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vpgoldenrod · 7 months

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The Sweetener is a Lie: The True Meaning of “A Hefty Jigger of Almond Syrup.”

I'll fight the coffee theory with my dying breath, and if Neil Gaiman somehow actually planned it, I'll fight him too. I'll fight everyone.

It's bad storytelling to force characters into major choices not made of their own volition, especially when it comes at the expense of character development. It does seem like most people have moved past it, so harping on about it is unnecessary. But the one point that the Coffee Theory made that always puzzled me was the way the almond syrup goes from “a dash” to a “hefty jigger.” They're side by side in the script, and while writers are fallible, it's far too obvious to be a mistake. But then this morning I stumbled onto this analysis of the coffee scene and the more I think about it, the more this seems like Gaiman's genuine intentions.

We all know how much Aziraphale likes sweets. It's pointed out over and over throughout both seasons. But Aziraphale doesn't just love sweets: they're also his go-to when he's stressed. When Gabriel shows up on Aziraphale's doorstep, Aziraphale doesn't know what to do. He's distraught and confused. And what is his go to when he's stressed? Sweets. So he makes Gabriel a cup of hot cocoa. When Muriel shows up later he's hospitable, but he's not intimidated or stressed so he makes her tea.

When Aziraphale asks Nina what calms people down, she doesn't offer him tea, the most obvious choice for a coffee shop. Again, the writers even make the point in a subsequent scene that Nina has multiple herbal tea options. Nina has never met Crowley before, but Nina knows Aziraphale. She remembers the regulars, not by their names but by the things they order. When posed with the question she pauses, and thinks about it. No, the weird man who owned the bookshop across the street doesn't have tea when he's stressed. What calms him down? Oh, I know! SWEETS. So she offers him Eccles cakes, a pastry originally created for religious reasons then banned by the Puritans they were too sinfully good. A little bit like Crowley, huh?

Crowley is “Mr. Six Espressos in a Big Cup,” but Aziraphale is “Mr. Hot Cocoa and Eccles Cakes,” and the Metatron knows this. So what's the best way to ensure that Aziraphale is reassured, but not actually calm? Ah, yes, offer him something sweet, but don't actually give it to him. Promise a hefty jigger of sweet syrup, then give him some bitter coffee with a little syrup. Suddenly the Metatron isn't such a bad guy. Sure, the coffee wasn't actually sweet, but the Metatron probably didn't know what he was doing, right? He may have ingested things in his time, but he hasn't lived on the Earth like Aziraphale. It's an understandable mistake, but he was trying. He smiles and makes a half-hearted attempt to enjoy it.

Suddenly there's the bitter coffee of returning to heaven as Supreme Archangel. Aziraphale doesn't want that. He implies that he wants something sweet as he gestures to the coffee that isn't actually sweet. Then the Metatron offers him a hefty jigger of almond syrup: Crowley. There's no way the Metatron would know that Crowley would never return to heaven. It's heaven! And Crowley is good. The Metatron wouldn't offer him a sweet coffee that was intentionally bitter. He's trying to be kind. He's not a bad guy, he simply misunderstood what he was offering.

The point of the Metatron's bumbling little old man act isn't just to make himself relatable, it's to give him plausible deniability. The gambit worked in the short term, but I'm looking forward to finding out how that works out in the long run.

#good omens #good omens 2 #aziraphale #crowley #neil gaiman #good omens analysis #amazon prime video #pay your actors #ineffable husbands #Coffee Theory #Eccles Cakes #the metatron #Gomens #dash of almond syrup #hefty jigger of almond syrup #good omens 3

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lunafreya-bae-fleuret · 5 years

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plausible deniability

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Please note: While it’s only implied and not very explicit, this fic DOES include some Regis/Luna, so please keep that in mind

One last hunt, they had agreed. One last hunt before their departure to Altissia, because even with his bride-to-be dead, there were things to be dealt with - namely giving the empire a whole round of ass whooping. And since Ignis had assured him that the first secretary had nothing but her city’s wellbeing in mind (and getting rid of the empire was always good for, well, anyone's wellbeing), that was as good a plan as any.

Maybe it was also just Ravus’ letter, who had seemingly finally realized that, no, bowing down to the empire’s will had not, actually, ensured his dear sister’s wellbeing. (See? Trust the empire - bad for anyone’s wellbeing; ergo: destroy it - good for the world’s wellbeing!)

Noctis hadn’t, however - and he would swear that on the stars and the possibility of Kings Knights supposed release in the following year - anticipated to run over a tent in the hinterlands of Vesperpool.

Ignis parked the car, letting out soft, yet still dignified curses while he did so, then stepped out, trying and failing to hide the fact that he almost slipped while exiting the Regalia Type D (goddamn height was ridiculous, how Cindy was able to jump out of it like it was nothing was beyond Noctis.). Clearing his throat Ignis looked at the shadowy figures, who’s silhouettes were only illuminated by the wavy light of the campfire. A quiet, female voice uttered a barely intrigued “Huh,“ and Ignis shot the seemingly tiny tent under the Regalia’s (Noctis wouldn’t say big-ass but-) tires a nervous look. Thank the stars Insomnia had fallen or they’d have to deal with, like, insurance companies and stuff, and honestly, Noctis had never really been very good with those. Leaving a stack of money and running away had always been the better option, after all.

Not that he was currently thinking much about insurance companies, mind you, seeing as his eyes were very obviously transfixed on the gooey goodness of half-molten marshmallows.

And, look. He had learned the hard way that everything between Insomnia and Lestallum and all around was basically Grandma’s biggest apple garden, so being called silly semantics like son or boy wasn’t anything new.

Except.

Except the voice uttering “Want some, son?,” was just a little too familiar, so that even Noctis, busy imagining devouring the bag of marshmallows, wrapping included and all, had to take a double take. Because, yeah, daddy issues none-withstanding, that was his honest-to-god dad sitting there, in flesh and blood, burning marshmallows and rocking jeans and a hoodie like it was nobodies business. And, man, wasn’t that just the kicker? When HE had wanted to wear hoodies, Ignis had denied him with a simple “You have to keep up appearances, however misleading they might be.” Whatever THAT meant.

To say that he felt like the tent still residing unter the Regalia was probably an understatement. (It was okay though, Prompto was already apologizing to the poor thing, no need to fear another lawsuit, Iggy.)

He barely registered mumbling a disbelieving “Dad?“ Before his attention was drawn the slightest bit to the left, just the teeny tiniest bit. And if he hadn’t been convinced that all of this was just a fever dream before, than he sure as hell was now.

"LUNA?!”

The honorable oracle herself had the audacity to smirk at him, one eyebrow cocked in quiet amusement, donning a similar attire to his father’s. Noctis had always loathed her for that, just a little bit. Hours spent in front of the mirror, relentlessly (and quite uselessly) trying to lift just the one eyebrow had cost him quite the fondness for his oldest friend.

Who was he kidding, he loathed her less than he absolutely respected her, because never had he seen anyone else that could do that as effortlessly, cartoon characters and Ignis not accounted for (the latter, he was still quite sure, being part of the former).

“I wasn’t joking,” his father chimed in, stick with a crunchy-burned marshmallow directed at Noctis. “We’re actually making S'mores” He held up a pack of cookies, Luna shaking the complimentary bottle of delicious chocolate sauce like the goddess he had always believed her to be, and, looking at the befuddled (and non-surprisingly hopeful, in Prompto’s case) faces of his friends - well, he had never been one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

While being awake for a good three days straight and not having eaten anything for the last twenty hours had rendered him, ah, rather nonchalant about the whole ordeal, Noctis was rather curious about the development of his father and friend ending up sharing a tent in the middle of a swamp

“Fuck the gods,“ Luna cheerfully told him, just as his father said "A surprising turn of events,“ and his father then proceeded to send Luna his most disapproving look in his kingly repertoire, which Noctis was quite happy not to be the recipient of, for once. It all looked very much like a conversation that they had had rather a lot, and he was in no hurry to be a part of it. So he nodded, as if all of that made sense. He met Prompto’s eyes, who mouthed ‘Told you so,’ then quickly looked upwards, as if the gods would strike him right then and there.

Luna reassuringly patted his father’s hand and simply left her own right on top of his. Then they explained it to him: the devilish plans of the empire’s coup d'état and how Luna, - sweet, compassionate, ever so duty bound Luna - had, for a lack of better words, stopped giving a fuck and had, quite literally, thrown the towel (into Ravus’ face, to be exact, and if that wasn’t a story he needed to hear about in detail) and had then fled her childhood home with the help of divine intervention. (He mentally tipped his warmly gifted trucker hat - thank you, Cindy - in Gentiana’s direction and resolved to make Ignis bake her the BIGGEST chocolate cake ever.)

Once arrived in Insomnia she merely took the king by the hand and they escaped with the help of four loyal Kingsglaives, who were pretty much their only connection to society, as of now.

And, well. Wasn’t that curious. ("More like the intro to a bad porno,“ Prompto muttered, and really, he had deserved that shove.)

So in short, they had been hiding out in the most deserted of places with just their rusty old tent ("I’ve come to call it Cor,“ Regis interjected, and Noctis was so not gonna question why he named it after his most trusted Crownsguard), with the Kingsglaives giving them regular updates.

On what, Ignis asked. His father and Luna shared a look, then a shrug. Luna shoved another whole S'more into her mouth while still accomplishing to look graceful doing it.

And that was that.

And that would have been that, too, if Luna hadn’t just casually leaned against his dad, putting a small, airy kiss against the side of his throat, her fingers intertwining with his-

Ah. Oh. Huh. It had indeed been well over a year since their departure from Insomnia. If one were to assume that they had mostly been on their own all this time, with naught but a sparsely sized tent-

He shoved Prompto again, just for good measure, and muttered, at his friend’s offended "Hey!” a simple “Stop putting weird ideas into my head.”

(He decidedly averted his eyes when the embers had mostly died down and he saw two shadows conspicuously melt into one.

Ah, sleep deprivation, the things you did to men’s mind)

((They did, however, delay their trip to Altissia, planning the demise of a heavy-armed empire and all, but they never failed to bring some extra ingredients for some more S'mores when visiting the two.))

(((They also bought them a new tent the next day, that Regis promptly dubbed Cor 2.0.)))

((((Noctis still wasn’t going to ask))))

I’m always happy to get prompts!

#Regis truly enjoys being inside cor #Regluna #Regis x luna #noctis lucis caelum #regis lucis caelum #lunafreya nox fleuret #Ffxv #Fanfiction #Mywriting #Yourstruly

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