chapter. Except for Jin-Ah’s brief swearing at the start, and then a serious discussion between two siblings that gets emotional….well as emotional as can be when Jin-Woo’s trying to avoid emotions.
Nicolas is looking forward to the gym date with Marshall. But Marshall ain’t coming.
A quick preview
87: Gangsta. #06
A light drizzle fell on Nicolas’s face as he looked up, the sky was a dark gray and almost menacing. He pulled the gym bag out of the trunk and shouldered it, then he slapped the closed trunk lid twice. The signal for the car to drive off.
But first Alex stuck her head out the window, mouth moving with a grin. Probably attempting a joke about his date but never as good as Worick’s. Nicolas ignored her either way.
Readjusting his shoulder strap he walked across the parking lot and his eyes scanned the few cars parked here. One of them was Marshall’s black SUV. Nicolas smiled a little, glad they could spend some time together despite the guest at Marshall’s house. Friends took priority, understandably. With light steps Nicolas walked down the few steps to the gym’s entrance, occupying the basement of the building.
The inside was bright and reflective, a stark contrast to the dreariness outside. Mirrors adorned every wall, made the room seem simultaneously more spacious and more narrow than it truly was. For Nicolas it felt a little claustrophobic, always like there were too many people inside and all looking at him through the mirrors. But he usually forgot that as soon as he and Marshall entered the boxing ring. Now Nicolas’s gaze wandered across the room and its many reflections but he didn’t see the small, delicate frame of his boyfriend anywhere.
Boyfriend, what a weird word to use. Not one his personal dictionary had needed before, the two syllables lay heavy on his tongue, his fingertips burned when signing it. The connotations were heavy and he couldn’t care less about any of them, never expected to be living them out. Yet, he had to acknowledge these connotations and the word because his boyfriend …
“But please don’t cry, dry your eyes, never let up. Forgive but don’t forget, girl, keep ya head up”, Marshall mouthed along to the song, his head swayed to the rhythm but his headphones stayed put. He knew every word by heart and loved to listen to 2Pac’s voice praying courage into his ears. One of his favorite songs.
His pen put the finishing touches on the drawing, putting shadows on Spider-Woman’s body and sculpted her muscles and curves and feminine physique into present. With lose flicks of his wrist he drew strands of her hair that followed the dynamic of her pose. She exuded power.
He was already bored of the upcoming class, not only because he didn’t do his homework and didn’t care for the Spanish language but also because he had to endure it by himself. No Denaun who was better in Spanish, and no Curtis who barely showed up to school at all, and no Nicolas either who still masterfully ignored Marshall, and no Ryan of course who was a grade above. Nobody here for him to share the fun and frustrations of class with.
Nobody except Kim. Not a person Marshall wanted to share anything with but for some reason they shared the same class. Every time he had to speak up during a lesson her gray eyes stabbed him with murderous intent. He expected her to throw knives at him one of these days.
A shadow was cast on his desk. Immediately, instinctively his shoulders hunched up and his nose twitched. He expected her to slap his headphones down again or rip up his drawing but this didn’t quite smell like her, the note of lavender was missing.
Cigarette smoke and heavy, wet moss. The dark, confident scent of an alpha was too …
My current favorite bio dad Bruce Wayne fic, this is a series, I seriously recommend reading this, this is like the first one aka a one shot, there are 2 more Chapters and more to come <3
Oi! Potter! I wonder who’s going to go to the Yule ball with you, with that hair of yours. Must be someone really desperate, the worst of the worst.” Hearing that the young saviour swiftly turned on his heels to face the speaker, all the while rolling his eyes.
hi guys i just finished my first fic on ao3 and would greatly appreciate of yall could check it out
also im changed my @ from drarryismysoul to whyisislikethat so fyi
Summary:Obi-Wan Kenobi is a rarity in the Jedi Order because he is one of the only remaining members who can morph into a lightsaber that can be wielded by a compatible partner. Enter Commander Cody, who has what he believes to be a foreign lightsaber dropped on his head, a lightsaber that is excessively warm and that he insists he can hear releasing the occasional exasperated sigh.
Ah yes, the long awaited (for me at least) Grom chapter. I was actually inspired to write T.I.O from this specific chapter but wanted to explore how Luz and Amity got to that point and what happened afterwards. Hope you like it!
