#Madden Aziraphale

[leopharry]

Me on my 3rd rewatch, pointedly forgetting the finale: Aziraphale, why are you taking the Bentley, that's his house....

#Gos2 spoilers #Good omens #Good omens 2 #Spoilers #Like now I'm wondering why Aziraphale wanted to take the car #If he likes trains and knows how much Crowley loves his car #Then why would he be so insistent on taking it #“Our car” “our shop” is this your way of coming onto Crowley or smth Aziraphale #Its maddening #I need answers

[euphoriaonpluto]

the poor communication is even more maddening when you realise crowley didn't even tell aziraphale that he went to heaven. he didn't tell him what he saw. aziraphale doesn't know that heaven is planning another apocalypse when he accepts the position. he doesn't know why gabriel deflected from heaven. he doesn't about know metatron's involvement in all of this. because crowley never told him. i'm going insane

#good omens #good omens spoilers #good omens season 2 #good omens 2 #good omens season 2 spoilers #ineffable husbands #azicrow #aziraphale #anthony j. crowley #crowley

[guardian-of-soho]

Aziraphale is a guardian.

We left him at the end of s1 with the knowledge that apocalypse was still coming. He'd saved the world for that day, but Heaven was still bent on destroying it. The ones with the power to burn everything were still inescapably loveless. It really looked like he and Crowley alone of all the Earth-walking beings would fight for the world.

And he loves the world so much. The opening scenes of him in the record shop, buying his Shostakovich 78s? The warmth toward Maggie and her music and her heart? The generosity, and the delight in the shared understanding, and the pleasure in the discovery that he could make her life better? That he could spare her pain, give her a little more time with her joys? He knows how fragile those are.

He wants to give that to the whole world.

He wants to believe he can lift the doom hanging over them all, banish it permanently. He is desperate to believe it. Even if he wasn't longing so fervently to be seen, approved, affirmed by God's word (I was so undone by his jealousy as he watched Job speak to her) -- even without that I can't imagine him not wavering at Heaven's offer, faced with the chance that he could use all Heaven's might to guard the world again and get it right this time.

And then he's offered that power with apparent warmth, and feigned approval, and the shameless claim that at last they understand. They hear what he's been trying desperately to tell them as long as he's lived in the world. They're telling him that he's finally made his point -- that they are proud he's tried so hard for so long.

So -- the ending is shattering. It is maddening. It's utterly unfair on Crowley. And I didn't see it coming, and yet.

Aziraphale is a guardian. He really will have to see for himself that power won't love what's good; there is no way to make the world safe forever.

#crowley already knows it #has known it for ages #has fed off aziraphale's hopefulness and tenderness and love for as long #to keep himself out of despair #if aziraphale can make it through whatever disillusionment comes next with his courage and his tenderness intact #it will be so much more sure #he'll have so much more to give crowley #but even if it shatters i know crowley will hold it all to give back to him #they keep each other soft in the end #jkafdkjlfdsakl;fd;lak;dalfkjj; i'm helpless to the radiance of their goodness to each other #aaaanyway them's my first thoughts #good omens 2 #good omens #go s2 #good omens s2

[fuckyeahgoodomens]

What are Aziraphale and Crowley looking for in each other? (x)

Michael: On the surface, the things that annoy them the most about each other are actually what they are most compelled by.

David: Crave, yes, yes.

Michael: And so they're sort of bound together, aren't they? In all kinds of ways. I think Aziraphale is both infuriated and maddened and very stressed out by Crowley's constant questioning of things. Things that Aziraphale thinks are just... those are the rules. Crowley being a sort of rule breaker and a rule bender, he finds incredibly stressful. And yet I think that's sort of what he craves.

David: Drawn to.

Michael: He's drawn to that.

David: Irrepressibly.

Michael: Yes.

David: Yes. And I think probably Aziraphale's very consistency and very even-temperedness is something that Crowley kind of craves as well. There's a sort of security in that which he doesn't really get anywhere else.

#good omens #gointerviewedit #michael sheen #david tennant #david and michael #dm #tv insider #interview #michael interview #david interview #david and michael interview #ac #tv insider 2023 #good omens meta #fun fact #s2 interview

[ineffable-suffering]

The meaning of "I forgive you"

Alright, hello again, I involuntarily dipped for a bit because real life outside of this lovely Tumblr Good Omens bubble got a little bit stressful, but! I'm back for a quick little post to say that I'm currently reading the script book for Season 1 and seeing this line again, spelled out on paper, just shone some more light on the whole „I forgive you“-scene of Season 2 for me again.

Because really, this first time Az says it to Crowley in front of the bookshop tells us exactly what the second time during the Final Fifteen means.

Aziraphale is not forgiving Crowley for kissing him. Or for using this moment to confess and make things explicit between them.

No, Aziraphale is forgiving Crowley for not trusting and believing (in) him.

Let's shove the Final Fifteen to the side for a second and look at this scene from Season 1 under the cut.

The situation at hand: The World is ending, with utmost certainty. In addition, Crowley is absolutely f*cked and Hell is out to get him. He tries to apologise for their Bandstand fallout and explain the other two things to Az (poorly, but he tries). Because to Crowley, Armageddon is a done deal already. Wherever the actual Antichrist is, he's gonna come into his power and the World will be wiped out for Heaven and Hell to wage their war on. Also, Hastur is coming to kick his demon ass. Time to dip!

And yet, Aziraphale doesn't want to come with him. He is adamant that he will be able to reach the Almighty, talk to Her and turn this around. Because if Aziraphale, Guardian of the Eastern Gate, thinks there's even the slightest, tiniest morsel of a chance that he can turn things around the right way, he will do it. Even if it sounds ridiculous. Even if it's a lost cause to everyone else. Even if all the other angels gang up on him and (literally) beat him up.

Even if Crowley calls him stupid.

Aziraphale decides not to be offended by this.

Because this is what he does. This is what a Guardian does. He stays and protects to ward off the intrusion, until the very last second.

Now listen, I'm the last person to blame Crowley for intrinsically wanting to choose Flight over Fight in this very situation, because Lord knows (literally) what happened to him back when he chose Fight and lost.

But at the same time we have to keep in mind that despite his last name, Aziraphale never Fell. He never made the horrible experience of being chucked away by the one who made you to love Her because you chose to question her ways. And yes, in so many ways this choice of his, to still believe that he can change something by questioning and suggesting (both here and in S2), is utterly maddening and hurtful to Crowley. Because it's a mirror of what Crowley himself did and a reminder of just how big the price he had to pay was. Aziraphale seemingly not realizing or understanding this stings. It does.

And yet.

Yet Aziraphale's choice to not take no for an answer, to not let a punch to the gut derail him from his plan, to not let even the most definitive thing such as Armageddon keep him from fighting back, is the one thing that ends up saving the World.

Because even when it all seems impossible and completely hopeless and bloody Satan himself is erupting from the pits of Hell, ...

... Aziraphale picks up his sword and fights back.

And he wins.

Not without help, of course. But might I remind you of what got Crowley to cooperate and not simply surrender like he'd almost done that second?

You might not see it at first, but tucked in between all the posh hedonism, hidden away underneath that tightly buttoned waistcoat of his, Aziraphale is a fighter. And a good one at that. I mean, for Someone's sake, he got discorporated, beamed himself down back to Earth, found Crowley somehow, possessed a psychic prostitute (love you, Madame Tracy), rode a scooter all the way to Taddfield and fought off Lucifer with sheer willpower (and a bit of emotional coercion).

Aziraphale can fight. Smart and hard. And not only that: He can win, too. And he knows it. Because he believes, truly, firmly and wholly, that he can make things right. It's the only thing he will settle for. This, ladies and gents, this is how he ends up saving the World, together with Crowley, Adam and the rest.

Because he didn't accept no as an answer. He didn't look at the impossible and accept it as such. Even when Crowley thought him to be an idiot for trying and even after his initial attempt at talking to God had failed, Aziraphale still found a way to stop The Big Bad Thing from happening.

Which is exactly what his plan is when he ends up being forced to come back to Heaven by the Metatron. (If you still believe this was a voluntary choice, read here). And which is exactly why he is so hurt and still ends up forgiving Crowley for the fact that Crowley doesn't end up coming with him. Doesn't end up understanding, trusting and believing (in) him, just like all the way back at the end of the World in Season 1.

Aziraphale decides not to be offended by this.

#good omens #good omens season 2 #crowley #aziraphale #ineffable husbands #good omens meta #gos2 #good omens 2 #i forgive you #*saunters onto your feed* i'm BACK #the final fifteen #aziraphale is a fighter #and he will always win #my own meta

[di-42]

Why are we obsessed with Good Omens?

Why are we obsessed with Good Omens? And, more specifically,why are we so obsessed with Good Omens season 2? And why is this such an intense obsession? I've been obsessed with other TV series in the past: Sherlock, Doctor Who and Gilmore Girls are just a few examples. But my obsession with Good Omens is stronger. I loved Good Omens, the book. I was delighted when not only did Good Omens season 1 not disappoint compared to the book but was excellent in its own right. But after watching season 2 I was a different person. And I know I'm not alone in this.

Why is this? Why is this show affecting us so deeply? To the point that sometimes it feels destabilising?

Like I said above, I loved the book and I loved season 1. I loved the complexity of the plot, the many layers of the story, the humour of course, all the characters and in the TV show the way these characters were portrayed, especially of course our two main heroes. I loved the way the story unapologetically approached religion and teased it and played with it and made fun of parts of it, especially the bureaucratic/hierarchic part without being disrespectful to believers (I think and hope, but since I'm not a believer myself I'm happy to be corrected). I loved how much was in it and the many lenses we could read the story.

Now I'll be honest. When I started watching season 2 I... loved it. Of course I did. The way you love things you know. The way you love things that make you feel safe. The way a toddler loves mum and dad and the way we love going for a coffee with our lifelong friends. Something risk-free, something we know, something we don't need to worry about. Something beautiful but... Shall I say it? Something beautiful, truly beautiful and safe and cosy but not something extremely exciting. The plot is Crowley and Aziraphale have to hide Gabriel who, for some reason, has left heaven. OK. Nice. We get to know Crowley and Aziraphale better, we have more glimpses of their history. Truly, truly beautiful. But safe. A lovely rom com. We fall in love with 1941 all over again. Beautifully emotional. But where's the danger? Is the world really not ending this time round? It was difficult to take the threats from heaven and hell very seriously when we saw our heroes visiting the coffee shop, driving to Edinburgh and miracling rain to make two humans fall in love.

I was enjoying it, I was... yeah. Loving it, sure. We were all happily watching it but, let's face it, we all knew how it was going to end, didn't we?

And that there. That's why we are so obsessed with Good Omens. Well, that's definitely why I'm so obsessed with Good Omens. At first I thought it was just the lack of closure. But it's not. It's because after alluring you in with cosy safe tartan blankets and cocoa winged mugs it smites you mercilessly. It's because it subverts all the expectations it created in the first place. This is what is so destabilising. We've all read and watched lovely, moving, heart breaking love stories before. We've all lost it a bit over maddening cliffhangers. All the beautiful stories in our lives. But the ending of Good Omens season 2? It does change you as a person. The impact of changing the narrative so suddenly and forcefully. We were watching a comedy and now we are witnessing the unfolding of a tragedy. That's what did it, I think. That's why it stays with us and occupies a good part of our thoughts while we go about our daily activities. That's also what makes many of us want to write, draw, analyse and create. As obsessed as I was with other series and books before, it was only after Good Omens season 2 that I felt I needed to write about it and find a community where I could talk about and share my thoughts and read other people's thoughts. I know many of you are writers or artists but I also know many of us aren't and it's only thanks to Good Omens that we overcome our fears and self doubts and put our thoughts out there. Thanks to Neil Gaiman. Thanks to Neil Gaiman promising one thing and delivering another. Thanks to Neil Gaiman deceiving us. I can't wait to see how it all pans out and we do know everything will be OK. But in the meantime I'm so happy to have had my expectations taken and thrown in the bin.

#good omens #good omens season2 #Good omens 2 #subverting expectations #the beauty of stories

[charcubed]

I NEEEED people—especially those with unfathomably large platforms???—to start doing just a tiny bit of internal evaluation before they log onto a blue website and say “I don’t want these queer characters to fuck in canon” or “I’d be fine if these characters never kissed again” or whatever.

This is a post about Good Omens and the prospect of Aziraphale and Crowley potentially having sex in season 3. It's a response to a tweet that I'm crossposting, but let it be known the above statement and this topic applies broadly across multiple fandoms too.

But anyway, in regards to Good Omens specifically:

I am seeing this take that essentially boils down to "Canon has now made it clear that these characters want to have sex with each other through subtext (i.e. Aziraphale and the ox), but I don’t want that to reach narrative completion because the idea of them having sex makes me uncomfortable or isn’t my personal preference” and it is, to put it mildly and delicately, A Very Bad Take.

This is rhetorical (and I do not expect or particularly want an answer), but: explain to me how and why queer characters who are unavoidably visibly queer (aka 2 "man-shaped beings") fucking on screen wouldn’t be a net positive, especially when you can indicate how canon has set it up.

Presumably, some people say things like this because ~they want to see them as visibly ace.~ Okay. But by some of these people’s own admission, there IS more evidence in canon now to indicate these characters crave sex with each other (vs arguing otherwise)... yet people would rather that be ignored/erased all for the sake of them feeling comfortable or feeling better about what canon shows or doesn’t show explicitly??

I’m sorry, but—speaking as an ace person, to be clear—your personal preferences for the story shouldn’t / don’t affect anything here. There’s too much in this.

Yeah, I understand on a personal level not having “representation.” I almost never see myself or my unique experiences and identity reflected in stories. And yet, I also understand that that doesn’t change any story or the world in which we live. Things like this are not said in a vacuum.

Any queer characters having sex on screen IS a net positive. It is rare and impactful, and openly calling for or hoping for otherwise when canon points to its potential is a detrimental alliance with purity culture, whether intentionally or accidentally. Because we live in a Goddamn society!

Who knows (other than Neil Gaiman) whether Aziraphale and Crowley ARE going to fuck on international TV. None of us do! But the subtext right now blatantly says they’re starving for it. And you don’t have to like the prospect of that, but honestly? We SHOULD get to see it play out. There’s no truly legitimate reason we shouldn’t ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Whether you "prefer" it or not.

And my ultimate hot take is… if someone balks at the idea of that or doesn’t understand the importance of it, despite even seeing the subtext… then they should perhaps unpack that? Just a thought.

Truly the way fandoms are managing to hit either “subtext doesn’t count :/ ” or “let’s keep it to subtext so it’s ‘open to interpretation’ :) ” nowadays depending on what corner one visits is MADDENING. Whiplash-inducing. Surreal. And so much nonsense you can’t pick where to start.

So! I do genuinely hope I'm not kicking off discourse but I felt this Needed To Be Said (and on more than one site). Because posts like “even if they never kiss again, we’ve won <3 “ make me want to be like…

These characters are YEARNING. Do not doom them and us to it. For once, we can reach for the stars and maybe–against all odds–pull them down. Embrace it!

---

[Update: after more discourse has occurred, I have somewhat elaborated on this further, from the POV of the significance of the queer themes in Good Omens and more specifically how they center illicit pleasure/desire]

#good omens #good omens season 2 #good omens spoilers #good omens season 3 #neil gaiman #aziracrow #ineffeble husbands #I'm OVER ITTTT. #this is the delicate version of this rant. trust me. I tried to keep it chill for the sake of posting on main #char writes things #PS adding some brief tags now that the discourse has Escalated: #Mr Gaiman can be pedantic on the internet and pretend by omission he's never heard of subtext all he wants. #it's not what his story is saying and I do actually think he DOES know how to do stories. so. love & light to whatever his deal is. #(what I mean: do not come into my house & try to say 'neil said the ox scene isn't sexual.' inaccurate + that's a whole suitcase to unpack) #(I have now written about All That at length elsewhere with exasperation but it doesn't need to be linked in this post lol.)

[avocado-writing]

Hi!

I love your good omens stories! They’re so good and leave me wanting more.

Anyway, may I request Aziraphale and Crowley comforting their s/o who can’t sleep because of stress and they find them crying?

Please and thank you!

notes: a short and fluffy one! hope you enjoy it, and I’m so glad you enjoy reading my work! ☺️

pairing: crowley x reader x aziraphale

rating: T

You’re so fucking tired. 

It’s eating away at you, ravenous. Every inch of your body aches for sleep. Every inch of your mind won’t allow it. Instead it runs in circles inside your head, its pacing keeping you awake and miserable. 

You’ve tried counting sheep, you’ve tried meditating, you’ve tried just willing your body to do it. It’s not working. None of it is working. You’re just so stressed, obsessing about everything weighing down on you. Impossible to shake it off.

Next to you, Crowley and Aziraphale are absolutely conked out. Dead to the world. You envy their angelic ability to just tell themselves it’s time for sleep. They don’t go through this maddening insomnia; no, that’s an entirely human thing. 

That’s just for you. 

Exhausted, you sit up. As quietly as you can you sling your legs over the side of the bed to be able to rest your elbows on your thighs. You cover your face with your hands and feel frustrated tears slipping down your cheeks, hot and humiliating. 

“Darling?”

You look over your shoulder to where Aziraphale has stirred. He blinks up at you in confusion, brow furrowing when he spots the fact that you’re sobbing. 

“Oh, my dear, what’s the matter?”

“Sorry. Sorry, I’m just being silly.”

You try to speak quietly, but it’s enough to make Crowley wake too. You’re met with two pairs of worried eyes and it makes you feel awful. 

“I can’t sleep, that’s it. I’m sorry for disturbing you. I’ll go and make myself a cup of tea or something—”

You go to stand, but a hand wraps gently around your arm and tugs you backward. You land in the middle of the bed, and feel your partners fold themselves around you. 

Your breath catches in your throat from the unexpected intimacy of it, having resigned yourself to watching small-hours telly until your body finally gave up. Instead Aziraphale strokes up and down your arm with feather-light touches and Crowley begins to hum a comforting tune under his breath. 

“Oh,” you whisper. At once, synchronised but with no discussion between them, they both reach in to press a kiss to either of your cheeks. 

“We’ve got you,” Crowley whispers. 

You finally feel your body begin to relax, and your eyelids grow heavy. Wrapped in their embrace is the best way to sleep. 

-

taglist: @angiestopit @dazed-soul @smile-eywa @staygoldsquatchling02 @underratedboogeyman @specter-soltare @candlewitch-cryptic @cool-ontherun-world @emilynissangtr @willbedecided @cool-iguana @bdffkierenwalker @ilyatan @civil-groupie @foolishprincipalitee

#crowley x reader x aziraphale #good omens x reader #ineffable husbands x reader #could be TLTDATSIB sooo tagging it as such #Fic: the light the dark and the spaces inbetween #Request

[aziraphales-library]

Hellooo, thank you so much for everything you're doing for this fandom <3

I was wondering if you know any fics that are exes with benefits or enemies with benefits?

Thank you so much!!!

Hi! You can check our #enemies to lovers tag for more fics like this. Here are some more to add to the collection...

smash your competition, baby by KissMyAsthma (E)

Aziraphale and Crowley compete for the title of their country’s representative for the Eurovision Song Contest 2024. Being rivals seems to only heat up the atmosphere between them, and when the excitement and adrenaline after their performances take over, they work off some of their post-performance high together.

On the Way Home From Rome by Caedmon (E)

Aziraphale is on the way home from Rome, looking forward to crawling into his own bed in London, when he meets an attractive - and maddening - man.

���and your enemies closer by UnproblematicMe (E)

Crowley is glad the world doesn't end. But it gets boring sometimes and the only immortal beings on Earth besides him are now the Antichrist and the annoying emissary of Heaven who has been a thorn in Crowley's side from the beginning.

Bare Knuckles, Rose Thorns, and Split Grape Skins by midnightxink (E)

The year is 1880. The Wild West is in full swing. A slick, chaos-wielding demon runs from the Law, jumps from town to town dealing in crime. Only, the Law catches up with him in the form of one hard-tack, no nonsense angelic bounty hunter. Their subsequent journey reveals much about the workings of an institution that they both stake claims to, and each other.

Intermezzo by FeralTuxedo (E)

Music critic Aziraphale Fell is trying to break into the world of television, when he is signed to make a documentary about former-rockstar-turned-composer Anthony Crowley. It’s been eleven years since Aziraphale’s disastrous review of Crowley’s debut opera nipped his classical music career in the bud. He can only hope that Crowley will get over his admittedly justified grudge to make the TV show a success. A classical music sex comedy. Yes, really.

Fifty-Two Blue by bendycello (E)

It would be a gross understatement to say that Crowley simply didn't like Aziraphale. He was posh and stuffy and arrogant, and Crowley couldn't figure out why everyone else in the program liked him so much. It hardly mattered; they were competitors, and Crowley didn't need to make friends to become a surgeon. It takes several unleasant encounters, the excessive use of house plants as a coping mechanism, and getting stuck in an elevator for Crowley to start reconsidering his priorities. Or... Crowley and Aziraphale are surgical interns with competitive streaks a mile wide each, and they really do not like each other at all. Until they do.

- Mod D

#good omens #ineffable husbands #adult omens #enemies to lovers #human au #mod d

[raz-writes-the-thing]

What Would They Think? (Good Omens Drabble)

Aziraphale x GN!Reader 18+ ONLY / requests are open and encouraged

Summary: Based on the prompt from this list: “What would they think if they could see you now, hm?” 

CW: smut, blowjobs (GN!receiving- left ambiguous as to whether reader has a strap or not), verbal humiliation, shoe grinding (is that? the terminology?), dominant reader

Good Omens tag list: @coffee-and-red-lipstick @quickslvxrr (send an ask to be added to a tag list!)

___ ___ ___ ___ ___

“What would they think if they could see you now, hm?” 

Aziraphale whimpers around the cock in his mouth. You coo, reaching down to brush along his jaw, fingers trailing under his chin to feel the bulge in his throat as the Angel does his best to take the cock to the base. 

“Hmm? Pretty thing, aren’t you, sweetheart? Taking that cock like such a good boy.” 

Aziraphale’s hands are tied with a silk scarf. The poor thing is never going to recover. The scarf that is, not Aziraphale. Your Angel was made for this. Well, sort of. 

“What would they think? Seeing you on your knees, hands tied and begging for my cock like a mutt in heat, hey? Would they think you had fallen from grace? Fallen prey to sin and depravity? Lost little lamb…” 

Aziraphale bobbed his head, and you curled your fingers through his hair, tugging and yanking softly. The Angel keened, face flushing with pleasure. He was hard in his slacks, and you pressed your shoe against him softly, revelling in the way his hips bucked up, grinding against your foot. 

You can see him twisting his wrists in his restraints and you tut condescendingly, lifting your foot off him. He whines, eyes pleading up at you. 

You laugh and yank his hair. The Angel gags on the cock buried in his throat and his eyes water. You grin, wiping the tears away.

“I thought you were being good for me, Zira? Why are you trying to free yourself? Hmm? Is it to play with your cock? I don’t think so, darling. There’ll be none of that while I’m in charge.”

You allow him to rub himself against your shoe once again, and he does so with pure desperation, rutting against you like it’ll cure his maddening need. It might, in all seriousness. 

“Better. Now, you’re going to cum like this or not at all, darling.” You check your watch. “You’ve got two minutes.”

#aziraphale fanfiction #good omens aziraphale #aziraphale x reader #good omens #aziraphale #aziraphale x yn #aziraphale x y/n #aziraphale x you #good omens fic #good omens drabble #good omens imagine #gomens drabble #gomens imagine #gomens fic #gomens fanfic #gomens fanfiction #ineffable husbands #michael sheen #good omens x reader #michael sheen x reader #smut #good omens smut #gomens smut #aziraphale smut #x reader

[mrscakeishere]

Remember when Friday night was X-Files night?

Crowley remembers!

You can find out just how much he loves the show, and his journey with Muriel to solve the mystery of the missing archangel in Pass the Remote, Angel. (Rated M).

This one is an oldie, but a goodie. Well...I think it's a goodie, but then again, I wrote it, so I'm biased. 😆

I posted it today on @goodomensafterdark for the first time, to spread the paranormal love. Summary and excerpt below.

Summary:

Aziraphale has returned to Heaven, leaving Crowley a tv binge-watching wreck. However, healing can come from the most unlikeliest of places. While Muriel has been instructed to provide daily reports of the demon’s emotional state, they find that sharing time together, even by watching a scary show, can be the catalyst that builds friendships. And they’d probably both be couch potatoes by now if the Supreme Archangel hadn’t just gone missing.

Excerpt:

In the first week following Aziraphale’s return to Heaven, Crowley had experienced multiple stages of grief. When he stood by his car, he was in denial. When he stole Aziraphale’s tartan blanket from the bookshop, he was in the throes of anger. And for the several days that he sat in his chair trying to talk to a God that never listens, he engaged in bargaining.

Now he was in the sad-TV-binge-watching stage. And when you’re an occult being that has just broken up with an angel you never technically dated, you binge the X-Files.

It had been one of Crowley’s favorite shows during the 90s after the Golden Girls went off the air. He had found most of the tales preposterous, but he had become rather invested in Mulder and Scully’s relationship. It was clear the two humans wanted each other and the sexual tension was excruciating to watch, all of which made the show maddening and addictive. His emotional attachment to the paranormal crime fighting duo’s relationship used to bother him, but back then he could never put his finger on exactly why.

And now here he was, over twenty years later, lying on the couch with his fourth bottle of Merlot and watching season three, having an epiphany that transcended the manifestation of Jesus.

“I’m Mulder.”

Mulder. Passionate, intuitive, tall. Slightly unhinged, but reasonably paranoid. Always trying to convince the stubborn Agent Scully of the Truth and failing even when the Truth is staring directly in her face in the form of a giant galactic spaceship. And he was “spooky.” Crowley liked spooky.

And then there was Scully. Kind, intelligent, a bit short. Often pouty, but adorably cute. Always so sure of her faith in God. And clearly pining for Mulder while pushing him away for years because she didn’t think she could ever have a real future with him.

F**king Scully.

He considered throwing what was left of the bottle of merlot at the television.

Continue reading on Ao3.

#GOAD writers guild #good omens fanfic #good omens fanfiction #aziraphale #crowley #muriel #x files #good omens after dark #aziracrow #good omens 2 #ao3 fanfic

[notalostcausejustyet]

I’ve already attached this to a re-blog, but it feels like something that I want to post as a standalone as well. Sometimes I scream into the tumblr void about shit. Thanks to a gifted copy of The Body Keeps the Score I’m doing more DIY therapy work and processing some of my thoughts through the interwebs. So here’s a brain thing.

🎶Let’s talk about projection baby, let’s talk about you and me!!🎶 All joking aside, so many of us who deal with CPTSD use fictional works to process our trauma. We are outsourcing emotions and memories that we, for whatever reason, struggle to deal with unless there is some remove from the immediacy of them. We seek to find ourselves in characters, parallels in stories and situations for our own experiences. We live their struggles and triumphs as our own and so find catharsis within them. Aziraphale as a character is a particularly good example of this. He’s doing the thing so many of us who are trying to convince everyone else and ourselves that “we’re FINE, thank you!” do. He isn’t really processing his shit. He’s putting it on a third party to release some pressure before he completely loses it. And in so doing, us the audience, have gained a character that we both empathize and sympathize with, and in turn, use to work through much of our own trauma. I honestly think that’s why so many of us are waiting for S3 with bated breath. We need Az to figure it out. We need them both to heal. To defeat the odds. To find happiness. We’re all waiting for that because we need to believe that it’s something we can have too. If this Angel who foists 6 millennia of grief and rage and maddening questions about the “why” of everything off into an entire bookshop’s worth of stories and characters, if he can figure it out…surely we can too. Surely there is hope for us buried somewhere in the stacks. Surely there is some understanding that can be found, some catharsis or healing within the lines of these narratives. So we’re all holding our breath, our hope and our hearts, in our hands, waiting to finish the story, and in so doing, complete some part of ourselves. Finally framing those cracks where the light comes in, into something beautiful.

#good omens #aziraphale #good omens meta #DIY therapy it’s like DIY electrical you can but you’ll probably get zapped a few times #tumblr is the void into which we scream #come void scream with me we’ll be like the hallelujah chorus #but off key terribly off key it’s amazing #projection and displacement are integral parts of aziraphale's character #self projection #this is really good diy therapy though we’re all out here being diyers #doing the work #books that saved our lives #books have always saved my life #neil gaiman #Neil Gaiman we are in your walls

[fuckyeahgoodomens]

David and Michael interview with Emily Aslanian for TV Insider, 10.7.2023 :)

David: So Gabriel shows up at Aziraphale's bookshop naked. He's lost his memory. Where does that leave our good heroes?

Michael: Well, Aziraphale, for someone who is of a slightly nervous disposition, for a naked... his ex boss to turn up outside his bookshop in Soho in the daytime, naked and wanting a hug, is not necessarily what Aziraphale had on his bingo card that day. But once he comes in and Aziraphale has to take him in, we discover that there is a mystery to be solved.

David: Yes.

Michael: And Aziraphale enjoys a mystery, but doesn't enjoy things like the end of the world or the stakes being that high.

David: He enjoys the mystery a little too much for Crowley's like.

Michael: He does a little bit.

David: Crowley just wants this sorted and he doesn't want you indulging your fantasy of being a private eye.

Michael: That's right, Aziraphale gets to really enjoy that. But they are forced, you know, they're a team of two now anyway, because they become detached from their respective head offices. But this forces them together even more. They've only got each other to rely on and they have to solve this mystery. And the clock is ticking. So it starts a whole chain of events that starts off potentially not being as high stakes as Season One. But as it goes along, we realise the apocalypse was just the beginning.

David: It was nothing! It was a mere bagatelle! How much time passes between Series One and Series Two. Do we know exactly?

Michael: I don't know exactly. But things have changed, obviously, between... I mean, Aziraphale is thoroughly enjoying himself. He's sort of got what he wanted, which is to be able to be in his bookshop, listen to music, watch shows, eat nice meals, drink wine, hang out with Crowley. He's a little disconcerted by not having the company behind him because he's such a company man. So that's a bit strange. But Crowley is...

David: It's not worked out quite so well for Crowley. He has the liberation of being free from Hell breathing down his neck. But he has lost the company apartment. So he is living in his car now with his pot plants. So circumstances are slightly reduced for him and he can't quite let go because we see him on a park bench catching up with Miranda Richardson's character Shax, who's taken over from him, trying to dig up a bit of gossip and find out what's really going on. So they have the freedom of not being watched over. But for Crowley, it's not worked out quite as well as perhaps he imagined.

Michael: What are they looking for in each other, I wonder?

David: In each other...

Michael: Well, I mean, I think, they sort of... on the surface, the things that annoy them the most about each other are actually what they are most compelled by.

David: Crave, yes, yes.

Michael: And so they’re sort of bound together, aren’t they? In all kinds of ways. I think Aziraphale is both infuriated and maddened and very stressed out by Crowley’s constant questioning of things. Things that Aziraphale thinks are just… those are the rules. Crowley being a sort of rule breaker and a rule bender, he finds incredibly stressful. And yet I think that’s sort of what he craves.

David: Drawn to.

Michael: He’s drawn to that.

David: Irrepressibly.

Michael: Yes.

David: Yes. And I think probably Aziraphale’s very consistency and very even-temperedness is something that Crowley kind of craves as well. There’s a sort of security in that which he doesn’t really get anywhere else. But, yes, they bicker away, but clearly with the security of a couple who know they can't really exist without each other. But I don't think... they never really admit what they are to each other. There's sort of understanding that they've only really got each other now, and therefore they rely on each other hugely. And, you know, as soon as Aziraphale is in trouble, he calls up Crowley to come and help him. There's no question there's...

Michael: Someone once said, what do any of us have but our illusions? And what do we ask of anyone but that we be allowed to keep them?

David: That's... who once said that? Should I not ask you that?

Michael: Don't ask me.

David: Don't ask you that.

Michael: Let me just say that.

David: It's lovely.

Michael: And sounds clever.

David: Michael Sheen once said something about illusions. It was really nice.

Michael: Whenever you hear someone say, 'A wise man once said', it's usually me.

David: It is usually you.

#good omens #michael sheen #david tennant #david and michael #dm #tv insider #interview #michael interview #david interview #david and michael interview #ac #tv insider 2023 #good omens meta #fun fact #s2 interview #videos #transcripts #video interview

[ineffableclassics]

Crowley offers to groom Aziraphale's neglected wings, which sparks off a new restlessness in the angel, a maddening itch that only another grooming session helps settle. Crowley also seems to behave oddly, but they struggle to speak openly about the unsettling change between them— until things spin out of their control.

Words: 24,940

Status: Complete

Rating: Explicit

⭐️

#fanfic #fanfic cover #fanfiction #fanfiction reccomendations #good omens #good omens fanfiction #good omens fanfiction recs #good omens season one #adult omens

[feraltuxedo]

The Runaway by FeralTuxedo Rated E Summary: DI Aziraphale Fell is tasked with investigating the death of a young sex worker. With the help of witness Anthony Crowley, he sets off on a mission to uncover dark secrets while keeping his own. If anyone finds out that the victim spent the last night of his life with him, everything could be over. A gritty cop drama AU.

Started posting my new AU! I know, now is a weird time to do that, but I've been sitting on this one for a while and I'm quite excited about it. It's a shamelessly trope-y gritty crime thriller/drama. Detective Aziraphale and sex worker Crowley solve a murder mystery together. Complications and smut ensue.

Excerpt from chapter 1 under the cut.

They entered yet another identical room. A small bed in a small space with a small window looking out onto the enormous car park. The witness lay back on the bed, his all black clothes and fiery red hair stark against the white sheets. He had his forearms crossed behind his head, which he lifted in irritation as if he’d just been interrupted from his nap.

He made no effort to move or to sit up, and so Aziraphale squeezed himself onto the thin sliver of bed free between his long legs and the edge of the mattress. Like a hospital visitor at a sick bed.

‘I’m Detective Inspector Aziraphale Fell,’ he began, ‘and over there is my colleague Detective Constable Anathema Device. You’ve met her already.’

‘Yeah, I remember.’

The man winked at Device, but she was much too cool-headed to react to it.

‘So.’ The word was long and flat in his accent. ‘Is this where you ask me all the same questions she did earlier so you can see if I’m lying?’

‘Yes,’ Aziraphale said simply.

Behind him, Device shifted uncomfortably. But Aziraphale knew this type of witness, too. The type that didn’t need kindly reassurances as much as straightforward honesty. The type that hid their trauma behind a facade of cool detachment.

Anthony Crowley would be just like that. Inappropriate jokes and laddish posturing, anything to distract from the horrible sight Aziraphale knew he would not forget anytime soon. From the grief that was, at this very moment, building and gaining momentum at the pit of his stomach, ready to rise up and consume him.

‘If you could just repeat your name, age, and address. And perhaps this would be easier if you were to sit up.’

Anthony Crowley grinned and wiggled on the mattress.

‘Yeah I bet it would be easier. But I’m really comfortable like this, so you’ll just have to deal with it.’

Device actually huffed. Unprofessional perhaps, but then she had been subjected to this man’s maddening attempts at provocation much longer than Aziraphale had. He crossed his arms and waited. The man relented.

‘Anthony James Crowley. I live at 666 Eden Close in Kilburn, and I’m twenty-three.’

Twenty-three. Barely older than Ryan Jones the receptionist, and yet Crowley appeared so much more cynical than his years. He didn’t look old, by any means. No sign of the crow’s feet that had been permanent features on Aziraphale’s face since some time around his thirty-sixth birthday. No, Crowley’s face was chiseled, his body taut even laid out on a bed like that, like a cobra ready to strike at any moment.

He reminded Aziraphale an awful lot of Eric.

‘Can you tell me what happened last night and this morning?’ he asked, before the thought had a chance to take hold and derail him.

‘Sure. I got some missed calls from Eric during the night, but I didn’t see them until the morning. Tried to call him back but he didn’t answer, so I called the hotel instead.’

‘Wait a moment.’

He’d let Ryan Jones talk, but with someone like Anthony Crowley, Aziraphale knew it was best not to give them any opportunity to gloss over details.

‘How did you know he was here? Where were you at the time?’

‘We’ve got location sharing on between our phones. And I was at an AirBnB in Camden.’

Good Lord, this was like pulling teeth. Crowley was not going to volunteer any information. No wonder Device had been so exasperated.

‘Why were you at an AirBnB in Camden if you live in Kilburn?’

‘Just fancied a mini-break, that’s all.’

‘Mr Crowley—’

‘Mr Policeman—’

‘That’s DI Fell to you.’

Crowley grinned, as if he’d won an argument.

‘Fine. I was in Camden because that’s where I was getting fucked up the arse by an American tourist who just so happened to be staying at an AirBnB there.’

He studied Aziraphale for a reaction of shock or outrage. Well, he would not give him the satisfaction.

‘We’ll need the exact address and, if you can provide it, the name of your American… friend.’

‘To confirm the alibi, right?’

This time, Aziraphale did not assent.

‘How do you know Mr Blaine?’

‘We’re mates.’

‘Did you know where he was last night?’

Aziraphale felt his heart race as soon as he asked the question. Tried his best not to let it show. As it happened, he was rather good at repressing his inner thoughts.

‘Yeah,’ Crowley said, and Aziraphale’s hand tightened on the duvet cover. ‘We were on the pull together, in Soho. He got lucky first. Went off with some guy.’

Soho. Aziraphale had just left his favourite sushi place, where he’d been by himself as always. Eric had stumbled into his path, asking for a light. The way he’d looked at him, sweat-soaked from dancing, with the cocky air of a beautiful man who knew he was beautiful.

Any moment now, Aziraphale would stop breathing and the game would be up.

#good omens #good omens fanfic #good omens au #good omens human au #my writing

[mygalfriday]

Love is going to lead you by the hand (Crowley/Aziraphale)

Inspired by Rob Wilkins's comments on the kiss scene.

{ao3}

In all their time together, Aziraphale has grown used to the many and varied ways Crowley looks at him. Mercurial creature that he is, Crowley never runs out of emotions and his face displays them all so clearly. Sometimes, he looks at Aziraphale as though he’d very much like to strangle him. Or perhaps push him into the pond in St. James Park. Sometimes he smiles so genuinely that Aziraphale feels like the cleverest of all God’s creations. There have been dinners where Crowley did not touch a bite, chin in his open palm as he gazed across the table, watching Aziraphale finish his tiramisu. Crowley has a habit of circling him, his gaze dark and interested, and Aziraphale has never been able to make up his mind on whether he feels protected or like prey.

Never, in the whole history of their long acquaintance, has Crowley ever looked at Aziraphale the way he looks at him now. Swaying on his feet, Crowley stares at him with wide, wet eyes – as though Aziraphale had reached into his chest, pulled out his beating heart, and dropped it carelessly on the floor. And then decided to trod on it for good measure.

Helplessly, Aziraphale watches him slide his sunglasses back on. Hiding his face. Hiding from Aziraphale in a manner he hasn’t bothered with in quite some time. There hasn’t been a need to hide from Aziraphale – who knows him best and adores him for every whim, every snarl, every fond glance. To hide from him would be as foolish as if Crowley tried to hide from his own self. Seeing him put that barrier back up between them now is alarming. It feels final in a way that grips Aziraphale with terror.

His quiet, resigned parting words are no balm to his nerves. “Good luck.”

Crowley always walks away in the middle of their arguments – he gets overwhelmed and angry and needs time to cool off. But he always comes back. He did in 537 AD and 1652. And again in 1941. Twice during all that unfortunate business with the Antichrist four years ago. And just recently when he’d refused to help Aziraphale hide Gabriel. With such a well-established pattern of behavior, Aziraphale has no idea why his heart drops to his feet to see Crowley walk away now. He always comes back. So why does he feel so certain this time he won’t?

Panicked, Aziraphale whirls to follow his retreat. “Crowley, come back. Work with me.” His voice trembles and he hates it – hates that he cannot be braver; hates that he sounds like he’s begging. He hates that he is begging and will continue to beg if it means Crowley will not walk out on him again. “I need you.”

There it is. His darkest secret, spilled out on the floor between them. Laid bare for Crowley to hear at last. As an angel, Aziraphale should not need anything or anyone to sustain him other than the Almighty. He certainly shouldn’t need a demon. Definitely not this particular demon – the creator of original sin, the origin of the very first temptation. And oh, he is so very tempting. Aziraphale has been denying himself for thousands of years. Denying Crowley too. It’s almost a relief to acknowledge it. To admit out loud that his need for Crowley is greater than his need for books. Air. God Herself.

Crowley doesn’t look at him and in fact, doesn’t even appear to be listening. As if Aziraphale’s most closely guarded secret means nothing at all.

Pursing his quivering lips together, Aziraphale fights past the hurt. He struggles for composure, squaring his shoulders and lifting his chin. “I don’t think you understand what I’m offering you.”

At last, Crowley looks at him. Through the dark lenses of his sunglasses, Aziraphale cannot make out his eyes. After years of being allowed to see behind them, it’s maddening. “I understand,” he says, in a voice empty of emotion. “I understand a whole lot better than you do.”

His eyes burn but Aziraphale refuses to allow the tears to form. Not while Crowley is watching. He forces a grim, tight-lipped smile and stares at Crowley’s boots so he will not have to watch as he leaves. And he is leaving, Aziraphale knows. Crowley had listened to him beg; heard him confess a need as old as the world itself. It isn’t enough. “Well, then there’s nothing more to say.”

Crowley lifts a hand, his expression strangely blank. “Listen. Hear that?”

Hear? How can he hear anything over the thunderous roar of loss? It deafens him to all else. Crowley is leaving. Aziraphale will go to Heaven alone. He will face all his peers who hate him alone. He will lead alone. He will try to enact change alone. Alone, alone, alone.

“That’s the point,” Crowley tells him. “No nightingales.”

Aziraphale bites the inside of his cheek, refusing to release the bitter cry bubbling in his throat. How can he be so heartless to bring up that song – their song – now? When Aziraphale has laid himself bare, willingly giving up all the earthly delights he cherishes, just for a chance to be with Crowley in peace? When Crowley has taken all of it and thrown it back in his face, rejecting him without a thought?

“You idiot,” Crowley says, and the contempt in his voice brings tears to Aziraphale’s eyes despite his best efforts. “We could have been… us.”

And Aziraphale crumbles. Composure rapidly disintegrating, he turns swiftly from the sight of Crowley, unable to watch him leave. His breath hitches in his chest. His eyes water. He cannot breathe. There is a clenched fist inside his chest, squeezing his fragile corporation’s heart into dust. Just as he feels certain he will not survive it, he hears the sound of footsteps behind him.

Crowley grabs him by the collar of his coat and yanks him back to face him. Aziraphale does not get the chance to struggle or to try and hide his tears before Crowley hauls him forward and crushes their mouths together. Every single word of protest, every fear and insecurity, every notion that Crowley does not need him the way Aziraphale needs Crowley – all of it falls away the moment they’re connected. Like coins in a magic act, they vanish. Or perhaps, in Aziraphale’s case, they scatter across the floor in different directions – never to be seen again.

Aziraphale has longed for Crowley to hold him since the moment the stars were born. He has dreamed of kissing him since the moment he witnessed the first humans give it a try. He has spent centuries reading books of the most perfect kisses ever written and imagined them with Crowley. This isn’t like any of those.

It is unspeakably sad and angry. Desperate. It hurts. Crowley’s sunglasses dig painfully into his skin and Crowley’s teeth press harshly into his lip and Aziraphale treasures it anyway. Because it is Crowley, whom Aziraphale has loved since before Time began. That makes this kiss automatically better than any piece of literature Aziraphale has ever laid hands on. Georgette Heyer has nothing on the demon Crowley.

When Crowley finally releases him, Aziraphale staggers back a step. His knees tremble. The room feels as though it might be spinning. Gasping for breath and still on the verge of tears, he stares at Crowley in disbelief.

Crowley watches him silently through the dark lenses of his sunglasses, a war of hope and resignation playing out across his face in heart-wrenching detail. It is suddenly undeniably clear to Aziraphale that he cannot leave. No matter how angry he might be with Crowley for refusing to see sense or how bewildered he feels by Crowley’s refusal to return to Heaven, it changes nothing in the end. It has always been him and Crowley. Together. Since the very beginning, long before Aziraphale had been willing to admit it.  

How could he possibly abandon Crowley for Heaven now, when he knows what Crowley tastes like? When he knows that Crowley needs him too. He hadn’t said it, of course, but he had shown him with one desperate, biting kiss. Crowley has never been very good at talking things through. Given his most recent method of communication, Aziraphale cannot find fault with him for it.

He struggles to find the words to say so. His breath still trembles and his lips burn, like Crowley had branded them with hellfire. Aziraphale swallows the lump in his throat. There is only one thing he wants. One thing he needs Crowley to know. One thing that will quell this new ache – this throbbing pulse that begins in his mouth and spreads throughout the rest of his body like the most blissful of illnesses.  

“Crowley,” he whispers, voice wavering and tremulous. He reaches out a trembling hand to draw him back in. “Do it again. Please.”

Crowley breathes out harshly, his expression crumpling with relief. A ragged sob catches in his throat. And then he surges forward, takes Aziraphale’s face in his slender hands, and kisses him once more. Aziraphale’s knees nearly buckle. This kiss is better. Softer. So very soft and yet just as demanding as the first had been. It is still sad but it is not angry. It doesn’t hurt. Crowley uses less teeth this time and when Aziraphale parts his lips helplessly, Crowley slips his clever tongue into his mouth to taste him.

They part slowly, no less breathless.

Aziraphale reaches for Crowley’s sunglasses, pausing before he removes them. “May I?”

Crowley nods wordlessly, frozen in place.

Without the barrier of dark glasses between them, Aziraphale finds he can breathe a little easier. And then their eyes lock. Crowley’s naked gaze is very nearly as painful as not seeing him at all. For a moment, they simply stare at one another in silence. Aziraphale cannot bring himself to look away, even when he surmises quietly, “You won’t come with me.”

Eyes wet and expression still wary, Crowley swallows and admits like it pains him to say it, “No.”

“Very well.” Aziraphale lifts a hand to stroke his cheek, marveling that Crowley lets him. “I won’t go without you.”

Crowley stares at him and the noise he makes in his throat sounds like a strangled sob. “Angel-”

It’s Aziraphale who initiates the kiss this time, swaying forward to press their mouths together. His hand latches onto Crowley’s tie for balance but it has the added bonus of bringing Crowley closer, of pressing their bodies together until not even a speck of dust could fit between them. Quite useful. Aziraphale makes a mental note to acquire more ties for Crowley.

They linger over this kiss like a bottle of particularly good wine, clinging to one another in reluctance to part. Crowley noses tenderly at his cheek, his lips leaving a trail of fire everywhere he touches them. It’s an all-consuming sort of heat, rendering it quite impossible to focus on anything else. Including keeping his legs locked beneath him. 

Stroking his hair, Aziraphale attempts, “Darling?” His mouth twists into a faint smile when he hears the gut-punched sound Crowley makes at the endearment. “Could we sit? I think perhaps I might faint if we don’t.”

Grip tightening around his waist, Crowley murmurs, “Am I making you swoon, angel?” Aziraphale feels a rush of affection for his attempt at levity, though he fails terribly. He understands why Crowley prefers to wear his sunglasses during an argument. His eyes always give him away. So uncertain, his demon. Even after those lovely kisses.

Aziraphale touches his cheek. “You always do.”

With Crowley leading the way, they stumble to the sofa in the back room. Aziraphale sinks down onto the cushions first and Crowley follows but does not bother actually sitting. To Aziraphale’s scandalized delight, Crowley slithers right into his lap – bracketing Aziraphale’s thighs between his lanky legs. His hands settle on Aziraphale’s shoulders for balance and the slight weight of him leaves Aziraphale breathless. He’s cool to the touch, denim stretched taut across his slender thighs, his lips a temptation Aziraphale can no longer ignore.

They gaze at one another in tense, hungry silence. Aziraphale drinks in his familiar, beloved features greedily. Hair brighter than fire, strong nose, sharp cheekbones, the loveliest eyes in Aziraphale’s favorite shade of yellow. He had almost lost Crowley for good; he’s absolutely certain Crowley had been moments from walking out of the bookshop and never looking back. The very idea makes his eyes sting all over again. He needs Crowley. Needs him more than this human corporation needs air to breathe. Aziraphale feels like a human with an addiction, craving more. Always more.

Lump in his throat, he looks into Crowley’s eyes and pleads breathlessly, “Kiss me. Please kiss me, I-”

The gentle brush of Crowley’s mouth against his own stalls the rest of his plea in his throat. Lips lingering at the corner of his mouth, Crowley confesses hoarsely, “Never have to beg me for that, angel.”

Aziraphale shudders, tipping his face up for another kiss. And another. Another.

Between one gasping breath and the next, Crowley asks tremulously, “You really won’t go?”

Fingers clenched tight around a fistful of Crowley’s shirt, Aziraphale swears, “Not without you.”

Crowley draws away, meeting his gaze plainly. “I can’t go back, angel.”

He wants to ask why. He wants to push, to make Crowley explain himself. Aziraphale wants more than anything to take him apart and examine him, to understand his innermost thoughts and his moods the way an oceanographer studies the changing tides. Terrified of pushing too hard, he keeps his questions to himself. There will be time for that conversation later. With a curt nod, he replies, “Then neither can I.”

“What about the Metatron’s offer?” Crowley eyes him skeptically and Aziraphale wishes with a sudden, fervent intensity that he could take back every moment leading up to this one where he made it possible, natural even, for Crowley to doubt him. “You said you wanted to make a difference.”

“I still do,” he admits, careful to keep his grip on Crowley’s shirt firm and unyielding. No room for doubt. “But not without you.”

Crowley stares down at him, lips parted in surprise. Amber eyes wide and filled with such reverence Aziraphale feels small under its intensity. Unworthy. A human standing beneath the stars. He resolves to try earning such awe and devotion; he decides he will never stop trying. 

“Then we’ll find another way,” Crowley tells him gently, leaning in to impart another precious kiss. Aziraphale wants to collect them like shells. He wants to display them on the mantel and find them in his pockets. He wants to store them away somewhere safe and take them out on quiet nights to admire their splendor. “Together.”

The next room over, the shop bell jingles.

Only one person would ignore the Very, Very Closed sign on the door.

Aziraphale stares up at Crowley with wide eyes and Crowley stares grimly back. “He’ll be expecting an answer.”

“And I have one to give him, even if it isn’t quite the answer he’d been hoping for.” Aziraphale sets his jaw and straightens his waistcoat, or at least makes a valiant attempt with Crowley still perched on his lap. He risks a glance, catching Crowley in the act of intently gazing at his fingers adjusting his bowtie. “Will you come with me?”

With what looks to be great effort, Crowley tears his eyes away from Aziraphale’s throat. He climbs to his feet and Aziraphale instantly feels the loss of him. Holding out a hand for him to take, Crowley says wryly, “Course I’m coming with you. Not leaving you alone with that twat again.”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale chides, even as he lets the demon pull him to his feet. “That’s the voice of God.”

“Aziraphale?”

He flinches at the sound of the Metatron’s voice, pasting on a bright smile he cannot see. Putting on the voice he uses for his customers, he calls out cheerily, “Be right with you!”

The Metatron makes an impatient noise and sighs. “By all means, take your time.”

Aziraphale twitches with irritation.

Crowley watches him, smirking, and repeats with relish, “Twat.”

Exasperated, Aziraphale bites back a smile and leans in to kiss the word out of his mouth. “Fiend.”

“Come on,” Crowley murmurs, lacing their fingers together and tugging him forward. “The sooner we get rid of that decrepit old relic in there, the sooner I can get back to kissing you until your lips go numb.”

Aziraphale flushes, feeling it spread from his cheeks, down his neck, and beneath the collar of his shirt. He feels wonderfully warm and short of breath. “Oh. Well, that’s-” He clears his throat and reaches up a shaking hand to straighten his bowtie. “Let’s get a wiggle on then.”

Crowley groans, even as he pulls Aziraphale from the room. “Not a wiggle on.”

Hand clasped tight in Crowley’s, Aziraphale smiles and hurries to keep up. He has a job offer to turn down, after all.

#good omens #aziraphale #crowley #aziracrow #ineffable husbands #my fic