#(to a point. i do think aziraphale performs 'niceness' sometimes because he feels like it's something he Should do as an angel)

[lenaellsi]

“Crowley is still an angel deep down” “Crowley is more of an angel than any of the archangels” “Crowley was only cast out because he needed to play his part in Armageddon, he's not a real demon” “Aziraphale wants to rebuild Heaven to be more like Crowley because he’s what an angel should be” no. Stop it. This is exactly where Aziraphale went wrong.

Crowley is 100% a demon. He's not actually a bit of an angel, and he's not cosmically better than any of the other demons we see in the series. He's much less vicious than most of them, yeah, but he's also much less vicious than most of the angels, because how “nice” a celestial being is has nothing to do with which side they're technically on. Crowley's kindness comes from him doing his best to help people despite the hurt he's suffered himself, not any sort of inherent residual or earned holiness. He was cast out just like the rest of the demons, and that's an important part of his history that shouldn't be minimized, excused, or, critically, 'corrected.'

Being angelic is not a positive or negative trait in the Good Omens universe. It's a species descriptor. Saying that Crowley is still an angel deep down because he helps people is an in-character thing for Aziraphale to think, certainly--Job and the final fifteen showed that in the worst possible way--but it's not something Crowley would ever react well to, and it's the main source of conflict in the entire "appoint you to be an angel" fiasco.

We know that Aziraphale thinks Crowley's fall was an injustice, but why? Well, because Crowley is actually Good, which means his fall was a mistake, or a test, or a regrettable error in judgment, or…something. Ineffable. Etc. The point is, he’s special, much better than those other demons, and if they can fix him and make him an angel again, everything will be fine! (So once Job's trials are over, everything will be restored to him? Praise be!) Aziraphale has to believe that Crowley's better traits come from traces of the angel he used to know and not the demon he's known for 6,000 years, because that’s how he can rationalize his incorrect view of Heaven as The Source Of Truth And Light And Good with his complicated feelings about Crowley's fall.

But Crowley's fall was not an injustice because he's actually a Good Person who didn't deserve it. Crowley's fall was an injustice because the entire system of dividing people into Good (obedient) and Bad (rebellious) is bullshit. Crowley is not an unfortunate exception to God's benevolence, he is a particularly sympathetic example of God's cruelty.

And really, Crowley doesn't behave at all like an angel, especially when he's at his best. All of the things that he's done that we as the audience consider Good are things that Heaven has directly opposed. (See: saving the goats and children in defiance of God in S2E2, convincing Aziraphale to give money to Elspeth despite Heaven's views on the "virtues of poverty" in S2E3, speaking out against the flood and the crucifixion in S1E3, tempting Aziraphale to enjoy earthly pleasures because he thinks they'll make him happy, stopping Armageddon.)

Heaven as an institution has never been about helping humanity. And that's not an issue of leadership, as Aziraphale seems to think--it's by design. Aziraphale's first official act as an angel toward humanity was to literally throw them to the lions. Giving them the sword wasn't him acting like an angel, it was just him being himself. Heaven doesn't care about humans. It's not supposed to. It's supposed to win the war against Hell, with humans as chess pieces at best and collateral damage at worst.

Yes, it's easier to think that there are forces that are supposed to be fundamentally good. It's easier to think that Aziraphale is going to show those mean archangels and the Metatron what’s coming to them and reform Heaven into what it "should" be, and that God is actually super chill and watching all of this while shipping ineffable husbands and cheering for them the whole way. And of course it's easier to take Crowley, who Aziraphale (and the audience) adores, and say that he deserves to be on the Good team much more than all those angels and demons that we don’t like. But that's not how it works. People are more complicated than that, even celestial beings.

Crowley is a demon, and the tragedy of his character is not that he's secretly a good guy who is being forced to be evil; the tragedy is that he's lived his whole life stuck between two institutional forces that are both equally hostile to the love he feels for the universe and the beings in it. There are no good and bad guys. There are no "right people." Every angel, demon, and human is capable of hurting or helping others based on their choices. That is, in fact, the entire fucking point.

#good omens meta #good omens #good omens season 2 #crowley #long post #i feel like this is obvious. and yet #when crowley is kind he is NOT acting angelic. the same is true of aziraphale. #(to a point. i do think aziraphale performs 'niceness' sometimes because he feels like it's something he Should do as an angel) #(but that's because aziraphale has so many issues i cannot detail them in the tags of this crowley post) #this is my second long meta post in like 3 days. sorry. it’s my first free weekend in a while

[mediacircuspod]

Nice vs. Kind

An attempt to explain how the two concepts vastly differ and how that can be used to understand Crowley in Good Omens. (Both Seasons 1-2)

I’m going to preface this with the fact that these are not the dictionary definitions of these two words and I’m using a distinctly American/English Speaking perspective to give them context and connotations. The differences between the two words in English have been dissected and argued over by people smarter and more experienced than me in academic circles. Look into the works of Tina Malti and RT Lakoff for more understanding, but what I’ve managed to paraphrase is this….

A definition of Nice; Of an agreeable or pleasant disposition.

Ex. Using pleasantries when communicating with others. Please, Thank You, Good Morning, ect.

A definition of Kind; Sympathy to others and a willingness to do what is right, without reward.

Ex. Doing favors for friends in need, or donating to charities.

A simple distinction that makes a world of difference when applying to people, doesn’t it?

Now there is the question of how this applies to Good Omens and it’s two main characters.

Obviously mainly Crowley and Aziraphale.

And I think it relies in this interaction.

Crowley denies being “nice” quite vehemently in this interaction and he’s not exactly wrong.

Crowley isn’t nice, not really. He’s actually rather rude in most of his interactions with others, including some of his interactions with Aziraphale. It would be a stretch in every sense of the word to claim his presence as “pleasant” in general terms, no matter what Aziraphale might think.

But Crowley is kind. The demon is kind from the very beginning due to his relationship with sympathy and the selflessness he manages to pass off as a blasé fair attitude.

And we see proof of it time and time again.

Chronologically and with very few details….

With Adam, Eve, and the the garden, Crowley expresses sympathy. He states that it seems banishment as an unjust punishment for a first offense.

He expresses distaste for the mass killing of the people in Mesopotamia, specifically pointing out the loss of the children.

He refuses to watch more children die in “A Companion to Owls” and saves Job’s Children from their fate.

He expresses sympathy for Jesus and recalls his time spent with the “Son of God”

He performs favors for Aziraphale at The Globe Theater, in The Bastille, and during the Blitz.

He helps Elspeth with her journey and gives her stability in Edinburgh.

He saves the World because he cares about it. Stripped of his facades, Crowley cares very much about the earth, and not just for selfish reasons.

During none of these events, where Crowley is doing the right thing, is he “nice” in the terms defined earlier.

Aziraphale doesn’t distinguish between the two words, or words like them, and so he uses “nice” and “Good”(notice the Capital G) when it might be more accurate to use “kind” and “right”.

I think it might be telling that Crowley does distinguish between them. As he lives far more comfortably in the shades of grey than Aziraphale does.

Fin.

If you liked those thoughts I write metas about good omens sometimes!

Here are a few!

Aziraphale and perspective on Crowley’s fall.

The start of their side and their differing feelings on being separate from heaven and hell. Crowley and Forgiveness

Exactly! Entities and how they fail to communicate.

I also am an artist by trade and have a Kickstarter up that you can check out on my page, it’s enamel pins! And it’s like actually so cool check it out if you want.

Tumblr. where u can see art

Kickstarter. where you can see the project

Goodbye 👋 now!

#good omens spoilers #good omens 2 #good omens meta #good omens book #good omens #aziraphale #crowley #anthony j crowley

[theonevoice]

Rumination n. 2 - About Fallen Angel

One aspect of Good Omens that I don’t see as much praised as the amazing writing of Neil Gaiman and the unbelievable performances of Michael Sheen and David Tennant, but I find crucial to the gut-wrenching beauty of this second season in particular, is the wonderful soundtrack by David Arnold.

The music of this show is just brilliant, to a point where it feels almost arrogant for me to point it out, like it would sound weird if someone came out of the blue saying “You know, that Beethoven guy is actually rather nice”. So I will just pick one single track that, to me, summarizes how much the soundtrack helps carry the weight of the story, packing layers over layers on each scene and adding to the writing and the acting an extra expressive space that can be filled with even more facets of the main themes.

I’m thinking in particular of the scene at the end of ep. 2, with the pivotal dialogue that, for the first time, really cement the alliance between Crowley and Aziraphale as two individuals who are not entirely conforming to the expectations of their respective sides. By the time this dialogue rolls in, something massive has just happened: each of them has been caught red-handed by the other, doing and feeling things that negate their respective “company policies”. Crowley has been found out not wanting to destroy Job’s goats, let alone kill his children, and Aziraphale has been found out unable to endorse the dire implications of the Bet. Lucky them, this all happened between the two of them, nobody else is involved or informed, and this reciprocity allows them to pause for a moment and start reflecting on their situation. We know, of course, that this moment was waiting to happen since the conversation on the wall of Eden, when Aziraphale is visibly touched by the slightest sliver of doubt (his expression tells us that what Crowley is saying about God putting the Tree in such a prominent spot, as if to induce temptation on purpose, does make a point, despite him not wanting to speculate, possibly because he remembers all too well how dangerous it is to ask questions in Heaven), and since their meeting before the flood, when Crowley realizes that he doesn’t like the perspective of having innocent people killed, which is not a strictly demon-like thing to feel (and he knows it because his comment about the indiscriminate extermination of everyone via the flood is “this is more the kind of thing that you would expect my lot to do”, which, transitive property applied, means that he is upset about at least some of the things that Hell throws at the earth). But the Job encounter is the first time that all of this has actually been said (more or less) out loud by both of them.

So what about the music?

The track playing with the final dialogue is titled Fallen Angel, and I find that there is something heartbreaking in it. Yes, of course, it is a quote from Aziraphale’s line, when he desperately refers to himself as “a fallen angel”, but “fallen angel” is also what Crowley is, despite what he himself would like to think.

We talk a lot about how much Aziraphale is the one in constant denial – denial of Heaven’s dark sides, denial of his own sometimes shaky moral stance (let’s not forget that, between the Arthurian period and the meeting at the Globe, he has agreed to go around tempting people on behalf of Crowley, which means quite literally doing Hell’s work), most of all denial of his own feelings – and this is certainly true. But I feel that we should also recognize how much Crowley is in denial in his own way, specifically denial of the traces that his original angelic nature has left behind. Or rather, of those parts of angelic nature that he held on to even after being cast to Hell. Now, as much as I love the interpretation of their last exchange in ep. 6 as Aziraphale offering to “change Heaven for him” rather than asking him to change for Heaven, I still think that Aziraphale has been forcing on Crowley a distorted still-an-angel portrait because in doing so he is blocking out at least some of his internal struggle (and this “weakness”, in my opinion, makes his character even more vivid and lifelike). But I also think that Crowley’s angry reactions to having his chosen identity denied by the only person in the universe that is dear to him are tinted by the trauma of the Fall.

And the music in that scene, I believe, is telling us just that. Of all the tracks in season 2, I find Fallen Angel to be the most melancholy one together with The End?, and possibly even sadder: because The End? starts playing when both us viewers and the protagonists are in a literal, I would say almost medical state of shock, unable to master the emotional resources needed to process what just happened. Fallen Angel on the contrary is a desperately calm moment of reflection on what their situation in the universe is, on how their respective cages are hurting them, and how painfully hard it is to summon the courage to escape them, to even think of escaping them. It seems to me that even the set choice confirms this mood: after an entire episode spent almost exclusively in closed, sometimes claustrophobic spaces, they are finally “outside”, on the top of a cliff (like when they briefly met at the beginning of the episode, but now the dry canyon is a beautiful gulf), watching a calm blue sea under a calm blue sky: everything is wide open, vast, unobstructed, with no living thing around as if they are alone in the universe, their thoughts and fears can flow freely and unrestricted. And in this moment of honesty, when they for the first time open up to each other, we have Fallen Angel, which is not just sad, is also nostalgic. But how and why can it be nostalgic? If the title only refers to Aziraphale, nostalgia makes no sense, because his feelings in those moments are feelings of desperation and angst. But if the title refers to both of them, then it does make sense, because nostalgia is the pain of something that has been lost, and while Aziraphale has not lost anything yet, sitting next to him there is someone who has lost something that cannot entirely be forgotten. Surely, one could say that by now Aziraphale has lost his original “innocence”, but I would argue that, on the wall of Eden, having just given away the flaming sword, he was already letting that sliver of doubt creep in, and he was definitely not comfortable with discussing the flood. Furthermore, telling his first lie counts as a loss (of innocence and peace of mind) no more than it counts as a gain (of awareness, freedom, and self-actualization). On the other side, Crowley was denied the chance to work his situation out in such a safe space. He just lost his original status over asking questions.

If Aziraphale is in denial of the traits of his personality that make him not entirely angelic, Crowley is equally – if not more – in denial of the traits of his personality that still link him to an ideal of good that is, or at least should be angelical. And it is a quite visible denial. He is annoyed by the smallest allusion to his good qualities, but as soon as he lets his guard down he goes back to remembering that he “didn’t mean to fall”, just “hung around the wrong people”, that he “didn’t really fall”, just “sauntered vaguely downwards”. That’s why Fallen Angel can be nostalgic. It’s not just about Aziraphale contemplating for a moment that he could be (or deserve to become) a fallen angel, but it’s also about the actual fallen angel sitting next to him, who, as much as he wants to paint himself as tranquil and satisfied with his situation, is still aching from the absolute pain and terror that he felt when he was cast out of Heaven. He used to be, after all, the angel that we see before the Beginning: he was so sure that just asking questions could not get him into trouble, he had no intention of rebelling or leaving. This – obviously – does not mean that Crowley is still an angel or wants by any means to go back to being an angel: he could never go back to that, exactly because he has experienced too much grief to be ever able to fit in the narrow mould of an angel again, to be able to just bask in the joyous light of God’s will in the unshaken certainty that it is entirely Good and Just and Forgiving. He has first-hand experienced that it can be cruel and unjust and unforgiving. He has forged and conquered an identity of his own, but it is an identity born out of the pain of not having a place to belong. He had to carve out a new path for himself, he didn’t mean to, he barely realized that it was about to fall (“didn’t have anything on the rest of the afternoon… next thing I was doing a million light year freestyle dive into a pull of boiling sulfur”).

So let’s look at what is happening from Crowley’s point of view. There you have an angel that has just violated the Heavenly code of conduct, and he is so pure of heart that he is just going to turn himself in to a blind and vindictive authority. If he let him go ahead, there is a chance that this could give him a fellow “demon who goes along with Hell as far as he can”, but at what cost? If Aziraphale’s conflict is a conflict between living by his own independent judgment (which includes choosing Crowley over obedience to Heaven) and staying true to the side “of good, of truth, of light”, Crowley’s conflict is a conflict between the need to escape solitude by pulling Aziraphale to his side and saving Aziraphale from the trauma that the Fall gave him and that being fallen still gives him.

A couple of millennia later he will joke about how being damned “is not so bad when you get used to it”, but Fallen Angel playing under this dialogue in ep. 2 tells us that he would never put Aziraphale through what being damned really means. He is a demon who is actually saving an angel from the risk of becoming a demon himself, because he knows how deeply and irreparably that can wound your soul, to the point that you would rather lie than admit it. “I’m a demon, I lied”: I know what it means to be in this place, don’t drag yourself here, it’s a realm of exile and loneliness, let’s agree that an angel can still be an angel even if he steps out of line from time to time, let’s create a margin of maneuver that did not exist when all this happened to me. Now it’s too late for me, but not for you.

So, to wrap up, thank you David Arnold for your invaluable work.

#good omens 2 #go 2 speculation #go2 spoilers #good omens #david arnold #fallen angel

[charmed-and-alarmed]

We all know that Aziraphale hates customers. But I submit that he LOVES grad students.

- if asked (by Crowley, solely to fluster his Angel) he will say that it's completely reasonable to love people who want to study and discuss books? And that feeling he gets when they come and ask him for help isn't Pride no. It just so happens that having lived for millennia means he's the best primary source on the planet. It would be selfish to not share his knowledge really. Why shouldnt he feel good about helping young people learn? So it's really only lowercase 'pride' at most...

- ...I mean, it's just harmless satisfaction that he is spreading knowledge like God intended. Err, probably intended. This knowledge isnt that Forbidden Knowledge so it's fine, right? They're way past that at this point. Surely there is no objection to knowing about books?

- if you were to ask Crowley, he will point out that grad students can't afford to actually buy any books. But no one has ever asked him

- back when the shop first opened, poor Aziraphale was struggling with the realization that people might get suspicious if never lets anyone buy any of his books. And in walks in some poor, exhausted student from Kings or London University who has spent the last 10hrs looking in every bookstore and library around for an original copy of 'The Tamer Tamed'. So they stumble in, turn to Aziraphale and ask if he has any 17th century editions of Fletcher's work. They just need to look at it bc every copy they've found has been edited.

- does Aziraphale have a 17th century editions of Flecher's 'The Woman's Prize, or The Tamer Tamed'? What an absurd question! He has the first edition, printed in 1647. Two copies in fact, one with notes in the margins written by an early actor that Aziraphale particularly liked. It was, after all, one of Crowley's favorite plays from that period.

- (Crowley claims that he has nothing to do with the plays popularity when compared to the work it was in response to, 'The Taming of the Shrew'. Yes, he preferred the feminist-leaning work by Fletcher, but it's not his fault the audience agreed with him) [1]

- the look on this students face when Aziraphale sits them down at his desk and brings over this folio - full of relief and gratitude - have the angel feeling a bit chuffed. So much so that, as he's closing the shop for the day, he tells them to come back tomorrow if they need another look. And thus one of the great student pilgrimages of London is born

- at the beginning of each term, new students make their way to this strange, magical bookstore run by a nice, possibly-immortal man. Group visits are discouraged, as they seem to make the owner nervous.

- fellow students (and sometimes professors) warn newcomers that the owner doesn't actually want people to buy any books. But if go and tell him that you just want to look at them for a class, he will let you come and look around.

- actually, browsing isn't recommended: depending on his mood, Mr. Fell (the owner) may encourage you to look around or he may decide to suddenly close early, or find some way to get you out the door. It's always safest to ask Mr. Fell for something specific, the more obscure the better: he likes it when he has the exact thing you're looking for

- there are snakes in the shelves - well, one snake, probably. Just like Mr. Fell, this snake has been hiding in the shelves since the store opened and never ages. It loves to jump out and scare customer, but is generally considered harmless unless you damage or mistreat the books. There are numerous accounts of people being bitten for dog-earing pages, putting cups on books, and general rudeness.

note: do not refer to the snake as Mr. Fell's pet. He tends to get rather indignant if you do (Mr. Fell, not the snake. If anything, you would think the snake finds Mr. Fell's reaction amusing) Think of it as his slightly terrifying roommate who occasionally hides in the shelves or curls up by/on Mr. Fell to nap

- A. Z Fell & Co had the world's least comprehensible business hours. He could be closed for days or weeks at a time, then open 24hrs for a month without explanation. Often, he would open at 4 or 5AM then close around lunch, then open again after he finished lunch (anywhere between 1 and 4PM). There was one 11 year span when the shop was almost always closed - university's saw a drop in grades in several departments until it finally opened again. If he recognizes you, sometimes you will arrive to find the store closed, only for him to suddenly open the door and let you in because he was "just about to open up".

- Mr. Fell can easily be bribed when someone needs to stay after closing or come in early the next day. Down the block and across the street is a bakery: it has had many names over the years, but it has been supplying students with bribes in the form of cream puffs, eclairs, Turkish delights, and other sweet treats since the bookstore opened. Students scrambling before a deadline got 10 cents off their purchase.

- while he never seems to know what day it is, or what year it is (see: immortal), he always remembers when it's time for exams because suddenly the shop is open at all hours, and Mr. Fell "just so happens" to have trays of sandwiches and fruit leftover, and wouldn't they help him finish it? It'll spoil, after all. Outside food and drinks are never allowed but suddenly there are little plates and napkins on a table by the door, and stacks of strange coasters from all over the world. Coffee is not allowed but tea is. Of course, everyone knows that Mr. Fell makes the BEST hot cocoa and if you put a coaster next to you, he will bring you a mug of cocoa, always at the perfect temperature.

- as revisions comes to a close, you will find almost a dozen students at Fell & Co. They will be slumped at a desk or curled up on the floor by the windows, cups of cooling cocoa and plates of healthy snacks left in places where they couldn't spill onto the books. Colorful blankets come out of a back room as Mr. Fell tidies up, smiling fondly as he drapes them over the slumbering students

- there are stories of people whose old, cruddy laptops seem to work better in the bookshop. People listening to music (quietly, of course) may notice that the songs that come up on shuffle are always exactly what they wanted to hear. Notes you could have sworn you left at home or lost show up at the bottom of your bookbag. Documents you should have lost when your computer crashed can be recovered. One Martin Pryce insists that in 2014, he brought his broken bike to the store and when he came out again, it was fixed. He actually went up to Mr. Fell as he closed shop and asked him about it but Mr. Fell insisted he had nothing to do with it. Martin says Mr. Fell sounded like he was telling the truth, but looked very pleased and muttered something about it being a "minor miracle", which is a bit much for a bike.

- if there are a thousand stories about Mr. Fell and his bookshop, there are just as many about the man in the fancy black car who comes around sometimes. Many have speculated on the nature of the men's relationship, ranging from torrid love affairs to blackmail to Dickensian-level family drama. But the only thing you really need to know is that when you see that fancy black car parked by the shop, you best just to home. The store is most definitely closed.

1. One account survives of the audiences reactions to the two plays. 'Shrew' was performed first and was "liked". 'Tamed Tamed' was performed after and it was "very well liked". Whether or not this account is from Crawley is impossible to say.

Now with a a furiously doting Crowley sequel

Aaaand a fanfic 

#good omens #aziraphale #crowley #az fell & co #the secret is that Crowley is the one with the massive soft spot for kids #Aziraphale teases him about the bicycle for WEEKS #hasnt found out about Crowley paying the bakery to make cheap sweets for the kids for 200 years tho #imagine how much sugar they've eaten bc of him? #imagine the state of their teeth? #its very demonic #oops i forgot a read more i'm so sorry #to everyone whose dash it shows up on #valued customers tag

[wanna-b-poet31]

Hastur’s Brutal Honesty (A  Good Omens Meta?)

So Like, This is me just drafting my bigger idea that Hastur as the perfect literary mirror to Aziraphale...but the closer I look at him, the more...honest??? he seems.  Which, considering how Crowley chooses to lie, leads me to an interesting conclusion about the role of dis/honesty in the series. Namely, how his words (when compared to Aziraphale, Crowley, Heaven and Hell) intersects with loyalty, cruelty, and kindness. 

>Plan on hearing more about Hastur and Aziraphale in the future...but in the meantime, some observations<

First, as I discuss in Part 3 of my Lying/Honesty series: I identify instances where Angel’s lie (with Aziraphale being a good example of a poor liar) but also I made a passing comment that there is an inexplicable honest streak among the demons. 

It got me thinking about WHY? Especially because their honesty doesn’t make them any less cruel or abusive. So I go to thinking...(a dangerous pastime, I know)  

Yes, the demons are more aware of other’s ability to deceive them, like Beelzebub’s jab at Michael that “it’s not that we don’t trust you, but we don’t trust you” and further, TESTING the water before subjecting “Crowley” to it. But...do we see them honestly, lie? And, is that indicative of something bigger?

I will note, they clearly say they don’t trust each other:

>GIF of Ligur asking Hastur if he trusts Crowley. Hastur replies “no”<  But do their actions match their words? I would argue not.

Case in point: Hastur.

I find Hastur’s behavior particularly interesting because I’ve recently re-watched the series and noticed, the closest he gets to a lie is when he knocks on Crowley’s door and Ligur say’s they just want to talk to him. However, this feels more like a threat, with ironic intent, rather than a flat lie. 

He is also particularly gullible, similar to the naiveite we see Aziraphale exhibit. Yes, he’s clearly more malicious than Aziraphae (as we see him burn down the church, threaten Crowley, and kill another demon without remorse) but we also see him willingly ask questions, and easily believe Crowley’s deceptions.

For example, we see him openly and honestly communicate with Ligur while they’re sulking, waiting for Crowley to show up. Sure, he’s wrong about what “Caio” means, but is it a lie? It seems more like his arrogance of Italian, transliterating it to an English word than an actual lie.  

Even when he’s greeting Warlock’s family, we don’t see him lie. He’s simply too preoccupied with the coming of his master to care about what anyone else thinks. I’m also hesitant to classify “threats” with “lies” because while they may not come to fruition, he certainly intends for them to be true. The closest lie I can think about is when he’s disguised himself to capture Crowley. He doesn’t even lie when he’s reading out Crowley’s crimes to the audience.

Instead, we actually see that he’s actually surprised by Crowley’s lies. As much as he claims not to trust other Demons, when he’s actively pursuing Crowley and Ligur is killed, for a split second, Hastur looks like he believes Crowley’s lie that “the Dark Council” is testing him.

This scene seems to highlight the fundamental difference between Crowley and Hastur: honesty vs. cruelty.

Hastur is unspeakably cruel, where Crowley is kind and Hastur is oddly honest where Crowley freely lies. They are foils for sure (stay tuned for that meta sometime soon) and I think this nuance matters. 

Like, in this scene Hastur also genuinely believes, however briefly, that Crowley is calling the Dark Council. This is AFTER Crowley lied about the anti-christ, lied (by omission) that he befriended an Angel, just wrote Ligur (Hastur’s bestie) out of reality, and lied about putting holy water into the water mister. 

By all accounts, there is no reason Hastur should trust Crowley at this moment, but he still does. The above Gif doesn’t do justice to the tone of voice that Hastur gives when he asks if Crowley is calling the dark council. It’s almost downright hopeful. It doesn’t occur to him until Crowley says “so long sucka” that Crowley’s lied to him. 

Sure, Crowley is the most convincing liar in the series, and his performance is top-notch, but at this point, Hastur still demonstrates trust. I think both because it doesn’t dawn on him that he’d be the recipient of an unkind lie AND because Crowley still hasn’t shown the unbriddled cruelty Hastur himself would demonstrate. Crowley’s only acted out of self-defense. It’s not until Hastur has time to fully process the loss of Ligur (in answering-machine land) he realizes Crowley’s no longer on his side. 

In reality, Crowley never was. Crowley has ever only been loyal to Aziraphale, and Hastur has only been loyal to Hell.

And I think the motivating reason is the brutal cruelty Hastur, and other demons, display. Ligur and Hastur both waste no time shoving a poor Eric into the Hellhound’s pit and kill 2 more Eric’s at the “traditional” end of the world cite. They do these acts of cruelty without a second thought.  Hastur laughs with glee as nuns are screaming for their lives and the satanic church is burned.

It truly mirrors the way Heaven/God is fine killing everyone except for Noah and his family. There is no remorse.

The only time we see the sliver of cruelty in Crowley is in the above scene. When Ligur is destroyed, Anthony “you can’t kill the kids” Crowley is directly responsible. But, this is self-defense and Ligur is clearly a vehicle for abuse. And, it is clearly framed differently from how Hastur’s several acts of cruelty are. 

For the show he puts on, Crowley is not cruel, not even to his enemies. Crowley does not relish killing, opting to give Nazis a choice to leave while still not condoning their behavior. Unlike Hastur who is downright gleeful that the nuns who have helped him are running for his life, Crowley adds no emphasis to killing. He is not nice, but he is not unkind nor does things out of purely malicious intent.  

Meanwhile, Hastur goes above and beyond to be cruel. When he kills the demon at trial (his 4th!! demon murder!!) he still is not lying but he’s certainly not being kind. This tells me that honesty is not intrinsically “kind” nor is it intrinsically “bad” in the series. Rather, it is but one weapon in the arsenal choice.

If I bring my train of thought to the ineffable husbands, it gives so much more meaning to Crowley’s active choice NOT to lie to Aziraphale. I’ve said it before, that this show is dependent on choice. He chooses the kinder of the two options. Crowley could lie, he has the imagination for it, and he wields it against their adversaries (Hell) well. However, he doesn’t. he only ever points out what Aziraphale is unable or sometimes unwilling to acknowledge as truth. 

Hastur. meanwhile, he chooses to be cruel beyond belief and chooses to be honest. He does not make the same grand show to lie to his enemies. For him, the truth behind his threats and his impulse to act in the moment are greater tools for harm. 

Aziraphale, thinks he’s choosing the kinder option to lie to Crowley at the Bandstand. He certainly is saying “true” words, but neither believe it at this point, and both are harmed by it. We also know he thinks lying can be unkind, but he uses it primarily as a defensive tool, not an offensive one. It is not until he realizes how much abuse he’s internalized that he realizes who deserves his kind honesty: Crowley. 

This also brings greater emphasis to the way honesty and dishonesty can be manipulated. Crowley and Aziraphale lie self-defense. Neither relish lying, but will because the kind of honesty they are being fed by their respective sides is cruel, and nothing like the unspoken, unnamed truth between the two of them. 

Hell is unkind, unloving, and unspeakably cruel. Heaven is cold, unfeeling, and cruel. Crowley is the victim of clear and specific abuse at the hands of hell and does not need to feel sorry for lying to his abuser.  Aziraphale has been belittled and gaslighted by Heaven and both lie for protection. 

However, Hastur is honest only as a means to be cruel. When Crowley chooses, to be honest, it is explicitly to be kind and to be loving. 

So I bring myself back to my initial observation. Why do Demons have an honest streak? I think it is because for them (and for Heaven) lying and honesty is neither good nor bad. Instead, they add “weight to the moral argument” they’re making. They are much more concerned with outcome (which is always an offensive mechanism) than the means. It just so happens Demons bully and intimidate for what they want without especially needing to lie.

TLDR: Yes, Hastur chooses to be honest, but the outcome is still cruelty. Yes, Crowley chooses to lie, but the outcome is protection. Lying is not intrinsically bad, honesty is not intrinsically good. Demons cant still be super abusive even if they don’t lie about it.

Thanks for coming to my tedtalk

#good omens #Ineffable Husbands #good omens meta #gomens #gomens meta

[lady-divine-writes]

Resolutions

Summary: While writing up his own resolutions, Crowley decides to helpfully write up a list for his husband. (1472 words)

Notes: Written for @drawlight's '31 Days of Ineffables' prompts 'glitter' and 'resolution'.

Read on AO3.

Walking through his shop, returning the daily herd of wandering books to their correct shelves, Aziraphale comes upon a sight he’s never witnessed.

Not in the flesh.

Not once.

And not one he ever thought he’d see no matter how long he lived.

Crowley writing – at Aziraphale’s desk, of all places.

Aziraphale has received notes from Crowley before: requests for an audience to discuss their Arrangement, reminders of the temptations Aziraphale agreed to perform, reports on the blessings Crowley had done, taunting letters during the times in between when Crowley simply felt like nagging him. Dirty limericks scrawled in a sloppy hand on oil-stained parchment would occasionally pop up out of nowhere in his pocket. Nowadays, notes from Crowley are mainly reminders to pick up more wine or chocolate biscuits when Aziraphale goes to the market.

Aziraphale has simply never seen Crowley in action.

He figured Crowley miracles up his memos the way he miracles up everything else. No need to actually set pen to paper when a simple snap of his fingers will do the trick.

Writing seems like too tedious a chore to be worthy of Crowley’s precious time.

Aziraphale smirks as he watches him, planted in his stiff, antique chair; the bottom half of his body rearranged in that liquid way Crowley sits, but still as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

As if the desk is his which, even though they’re married and pretty much sharing everything they own at this point, kind of irks Aziraphale. Yes, Aziraphale lives at Crowley’s flat, sleeps in his bed, and eats at his kitchen table, but he would never presume to grab the keys to his Bentley and take it for a spin.

That would be unforgiveable.

Aziraphale ranks this the same.

But he takes a deep breath in and lets it go. He’s never told Crowley his feelings on the matter, never expressed any emotional connection to his desk. Crowley probably sees it as simply another piece of furniture in this “residence” that they share and therefore had no reservations about sitting at it.

Which is kind of nice when Aziraphale comes to think about it.

Nevertheless, he’ll set him right about the whole situation later.

“What has you so busy, my dear?” he asks since it sounds kinder and less confrontational than, ‘What the Heaven are you doing at my desk?’ A glance at the wall calendar adds a level to Aziraphale’s questioning. It’s December 31st. New Year’s Eve. “Working on your resolutions?”

“Sort of,” Crowley admits, the words coming out in a drawl as he says them over the sentence he’s writing. When he finishes, he picks up the page and hands it over.

Aziraphale takes it, curiosity piqued. “What is this?”

“I was writing a list of resolutions – just for fun, mind you. But then, something hit me, and I started this one … for you.”

Aziraphale’s left eyebrow crawls up his forehead towards his hairline as he reads. “You’ve written up a numbered list of my flaws?”

“No. I’ve written up a numbered list of things you think are your flaws, aided by a list you apparently started, and based off some horrible Post-Its from Gabriel I found in your top drawer while searching for a pen.” Crowley growls the end of it, an angry hiss consuming his s’s, a lick of fire warming the yellow of his eyes.

“Yes, well, we’re overdue to have a talk about boundaries, my dear,” Aziraphale sniffs, scanning through the list numerous times, his posture becoming more rigid with every read thru. “I don’t see anywhere on this list where it says fraternizing with a demon.”

Crowley grins. “That’s because I know, deep down, you don’t see that as a flaw.”

Aziraphale rolls his eyes but he doesn’t contradict. “So, what am I supposed to do with this, hmm? Are these the things you want me to work on in the coming New Year?”

“Nope. Not a whit. I’m not asking you to change a thing about yourself.”

“Then what do I do with this?”

“You tear it into tiny pieces and set it on fire.”

Aziraphale frowns. “I may be wrong, but I don’t think that’s how New Year’s resolutions are supposed to work.”

“You do know New Year’s resolutions are shit, don’t you?” Crowley asks. “They’re completely unnecessary, especially considering that time itself is a made-up construct. I mean, you do remember when we had ten months in a year and not twelve, right?”

Aziraphale bounces his head left and right, agreeing more in spirit than in word.

“There’s nothing about the so-called beginning of the year that warrants beating yourself up over stuff you didn’t accomplish the last time the Earth revolved around the sun. Besides, I think Hastur came up with the concept.”

“It was Gabriel actually.”

Crowley nods. “Makes sense. Seems like the sort of plague his uptight, micro-managing ass would inflict upon the world.”

Aziraphale doesn’t comment, but silently, he agrees.

“So whaddya say? Tear it up? Rid yourself of the bullshit? You know you want to …” Crowley mimics ripping the page in the air in front of him on the off chance Aziraphale may not be familiar with the concept.

Aziraphale looks over the list, reading through the items he’d started writing, bleeding into the ones Crowley added.

Well, Gabriel added. They were simply copied in Crowley’s handwriting.

Un-angelic consumption of mortal food resulting in a slovenly appearance and an unseemly gut.

Slovenly. Aziraphale grimaces. So maybe he carries a few more pounds around the middle than most angels. But that doesn’t make him slovenly.

Un-angelic obsession with mortal material possessions.

Aziraphale scoffs. Hypocrite.

Un-angelic collection of defiled copies of the Holy Bible.

Un-angelic consumption of alcohol to the point of drunkenness.

Un-angelic this …

Un-angelic that …

Un-angelic bull pucky!

And Aziraphale knows that somewhere in his mess of Post-Its, Gabriel commented on the company Aziraphale keeps, specifically mentioning his un-angelic association with an ex-anti-Christ, a witch, a medium, and a demon, but Crowley either didn’t find it or chose not to include it.

Every criticism Gabriel has about Aziraphale begins with the modifier un-angelic. Which means Heaven – or at the very least Gabriel – considers Aziraphale un-angelic.

A pathetic excuse for an angel.

If Aziraphale were a demon, would this be seen as a list of flaws?

Would they matter at all?

Perhaps there wouldn’t even be a list if these are the only things “wrong” with him.

That’s definitely something Aziraphale may want to consider.

He glances at his husband grinning up at him with excitement. Every opportunity Aziraphale has to triumph over Heaven excites Crowley. But Aziraphale has paused so long, worry has started to settle in the corners of Crowley’s eyes. Aziraphale has been pushed down so far by Heaven, sometimes Crowley fears he won’t find the strength to stand again.

But he does.

Always has.

Stands back up and keeps on keeping on, still doing the things he loves, which makes it all the better.

Aziraphale doesn’t need Heaven and their insults.

He has Crowley’s love.

Aziraphale turns the list on its side, pinches it at the edge, and tears it down the middle.

Crowley whisper-chants, “Go! Go! Go! Go!” when Aziraphale slows down, encouraging him to continue.

And continue he does – tearing and turning and tearing and turning – until small squares of torn paper fill his cupped hands, the list unreadable except for a few individual words.

“There.” Crowley glows proudly at his husband. “How did that feel?”

“Good,” Aziraphale admits. “But this is going to feel better.” He tosses the scraps in the air. He doesn’t set them alight. He doesn’t want to trigger his sweet, supportive husband. Instead, with a snap, he turns them into glitter – harmless specks of gold and silver falling through the air and disintegrating where they touch.

“Beautiful,” Crowley says, slow clapping. He puts a gentle hand on his husband’s elbow and pulls him into his lap. “Positively gorgeous.”

“Thank you, my dear.” Aziraphale rests an arm on his demon’s shoulders. “I try my best. By the way, what did your list of resolutions have on it?”

“Oh.” Crowley reaches for the breast pocket of his jacket, but before his hand slips inside, he miracles the page into his grasp. “Read it for yourself.”

Aziraphale snatches it, more eager to read Crowley’s list of perceived flaws than his own. Except … “Darling?”

“Yes?”

Aziraphale flips the page front to back. “There’s nothing on this.”

“Of course there’s nothing on it! Can’t much improve on perfection, can you?”

Aziraphale studies the smug expression on Crowley’s face, his eyebrows bouncing over his yellow eyes, challenging Aziraphale to disagree.

Aziraphale shakes his head and leans in to give his ridiculous serpent a kiss on the cheek.

“Whatever you say, dear.”

#Good Omens #good omens fanfiction #ineffable husbands #31 days of ineffables #crowley x aziraphale #aziraphale x crowley #Frankie writes

[yowlthinks]

As Epistolary Novels Go

**1 May 2020**

Crowley hang up and stared at his phone. Did Aziraphale just call him up to check that he was making mischief and then imply the invitation to his bookshop? Yes, yes, he did, the fluffy bastard was at his game again: suggesting an idea and then waiting for Crowley to pick up on it, making it all seem as if Aziraphale had nothing to do with it. Well, this time Crowley was having none of it, he was either getting a direct invitation to come over, or having a good long sleep at his place. As disappointing as the conversation turned out to be, Aziraphale (who called first, mind you!) would come round eventually, and a good long nap never harmed nobody.

Crowley aimlessly wandered around his apartment, watered the plants, imprinting on them how a two month stretch without watering and supervision was NOT an excuse for a lowered performance, and finally settled in bed. He figured he'd play a bit on his phone and call it a night.

At 10pm precisely a cup of hot cocoa and a plate of biscuits materialised on his nightstand with a soft pop. A note in Aziraphale's neat handwriting landed beside them:

«Good night, Crowley.

Sleep well and dream of whatever you like best.

Yours,

Aziraphale

P.S.: Perhaps we could go for that picnic when you wake up?»

- Hah! A peace offering then. You insufferable bastard… Whatever I like best indeed…

Crowley finished the cocoa and nibbled on the biscuits, they were in fact very good. Finally, he set the alarm clock for the 1st of July, 12pm precisely, and settled against the pillows. As he closed his eyes one big red apple and a note in squiggly handwriting landed on Aziraphale's desk.

«Eat some fruit Angel, it's good for you. Goes well in picnic baskets too.

X

Crowley»

**1 July 2020**

Crowley always liked a good nap, not only because it offered a chance to switch off from the busy reality, but also because of how nice it felt to fall asleep and especially to wake up. His alarm clock, knowning what's best for itself started gently vibrating. It figured a while ago that sound was not actually the best way to wake Crowley up, but vibrations appealed to his snake part and did a good job in ensuring a pleasant awakening. Crowley switched it off and started stretching his limbs one by one. Important things, limbs, very useful, shouldn't forget to activate all of them… as he turned his head towards the nightstand to give his neck a good stretch too, a neat pile of letters came into view. They were definitely not there when he fell asleep two months ago.

Crowley set up against the headboard and gingerly picked up the topmost letter: expensive stationery, neat handwriting and an elaborate seal on green wax all pointed to the only person who could have sent this (not that pointers were needed, Aziraphale was pretty much the only one who sent him letters). He opened the envelope and read the note:

~5 May 2020~

My dear Crowley,

While you sleep, I thought I might write to you from time to time to compensate for the lack of conversation. I hope you do not mind these notes and have had a very resting sleep by the time you read this.

Yours,

Aziraphale.

~

Crowley looked at the pile of envelopes and had a distinct feeling that he was about to read what is called an 'epistolary novel'. He knew Aziraphale was partial to this type of fiction, despite him actively denying the said fact (Crowley found the angel's secret book stash in that particular genre ages ago and noticed how especially well-used their spines were, and how well-stocked that section of the bookshop always seemed.) It was clear Aziraphale decided to ceise the oportunity to produce one of his own. He piled a couple more pillows behind himself and set out to read the notes.

~8 May 2020~

Hello Crowley,

You must be deep asleep already, while I find myself wondering how your plants are doing and how they will survive your nap. You did not mention neededing help watering them, so I presume you made other arrangements. For the record, on future occasions I would be delighted to take care of them at any time.

Yours,

Aziraphale

~

~15 May 2020~

Hello my dear boy,

Yet another week of self-isolation has gone by. I have switched to baking savoury now. This week I have finally mastered that old Quiche recipe! You remember we had quiche in that lovely cafe in Lille back in 1815 and you persuaded them to share the recipe with me? It came out really well, I will make it again when you wake up, so you can try it and give me your honest opinion. Otherwise, not much news on my side, just progressing along my reading list, you know how it is.

Yours,

Aziraphale

~

~22 May 2020~

Hello Crowley,

It is yet again a Friday evening and I find myself a little out of sorts. Perhaps, the lockdown is starting to get to me after all. I have not seen a human up close since that incident with burglars and I must admit I miss the conversation. Not with the burglars, you understand, not even with humans in general (I would be lying if I said I miss the customers), I miss cinversation with you, most specifically.

I do not think I ever said this to you before, not outright anyway, but I do enjoy your company, very much. I did not realise how very lucky I have been these past years, seeing you as often as I did and having a chance to dine and drink together whenever we wished, even despite the usual precautions.

I am very much looking forward to our picknick when you wake up.

Missing you,

Aziraphale

~

~29 May 2020~

My dear Crowley,

It is almost June, and I must say that I am glad for it, it seems that things are getting a little better in terms of the pandemic, but not really better in terms of how things are overall. We have seen protests, wars and revolutions, so it is nothing new, but it does not make it any easier to witness, does it?

It looks like yet another string has finally snapped. I do hope this is a start of a change for the better, but I am glad you are sleeping through this bit of it. I know how you dislike violence. I am saving notes of some good-natured chaos around the world for you, though, so that you can enjoy reading them when you wake up.

I so wish we could discuss all this in person, I hope we can do so soon.

Yours,

Aziraphale

~

~5 June 2020~

My dear Crowley,

Yet another week has passed I have heard in the news today they are discussing relaxing the rules a bit, forming 'social bubbles' as they call it. A 'social bubble' is several small households closely connected by social bonds, the idea is to allow people to meet up with close friends, especially if they live alone, for mutual suport and mental health reasons.

I think it is safe to say you are truly the only person in my social bubble. Is it not silly, how it took a major pandemic event for me to be able to say this out loud, or as it were, in writing? Yet again, I find that I have to apologise to you for being so slow to acknowledge this, I should have really been braver…

Oh look at this, me getting all silly, you will probably read this and be annoyed at how sappy my writing got. Apologies for this, dear boy, I promise I will be better in person: in expressing myself and also in making it clear how important your friendship is to me.

Missing you something terrible and starting to plan for our picknick,

Yours,

Aziraphale.

~

~12 June 2020~

My dear Crowley,

Another week, another letter to you. I have kept myself busy re-ordering the additions that Adam made and even reading through a few of them. I must admit, some are very gripping and I am grateful for him adding them to my collection. As you know, they are all first editions, so a good investment for the future, I am sure.

This made me think of how events and people in our lives curate what happens to is, what we come across and notice. I habe now ckme to the cinclusion that I should finally show you a little secret stash of books I kept for a special reason, I expect you'd be both amused and exasperated by my choices and my reasons for making them. I can't wait to see your reaction to it!

It is almost the middle of June, not long to wait now!

Yours,

Aziraphale

~

~21/22 June 2020~

My dearest Crowley,

The solstice came and went, so I have spent the longest day of the year reading and thinking of what we should do next year, circumstances permitting, on that day. You know, I realised I quite fancy joining in the crowd and spending the night among those ancient stones. Ancient relics like us belong together. We might even do the old silly abandoning of the shape and sizes, go really small and sit on top of one of those arches…

Oh, I should let you know that your absence is not doing me good: drinking alone is not fun, yet today I couldn't help it. It is such a nice evening and it has been such a long day, and I thought if I don't have you here to share ot with me, I moght drink and write this and it would be as if we are sharing a bottle or two (or five? Or is it seven now?) and talking.

So yes, where was I? Ah, Stonehenge… Imagine sunset, sitting on top of one of those stone arches, perhaps we come on the day just after the Summer Solstice, or just on any other day when it is deserted and have it all to ourselves. When was the last time we watched the sunset? It must have been just after that fateful, frightening day of Apocawasn't as you call it. This would not do, we should have another go at watching the sunset together. Let our wings out, pour some wine… The sun would go down and paint everything red and orange, like your hair! And the orange will catch in your wings too (and they are beautiful, your wings, they truly are!). And maybe mine will go a bit orange-pink too, the sunset will colour us together.

This is the wine-talking, I know, but I believe I am allowed to be sappy sometimes. I am an angel, after all, I am made to love! You know what, in fact I think it is wrong for angels to claim they are the only beings made to love. Everyone is made to love, otherwise they would not be capable of that feeling. Love is not a task, or a chore, it is a choice! So does that mean that when you gave humans free will, you also enabled them to choose love? Oh, I can see your eyebrows raising when you read this, but fear not, once you are awake again, we will get throuoghly inebriated together and discuss it properly! That's our next profound discussion topic (oh, how I miss our profound discussions!)

The other day I did something that I feel would make you proud. I was thinking of all those times you brought chaos to the world, and about what we did with the arrangement, and what you might do had you been awake now. And I thought, well, why don't I do something? You know, I have always been in awe of how imaginative your plans are. You know,the bigger ones, the really inspired ones with a proper vision. Remember how you rehearsed the M25 presentation with me? It was impressive, and you were so proud of it, I did not have the heart to thwart you, you old snake! And how you helped me with that blasted millenial assignement – they still hail Wikipedia as one of the greatest achievements (which it is)! So yes I might have sent some divine inspiration to some activists, but because I was thinking of you (when am I not thinking of you?) it turned out to be one of the most beautiful chaos disruptions of wrongness in the world I have ever seen! I mean, of course it was all done by humans, but I am terribly proud of what my littke nudge achieved. I have saved the news clippings in my word file and will show you once you wake up!

Do you know how often I look at the calendar these days? I am almost tempted to cross out the remaining days till July. And you did not even say when in July you are planning to wake up. Far be it from me to disturb you, I have brought you enough pain and inconvenience as it is, but I just hope it will be soon. The humans are on to something with all this 'social bubble' talk, and without you I have no bubble. It is lonely, Crowley, and this loneliness is starting to suffocate me.

Please wake up soon.

Please?

I miss you so much.

Forever yours, if you'll have me,

X

Aziraphale

~~

Crowley reread the letter twice. He even pinched himself to see of he was still dreaming, but no, the letter was real, and the text in it was real, all be it awkwardly slanted and smudged in places, especially towards the end.

Just three more letters remained on his night stand. He'd better finish reading them and fast.

~~

~23 June 2020~

Dear Crowley,

Please forgive my drunken ramblings in the last letter. I even tried to retrieve it back, but it refused to leave your nightstand.

I do not regret saying the things I said in that letter, I only wish I could say some of them to your face first. You deserve so much better then a drunken letter.

So let me at least tell you, in sober mind:

I MISS YOU

I WAS WRONG TO TURN DOWN YOUR SUGGESTON TO COME OVER

And that I am indeed forever yours.

Please wake up soon,

Aziraphale

~

~26 June 2020~

My dearest Crowley,

Just five more days and it will be July.

I promised myself to not drink anything stronger then cocoa since the last incident, but I have indeed started preparing our little picknick basket: some white wine, apples, and pears and some other things…

Yours,

Aziraphale

~

~30 June 2020~

My dearest Crowley,

I am writing this as the month of June is coming to an end. It went both fast and too slow (does that even make sense?!), and I am hoping that you wake up soon.

Please call me when you do. Or just come over.

Slither over to watch me eat cake,

Come and share my wine with me (or bring yours, whatever you want).

YOU ARE ALWAYS WELCOME, my door is never closed for you (it has not been for centuries, and it will never be, I promise you that.)

Please wake up, I miss you so much.

Yours,

Aziraphale

~~~

- Hello Angel, how have you been? – Crowley swaggered into the bookshop not bothering to hide his smile.

Whirlwind of tartan and white feathers enveloped him, and Crowley found himslef in a tight hug.

- Hello, you old romantic.

- Hello, my dear.

- Loved your letters, but I am never going to publish them. Not even under a pen name, they are mine and mine alone.

- What..?

- You'll have me, though, forever and ever. How's that for an exchange?

- Sounds fair to me. Now, shall I show you my news clippings? I think you'd rather like them.

#good omens #ineffable husbands #crowley #aziraphale #awake the snake #wake the snake

[ourownsideimagines]

They Say You Can’t Go Home Again, but I Found Home in You (Crowley x Fem!Angel-ish!Reader)

Characters: Crowley, Aziraphale, Fem!Angel-ishReader, Madam Tracy, Shadwell, Gate Soldier

Requested: Yes 

Requested by: @adela-topaz-caelon

Point of View: Third Person Reader

Summary: (Name) is an Angel who, while not fallen, was booted from Heaven. She and Crowley have been dancing around their feelings for each other, and Aziraphale decided that the start of the apocalypse is a good time to finally point it out.

Warnings: I may have cursed? Otherwise, just the usual minimal editing.

Words: 1669

A/N: This is done in one large part, then a small little drabble kind of thing. 

—-

By standard terms, (name) was not an Angel. Not anymore, at least. She had not fallen after the “Great War”, but quickly found that she did not belong - if threats from Michael and Gabriel weren’t enough to get the point across, being thrown out by Sandalphon and Uriel definitely was. 

(Name) had fallen, just not in the most traditional way.

A fallen angel, though, was a fallen angel in Heaven’s opinion. She would no longer be allowed into Paradise, not that she much minded. She had her Heavenly-issued body and the ability to create miracles. What more could she need?

After a few hundred or so years she came to one conclusion. Friends, she decided. She needed friends.

So she sought out the only being she thought might be even the slightest bit kind to her - the Principality and (former) Angel of the Eastern Gate, Aziraphale. He’d been living on Earth for years, and sure, maybe he knew about her ‘fall’, but there was a part of her deep down that prayed to whoever might be listening that he wouldn’t care.

It was just after the flood, and Noah sailing his arc that (name) went looking for him.

And hundreds of years later, the two were closer than close could be. And, of course, being friends with Aziraphale ultimately meant becoming friends with a certain yellow-eyed demon. (Name) was surprised to say the least when she’d first learned of the friendship, though seeing as Aziraphale was affiliating with her she couldn’t for the life of her think why he wouldn’t befriend an actual demon.

At first, she and Crowley got along as well as two fallen angels could (though he sometimes refused to refer to her as such, since she was simply booted while he had to burn the whole way down). They clashed on various occasions, snarky remarks were swapped, and looks were taken in secret.

(Name) would be lying if she said she wasn’t attracted to Crowley. There was just something about his cocky personality that drew her in. And those eyes. Those eyes could kill her and she would thank them.

Of course, (name) would never admit this out loud. There was no way she’d ever admit to actually liking Crowley - at least, not yet.

As the impending end of the earth advanced, she found herself sticking around the angel and the demon more often. She’d accompanied them to care for Warlock, posing as the new house cleaner. She kept an eye on both Aziraphale and Crowley, acting as a buffer for anything too brash. She would comfort Warlock when the two became too much for him, telling him they were just ‘old, silly fools’, then offering to sneak him into the kitchen to steal some cookies. (Name) didn’t have a side, as far as she was concerned (unless, of course, she was counting the side she, Crowley, and Aziraphale had unofficially made). She saw no wrong in contradicting either of their doings.

Crowley, or Astaroth, as she’d been going by had been rather upset about this. She didn’t want the plan to be messed up, but after that time she’d caught (name) reading to Warlock in the middle of the afternoon until he began to nap she said nothing more on the situation.

(Name) had liked Crowley’s longer hair. She was disappointed when he decided that, when he was no longer Nanny Astaroth, that he would cut it short. More masculine. Not that he looked bad - no, far from it. She just wondered, silently to herself, how nice it would have been to be able to braid it.

Perhaps, if they truly stopped armegeddon, he would grow it back out and allow her to-

No, no. She shouldn’t be thinking about that. There were much more pressing issues, such as trying to figure out her way over the hellfire that had taken over the M25. (name) had gotten a call not ten minutes ago from Crowley, telling her to get to Tadfield’s air base. 

Had (name) been told from the beginning that this is where she would end up, she would have laughed and asked ‘in how many years?’ before going off to perform another miracle (almost 6000 years, would have been the answer, not that she would have expected one).

The rain was beginning to come down hard, and in the distance she could hear police sirens. She needed to get over the fire wall, and she needed to do it now. If her watch was right, she didn’t have nearly as much time as she hoped she would.

Knowing she had only one choice, since she would not survive driving through it, (name) focused on one thing and one thing only - her wings.

It had been centuries since she’d stretched them out, and the sound of her jacket ripping made her wince. She could miracle it back together later, but the sound was unpleasant all the same. When they’d finally finished breaking free, she stretched them out. She used the smallest amount of her powers to keep them dry, and after taking in a deep breath, she launched into the air like someone who was riding a bike for the first time in years - shakily done, but done nonetheless.

The flight to Tadfield was the most liberated (name) had felt in a while. Far below here, people buzzed in panic, and she eventually caught sight of a speeding car she would have once recognized as Crowley’s vintage Bentley. She heart dropped as she watched flames lick the carriage, and melt away the tires. She was certain he would make it to Tadfield, but at such a cost it hurt even her.

On the short list of things that Crowley loved, (name) knew the first to be his car (she secretly hoped that she was second). As she approached the airbase, she began feeling winded.

She really hadn’t done this in a long time.

(Name) touched down a short five minute walk from the airbase. She didn’t want to risk the chance that someone would see her and try to shoot her down. From down the road, she saw three figures. One was an older man, a large obtuse gun strapped to his back, another a soldier holding his gun close, and the last a woman dressed in very colorful attire. Even from afar, she knew the woman - even if she didn’t recognize the face.

“Aziraphale?” She called, and all three people turned. The soldier raised his weapon, but (name) went straight to Aziraphale.

“Ah, (name),” She smiled gently. They embraced, but (name) quickly pulled away.

“Who’s this?” She asked, gently flattening Aziraphale’s sleeves.

“Oh, right. This lovely woman is Madam Tracy. Madam Tracy, this is my good friends (name).” There was no pause between Aziraphale’s words and the woman's. “Oh, a pleasure.”

“Very much so,” (name) agreed. She got the sudden feeling that the others were staring at her, but she ignored it. “What happened to your body, Aziraphale?”

“Ah, yes, about that. Got discorporated. How did you know to come here?”

“Crowley called-” (name) paused when the familiar tune of Queen’s Bohemian Rhapsody, and the smell of burning metal and rubber breached her senses. She turned quickly, watching as the flaming Bentley swerved around the turn and came to a stop at a safe enough distance.

The door open, and Crowley slipped out, a book in one hand as he used his foot to kick the door closed.

“Wouldn’t get that kind of performance from a modern car!” He said, albeit not with much heart. He didn’t even look at the Bentley before making his way over to them. (Name) lurched forward towards him, and he stepped back in surprise. She gently grasped his arms, looking at his soot covered face.

“You’re an idiot, you know that?” She said. Crowley’s mouth opened and closed a few times, but he was looking behind her.

“Uh, you, um,” He was stumbling over his words.

“What?”

“Your wings,” He said, and (name) felt her blood go cold.

She had forgotten about her wings. She backed away, suddenly embarrassed, and willed them away.

“Next time you decide to drive your car through a fire, at least let me know beforehand.” She muttered. “I saw you about a mile back and got worried.”

“You were worried about me?” He smirked. She rolled her eyes. “I’m honored, really.”

“Shut up.” She said.

“Crowley, (name), I do believe the flirting can be saved for later.” Aziraphale interrupted you. “As cute as watching you two had been for the last handful of centuries, I really do think getting inside is out main objective, yes?” (Name) felt her cheeks flush red.

“We’re not- she’s not-” Crowley stopped suddenly. “You’re not… You’re not flirting are you?”

“Are you serious? At a time like this?” (Name) motioned to the armed guard.

“I was just curious.” He mumbled. (Name) sighed, but grabbed Crowley’s hand.

“We’ll talk about it later, Crowley. I promise.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

---(a little added bonus because didn’t exactly wanna write the whole airport scene)---

“Would anyone here care to explain to me what exactly is going on?” Adam Young’s father asked. Crowley turned to (name), whom had clung to him amidst the stopping of time and Satan rising. She  was winded, to say the least, and she was prepared to sleep for years, even if she didn’t truly need to.

“I should ask you the same.” Crowley mumbled. (Name)’s eyes snapped up to him. “What is going on… here… between us?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Aziraphale interrupted the two of you. “You to have been in love with each other for years, honestly, it’s embarrassing.”

“Aziraphale,” You hissed.

“I’m just so tired of seeing you two dancing around each other. It’s ridiculous.”

“Aziraphale-” Crowley’s words were cut off suddenly when (name) grasped his scarf, tugging him to her. He stared at her, eyes wide open. (Name), not exactly caring whether or not anyone was watching gave him a gentle smile.

“C’mon you old serpent. Tell me where you think we are.”

#good omens #good omens x reader #crowley x reader #crowley x fem!reader #Crowley x fem!Angel-ish!Reader #crowley x reader good omens #crowley x fem!reader good omens #crowley x fem!Angel-ish!Reader good omens #crowley #crowley good omens #anthony j crowley #x reader #x fem!reader #x fem!angel-ish!reader #reader insert #good omens reader insert #my writing #reese writes #the ineffable queue

[mad-madam-m]

Can you please, please write a full length fic of the extended tags you did for the ‘you didn’t have a trial’ Aziraphale/Crowley piece?

I have enough other stuff to write, so I was going to say no, but 1) this is the second request I’ve gotten for a full(er) fic based on these tags and 2) let’s be real, the amount of prompting I need right now to write a Good Omens fic is approximately zero. So here you go!

“You know, I’ve been meaning toask, what was my trial like?” Aziraphale asked out of the blue after threebottles of wine.

Crowley fumbled his glass and nearlydropped it, and only a minor demonic miracle kept the wine from splattering allover the sofa. “Er, what?”

“My trial. You know.”Aziraphale pointed upward at the bookshop ceiling and then poured them bothsome more wine. “Up there. I mean, you did say they won’t leave us aloneforever, and much as I want you to be wrong about that, I don’tthink you are. If Gabriel or one of the others mentions something to me, Ishouldn’t like to give the game away if I don’t know what they’re talkingabout.”

Crowley’s throat went suddenly dry,and he drank most of his wine in one swallow. “I mean, I could bewrong. It’s been a few weeks. They may be leaving us alone forgood.”

“Crowley, I know you don’tactually believe that,” Aziraphale said in a manner that meant he wouldn’tbe budged on this topic, and then his face softened into concern. “Mydear, what is it? Was it really that awful?”

There was no way to hide it. And he shouldn’t behiding it, but the instinct he had to protect Aziraphale was strong. Theyboth knew how awful the angels could be, but Aziraphale seemed to cling stubbornlyto the idea that there was still good up there, somehow. And Crowleyhated being put in the position to remind him otherwise.

He sighed and pulled off hissunglasses. The least he could do was do this without any barriers betweenthem. “You didn’t have a trial, angel.”

Aziraphale stared at him, eyes goingever-so-slightly wider than normal. “What?”

Crowley rubbed the bridge of hisnose and looked down at his wine glass. “There wasn’t a trial. They justtied me up in a chair until the demon got there with the hellfire. And thenthey only untied me to tell me to walk into it. No prosecution, no defense, nonothing.” He cleared his throat and finished off the last of his wine.“It was just an execution.”

He looked back up from the glass toAziraphale, who had gone uncharacteristically still. The disbelief on his facefaded as the words sank in, and he looked…

Shattered. Shattered and hollow andmore than a little betrayed.

Crowley hated himself for puttingthat look on his angel’s face, even if he was only the messenger.

Aziraphale blinked quickly andsmiled, but it was only a faint echo of his usual one. “Oh. Well. I reallyshouldn’t be surprised, all things considered. Gabriel isn’t one to let thingslike facts get in the way of his decisions. And it does make thingsa bit easier on me, I suppose. Not much at all to remember, is there?” Hegestured with his glass. “Thank you for telling me, my dear.”

No, Crowley didn’t hate himself. Hehated Gabriel, and if that bastard of an archangel came within a hundredfeet of Aziraphale, Crowley was going to burn him where he stood. He’d do it now ifhe thought it would wipe the broken look off Aziraphale’s face. He’d yank themall out of Heaven in a heartbeat.

But he’d known Aziraphale too long.Revenge wouldn’t fix anything, and Aziraphale would probably be upset with himfor even trying it.

Crowley cast about for an idea,something that would help. “Why don’t we go see a movie? It’sFriday. There’s loads of new ones.”

Aziraphale laughed, although itwasn’t so much of a laugh as a sharp exhale through a smile that was breakingapart. “I’m afraid I’m not feeling much for a movie.”

“Concert?” Crowley suggested.“I think there’s one you’d really love.”

Aziraphale shook his head.

“Opera? They’re doing Carmentonight.” Somebody somewhere would be doing Carmen tonight; Crowleycould find a way to get them there. “Or Hamlet?”

Fuck, he would sit through a hundred performancesof Hamlet if it just meant Aziraphale would smile like normal again.

Aziraphale’s smile trembled, and hestood up from his chair and joined Crowley on the couch. “I think,”he said very softly, “I would just like you to sit with me for abit.”

It was both the simplest thing to doand the hardest thing to do. Crowley switched his glass to his other hand so hecould put his arm on the back of the couch, behind Aziraphale. “Of course,angel.”

Aziraphale shifted closer, andCrowley took the invitation to drop his arm around Aziraphale’s shoulders. Hisangel let out a shuddering sigh and leaned fully against him, resting his headon Crowley’s shoulder.

Crowley held him close and pretendedhe didn’t hear it when Aziraphale sniffled. He did, however, mentally catalogall the ways he knew to kill an angel because he would only get the chance touse one of them on Gabriel and he had to pick the best one. Mightas well get started on deciding now, so when the time came, he would be ready.

He wasn’t sure how long they sat together,quiet but for Aziraphale’s shaky breaths. It had to have been awhile, becauseCrowley had finished going through every way he knew of to completely andutterly destroy Gabriel, and had moved on through Uriel and Sandalphon and was workingon Michael just for the hell of it (Michael hadn’t been there, but Michael wasa wanker of the highest order and Crowley would dearly love toshove them into a pillar of fire) when Aziraphale sat up and patted Crowley’sshoulder.

“I’m afraid I’ve made quite amess of your shirt,” he said.

“It’s fine,” Crowley saidquickly. He could not give less of a shit about his shirt. “It’llclean.”

The smile Aziraphale gave him wasstill small, but much closer to his usual one, and the knot of anxiety inCrowley’s chest finally began to loosen. “Well, thank you very much, mydear.”

“Of course.” Crowleyrubbed his thumb along Aziraphale’s shoulder. “Whatever you need.”

It scared him sometimes, the depthwith which he meant that. He wasn’t sure if Aziraphale evenunderstood the true lengths to which he’d go.

Then again, Aziraphale had threatenednever to talk to him again and Crowley’s immediate response had been to stoptime, so maybe he did.

Aziraphale stared at the floor ofthe bookshop, looking not quite as shattered as he had before but stillimpossibly sad. Crowley was torn between wrapping him in a blanket andgetting a head start on his revenge plans.

He compromised on attempting morecomfort. “You’re better than all of them, you know. Bunch ofself-righteous, hypocritical—”

Aziraphale shook his head. “Crowley.”

“What? I’m not wrong. I’ma demon, I can spot self-righteous hypocrisy from several miles away. They’reawful, angel. You aren’t. You’re what they should be.”

Aziraphale did not look at him, butCrowley saw the corner of his lips turn up. “Will you be irritated if Isay that’s very kind of you?”

“Only if you say it loudly,”Crowley muttered. He still had something of a reputation to uphold.

“Hm. Then I shall say this nextpart very quietly.” Aziraphale sat up a little straighter and linked hishands in his lap. “You are my oldest and dearest friend, and your opinionmatters more to me than anyone else’s. It always has, even when I was toofrightened to admit it.”

Crowley gaped at him and scrambledto find a coherent thought, as his entire conscious mind was hung up on oldestand dearest friend. “Hang on, I’m supposed to be the one saying thingsto make you feel better.”

Aziraphale turned to him, and nowhis smile was much closer to normal. “Interesting. It seems like saying nicethings to you helps immensely. I’ll have to do it some more.”

The very air in the bookshop had tobe consecrated. That was the only explanation for why his cheeks were suddenly burning.“You do not.”

“Oh, I really think I do.”Aziraphale patted his knee. “In fact, I think I need to doit.”

The sly look in his eyes told Crowleythat the word choice had absolutely been deliberate. He groaned and dropped hishead back on the couch. “Just keep it quiet, will you?”

“As a mouse,” Aziraphalepromised, but he was practically glowing with the prospect.

The sight of it loosened the knot inCrowley’s chest the rest of the way.

He groaned again, but it was onlyfor effect. He had meant what he’d said, after all.

Whatever his angel needed.

#numenoreanrockopera #M answers #Good Omens #Aziraphale x Crowley #ineffable husbands #M writes fic #M writes Good Omens #angst with a happy ending #emotional hurt comfort #okay back to the Camp NaNo word mines

[fuckyeahgabrielgoodomens]

Some Angel-Centric Recs

If you have any favourite angel-centric recs (any of the canon angels as central characters except for Aziraphale), please feel free to add them to the Ao3 Collection here! I am in desperate desire!

Misuse of Miracles, by sburbanite

Rated M. Background A/C, Gabriel POV. 1.7k.  Gabriel gets receipts for all the miracles Aziraphale has been performing since the Apocalypse that wasn't... none of which are safe for work.

Gabriel flipped forward to where the gold notation started to cascade down the margins. Things started to get a little more puzzling here: "magical removal and folding of clothing, banishment of dust and household debris, teleportation a few short feet within the same building". No real reason for that, surely? Had the angel become so slothful that he couldn't be bothered to simply walk upstairs? Aziraphale had always been lazy for a celestial being, but Gabriel was sure he'd never been that lazy.

Finally, Gabriel reached the part where Pravuil's notes simply trailed off, a single blot of gold from his quill staining the page. "Summoning of lubricant oil," he read aloud, "banishment of...bodily fluids...painless insertion of…OH, GOOD GOD!"

This fic is hilarious. I really love the way OP approaches Gabriel’s POV - he’s delightfully banal in terms of the way he thinks and what he finds interesting or, in this case, infuriating, and it’s a really great concept.

Build Me Up, Buttercup, by somanyopentabs

Rated G. Gabriel/Sandalphon. 600 words. Gabriel is VERY upset that he didn't get to fight and win a war. He needs cheering up.

“Ah, material objects,” Gabriel replied knowingly. He picked up a piece of chocolate.

“You could put it in your mouth.”

“No, thanks.” Gabriel happily tossed it over his shoulder. “This is fun. What’s next?”

This fic is so adorable, and I still just can’t get over it! It’s Gabriel and Sandalphon rushing around and doing... so many human things completely wrong, and I just love the way it get into the way Sandalphon and Gabriel see the world, and each other!

Revelations, by AnnetheCatDetective

Rated T. Aziraphale/Gabriel, also all the other angels bar Metatron. 3.4k.  For a prompt asking to see Aziraphale coming clean to the other angels about Crowley, and their being concerned but supportive.

“I told you.” Uriel whispers. “He meant he loves the demon with the all-encompassing love of Heaven.”

“But they were holding hands.”

“You’re holding hands.” Aziraphale points out, motioning to where Gabriel and Sandalphon are doing just that.

Obviously I’m biased because I love everything Cat has ever written, and the two of us live in the same pile of tropes and obscenities, but... This is so great. I really love the different ways the various angels are uncertain of but uncomfortably supportive of Crowley and the whole dynamic, and just! Some of the dialogue is rib-achingly funny, I die big time!

Five Times Michael Entered Hell, and the One Time She Didn't, by coldho

Rated T. Michael/Beelzebub. 3k. Michael takes pride in her back channels; she knows how to play the enemy like the Protector she was created to be.

There are some visits she’s made to Hell, though, that she remembers more than the others.

“You haaaveee friendzzzz in heavvvveeeeen?” Beelzebub teases in turn. When Michael snorts, decidedly unangelic, Beelzebub clenches her teeth, digs her fingers into the chair, rolls her hips up to meet Michael’s skin.

“Didn’t think zzzzo,” she says, Michael pressing her hips back down. She keeps a tight hold on Beelzebub as she traces a slow swath down her stomach with her tongue. Beelzebub is cloying, gagging, delicious, and she strips it away with every swipe.

In Michael’s opinion, it'd be a funny world if angels went around befriending each other. 

Hhhhh, this fic... There’s a kind of exquisite decadence to the way this one is written, and it really does feel as you’re reading that it will choke you - it’s filthy, full to the brim with the crowded, rotting aura of Hell, but it’s just! masterfully tied up with Michael’s engagement, her interest, her desire. I can’t recommend it enough, it’s gorgeously penned. 

Be Not Afraid, by Scmnz

Rated G. Gabriel & Mary. 1.1k.  Gabriel, God's messenger angel, is sent to inform some humans that they will soon be parents. It does not go as well as he had hoped, and he's not quite sure where he lost them (because it couldn't possibly be him who messed up).

She screamed and dropped what she was holding. “Oh, my bad!” The angel boomed. “Do not be afraid! I’m not sure why that’s necessary, but still, sorry for forgetting.” He slumped a little, looking discouraged.

Mary was confused. What kind of greeting was this? Still, better to be polite to the huge winged man who had just walked through her wall and was now grinning like an idiot. “Yes?” She asked. “That’s… good, that the Almighty is with me.”

This is really cute! Gabriel is... ever so earnest, and I just die over him trying so hard to get the hang of this communicating-with-humans business, but just... not being so great at it. 

Saturday Morning Runtime, by Bluethenstaub

Rated G. Aziraphale & Gabriel. 1k.  Gabriel goes jogging. Sometimes he meets people who surprise him.

Every time Gabriel sees Aziraphale, he realizes there are so many things you can do for your body.

You can get yourself a nice haircut.

You can buy yourself a wonderful cashmere suit.

You can get your nails done.

But one of the things Gabriel enjoyed the most, is jogging.

This fic is really... It’s just a little extension of the scene in the park, but from Gabriel’s POV, and I just love the way it kind of digs into Gabriel’s POV - how he sees things so simply, but also kind of struggles with that? It’s funny, it’s sweet, but especially when Gabriel is fucking up with Aziraphale - and has such faith in him - there’s a tremendous bittersweetness to it. 

A civil aspect, by Nineveh_uk

Rated G. Michael & Beelzebub. 800 words.  Michael and Beelzebub have their own lines of communication, and their own way of dealing with traitors.

'Bread and circuses?'

'There's no bread in Hell.'

'Nor Heaven, we prefer manna. But I'm sure you and your associates enjoy toast, Lord Beelzebub. I think it's high time that our erstwhile agents were made to set an example.' 

'Yesz.'

This is excellent. It’s a perfect little missing scene where we see the balance of power between Beelzebub and Michael, the conception of the dealing with Aziraphale and Crowley respectively, and I just! I die. Do recommend.

#gabriel good omens #michael good omens #good omens #fanfic #beelzebub #aziraphale #gabriel #michael #sandalphon #long post for ts

[wanderingalicewrites]

31 Days - Chapter 3: Nutcracker

Crowley hates The Nutcracker. It’s not so much the music, which he’ll never admit he actually finds quite nice. It’s not even the ballet, which is usually fairly well choreographed, with enchanting scenery. No, what he hates is the god-blessed story. The idea that something cursed, something ugly and broken and abandoned, could be loved by someone good and kind and gentle. He hates it, because that’s not how the world works. It’s not how his world works. And, while some days he can fool himself that that fact might change, for every day he has hope there is a day when he knows how foolish it is to even dream. Even if dreaming is a little easier these days.

Still, when Aziraphale gets them tickets to The Nutcracker Ballet, he can’t exactly refuse to go. So he miracles himself up a nice suit and drives them into London for the show. It goes about how he expects. The drive in is uneventful, though he does get a good scolding from the angel when he nearly hits a pedestrian. He lets Aziraphale off in front of the theater, and parks the Bentley close by. (In a no-parking zone, not that it matters. It won’t be towed and he doesn’t give a shit about tickets.) Then he joins his angel in the lobby, where they make their way to their seats.

They’ve come to this theater every year for the past three decades, but this year Aziraphale has forgone their usual seats near the orchestra for a private box.

“Woah, angel, going all-out this year, hmm?” Crowley asks, taking in the plush seats and perfect view of the entire stage.

Aziraphale coughs and smiles a little shyly at him. “Well, I thought, after preventing the end of the world and all, we deserved to treat ourselves a little.”

Crowley nods, clapping him on the shoulder and moving past him into the booth. He’s right. They do deserve to treat themselves, after everything they’ve been through.

The lights dim, and soon the music starts. It’s beautiful, as always, but Crowley finds his eyes straying from the stage to the angel seated next to him. Aziraphale is watching the performance, a look of wonder and joy on his face as the dancers move across the stage. Before, it had been so rare that he got to see him like this. This open, honest sense of enjoyment, without the threat of discovery constantly hanging over their heads. It’s more than he could ever have dreamed, just being able to sit here like this, unafraid, watching his angel allow himself to have fun. He turns his gaze back to the stage before Aziraphale can catch him staring, but can’t help but continue to sneak glances at him as the night wears on.

It’s sometime in the middle of the first act, when Aziraphale stretches, extending his arms out to the sides. When he relaxes, he leaves his left arm on the back of Crowley’s chair, resting against his shoulders. Crowley looks at him, startled, but the angel is still watching the ballet, seeming to not even notice what he’d just done. Crowley can’t help but notice. He feels warmth at every point of contact, like a line of fire across his back. He sits there, rigid, staring straight ahead and waiting for Aziraphale to remove his arm. He doesn’t. He leans forward during a particularly intense swell of music, his hand gripping Crowley’s shoulder, almost like he wants to pull him closer.

And, well, Crowley would think it’s a fluke. Except, when they return from intermission, Aziraphale does it again, settling down with his arm around Crowley’s shoulders. This time, though, he glances at him, and, well, that couldn’t possibly be a blush. But he’s giving Crowley an unfamiliar smile, small and hesitant, but full of hope.

“Is- is this alright?” he asks, glancing at his arm. “I can move it, I just...”

“No, no,” Crowley says quickly, though the proximity is setting his nerves on fire with want. “It’s fine.”

Aziraphale’s smile widens at that, big and bright and happy. And Crowley can’t regret that, not at all. And… it’s funny. He should feel trapped by it, an arm around him, holding him in place. He doesn’t. He feels safe. And warm. And wanted. It’s… nice. And for just this night he allows himself to relax against the angel, leaning back into his arm. He lets himself feel everything, the thrum of his heart in his chest, the air moving through his lungs, the vibration of the music around him, and the warm and solid weight across his shoulders.  Another memory, another moment to go into his hoard of moments, kept safe and cherished, perfect and rare and beautiful.

(Day 1)  (Previous)  (Also on AO3)

#31 days of ineffables #31 Days #Ineffable Husbands #aziraphale/crowley #good omens #I'm still writing fluff. How???

[hekate1308]

Driving Lesson, Fictober #1

Genre: Fanfiction

Fandom/Pairing: Good Omens, Crowley/Aziraphale

Warnings: No warnings apply

Prompt: “It will be fun, trust me.”

“It will be fun, trust me.”

Aziraphale studied the steering wheel in front of him sceptically. “I highly doubt that”.

“Angel” Crowley sighed, “We did agree that now we’ve got nothing left to worry about, we can do what we want…”

“And me learning to drive is what you want –“

“Hey” Crowley snatched his left hand off the wheel and pressed a kiss against it. “That’s not what this is about. Thing is, since we finally talked, we’ll be spending a lot of time together, and I want the two loves of my life to get along when we do.”

Aziraphale felt himself blushing furiously. This was just the kind of thing Crowley did and said all the time now, ever since their bus drive back to his place and the talk they’d had there. When Aziraphale had asked him after the first couple of days why he felt the need to be so utterly romantic, he’d looked him in the eyes and said “I’ve been waiting for this long enough, angel” and that had been that. He’d been steadfastly ignoring his hints that he’d like a more explanatory answer ever since.

And yet there could be no mistaking the gestures he’d bestowed on him in the last few months, no thinking he was just trying to tempt Aziraphale to his side – something the angel had been very good at pretending at, for the first few centuries – no telling himself that they were at best friendly adversaries, not even friends.

And now Crowley only wanted this little thing. Just wished for Aziraphale to learn how to drive.

“What do I do then, dear?” he asked softly. In all the years Crowley had had the Bentley, he’d been content – and sometimes terrified – sitting next to him. If he had paid attention to him at all, it had most certainly not been because he had any desire to pick up on his driving techniques.

“Oh. Right” Crowley looked pleased; Aziraphale wished he’d take off the sunglasses so he could see his eyes – he loved it how they glittered in the sunlight; but Crowley wasn’t so far to leave them behind quite yet, not yet comfortable enough even if it were just the two of them, but they would get there – “So first of all you have to turn on the motor.”

“But there’s no key in the ignition” Aziraphale pointed out, feeling rather smug as he did so. There. He knew some things about cars.

Crowley rolled his invisible eyes. “That’s because I would never do that to my dear girl” he all but cooed at the car. “Just tell her to start. Nicely.”

Aziraphale had known that Crowley poured quite a bit of magic and miracles into the Bentley, of course – otherwise, especially considering his driving style, there’d hardly have been a chance that the car would have survived the past ninety years. Still, this seemed to be a bit excessive.

But that was what they had saved the world for, wasn’t it? So they could indulge and be together.

So he very gently told the Bentley with his mind that he’d like to take a drive now, please, because Crowley wished them to, and suddenly the motor was on.

Crowley grinned. “See? Told you.”

He nodded, then gripped the steering wheel.

“Oh no” Crowley rubbed a hand over his knuckles “This is supposed to be a nice experience for all of us. You have to relax.”

“I have no idea what I’m doing” he confessed.

“That’s alright, you’ve got me and the Bentley to take care of you” Crowley told him with the expression of a demon who hadn’t known what to do when he first purchased his beloved horseless carriage either and had early on become determined never to learn the way humans did but was now expecting it of his – lover? He supposed they were lovers.

His heart warmed as he thought of them as lovers, and he decided to try and do this.

“We can go as slow as you want, angel” Crowley said, voice rather thick with emotion all of a sudden, “That’s why we’re here.”

Here being in the middle of the night at Tadfield air base, where it all had started, really.

No, Aziraphale suddenly realized; it had started long before then. Maybe even…

He took a deep breath he didn’t really need and decided to try and drive.

 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Alright, angel, I know I said we could go slow, but you’re driving less than ten miles an hour” Crowley pointed out.

“I am just trying to get the hang of things” he defended himself.

“You won’t if you keep doing thisssssss. You can’t jussssssst drive ten miles an hour in London” Crowley hissed, although his smile rather ruined the overall impression.

“I would say it’s impossible to drive ninety miles an hour in the city, and yet you do so on a regular basis.”

“That’s because I let the streets know who’s boss. You’d just be politely asking them to not inconvenience you. This won’t do” Crowley decided.

He sighed. “Fine.” The car accelerated slightly.

“See? Told you this was fun.”

Aziraphale said nothing, but in truth, he was starting to see why one would just take drives for pleasure. In the past, he had mostly seen the road trips Crowley took him on as more chances to spend time with him, but it was surprisingly pleasant to just sit there and… go somewhere. Even if he’d still have preferred to drive slower, but knowing his demon, he wouldn’t be allowed to.

“Maybe we could put on some music?” he suggested.

Crowley grinned, proving that he too had noticed that Aziraphale was enjoying himself, the pleased, happy smile of someone who’d made his lover happy. “Alright. I just bought these yesterday, so they should be alright –“

And it was indeed Vivaldi’s Four Seasons that started playing instead of Queen, which seemed to be the Bentley’s go-to music, usually.

Aziraphale knew that Crowley mostly listened to classical music when they were together, simply because the angel liked it. Recently though he’d admitted that he’d now and then gone to a concert over the last six thousand years when he’d missed him – “That kid Mozart was really talented, wasn’t he”.

He smiled to himself.

“Good. You’re starting to relax.”

“Of course I’m relaxed, dear. I’m with you.”

And, almost as if it were sentient and could understand what was being spoken, the Bentley’s motor hummed.

To Aziraphale’s utter delight, Crowley blushed. “Both of you should shut up” he muttered, but there was no heat behind it.

“It’s true” Aziraphale told him, because he wanted to see him blush again. He wasn’t disappointed.

They drove on; the guards ignored them due to a convenient miracle Crowley had performed. And anyway, there wasn’t much to guard, was there, they would have said; just computers, and computers only did what the people punching the keys told them, so there was little to no danger there.

Aziraphale smiled to himself once more as he recalled the day of the Apocalypse-that-wasn’t. It had taken him a long time to get to admitting that he and Crowley were on their own side, but he’d got there in the end.

“We should stop soon” he said.

“Why, angel? You already have enough?”

“No” he answered simply, “But I want to hold your hand, and I can’t do that when I’m not supposed to let go of the steering wheel.”

Crowley spluttered. “I – tsk – agh – you can’t just say stuff like that!”

“Why not? You do it all the time.”

“That’s different!”

“How?”

“I told you – I’ve been waiting to do so.”

Aziraphale wanted to ask again, but wasn’t keen on hearing another excuse as to why Crowley wouldn’t answer him, so he didn’t.

Still – eventually, he stopped the car.

They watched the stars from the hood of the Bentley, holding hands.

“I really like doing that one” Crowley told him, pointing at a constellation with his free hand.

“It’s beautiful, dear” Aziraphale replied even though he wasn’t looking at the stars; watching Crowley was enough for now.

Then, before he even knew he’d ask, he quietly added, “How long were you waiting for this?”

At first, he thought he would once more fail to get an answer, but then, Crowley, looking anywhere but at him, quietly replied, “Since some foolish guardian of the Eastern Gate told me they’d given their flaming sword away.”

“Oh Crowley.”

“Yes, yes, well, all over and done with.”

A shy Crowley was something Aziraphale had come to know and appreciate in the months since the world didn’t end. “You were right” he told him softly.

“What about?”

“This – driving is fun.”

Now Crowley looked smug again. “Told you.”

“Yes, dear, you did.”

And he kissed him.

#fictober19 #good omens #my writings #ineffable husbands #aj crowley #aziraphale #cutting it close but still lol #enjoy

[grison-in-space]

We’ve been chatting on my Discord a bit, about the difference between the book and the miniseries, and one of the biggest tonal differences is this:

In the miniseries, Aziraphale is the one who is most afraid. He is consistently worried that Heaven will get him if he gets too close to Crowley; every time Crowley suggests they run, he cites that his side won’t like it, and implies they’ll come after him. When we see him around them, he is always very tense, very uncomfortable, looking for the exit. He is always conscious of his leash.

In the books, Aziraphale is less afraid than Crowley. You get moments like this, very explicitly:

   Most bookshops in Soho have back rooms, and most of the back rooms are filled with rare, or at least very expensive, books. But Aziraphale’s books didn’t have illustrations. They had old brown covers and crackling pages. Occasionally, if he had no alternative, he’d sell one.

   And, occasionally, serious men in dark suits would come calling and suggest, very politely, that perhaps he’d like to sell the shop itself so that it could be turned into the kind of retail outlet more suited to the area. Sometimes they’d offer cash, in large rolls of grubby fifty-pound notes. Or, sometimes, while they were talking, other men in dark glasses would wander around the shop shaking their heads and saying how inflammable paper was, and what a fire trap he had here.

   And Aziraphale would nod and smile and say that he’d think about it. And then they’d go away. And they’d never come back.

   Just because you’re an angel doesn’t mean you have to be a fool.

where Aziraphale is clearly comfortable with keeping himself safe, when he needs to be, and very confident in his ability to do that. But that’s not with respect to Upstairs, now--is it? So okay, how does he act there?

Here’s the bit where Crowley first tries to tempt him to help influence Adam:

“There you are then,” he said. “All creatures great and smoke. I mean small. Great and small. Lot of them with brains. And then, bazamm.”

   “But you’re part of it,” said Aziraphale. “You tempt people. You’re good at it.”

   Crowley thumped his glass on the table. “That’s different. They don’t have to say yes. That the ineffable bit, right? Your side made it up. You’ve got to keep testing people. But not to destruction.”

   “All right. All right. I don’t like it any more than you, but I told you. I can’t disod—disoy—not do what I’m told. ‘M a’nangel.”

   “There’s no theaters in Heaven,” said Crowley. “And very few films.”

   “Don’t you try to tempt me, ” said Aziraphale wretchedly. “I know you, you old serpent.”

And then he gets distracted for a while by the metaphor Crowley’s trying to make about a bird. Note here that his objection isn’t “but then Upstairs will get me,” but rather “I can’t disobey because that’s not what I do.” 

They eventually make their way back to the point:

   “Listen—”

   “Heaven has no taste.”

   “Now—”

   “And not one single sushi restaurant.”

   A look of pain crossed the angel’s suddenly very serious face.

   “I can’t cope with this while ‘m drunk,” he said. “I’m going to sober up.”

   “Me too.”

   They both winced as the alcohol left their bloodstreams, and sat up a bit more neatly. Aziraphale straightened his tie.

   “I can’t interfere with divine plans,” he croaked.

   Crowley looked speculatively into his glass, and then filled it again. “What about diabolical ones?” he said.

   “Pardon?”

   “Well, it’s got to be a diabolical plan, hasn’t it? We’re doing it. My side.”

   “Ah, but it’s all part of the overall divine plan,” said Aziraphale. “Your side can’t do anything without it being part of the ineffable divine plan,” he added, with a trace of smugness.

Again, he’s not afraid here. And then when Crowley convinces him, he does so not by reassuring him no one will be mad, but by arguing that Heaven will give him a commendation and be impressed. At this point he agrees very quickly to give it a shot, because no one can object if he’s just thwarting hellish wiles--he seems quite comfortable on this point, and then wonders whether or not they’re going to have problems with the child’s genetics. After Crowley advances this framing, his only concerns seem to be feasibility, and he quickly agrees to give influencing Warlock a shot. 

And then there’s notifying Heaven of the whereabouts of the Antichrist, once he works it out from Agnes’ book:

   He ought to tell Crowley.

   No, he didn’t. He wanted to tell Crowley. He ought to tell Heaven. He was an angel, after all. You had to do the right thing. It was built-in. You see a wile, you thwart. Crowley had put his finger on it, right enough. He ought to have told Heaven right from the start.

   But he’d known him for thousands of years. They got along. They nearly understood one another. He sometimes suspected they had far more in common with one another than with their respective superiors. They both liked the world, for one thing, rather than viewing it simply as the board on which the cosmic game of chess was being played.

   Well, of course, that was it. That was the answer, staring him in the face. It’d be true to the spirit of his pact with Crowley if he tipped Heaven the wink, and then they could quietly do something about the child, although nothing too bad of course because we were all God’s creatures when you got down to it, even people like Crowley and the Antichrist, and the world would be saved and there wouldn’t have to be all that Armageddon business, which would do nobody any good anyway, because everyone knew Heaven would win in the end, and Crowley would be bound to understand.

   Yes. And then everything would be all right.

Note that here he honestly is expecting Heaven to take his side, and he thinks that telling Heaven will fix things--and he’s not really nervous about contacting them, either. (Gabriel, Sandalphon etc. are not featured in the book at all; in fact Gabriel is never mentioned until the 2006 New Years’ Resolutions and then only as someone who irritates Aziraphale. In the book, the Metatron is the only other representative of Upstairs we see or hear from directly.) He’s also only avoiding telling them that he thinks he knows where the Antichrist really is because he doesn’t want to upset Crowley, and it’s heavily implied he’s mainly not getting in touch with Heaven because it’s annoying to do. 

Here’s how that phone call goes for him: 

   He pushed aside the paper.. laden desk and rolled up the threadbare bookshop carpet. There was a small circle chalked on the floorboards underneath, surrounded by suitable passages from the Cabala. The angel lit seven candles, which he placed ritually at certain points around the circle. Then he lit some incense, which was not necessary but did make the place smell nice.

   And then he stood in the circle and said the Words.

   Nothing happened.

   He said the Words again.

   Eventually a bright blue shaft of light shot down from the ceiling and filled the circle.

   A well-educated voice said, “Well?”

   “It’s me, Aziraphale.”

   “We know,” said the voice.

   “I’ve got great news! I’ve located the Antichrist! I can give you his address and everything!”

   There was a pause. The blue light flickered.

   “Well?” it said again.

   “But, d’you see, you can ki-- stop it all happening! In the nick of time! You’ve only got a few hours! You can stop it all and there needn’t be the war and everyone will be saved!”

   He beamed madly into the light.

   “Yes?” said the voice.

   “Yes, he’s in a place called Lower Tadfield, and the address.. ”

   “Well done,” said the voice, in flat, dead tones.

   “There doesn’t have to be any of that business with one third of the seas turning to blood or anything,” said Aziraphale happily.

   When it came, the voice sounded slightly annoyed.

   “Why not?” it said.

   Aziraphale felt an icy pit opening under his enthusiasm, and tried to pretend it wasn’t happening.

He’s surprised when it turns out that Heaven isn’t interested. He’s honestly expecting them to go in guns blazing and fix it all; he seems to genuinely believe that Heaven is on the side of, well, the angels. And when he finds out that it’s not that simple, he’s surprised as well as terrified. Miniseries Aziraphale, by contrast, isn’t surprised at all when it turns out that Heaven isn’t interested in stopping Armageddon--he’s resigned, and sad, but not surprised. 

   “The forces of darkness must be beaten. You seem to be under a misapprehension. The point is not to avoid the war, it is to win it. We have been waiting a long time, Aziraphale.”

   Aziraphale felt the coldness envelop his mind. He opened his mouth to say, “Do you think perhaps it would be a good idea not to hold the war on Earth?” and changed his mind.

   “I see,” he said grimly. There was a scraping near the door, and if Aziraphale had been looking in that direction he would have seen a battered felt hat trying to peer over the fanlight.

   “This is not to say you have not performed well,” said the voice. “You will receive a commendation. Well done.”

   “Thank you,” said Aziraphale. The bitterness in his voice would have soured milk. “I’d forgotten about ineffability, obviously.”

I cannot see miniseries!Aziraphale being so openly upset and disappointed with his superiors. And yet. 

Then he asks who he’s speaking to, is told it’s the Metatron--he doesn’t ask for God to come to the phone, sort of goes “oh yes I see of course,” and is told that of course he’ll be signing up for the wars himself and swinging a sword again soon:

   “Good. We will expect you directly, then,” said the voice.

   “Ah. Well. I’ll just clear up a few business matters, shall I?” said Aziraphale desperately.

   “There hardly seems to be any necessity,” said the Metatron.

   Aziraphale drew himself up. “I really feel that probity, not to say morality, demands that as a reputable businessman I should.. ”

   “Yes, yes,” said the Metatron, a shade testily. “Point taken. We shall await you, then.”

   The light faded, but did not quite vanish. They’re leaving the line open, Aziraphale thought. I’m not getting out of this one.

   “Hallo?” he said softly, “Anyone still there?”

   There was silence.

   Very carefully, he stepped over the circle and crept to the telephone. He opened his notebook and dialed another number.

This is of course Crowley’s number, which he dials before he’s hauled into the circle at all, with Heaven strongly implied to still be on the line. The fact that he’s willing to dial the phone for Crowley is something I can’t see miniseries!Aziraphale dreaming of doing. 

Then he dials Crowley, gets an answering machine, sulks for a minute and remembers there’s another line, whereupon he gets a very distracted Crowley who is trying to wrangle Hastur and immediately hangs up on him; at that point he gets discorporated.

It’s not bad, exactly. Just different. But I got very used to the idea that of the two of them, Aziraphale was really the one who wasn’t afraid, and Crowley was the one who watched his back; and the miniseries does give them a slightly different dynamic about that sort of thing.

#gris original #good omens

[enchantedchocolatebars]

Good Omens Chibi Headcanons Part 3

Headcanons for when Chibi Aziraphale and Chibi Crowley interact with each other. (Got inspired by cute chibi fanarts I saw on here made by artists with the usernames asunnydisposish and kimmigawa.) THANK YOU TO @luna-sheep FOR READING THIS FOR ME!👍

Part1: https://enchantedchocolatebars.tumblr.com/post/186828312632/good-omens-chibi-headcanons-part-1

Part2: https://enchantedchocolatebars.tumblr.com/post/186898556182/good-omens-chibi-headcanons-part-2

Chibi Aziraphale and Chibi Crowley:

 • They mainly speak gibberish but they can sometimes say and use english words. Both their gibberish and english sound very cute!

 • Tiny ineffable husbands/friends!

 • Is it dumb luck? Yin and yang? Or the Almighty simply working in mysterious ways? Whatever it was, when Chibi Aziraphale and Chibi Crowley work together, there's nothing they can't do! Size isn't even an issue!

 • They have their own best friend handshake! (It's really cute and it ends with them making a hand heart with each other's hand.)

 • A best friend theme song that fits them perfectly is this! (https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=_jEsOxkT0iw)

 • And the song that describes their relationship is this! (https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=BnTthKo4bLg)

 • Chibi Aziraphale thinks that Chibi Crowley is sooo cool! He also finds him to be really fun as well! The demon has taught him so many fun, new exciting human games such as "tag", "hide and seek" and one game that Chibi Crowley likes to call "playing tricks on the mortals". With that game, the angel didn't mind playing along, s-so as long as the pranks they pulled were harmless and no humans got hurt or injured by them. (Oh, and when playing tag or hide and seek, Chibi Aziraphale had to be really careful cause sometimes Chibi Crowley would get really excited when playing and would end up using his powers which caused a bit of havoc. The demon was oblivious to the destruction he was causing.) Chibi Aziraphale really appreciates Chibi Crowley's kindness! Sure, the demon tried coming off as if he's not, but Chibi Crowley was always doing nice things for his angel friend.

 • Chibi Crowley likes Chibi Aziraphale's good natured personality since having it made it easier for him to tease and tempt his friend. While he enjoyed teasing and tempting the angel, the demon would never take it too far and often did it in a playful way. Chibi Crowley is also really glad that Chibi Aziraphale has a sweet tooth because now he's got someone to share his gummy snakes with! He knows that the angel was book smart due to him spending most of his time in the bookshop with Aziraphale, but he also knew that the celestial being was innocently unaware of certain earthly things. The demon remembers once having to explain to Chibi Aziraphale what a toaster was.

 • Chibi Aziraphale and Chibi Crowley put on a reenactment play about Aziraphale's and Crowley's friendship across the ages! They even wear costumes of the outfits that their big counterparts wore through those centuries. This was their first play so they had to make it something exciting, something classic, something that the audience would never forget! The performance was being held in the backroom of Aziraphale's bookshop. A toy theatre stage was set up on the table and Aziraphale, Crowley, and Chibi Aziraphale's Harry the Stuffed Rabbit plush were the audience. The lights in the room dim and the spotlights shine on the curtain. The curtain is then opened, and the show starts! When saying their lines, Chibi Aziraphale and Chibi Crowley used a mix of both gibberish and english. From the audience, Aziraphale acts like a supportive parent at their child's first ever school play cheering, applauding, and shrieking in utter excitement almost every time his chibi says or does something in a scene. This makes Chibi Aziraphale smile and wave at his big friend each time on stage. "He's so cute and talented, isn't he?" Aziraphale would whisper to Crowley, referring to Chibi Aziraphale. Did Crowley notice little errors, faults, and flaws in the play? Yes but...he just couldn't dislike it. He still appreciated the effort and dedication the two chibis put into it. I mean, the performances themselves weren't too bad, the sets, costumes, music and props seemed alright, and the two tiny entities did look like they were having alot of fun with the whole thing despite the very small audience. His favorite parts had to be seeing his chibi be over the top playing as him. It made him smile and he couldn't help but chuckle at the smaller demon's exaggerated acting. The play itself was just Chibi Aziraphale and Chibi Crowley trying their best to be accurate, but they end up making it their own cute, comedic remake due to most scenes being over the top and exaggerated, them adding in little random things that didn't exactly happen and them having characters who were also in certain eras ( like Adam and Eve, Jesus, Jean-Claude, Shakespeare, The Nazis, the group of thieves and criminals, etc.) as either small toys, small stuffed animals, small cardboard cutouts, chibi sized hand puppets or inanimate objects who they also sometimes had to play as/pretend to be. Some might say that it's impossible for a play to work with only two people in it, but somehow the chibis do, and it's very adorable.

 • Imagine them doing a reenactment of the entire show.

 • Chibi Aziraphale and Chibi Crowley had been to alot of fun places in London before, but their all time favorite place where they had the most fun had to be the fun fair. (The toy shop was their second favorite, the zoo was third and the sweet shop was fourth.) An over-excited Chibi Crowley appears in the book shop one day to show Chibi Aziraphale a really cool poster that he found that showed an advertisement for a fair that was in London and suggests that the two of them go! The demon's never been to an actual fair before, but he's seen tons of commercials for them on TV at the flat and they looked like alot of fun. The angel's never been to a fair before either, but the pictures on the poster did make the place seem like alot of fun. To him, the place looked like one big playground! He agrees to go, and when the two arrive there Chibi Aziraphale is immediately fascinated by everything! Seeing the extremely interested look on his friend's face makes Chibi Crowley smile as he takes the heavenly being's hand and leads him to the attractions. The two have a wonderful time riding the carousel horses/other small mechanical rides and bouncing up and down on the inflatable bouncy castle. After that, they go looking around for more fun things to do. Chibi Crowley spots a haunted house horror ride and gets an excited twinkle in his eye! The demon absolutely adores spooky things! Big spooky fan, him! (He gets it from Crowley.) Chibi Aziraphale on the other hand...not so much. Being that he's easily frightened by stuff, (especially scary stuff) the dark, creepy look of the attraction gave him goose bumps, and at first he wasn't willing to get on. Well, that is until Chibi Crowley somehow tempts him into going on the ride with him. Now riding the ride, Chibi Crowley was pumped, Chibi Aziraphale the exact opposite. On the angel's side, ghosts and ghouls pop up at him in a jumpscare fashion, making a loud, frightening sound, followed by zombies and spiders doing the same on Chibi Crowley's side, then a collection of monsters and other spooky things all around. Each display causes Chibi Aziraphale to squeal in fear while Chibi Crowley squealed in delight. The demon even made frightening noises back at the monsters. After the last display, Chibi Aziraphale is still a little scared, but he's very glad that the ride was finally over. In the house of mirrors, the two chibis were fascinated by the mirrors abilities to make their reflections appear big and tall! When they leave, Chibi Aziraphale and Chibi Crowley both see a photo booth. Excited, they rush inside the booth and take several photos. In the first photo, Chibi Aziraphale and Chibi Crowley smile, a halo filter above the short angel's head and a devil horns filter above the short demon's head with the captions reading "Best Buds!" "BFF's!" and "Literal Angels!" In the second photo, they both flex their muscles, and the caption reads "So Strong!" In the third photo, Chibi Aziraphale laughs as Chibi Crowley hangs upside down, tongue hanging out and eyes rolling crazily. The caption reads "Silly!" In the fourth photo, this time Chibi Aziraphale makes a silly face and Chibi Crowley is the one who laughs. The caption reads "Also silly!" In the fifth and final photo, Chibi Aziraphale smiles and holds up the peace sign and Chibi Crowley grins playfully while holding up bunny ears above the angel's head. Emoji heart filters surround them with a caption that reads "Ineffable babies!" At sunset, at a game booth, a dart is thrown and pops a balloon. A boy with a blue baseball cap has made the throw and ends up winning a prize for his girlfriend. Chibi Aziraphale points to a giant white teddy bear angel and wants for Chibi Crowley to win it for him. The little demon gives the angel a small nod and a thumbs up. He then uses his powers to launch all the darts and pops every single balloon. A loud bell rings and a "winner" sign lights up as Chibi Aziraphale cheers for Chibi Crowley. They win the bear and Chibi Aziraphale gives his demon buddy a big thank you hug. Chibi Crowley tries to hide his smile but can't. At night, the two are taking a stroll. Chibi Crowley was pulling a little red toy wagon that the giant angel teddy that he had won for Chibi Aziraphale was sitting in. As he looks up at the carnival lights, Chibi Aziraphale moves his hand towards Chibi Crowley's hand, gently takes it and begins holding it. The move catches little Crowley off guard, but he quickly smiles when he sees the angel is at ease. Feeling playful, the demon swings his held hand back and forth a bit. The two were heading towards the ferris wheel as their final ride. A fireworks show is in full swing! The sky was filled with them! Chibi Aziraphale, Chibi Crowley, and the teddy bear were sitting together in one of the ferris wheel cars watching the show. Chibi Aziraphale watches the show in complete amazement! This was his first time ever seeing fireworks before. When the angel asks Chibi Crowley what those beautiful bright coloured lights that kept making loud noises in the sky were, the demon says to him that they're called fireworks. He tells Chibi Aziraphale that big Crowley had once told him that fireworks were these giant explosions in the sky, and the reason they exploded was because they contained this stuff that the humans put inside it called gunpowder. Chibi Aziraphale sighs blissfully at the sky. He loves the earth so much, the planet was filled with so many amazing things! He hopes that one day he and Chibi Crowley will get to see all the wonderful things this world had.

#imagine if all the other characters had chibis too #good omens #aziraphale #crowley #ineffable husbands #ineffable chibi husbands #chibi au #live action shows #headcanons #writing #my writing #not a cartoon

[fluffmugger]

I haven't read Good Omens but I just got done watching the show and I'm confused on one point: what was behind Aziraphale's decision to not tell Crowley he knew where the antichrist was? I thought it was because he didn't want Crowley to kill him but he later petitions heaven to do just that. What did I miss? Why did he keep that information to himself when before they were trying to find the antichrist together?

He does try to tell Crowley, as in the book. However, at the time Crowley’s dealing with Hastur and Ligur  (well more accurately mexican standoffing against Hastur). So:  1) he tries to be a Good Angel, then fucks that shit off and 2) calls Crowley and that phone convo goes nowhere, then 3) Aziraphale runs face first into Shadwell, tries to stop him from stepping into the communication circle, accidently does so himself, utters the best fuck in the history of mankind and discorporates. The sequence from the book: 

Aziraphale was dithering. He’ d been dithering for some twelve hours. His nerves, he would have said, were all over the place. He walked around the shop, picking up bits of paper and dropping them again, fiddling with pens. He ought to tell Crowley. No, he didn’t. He wanted to tell Crowley. He ought to tell Heaven. He was an angel, after all. You had to do the right thing. It was built-in. You see a wile, you thwart. Crowley had put his finger on it, right enough. He ought to have told Heaven right from the start. But he’d known him for thousands of years. They got along. They nearly understood one another. He sometimes suspected they had far more in common with one another than with their respective superiors. They both liked the world, for one thing, rather than viewing it simply as the board on which the cosmic game of chess was being played. Well, of course, that was it. That was the answer, staring him in the face. It’d be true to the spirit of his pact with Crowley if he tipped Heaven the wink, and then they could quietly do something about the child, although nothing too bad of course because we were all God’s creatures when you got down to it, even people like Crowley and the Antichrist, and the world would be saved and there wouldn’t have to be all that Armageddon business, which would do nobody any good anyway, because everyone knew Heaven would win in the end, and Crowley would be bound to understand. Yes. And then everything would be all right. There was a knock at the shop door, despite the CLOSED sign. He ignored it.Getting in touch with Heaven for two-way communications was far more difficult for Aziraphale than it is for humans, who don’t expect an answer and in nearly all cases would be rather surprised to get one. He pushed aside the paper-laden desk and rolled up the threadbare bookshop carpet. There was a small circle chalked on the floorboards underneath, surrounded by suitable passages from the Cabala. The angel lit seven candles, which he placed ritually at certain points around the circle. Then he lit some incense, which was not necessary but did make the place smell nice.And then he stood in the circle and said the Words. Nothing happened. He said the Words again. Eventually a bright blue shaft of light shot down from the ceiling and filled the circle. A well-educated voice said, “Well?” “It’s me, Aziraphale.” “We know,” said the voice. “I’ve got great news! I’ve located the Antichrist! I can give you his address and everything!” There was a pause. The blue light flickered. “Well?” it said again. “But, d'you see, you can ki—can stop it all happening! In the nick of time! You’ve only got a few hours! You can stop it all and there needn’t be the war and everyone will be saved!” He beamed madly into the light. “Yes?” said the voice. “Yes, he’s in a place called Lower Tadfield, and the address—” “Well done,” said the voice, in flat, dead tones. “There doesn’t have to be any of that business with one third of the seas turning to blood or anything,” said Aziraphale happily. When it came, the voice sounded slightly annoyed. “Why not?” it said. Aziraphale felt an icy pit opening under his enthusiasm, and tried to pretend it wasn’t happening. He plunged on: “Well, you can simply make sure that—” “We will win, Aziraphale.” “Yes, but-” “The forces of darkness must be beaten. You seem to be under a misapprehension. The point is not to avoid the war, it is to win it. We have been waiting a long time, Aziraphale.” Aziraphale felt the coldness envelop his mind. He opened his mouth to say, “Do you think perhaps it would be a good idea not to hold the war on Earth?” and changed his mind. “I see,” he said grimly. There was a scraping near the door, and if Aziraphale had been looking in that direction he would have seen a battered felt hat trying to peer over the fanlight. “This is not to say you have not performed well,” said the voice. “You will receive a commendation. Well done.” “Thank you,” said Aziraphale. The bitterness in his voice would have soured milk. “I’d forgotten about ineffability, obviously.” “We thought you had.” “May I ask,” said the angel, “to whom have I been speaking?” The voice said, “We are the Metatron.”* “Oh, yes. Of course. Oh. Well. Thank you very much. Thank you.” Behind him the letterbox tilted open, revealing a pair of eyes. “One other thing,” said the voice. “You will of course be joining us, won’t you?” “Well, er, of course it has been simply ages since I’ve held a flaming sword—” Aziraphale began. “Yes, we recall,” said the voice. “You will have a lot of opportunity to relearn.” “Ah. Hmm. What sort of initiating event will precipitate the war?” said Aziraphale. “We thought a multi-nation nuclear exchange would be a nice start.” “Oh. Yes. Very imaginative.” Aziraphale’s voice was flat and hopeless. “Good. We will expect you directly, then,” said the voice. “Ah. Well. I’ll just clear up a few business matters, shall I?” said Aziraphale desperately. “There hardly seems to be any necessity,” said the Metatron. Aziraphale drew himself up. “I really feel that probity, not to say morality, demands that as a reputable businessman I should-” “Yes, yes,” said the Metatron, a shade testily. “Point taken. We shall await you, then.”The light faded, but did not quite vanish. They’re leaving the line open, Aziraphale thought. I’m not getting out of this one. “Hallo?” he said softly, “Anyone still there?” There was silence. Very carefully, he stepped over the circle and crept to the telephone. He opened his notebook and dialed another number. After four rings it gave a little cough, followed by a pause, and then a voice which sounded so laid back you could put a carpet on it said, “Hi. This is Anthony Crowley. Uh. I—” “Crowley!” Aziraphale tried to hiss and shout at the same time, “Listen! I haven’t got much time! The—” “—probably not in right now, or asleep, and busy, or something, but—” “Shutup! Listen! It was in Tadfield! It’s all in that book! You’ve got to stop—” “—after the tone and I’ll get right back to you. Chow.” “I want to talk to you now—” BeeeEEeeeEEeee “Stop making noises! It’s in Tadfield! That was what I was sensing! You must go there and—” He took the phone away from his mouth. “Bugger!” he said. It was the first time he’d sworn in more than four thousand years. Hold on. The demon had another line, didn’t he? He was that kind of person. Aziraphale fumbled in the book, nearly dropping it on the floor. They would be getting impatient soon. He found the other number. He dialed it. It was answered almost immediately, at the same time as the shop’s bell tingled gently. Crowley’s voice, getting louder as it neared the mouthpiece, said, “ — really mean it. Hallo?” “Crowley, it’s me!” “Ngh.” The voice was horribly noncommittal. Even in his present state, Aziraphale sensed trouble. “Are you alone?” he said cautiously. “Nuh. Got an old friend here.” “Listen-!” “Awa’ we ye, ye spawn o’ hell!” Very slowly, Aziraphale turned around.

Shadwell was trembling with excitement. He’d seen it all. He’d heard it all. He hadn’t understood any of it, but he knew what people did with circles and candlesticks and incense. He knew that all right. He’d seen The Devil Rides Out fifteen times, sixteen times if you included the time he’ d been thrown out of the cinema for shouting his unflattering opinions of amateur witchfinder Christopher Lee. The buggers were using him. They’ d been making fools out o’ the glorious traditions o’ the Army. “I’ll have ye, ye evil bastard!” he shouted, advancing like a moth-eaten avenging angel. “I ken what ye be about, comin’ up here and seducin’ wimmen to do yer evil will!” “I think perhaps you’ve got the wrong shop,” said Aziraphale. “I’ll call back later,” he told the receiver, and hung up. “I could see what yer were aboot,” snarled Shadwell. There were flecks of foam around his mouth. He was more angry than he could ever remember. “Er, things are not what they seem—” Aziraphale began, aware even as he said it that as conversational gambits went it lacked a certain polish. “I bet they ain’t!” said Shadwell triumphantly. “No, I mean-” Without taking his eyes off the angel, Shadwell shuffled backwards and grabbed the shop door, slamming it hard so that the bell jangled. “Bell,” he said. He grabbed The Nice and Accurate Prophecies and thumped it down heavily on the table. “Book” he snarled. He fumbled in his pocket and produced his trusty Ronson. “Practically candle!” he shouted, and began to advance. In his path, the circle glowed with a faint blue light. “Er,” said Aziraphale, “I think it might not be a very good idea to—” Shadwell wasn’t listening. “By the powers invested in me by virtue o’ my office o’ Witchfinder,” he intoned, “I charge ye to quit from this place—” “You see, the circle—” “—and return henceforth to the place from which ye came, pausin’ not to—” “—it would really be unwise for a human to set foot in it without—” “—and deliver us frae evil—” “Keep out of the circle, you stupid man!” “—never to come again to vex—” “Yes, yes, but please keep out of—” Aziraphale ran toward Shadwell, waving his hands urgently. “- returning NAE MORE!” Shadwell finished. He pointed a vengeful, black-nailed finger. Aziraphale looked down at his feet, and swore for the second time in five minutes. He’d stepped into the circle. “Oh, fuck,” he said.There was a melodious twang, and the blue glow vanished. So did Aziraphale.

* The Voice of God. But not the voice of God. A entity in its own right. Rather like a Presidential spokesman.

#Good Omens