#I noticed it the most towards the end when he literally talked over aziraphale something he would have never done before

[spiderwing-nightman]

good omens season 2 spoilers

I've seen the coffee theory and I've seen a bunch of people explain why they don't like it and I mostly agree with them (I do believe that Aziraphale is being heavily manipulated and what we saw of the coffee shop scene isn't the whole story), and one of the main reasons I don't enjoy the coffee theory is because of the agency it takes away from Aziraphale, but also things this season were off and odd. I've been rewatching and I keep pointing out moments that should have had more payoff or just don't add up, especially if you watch interviews with David Tennant and Michael Sheen because they say things that just Didn't happen. I think the coffee theory doesn't fit tonally with the season, and it wouldn't give us the proper pay off for all the questions we're left with and all the oddities of the season. Don't get me wrong there are a lot of Strange things about this show in general but this season went beyond them straight into something is off territory. From the first episode I knew something was wrong, possibly with every character, and rewatching I'm only noticing more moments (of course some of those things, like how I thought something was up with Beelzebub, get resolved, but for the most part). It speaks of something bigger happening all throughout the season, rather than just right at the end. Gabriel tells us something big is coming from the beginning and I think his arrival wasn't the start of the something big coming. I don't know I just see too many things that don't add up for it to be just that last scene, I think Heaven has been actively manipulating Aziraphale for a long time (and it has something to do with the minisodes) and that end was the first step to their end goal.

#good omens #good omens season 2 #gos2 spoilers #idk to me at least aziraphale was acting strange for a lot of the season #it wasn't a lot mostly just some weird things he said or did #he was close enough to in character that at first I brushed it off as hes still finding his purpose #but after that finale im not sure #and Crowley was also not perfectly in character either #I noticed it the most towards the end when he literally talked over aziraphale something he would have never done before #I think crowley's also being manipulated by heaven #not to the same extent as aziraphale but definitely manipulated #(I kind of enjoy the theory that heaven is trying to get Crowley back through aziraphale) (I didn't used to love Crowley is a high ranking #angel theories but that seems to be the direction we're going os im gong with it) #also Maggie creeps me out #there's something not right with her #at all #not the way she acts or speaks or responds to things #I could probably write a whole essay about all the weird things about her and still be missing things

[sons-of-the-morning-star]

I've put this off long enough

This is Chapter/Episode 2 of Sons of The Morning Star: Habilitation

It is a very nice morning in the Wagner-Thorn-Langdon-Kline-Young house, FROM THE OUTSIDE, AT LEAST.

Inside, emotional tensions are high, with Michael and Lucius having another glare down, Jack struggling to get Dog to let go of a plate, and Damien struggling to get Adam out of his room. It has been less than a week, and the news don't know about the future Senator's new home life.

Yet.

Damien gives another knock on Adam's door, trying his damndest to not lose his mind.

"Adam, come on. We're about to eat breakfast, the food's gonna get cold, and you need to eat. GET. UP."

"I'll eat later," Adam calls from on his bed, though if this was an actual TV show, we'd only see Damien at the door. "Leave me alone."

Damien groans, "Fine." With a twitchy eye, he joins the others for breakfast.

Michael and Lucius avoid each other as best as they can while Jack smiles at Damien, successful at getting his plate back.

"Still no luck with him. He won't come out."

"Let him starve, then," Michael scoffs. "Maybe Crowley and Azriel can come pick him up and adopt him."

"Aziraphale," Jack corrects.

"Whatever."

Jack deflates, but finishes his breakfast and turns to Lucius.

"So anything interesting planned today?"

Lucius writes a message and slides it to Jack. 'Just a couple meetings. Nothing special.'

"Well, you'll always have us to call, if you get bored. And Damien."

Lucius groans as Damien grabs his things.

"Okay, I'm heading out. Michael, Jack, please don't kill each other and make sure Adam eats, got it?"

Both nod, though Jack is more enthusiastic, and Damien turns to Lucius and gives him a one armed hug.

"Have a nice day at work, honey!"

Jack and Michael burst into a fit of laughter as Damien dodges a punch from Lucius and leaves the house.

Lucius leaves soon after, telling the two to keep an eye on Adam and Dog, and to keep the radio on incase they hear anything new.

Michael nods and Jack full on agrees, waving his phone to Lucius and offering again that if he gets bored, he can call.

Lucius leaves and Michael gets up and grabs his coat.

"Where are you going? We're supposed to stay here and keep an ear out for any news."

"Lucius is not our father."

"He is now. And Damien," Jack states matter-of-factly.

"Neither of them are here. And what will you do to stop me from leaving? Flood the continent? Cause a plague? Start a world wide famine?"

When Jack doesn't have answer, Michael smirks and leaves.

If this was a TV episode, the camera would follow and face Michael as he leaves the house and revels in his small victory, and would show that the window to Adam's room is opened, something for astute viewers to notice.

CUT TO LUCIUS!

Lucius is having a time of it as he can barely concentrate, but still tries to listen.

It TOTALLY has to do with the fact he is now a father.

One of his campaigning partners is talking about people's sightings of people with wings and graffiti of pentecosts(THAT'S the evil, devil, Satan symbol, not a pentagram. A pentagram, the avatar/profile pic for this Tumblr, is a wiccan, pagan symbol for protection) on court houses and churches, when his phone rings.

He puts it on silent, and shows himself doing it, but he still gets phone calls.

His 'staff' tell him it's okay, and he opens a FaceTime-esque call from- guess. Just guess.

"Lucius? Is that you? Can you hear me?"

Lucius nods as he fights the growing urge to smash his cellphone on the ground.

"Michael left. He told me not to bother telling you, but I am anyway because he's not listening at all."

"Mr. Wagner, who is that?" One of his campaign advisers asks.

Before Lucius can hang up, Jack shouts out, "Who are you talking to? Are you working? CAN I SEE!?"

More advisers speak up and Lucius cringes as he turns his phone and reveals Jack, who's covered in flour and chocolate and some peanut butter; a surprise for Lucius when he gets home.

"Who are you?"

"Jack Kline," Jack replies. "Lucius adopted me and the rest of our broth-"

Lucius hangs up, turns off his phone, and tosses it on to a near by table with coffee and refreshments on it.

'What were you saying about all the vandalism recently?'

His staff, however, isn't listening, now more eager on the fact that Lucius has adopted someone, or multiple people, and taken them into his care.

"Mr. Wagner, what if we show the public you're caring these orphans? Your brothers? We have heard complaints lately that you're coming off as an 'iron fist' sort of guy."

Lucius is literally speechless, groaning into his hands as they pitch more ideas, even noting that if he stops the vandalisms and shows his 'soft' side to the public, he'll get more supporters.

CUT TO DAMIEN!

On the topic of these vandalisms, Damien has to take pictures of the symbols for the newspapers and online articles, noting that he could draw some better than what the 'artists' have done.

One in particular makes him freeze, and makes the hair on the back of his neck stand on end:

A message written in white paint and surrounded by crosses and with what looks like blood underlining the letters. Beneath it is a bowl, a really large bowl, of water:

God help the sons of the devil. Save them from damnation, or let them battle for eternity.

It unsettles him, to say the least, and he goes to wash it off with the water.

ONLY TO BURN HIMSELF AS HIS FINGERS DIP INTO THE BOWL.

Yes. Someone put HOLY WATER under this message.

Damien resolves to simply take a picture, with his phone not his camera, and leave, running into Michael.

"What are you doing here? You're supposed to be home watching Adam and Jack!"

"Sorry, Brother dearest, I don't really HAVE to listen to you."

"If I get home and the house is in ashes-"

"Relax," Michael shrugs as he begins to walk away. "Knowing Jack, he probably doesn't even know how to blink."

He chuckles, but stops as he passes by the creepy, holy water message, not looking at it, but feeling the holy water and the crosses.

And the blood, which he inspects, and finds is from a lamb.

It goes from bad to worse when they notice a pair of men striding toward them.

Damien leads Michael away, warning him, "Ignore them. Hopefully they just walk away."

Neither do, even when the two begin walking faster.

When the two males start gaining, and when one unsheathes a flaming dagger, the brothers make a run for it, but the men give chase.

"What the hell is they're problem!?" Michael snarks, "Why are they following us!?"

"Just keep running!" Damien barks back.

They round a corner, and Michael throws a ball of fire, hitting the unarmed male in the arm, the fire making him howl more than the average person.

The armed male, however, manages a slash across Michael's chest, just enough to leave him heavily wounded.

With Michael now useless, Damien slings him over his shoulders and races for a store full of people, using some telekinesis to throw a stream of water in a foutain to throw off the armed man pursuing them.

He stops when everyone is staring, the man, who I'm aure you've realized by now is an angel, stands in place, unaware of what to do.

"Go 'head," Damien eggs on. "Do it. You can kill us, but wanna try doing it infront of everyone here!?"

The angel eyes all the people, who are whispering and have their phones out, before glaring at Damien and a now standing Michael, sheathing his dagger, and storming away, miracling around a corner to avoid detection.

Both breathe a sigh of relief as they take a seat.

"Any idea on what just happened?"

Michael huffs and rubs some hair out of his face. "Take a guess. Why do Crowley and Aziraphale want was to stay together?"

TV perspective time as the camera zooms in on Damien, who looks over at the wall the angel vanished behind and then down at his feet.

With growing dread music, CUT TO JACK!!!!

Jack is humming as he takes out a tray of chocolate chip cookies, where we that he's also baked 'Welcome Home' cakes, pies, cupcakes, and just about anything else he can think of; don't worry, he made sure to keep the kitchen spotless.

He sets the cookies on the stovetop to cool and admires all the pastries, which makes Aziraphale applaud; he decided to pay Jack a visit because he's the most pleasant, and is closest with Adam.

Speaking of whom, Jack notices the time and calls out to him.

"Hey, Adam! You getting hungry?" He knocks on Adam's bedroom door, ever the good big brother. "I can make you a sandwich, if you want. Grilled cheese, PB and J, bacon-lettuce-tomatoe, even a breakfast sand..."

Jack opens Adam's door to find there's no Adam or Dog in sight and the window is wide open.

CUT TO LUCIUS, who's screaming into a bathroom sink full of water because his campaign officers won't shut up about painting him in a good light to appeal to people's emotions.

He pulls his face out of the water and dries off, growling on frustration when he gets a call from Jack(possibly the hundredth call that day).

This time, when Lucius answers, he sees Jack running with Aziraphale beside him.

"Lucius, hi! How's your day? Great! We're fine! I don't know where Adam is, so Aziraphale and I are looking for him!"

It hits Lucius like a ton of bricks as he writes, 'I thought he was in his room!?'

"So did we, dear boy," Aziraphale replies. "However, he must have left while no one was looking!"

Lucius starts to wonder why no one's kept an eye on him, until he realizes who ALSO left the house and hangs up on Jack, who objects to the action, to call Michael.

CUT TO MICHAEL AND DAMIEN! The two are having lunch in the food court of the mall to shake off the adrenaline of being chased by killer angels, when Lucius calls.

Michael, reluctantly, answers and waves at him, not talking because his mouth is full.

'YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO WATCH ADAM AND JACK! WHY DID YOU LEAVE!?'

"Calm down, Lucius," Damien groans. "In case you haven't noticed, we've been having a bad day, too."

'Where are you!?'

"Having lunch at a crowded mall because we got attacked by angels."

Lucius furrows his brow in confusion and Damien sends the picture of the creepy graffiti he found.

"Saw it while I was working on an article. Guess we're not as evasive as we thought."

As Lucius inspects it, Michael explains, "The red is lamb's blood, and there's holy water in the bowl. I think someone or something doesn't want us around."

Lucius shakes his head and writes/sends/signs, 'Do either of you know where Adam is? Jack said he ran away.'

"And where's Jack?"

'Looking for him with Aziraphale.'

"So now Jack AND Adam are gone?" Michael gapes.

All three jump out of their skin when Crowley shouts, "WHAT!?" and throws open the bathroom door.

Michael hisses out of emotional-esque pain and Damien groans into his hands as Crowley takes the phone from Lucius and gets really close to it.

"Where are those two right now!?"

"Like we just said, we don't know," Damien replies. "Adam ran away with Dog, so Jack and Aziraphale are going-"

"AZIRAPHALE'S OUT THERE, TOO!?"

Crowley drops the phone on the floor, something we see from Michael's and Damien's perspective, as he shouts, "Hold on, angel, I'm coming!"

With Lucius, the Wagner senator picks up his phone and gulps as he puts all the pieces together:

The message sent by Damien was written by angels, who know that all five brothers are on Earth, and are now planning to wipe them off the face of the planet, whether because of the grand plan or because each can cause the apocalypse, or because Jack and Adam fucked up bringing the apocalypse.

Eother way, he writes to Damien and Michael to, 'FIND THEM NOW.' and hangs up before he sprints out of the bathroom and out of the building, telling his lead secretary to cancel every single one of his plans because of a family emergency.

Now, I lnow what you're wondering, "Where's Adam right now? Did Gabriel get to him first?"

No, silly goose, he's fine.

Adam is walking through the streets with dog at his side, growling at anyone that gets too close. He's been crying for a while, but has stopped now because he just wants to walk and not think about London, which is hard because it's everyone's favorite subject at the moment.

He also wants to get away from his new brothers for a little while. In his mind:

Lucius is not around at all, and when he is, he's kimd of creepy with the whole "not talking" thing.

Damien's too pushy and doesn't give him space to be emotional or get used to his new environment.

Michael's just an asshole- not his words, but true all the same.

And... well, there's no real complaint with Jack. He's okay.

But not even Jack's good nature can change Adam's opinions on the rest of his new brothers.

It doesn't help that Aziraphale and Crowley can't just adopt him, either, because they don't know how his powers fully work, hence why they gave him to the other four.

Too lost in his head, Adam does not notice a trying-not-to-be-angry Gabriel walk up to him from behind, hiding a bottle of holy water as he says, "Hello, Adam."

Adam turns and pales. "Gabriel!? What are you doing here!?"

"I just wanted to check on you. See if you were ready try again with armageddon, all things considered."

Adam backs away, now very disturbed. "Stay away from me," he stammers.

Thank goodness Dog is more observant and bites the bastard, which gets Adam to focus and makes him realize NOW is a good time to run like hell.

He smacks Gabriel with his backpack and flees with Dog following. Gabriel is behind as he clutches his hand before giving chase, cursing that he can't miracle to Adam, that power being taken away from him since his 'falling out,' so he's left to run to chase after Adam, which draws a lot of negative attention, I must say.

Doesn't matter, though, because Adam is simultaneously loosing Gabriel and seeing that he's gaining on him.

That's when a hand grabs his arm and pulls him into a nearby store, throwing him behind a shelf of souvenirs, i.e. knickknacks and plushies, and a rack of keychains.

Gabriel looks through the window and bamgs his forehead against it before leaving, scowling as he trudges away.

Adam watches him as the male that pulled him whistles at the pouting angel.

"I knew Gabriel was always too eager to wear his big boy pants. Glad to see he hasn't changed. Evn though I knew he wouldn't."

Adam looks up at him, a sort of short, kind of stumpy man that looks kind of like if Aziraphale had actually taken being an archangel seriously; culry hair that's a dirty blond-ish, brown, alert eyes that see nothing and everything all at once, dark, sharp clothes, and a know-it-all smirk as he holds a hand out for Adam.

If you watched the show Lucifer on Netflix, you know EXACTLY who this guy is.

Dog doesn't growl at this guy, sensing that he's not going to hurt them.

"Sorry to scare you like that, Adam. I'm your uncle, but please just call me Uriel."

Adam lets Uriel help him up, now really confused.

"How do you know my name?"

"Father's talked a lot about you and your brothers, and I just wanted to see you myself. See just how busy my brother got while he visited this planet." Uriel looks out the window and fights a smirk. "Speaking of brother..."

Cue Jack and Aziraphale racing down the sidewalk as fast as they can before Jack spots Adam and sprints into the store with Aziraphale on his tail. Both are tired, both are a litttle sweaty, but they're so happy to see Adam is okay.

"Adam, there we are!" Jack cries as he and Adam hug and Jack spins him as they do. "We were so worried! I didn't hear you in your room, I'm so sorry!"

Aziraphale lants and simply gives a wave before pushing both boys behind him.

"Uriel."

"Aziraphale. Nice to see you."

The two have a stare down before Aziraphale asks, "Are you going to lead us to a trap or some kind? You know as well as I do there isn't any sort of plan to-"

"Don't talk to me about plans, Aziraphale. I'm the guy who actually MAKES them."

It silences Aziraphale and the brotjers a little on edge.

"Anyway, your brothers will be walking aroumd the corner a block away in about five minutes in the same direction you and Aziraphale were running down. Better get going."

Jack nods and thanks Uriel, leading Adam down the street.

Aziraphale eyes Uriel for a little bit before following the boys, to keep them safe.

Uriel's power holds true as the three meet Damien and Michael.

They all catch each other up as they walk to try and catch a bus.

There are angels in the city and a lot of them don't want the brothers around.

"But Uriel helped me hide from Gabriel. I don't think he wants to hurt us," Adam wonders.

Cue some major confusion from Jack and Michael not wanting to deal with all this because, "We've already got London and the Southwest to worry about. We don't need a bounty on our heads."

The brothers don't have time to think on it because every parent's worst nightmare happens when an angel strides up behind them and throws something down, maybe a holy water bottle and powdered salt to make the brothers back away before flying off with Adam.

The only one to see it happen is Aziraphale and Dog barks at the sky where his master was taken.

The brothers compose themselves and are silent as they realize what's happened.

Not all is lost as Michael gets a text from Crowley on his phone: an address to an old church that was closed down because of poor funding and evrn worse staff that didn't practice what they preached.

Transition from a taxi cab to A few minutes ago and a jet black car SPEEDING down the street fast enough to make Crowley proud, which he is, as Lucius gets filled in on the situation by Damien.

He's actually heading to what could be a very solid guess to where the angel has taken Adam, and Crowley shouts at him to, "Step on it!" when Aziraphale brings up Gabriel and Uriel.

Funny he brings up Uriel, because Lucius has been following him wherever he appears, the archangel having told him about finding Adam and that Lucius needs to trust him to keep Adam safe.

They wind up at an abandoned church, which Crowley hisses at and makes Lucius gag from the sudden nausea, and the senator steps out, gesturing for Crowley to wait in the car.

"Be careful in there."

Lucius gives a thumbs up and leaves, though, TV perspective, the camera would linger on Crowley as he notices a car approach through the rear view mirror.

CUT to Lucius carefully walking up to the church doors as he forces back coughs and gags as he tries opening the door. Key word is tries because it's locked, though he does here someone complaining about how, "The brat has sharp teeth," and, "He won't stop kicking."

To which Gabriel replies, "Just hold him down and keep him quiet."

Stealth time as Lucius ditches the door and walks to the side of the church and climbs up a pipe to reach a window, damn near falling to his death as the pipe gives and falls and leaving him to grab onto and dangle from the leadge of the window as two angels come to inspect.

Lucius scrambles inside and just barley avoids getting caught as he hides against the wall, having a clear view of the inside of the church.

Two angels are working on a salt and lamb's blood symbol much like the one Aziraphale made, the one that sent him to Heavan on accident, as a third angel holds onto a struggling Adam and Gabriel supervises.

The two 'scouts' report that they didn't find anything, just a pipe that broke, which Gabriel comments may have been because of a fat raccoon, and even smells the air a little, before turning to Adam.

Lucius sneaks closer as he watches Gabriel take a small amount of blood from Adam and drip it onto the angel symbol, activating it so it can rid Adam of the devil inside him, aka remove his soul, aka kill him.

LUCIUS IS HAVING NONE OF THAT.

He shakes his head and leaps off the upper level he's been hiding on, landing directly ontop of Gabriel, who throws him off and onto the ground

Lucius wheezes as he sees the abundance of crosses around them and a large bowl if holy water, one that used to be used for baptizing children. He also sees Gabriel dip his fingers into it before kneeling down to get a better look at this new demon that arrived univited.

"Lucius Wagner. I thought I smelled smoke." He flicks his fingers at Lucius, who hisses at the holy water as it touches his skin. "You're oddly more... pleasant to look at than I thought you would be. Then again, evil has a way of looking good, doesn't it?"

Lucuis smirks and signs to him, 'No wonder Heaven doesn't want you either, then.'

Gabriel smacks him for this and checks to see if the symbol is done, which it is, so he orders the three free angels to scout around the church, so no one else interrupts the brothers being exorcised.

Too bad the three can't seem to get the door open, even though they're the ones who locked it.

When the door doesn't budge, Gabriel and the other angels join, leaving Lucius and Adam unguarded, the former crawling towards the bowl of holy water as Adam scooches away from the angel symbol as much as he can, even toward the bowl as well, despite the blistering he feels all over.

Cut to Gabriel trying to open the door and suddenly feeling a little weak as he tries breaking the door, wondering what's going on.

CUT TO OUTSIDE AS AZIRAPHALE AND A SNICKERING URIEL HOLD THE DOOR, HAVING MIRACLED AHEAD OF DAMIEN AND JACK, AS MICHAEL REJOINS THEM, SAYING HE WILL NOT BE PLAYING SANTA CLAUS AGAIN ANYTIME SOON!!!😁

Cut back to inside the church, where Lucius pulls a cross down on the alter and starts getting a little more strength back before he picks up Adam.

Two fallen crosses will have to be enough to allow him some strength as he holds Adam and kicks the bowl of holy water, which washes away the angel symbol and seeps away through the floor boards.

Gabriel sees and hear this and shouts, "No!"

Lucius switches his grip on his brother as he holds up a flaming hand, glaring at the angels.

They retaliate by snagging crosses and charging forward.

Too bad Lucius is good at thinking on his toes and fans some fire out to the back wall behind the alter, which is lined with tapestry and wood.

The flames catch at rise, scaring away the angels and a scowling Gabriel, who has a glare down with Lucius as he carries an unbound Adam in both arms.

Cut to outside as the fire grows. News reporters, police officers, and our squad are outside as firefighters rush in.

Jack is racing between people to get a better look at the tragedy and then holds his hands out before Damien stops him.

"Relax, they're going to be okay."

"But how do you-"

The firefighters race out with an unconscious Gabriel and a coughing, hunched over Lucius, who's still holding Adam. All three are covered in soot and everyone notices that Adam and Lucius are a little injured, but Gabriel is unharmed.

When news reporters crowd Lucius, who is seated in an ambulance and given a shock blanket as he refuses to have Adam taken out of his arms, they start asking the basic and REAL questions:

"Mr. Wagner, were you attacked just now?"

"Did you jump into a burning building to save this boy?"

"Do you know the man that attacked you?"

"Who is the boy you saved?"

"Is it true you adopted three boys into your care?"

"Are you in any ki d of relationship at the moment?"

Before Lucius can answer, Jack plows through with Michael and Damien in toe, Jack hugging a now conscious Adam and Lucius and apologizing for not being a good brother.

Also cue Dog jumping up and kissing Adam and even Lucius.

The press gets a lot of pictures of this, and Damien hugging Lucius, calling him, "snuggle-bug" as he hugs him.

The police see Lucius giving the, 'I'm done, make them stop' signal, and start pushing everyone away, telling them he'd like time alone with his family.

But not after one more question:

"Mr. Wagner, is this your family?"

Lucius nods with a smile, nodding at Jack, Damien, Michael, and Adam.

He also types on his phone to them all, 'No more running away, okay?'

They all agree.

The "episode" ends with Gabriel being locked up in a jail cell for araon and assaulting a politician and a minor and the brothers returning home from the hospital after Lucius and Adam are checked out at the hospital.

There they see all the desserts in a spotless kitchen, surprising Michael and making Lucius start warming up to having a family.

#crossover #sons of the morning star #adam young #damien thorn #jack kline #lucius wagner #michael langdon #ahs #good omens #supernatural #Lucius #american horror story #child endanderment tw #evil angels #lucifer show #the omen

[pengychan]

[Good Omens] Winging It - Luke 1:19

Summary: Shockingly, attempting to destroy an angel without consulting God first comes with consequences. There is more than one way to fall, and a thousand more ways to inconvenience an angel and a demon who just wanted to be left in peace. Characters: Gabriel, Crowley, Aziraphale, Beelzebub, Michael, Uriel, Sandalphon Rating: T  

Prologue and all chapters are tagged as ‘winging it’ on my blog.

A/N: Almost done! It's not quite wrapped up - an epilogue is coming - but we're almost there!

***

“I say you should let me destroy him.”

“It was not his fault. One of yours was controlling him.”

“Demons cannot create darkness from nothing. They always work on what’s already there, to make it grow and take hold. Hastur will be punished once I get my hands on him, but this human is not innocent either.”

“No one is innocent, that can hardly be held against him. Without the heavy-handed intervention of a Duke of Hell, any dark thoughts he may have had would have remained thoughts, never acted upon. Not the way things played out, at any rate.”

“Does it make any difference?”

“It does, and you know it. All the difference in the world,” was the reply. Beelzebub scoffed, but did not argue further. They just crossed their arms and stayed behind as Gabriel stepped right in front of the man who had stabbed him, who stood still with a horrified expression on his face. 

Gabriel picked up the knife that had been dropped on the ground, pocketed it, and pressed a hand on the man’s forehead. The horrified expression melted into a distant, blank gaze. 

“Now, if you please,” he said. Several steps away, with the expression of someone who’d rather be quite literally anywhere else in creation - except, perhaps, in the presence of Satan himself - Crowley lifted a hand and snapped his fingers, undoing the time-stopping miracle he’d conjured.

Right away, the stillness was broken. People who’d stopped mid-stride began moving again, cries of alarm that had been cut short rang out once again, and the man - Noah, was it? - staggered back, blinking at Gabriel as though he had no idea how he’d even come to be there. 

From his part, Gabriel gave him a wide, stupid smile. Blood had been miracled away almost as soon as the two of them had broken apart - which did, admittedly, take a minute or two - but the front of his suit was red regardless. To be entirely honest, when he’d asked Aziraphale for some red ink and then proceeded to splash it on the front of his suit, they all had looked at him like he had lost his mind. Beelzebub had thought God had taken his brain in exchange for the wings, but now they could at least see what the archangel had been planning. 

“Noah!” said archangel was exclaiming, face lighting up. “Long time no see! How are you?”

The man blinked another couple of times, reaching up to rub his head. “What am I doing-- where-- wait, I… I remember you, don’t I? You gave me your coat. But what just… my head...”

“Sir! Are you all right! What is-- oh.” 

A man - one of several humans who’d quickly approached to see what was happening, or at least had begun to before Crowley so conveniently stopped time - stopped in his tracks. Gabriel grinned. “Ah, I’m fine, I’m fine! I didn’t watch where I was going and the gentleman here knocked me over, that is all. Entirely by accident.”

“Oh. It... it looked like--” a few pairs of eyes paused on the red stain on Gabriel’s clothing.

"An unfortunate end for an ink cartridge, I am afraid, but no harm done other than that."

“Ah.” A long sigh, while Noah kept looking around in obvious confusion. “Ah, thank God. For a moment we thought you were wounded.”

“Thank God indeed, I am not wounded,” Gabriel replied, voice smooth, and reached to put an arm around Noah’s shoulders. “But forget the ink, I think we should catch up…”

The young man - who would soon leave Soho with a dulling headache, still unsure of what had happened, and with a winning lottery ticket in the back pocket of his jeans - followed, and the crowd dispersed, the incident closed as far as humanity was concerned.

Well. Most of humanity, at any rate.

***

“More tea, Warlock?”

“You gave me three cups already.”

“Right. Right. It is cold by now, isn’t it? I will make more.”

“... Brother Francis. You do realize I am not going to stop asking what the hell happened just because you keep giving me tea, right?”

Ah. Well. Perhaps it had been a slightly foolish hope, that. Tea did have a tendency to smooth over a lot of trouble, but that was probably a little beyond its scope. “Well,” he said, putting up a smile. “I for one would very much appreciate it if you could

“That bloke had wings.”

“Yes, well--”

“And he was stabbed, but then he was fine.”

“You see--”

“And that was not normal lighting.”

“Actually, I was just reading about this interesting phenomena calling ball lighting--”

“And you had wings,” Warlock cut him off once again, glancing over where Aziraphale’s wings would be if he hadn’t temporarily tucked them away on another plane of existence. “Where did you put them?”

“That is… quite the handful of questions.”

“A lot of weird shit happened.”

“Language, young man.”

“You tell me what happened, and I’ll start talking like a duke.”

“Not like the duke who caused this mess, I should hope,” Crowley spoke up, walking - more like sauntering, he never walked like that when he was his nanny - back into the bookstore. Brother Francis, whom Warlock was beginning to suspect was not called Brother Francis at all, finally set down the tea pot to look back at him. 

“Is everything sorted?”

“Yes. Nothing of consequence happened, happily ever after, and most importantly Beelzebub and the Archangel Fucking Gabriel have left.”

“Actually, I am still here.”

“Gah!” Crowley yelped, actually leaping a couple of feet up in the air before turning. The bloke-who’d-been-stabbed-and-then-suddenly-had-wings was standing in the doorway, the splatters of red ink gone from his suit and wings no longer visible. He looked… rather pleased with himself for the reaction he’d solicited. “Why are you still here? Wait, is Beelzebub--?”

“They are off to find the runaway, luckily for you. Your forked tongue keeps slipping far too often, Crowley. Keep that up and you may end up giving your little rouse away, sunshine.”

“Sunshine, me? Have you hit your--” Crowley began, only to trail off as though struck in the face. “Ah. Fuck,” he muttered, the annoyance giving way to something a lot more similar to fear. Behind Warlock, Brother Francis cleared his throat, passing the tea pot from one hand to the other and then back again.

“When… when did you figure it out?” he asked. That bunch of weirdos was making less and less sense with each passing moment.

“The third or fourth time he added that expletive between my title and my name in my presence, I suppose.” The man grinned, more than a touch smug, before shrugging. “You need not worry. I will make no mention of it with anyone.”

“We’d be… grateful if you didn’t,” Brother Francis said.

“Speak for yourself,” Crowley muttered, clearly mightily annoyed.

“I owe you too much to do such a thing.” The man made a gesture as though to zip his mouth shut. “My lips are sealed. Ah, and I am glad to see the young man is all right, of course.” The man nodded towards Warlock. “I’m relieved you were unharmed.”

“Huh. I… yeah. That’s gonna be a fun story to tell a therapist one day. Thanks for pulling me out of the way, I guess.”

“You are quite welcome. I am here to thank you as well, Aziraphale,” the man added, turning to Brother Francis, whose name definitely wasn’t Brother Francis after all. “For all your help.”

“Oh. It was nothing.”

“It was far more than I had any right to ask of you.”

“To be fair, you didn’t ask.”

“And you took me in anyway. You do have a lot to teach about the greater good after all, but I assume you’d prefer not to be further involved in the workings upstairs. Am I correct?”

A nod. “Quite correct, as a matter of fact.”

“Well then, I will leave you be. Time to see if I learned the lesson I was meant to learn, I suppose.”

“... Back to your hold position, then?”

“I suppose. I will have to see what Metatron will tell me once I return to Heaven. If I am indeed to return to my duties, I will need to serve notice at the warehouse back in Southampton.”

Ah, great. So everyone here is going insane. Cool, cool. 

As Warlock sipped lukewarm tea just to keep himself from laughing a little hysterically, the man he’d known as Brother Francis and who probably was neither thing nodded, and held out a hand. “Best of luck, then,” he smiled. “And thank you for saving Warlock. Crowley and I are quite fond of the boy. You have more than repaid any debt you may have had.” 

Behind the man Crowley opened his mouth as though to protest, paused a moment, and then begrudgingly closed it. Warlock was not entirely sure why that made him grin into the cup, but it did. Not that it kept him from yelping and dropping said cup to shatter on the floor with a loud ‘fuck’  when a bolt of lighting suddenly struck inside the bookshop, blinding him for a moment.

When he opened his eyes again, blinking a few times, the man was gone and the bolt of lightning seemed to have caused no damage. Well, aside from the shattered cup he had dropped, which now Brother Francis was picking up and… magically putting back in one piece. 

Okay. Okay. Okay. 

“What the--”

“Language if you please.” The man who had once been his family’s gardener cleared his throat, and put the mended cup on the table before glancing at Crowley. “Well, I suppose we do owe him an explanation.”

“He’s just a kid.”

“So are Adam’s friends, and they clearly could handle it.”

A sigh. “Fair,” Crowley muttered, and sat down as well before he reached up to take off his glasses. Warlock had never seen him without glasses, even when he was his nanny… and as he took a look at his eyes, he suddenly knew why. He stared, mouth hanging open, as Crowley scratched the back of his head. “All right, it’s a long story,” he began. “So, in the beginning - which is to say, the Beginning with a capital B…”

***

“Archangel Gabriel. It is good to see you again.”

“Metatron. It’s good to see you as well. Am I really meant to return to my old position?”

“That is the will of God. With immediate effect.”

“Ah, I am afraid I need some time.”

“Oh?”

“I need to hand in my notice at my current workplace. It would be unprofessional of me to simply walk away on them.”

“Ah, I see. I am certain that can be arranged - would it help if they happened to find a perfect fit for the job right after you notice is handed in?”

“It would be much appreciated.”

“Consider it done. Anything else?”

“... Does God have any instructions as to what plan I am meant to follow now?”

“You know the answer, Gabriel. You need to forget there was ever a plan, and do what you think is right. You, and everybody else.”

“We may get it wrong.”

“That’s part of the package, is it not?’

“Hah. Fair enough.”

“Rest assured, however, that any mistakes made in good faith will not be dealt with as… severely as your previous crime.”

“That is a relief. However, I ought to disclose that I have grown quite... close... to Lord Beelzebub in my time on Earth. Certainly, God must be aware.”

“God knows all, including your most questionable taste.”

“... Are those God’s own words, or…?”

“My own. But I am here to speak for God, so my apologies for the lapse.”

“Right. And… the Lord does not believe this impedes my return to duty?”

“Clearly not, if you’re standing here before me.”

“... I am not going to renounce Beelzebub. I told them as much and I will repeat it before the Lord.”

“God is aware of that as well. They have been following your eventful stay on Earth very closely. It will be interesting to see how Heaven and Hell are both going from here. Change is the only certainty going forward. That, and the fact you were never forsaken. No one ever is.”

“I understand.”

“Good. Now, Archangel Gabriel - do you wish me to announce your return?”

“No, no, no need. I believe I will drop by to see my colleagues myself.”

***

“Hastur is nowhere to be found in Hell, Lord Beelzebub.”

“Hmph, of course he’s not so dumb he’d try to return. I want everyone to know that when found, he must be captured and brought to me.”

“As you wish. On what charge?”

“He disobeyed my direct order by approaching the traitor. Now go spread the word.”

“Of course, Lord Beelzebub.”

With Dagon gone, the Prince of Hell and Lord of the Flies sat back heavily on their throne and rubbed their forehead, trying to quell a growing headache and make some sense out of the event of what was supposed to be an uneventful day, at least according to the original plan.

Plans really cannot be trusted anymore, it seems.

With a grunt, Beelzebub turned their gaze on the small table right by, where - among a few mugs of dubious taste - sat a folder. Last they had laid their eyes on it, the name Gabriel F. Archer had been written on it in blood, or rather in red ink that was purposely meant to look like blood. Now, however, the folder was blank - as were the papers in it, no doubt. There no longer was any human by that name whose sins they had to keep track of. 

There was only the Archangel Gabriel. 

By all logic, that ought to be the end of everything that there may have been between them. Except that the idiot had grasped their hands before they returned to Hell, looked at them in the eye and said, “I will not deny you”.

“Even your precious concierge upstairs denied Yeshua when push came to shove. Three times.”

“I will never.”

“What if it leads to another fall?”

“I survived the first. I can take another.”

“You’re a fool.”

“I am aware.”

Beelzebub scoffed, but a smile was curling their lips as they reached to take the blank, useless folder. It burst into flames the next moment, igniting a few of the flies buzzing around their head before they let it fall on the round - there it crumbled quietly, into ash.

***

“Ugh, where’s the folder…”

Michael rubbed her forehead with a groan, coming to the realization she was really not really meant for record-keeping. Truth be told, that was a conclusion she had come to on almost a weekly basis since Gabriel had been dismissed. She’d take on fourteen wars to end all wars rather than having to keep grappling with what had been the bulk of Gabriel’s job, but alas--

“Any particular folder you’re looking for?”

Ah, speak of the devil. Or rather, speak of the archangel. 

“The one concerning renovations of the third sphere,” Michael muttered, looking up at the wall full of… nothing but folders. Paper copies were kept even after everything had been digitized, and Michael had figured finding the physical copy would be quicker than trying her luck with the password she had written down and then misplaced a week earlier.

Gabriel chuckled. “It’s just a little on your left, fifth shelf from bottom, about midway.”

Ah, yes, there it was. “Thanks,” Michael said, and reached to take it out. 

Then she froze. And blinked. And then she slowly, slowly turned.

Standing in the doorway of his office, impeccable in a light grey suit and pink tie, Gabriel grinned. “Security has gone downhill since I left,” he said. “Just letting a mortal wander right in.”

Michael opened her mouth, but no sound came out. She worked her jaw a few moments, trying and failing to find words. “You’re not a mortal,” she finally managed. He clearly was not, giving off the kind of power only a celestial being could give. 

Gabriel’s grin widened. “No longer,” he said, and suddenly unfolded his wings, causing Michael to recoil in surprise. Not his old wings, the ones she cut and tore away herself; it was something different. The golden brown of the feathers was at odds with the immaculate white of their surroundings, but it was wings nonetheless and not the scorched black that set demons apart. The being before her was the same being she had known since almost the beginning of time. 

I am Gabriel, who stands in the presence of God.

For a long moment, Michael could only stare. Gabriel’s grin faded a little before he cleared his throat and folded his wings, maybe somewhat embarrassed by the display. “My apologies for startling you, I figured I’d--” he began, but Michael crossed the distance between them in a couple of strides, and pulled him in a tight embrace before he could add anything else.

Not something Michael was usually keen on doing, that, but she felt the situation warranted it - and as he returned it after only a moment of confusion, she knew he thought the same. “No one will take your wings ever again,” Michael heard herself saying, and Gabriel chuckled. 

“Not even if God orders so?”

“Especially not if God orders so.”

Until little less than a year earlier - the blink of an eye, really, in the context of his existence - Gabriel would have been both horrified and stunned to hear such words from Michael of all people, and would have hardly believed she meant it. Now he clearly did know she meant it, and he seemed neither horrified nor stunned. He pulled back with a smile. 

“It’s good to be back.”

“Good to have you back.” Michael cleared her throat and straightened herself, deciding she had shown enough unguarded emotion for the decade. “But… how did this occur?”

“Ah, it is a long story.” A pause. “Actually, not all that long. It happened fairly quickly, but there is some background you... rather need to hear.”

“Of course. There have been developments in Hell, too - it seems they may be harboring thoughts of--”

“I know. Beelzebub told me.”

Michael blinked. “Beelzebub… told you?”

“Yes. They brought it up during the train ride to London.”

“A train ride to London,” Michael repeated, faintly wondering if Gabriel was feeling well. Angels did not get fever and much less have fever dreams, but mortals did - a detail Michael had learned after the eleventh time her appearance had been mistaken for a such episode - and perhaps Gabriel was suffering from some… drawbacks, after almost a year spent as a mortal.

But then again, back when he had still been scared of them, the scars on his back still fresh, he did hide from Sandalphon… and behind the Lord of the Flies of all beings. 

But he’s here. God willed him back. Surely he did not fraternize… did he?

Michael opened her mouth to ask, but Gabriel lifted a hand with a sigh. “I know, I know. There is… quite a lot I have not told you about. I’ll explain everything, I promise - at least the parts of everything I understand myself. But first, I would like to visit--”

“Michael, I think I found the password!” Sandalphon’s voice rang out, causing Gabriel to trail off and turn back towards the door. Sandalphon was walking in with some papers under his arm. “You had misplaced--” he began, looking up, and trailed off. 

Gabriel grinned. “Hey,” he said, and all the papers Sandalphon had been carrying fluttered to the floor. If Michael had gone for an embrace, Sandalphon - ever devoid of sense of measures - went for a full-on tackle. Gabriel didn’t seem to mind, though, and Michael opted to push aside all worries and questions for a few minutes, especially as Uriel came to see what the mess was all about. It was rare to see her smile so openly, and Michael decided to leave it at that. After all, they just got Gabriel back. 

Everything else could be sorted out later.

***

“You son of a bitch!”

“You know, given the circumstances of who is personally and directly responsible for my existence, what you just said is about a dozen different kinds of blasph-- oof!”

Of course Gabriel couldn’t really be out of breath anymore, but if he could, Daniel’s bear hug would have knocked all air out of his lungs. He laughed, patting his back. “Nice to see you too.”

“Archangel Gabriel-- look at you, I can’t believe it,” he barked out a laugh and dropped Gabriel back on the floor. “Jesus Christ, I thought you were drunk!”

“Well, I was. Too drunk to know better than telling the truth. I’d never had alcohol before, let alone in a mortal vessel.”

“Hah! I did wonder how come a can of beer got you rambling like that. So what, I passed some sort of divine test?”

“It was no test, but if it were you’d have passed it with flying colors.” Gabriel smiled, and nodded politely towards the woman in the room with Daniel. “Liv, I presume?” he asked, but of course he already knew the answer. Daniel had a photo of his wife in his wallet, taken before the cancer diagnosis was ever uttered.

“It was probably already eating away at her, but you’d have never known looking at her,” Daniel had once said in a rare moment of talkativeness about the subject. Gabriel had agreed that the woman in the photo did indeed look radiant, and that was precisely how she looked now. Of course, most souls that make it to Heaven do. 

“That would be me. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

“Pleasure’s all mine.”

“What are you doing here?” Daniel was asking. “I mean, you were cast out - they decided to hire you again?”

“In a manner of speaking. I’ll have to hand in my notice back in Southampton, I am afraid, but I do plan to keep in touch with our colleagues. Hopefully they will all come here when their time is up. Although I must say, Łukasz is on thin ice if he keeps on putting cream in carbonara.”

“Oh, I’m sure you can put in a good word for him if needed, no?”

“Me? Ah, I don’t know. Maybe,” Gabriel replied, all fake innocence, and Daniel laughed.

“Never had a friend in a high place before. This is a nice change of pace,” he said, dropping a hand on Gabriel’s shoulder before his expression turned… a little more serious. “I’ve got to thank you for all your help. Finding my brother.”

Ah, that. “It is all right. I am only regretful he was not found on time for you to meet in person.”

A pained expression crossed Daniel’s features, there one moment and gone the next. “... Well, I do hope… he will come here? Eventually?”

“Oh, yes. He and his wife are well on track to gain access to Heaven.” Unlike your parents, Gabriel thought, but Daniel had not asked once about them and he chose not to bring them up. “Actually, they want me over for lunch next weekend. I figure I ought to go.”

“Ah, of course.” Daniel seemed to hesitate. “Tell him I said hi. I mean, I know you can’t say that, but if you could just-- try and-- let him know. You know what I mean?”

Yes, he did know. “Of course. And one day they will probably both want to smack me for not coming clean,” Gabriel said. “Ah, before I forget - would you like to have Lawrence’s old dog?”

Daniel blinked and looked over at Liv. She shrugged, at a loss. “Lawrence’s… what?”

“His old dog. It has passed away, and as all dogs find their way to Heaven, it is only a matter of finding out its name…”

***

“He’ll keep calling you Brother Francis for a while before he gets used to your name, isn’t he?”

“Most likely. I cannot  blame him, it was a lot to take in. I certainly do not mind, when it came to choosing a name I picked that of someone I do admire a great deal.”

“That weird hippy who talked to birds? Should have known when you kept welcoming pests into the garden.”

“Heh. Maybe you should have been the gardener after all, as long as you promised not to terrify the Dowlings’ poor plants too much.”

“And leave the role of nanny to you?”

“Well, why not?”

“You wouldn’t have looked half as good in that dress, angel.”

Leaning next to him on the huge bed in their cottage - Crowley had not expected Aziraphale to join him on it, truth be told, but he had no complaints; maybe the day had just been that draining - Aziraphale chuckled. “Well, I would say we did a decent job with the boy. He took it better than I expected he would, all things considered.”

“We did keep out some parts of the story.” Namely, the fact they had briefly talked about… getting rid of him, when they believed him to be the Antichrist. Not that either of them had followed through, or even wished to.

“True. But all things considered, he was more excited than anything else.”

“He’s still eleven, of course he was excited. He’ll be back with even more questions.”

Aziraphale nodded. “Maybe we could have him over here next time. At the cottage.”

“Can’t see why not.”

“... We could have wiped his memories off. Do you think he will really keep all this to himself?”

“He’ll be thrown in the madhouse if he tells, to use his own words. He’s a smart kid. Takes after me.” Crowley grinned. “He’ll keep it under wraps like Adam and his friends did. More smart kids. I wonder how they’re doing.”

“Well, I am reasonably certain we’ll find out in September. I would be very surprised if they didn’t receive a wedding invitation themselves.”

“Wedding invitation?”

“Ah, yes, it came in the mail. I forgot to bring it up - remember that dear Anathema and… Newton, I think the name is? They kindly invited us to their wedding.”

“Did they? How nice. I will need to find a good dress.”

“Don’t you upstage the bride now, you know it’s not nice.”

“I am not nice.” Crowley hissed, and Aziraphale just chuckled before he stretched. Crowley considered asking once again if he was sure Gabriel would indeed keep their secret, but decided not to. Aziraphale seemed certain, and he was… willing to trust his judgment, this time.

“Ah, perhaps this is a good occasion to find out if sleep is indeed all that you make it out to be,” Aziraphale was saying. “You’ll ensure I wake up in the morning, won’t you?”

Crowley blinked a moment, taken aback. Then Azirapahle raised an eyebrow, clearly confused by his sudden silence, and he cleared his throat with a quick nod. “Of course,” he said, having absolutely no intention to rouse Aziraphale any earlier than necessary. 

With complete control over his human form, Aziraphale was of course able to will himself to sleep within moments, his expression absolutely peaceful. Crowley could have done the same, but he… didn’t. Not yet.

A good night’s sleep was indeed all it was made out to be and then some more, but at the moment he didn’t mind staying awake just a little longer.

***

“So you were re-hired for your job? That sounds exciting. You must be happy to go back. Have more cake.”

“Ah, thank you. It did feel a lot like coming home, but it will be keeping dreadfully busy. I believe the entire business is long overdue for some rather radical changes.”

“Hmph. From what you have said before, it sounds as though you were fired without just cause.” Lawrence sipped some tea, leaning back against his seat. “I certainly hope they will not pull the same stunt again.”

“Ah, to be completely fair, there was due cause. I was simply in denial over it. Hardly anyone likes admitting to being wrong.” Gabriel took a spoonful of the block of carrot cake Berenice had just dropped on his plate, going his best to pretend he didn’t notice Doyle peering up at him from under the table, drooling copiously and trying with very little success to play the part of the starving stray. “And I have learned much in my time away. I believe management thinks that’s what makes me qualified for the work ahead.”

Lawrence shrugged. “Well then, if this is what you feel works best, I can only wish you the best of luck. Should you need anything at all, don’t hesitate to let me know,” he added.

Gabriel smiled. “Thank you,” he said, glazing over to the framed photo of Lawrence and Berenice’s wedding day - namely Doyle’s predecessor, the huge Newfoundland who’d been their ringbearer on the day,. “... If I may ask, what was that dog’s name?”

Please don’t be Fido. I cannot bear thinking about how many dogs called Fido are in Heaven. 

“Huh?” Berenice followed his gaze to the photo. “Oh, that was Chewbarka. A very good boy. Slobbered an awful lot, but he was still the gentlest boy.”

Well, that was going to make the search easier. Gabriel promised himself he’d make sure Chewbarka was found and taken to Daniel as soon as he returned, ate more of the cake, made more small talk, and shook his head with a smile when Lawrence asked him if he’d like to stay for dinner. 

“No, thank you. I really do need to go back.”

A laugh. “Ah, of course. You’re a busy man now.”

Gabriel grinned back. “That too, but as of this evening, I just have a date.”

***

“You told the other archangels about me?”

“Yes. There was no reason to keep hiding--”

“How dare you!”

“They would have found out eventually--”

“You denied me the pleasure of seeing their faces as you told them,” Beelzebub muttered, causing Gabriel to trail off, stare a moment, and laugh. 

“Hah! My apologies. It did not occur to me you’d have appreciated being present.”

“Hmph. And how did they take it?”

“I think ‘shell-shock’ best describes their reaction, but they’ll get used to it. I think. I mean, I am not leaving them much of a choice.”

I won’t deny you, Gabriel had said, and kept his word. Beelzebub snorted, but did not protest when Gabriel’s arm rested across their shoulders. They glanced up at the setting sun instead.

“... Everything from here is uncharted territory,” they said. No plan, no guarantees, no nothing. 

“Yes.” Gabriel grinned. He was doing that an awful lot lately, with childish glee. It was annoying and it made him look stupid, but Beelzebub found they didn’t mind. “Isn’t it exciting?”

***

And the angel answered and said to him, “I am Gabriel, who stands in the presence of God, and was sent to speak to you and bring you these glad tidings." -- Luke 1:19

***

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#good omens #ineffable beurocracy #ineffable husbands #archangel gabriel #beelzebub #aziraphale #crowley #winging it

[gilmores-glorious-blog]

That Certain Night (Ineffable Husbands)

-

Look we all know something went down after Crowley’s invitation for Aziraphale to “stay at my place, if you’d like”. This is my interpretation of what that something was.

-

Crowley had always had a flair for the dramatic, which perhaps explains why he chose the worst possible time ever to confess his millenniums-long love for Aziraphale. 

In his defense, it had been a very long and crazy day, and he was shocked enough to be alive at the end of it that he wasn’t quite thinking properly. 

The bus, as Crowley had predicted, drove to London- in fact, it drove all the way to Crowley’s flat, screeching to a halt as a very confused bus driver looked around as if wondering how he had found himself there. 

Crowley stood, not letting go of Aziraphale’s hand. Why the angel had taken his hand in the first place, Crowley didn’t know, but it had taken six thousand years for him to do so, and Crowley was not letting him go this easily. 

“So… my place?” Crowley asked, letting the question hang in the air. If Aziraphale still didn’t dare to spend the night with Crowley, now is when he should say so. Though he really had nowhere else to go, and Crowley would find it quite foolish of the angel to decline his offer. 

To Crowley’s pleasant surprise, Aziraphale only hesitated for a second before standing up next to Crowley. 

“Yes dear, I suppose your place will have to do.” Aziraphale smiled at Crowley. It was a soft smile that Crowley had been finding himself on the receiving end of more and more recently, and he loved it. 

It had been a decade or so since Aziraphale had been to Crowley’s flat, and as per usual, he spent a good few minutes tutting around and sighing dramatically at Crowley’s choice of decor, or lack thereof. 

“Are you quite finished?” Crowley asked, swatting Aziraphale’s hand away from one of his beloved plants and glaring at the angel. “You can sleep in the guest room, if you’d like to sleep at all. I know you don’t usually sleep, but I’d say we both deserve a good night’s rest after the week we’ve had.” 

“Yes, I do believe you’re right about that.” Aziraphale replied. “I am quite tired, now that you mention it!” 

“‘Kay. Well, the bed’s that way.” Crowley said, jerking a finger towards the hallway. His room was in the opposite direction, and he expected this to be where he and Aziraphale parted for the evening, however disappointing that fact may be. 

Aziraphale turned and looked in the direction of Crowley’s finger before turning back to look at the demon. 

“Right. Um, Crowley dear, don’t you think we ought to discuss our plans first?” 

“Plans?” Crowley asked, hoping the fear wasn’t evident in his voice and the blush wasn’t evident in his face. 

“For what we will do when Heaven and Hell come after us. I don’t believe that we have much time to prepare. My lot is usually pretty punctual, especially when it comes to punishment.”

“Yeah, I learned that the hard way.” Crowley responded, reaching over his shoulder and rubbing his back like he did on instinct any time he remembered his Fall. Aziraphale pretended not to notice. “Yeah, I suppose you’re right, we should have some sort of plan. Would be a real shame if we survived this whole near-apocalypse debacle just to get smote down immediately. Well, you’d get smote down, at least. I’d get smote… I dunno, even further down than Hell, whatever that would mean.” Crowley was rambling, which was nothing new, especially considering how nervous he was at the current moment. 

Aziraphale was talking again, leading Crowley into the office. Crowley supposed he should be paying attention, considering this was his life on the line as well as Aziraphale’s, but he only picked up a few keywords- “Plan”, “Heaven”, “The Almighty”, “Your lot”, “Crowley are you even listening to me?!”, and the such. 

Crowley stared at the angel as he paced around the room frantically. Aziraphale looked a mess, as Crowley must have also, all covered in dust and dirt from the airbase, his hair somewhat matted to one side, and his normally perfect clothes looking somewhat askew. He looked beautiful. Crowley always thought that, to be fair, but he could say with absolute certainty that here, in Crowley’s flat, muttering and flapping his hands frantically, looking stressed out of his mind, and exhausted from the weight of the almost-apocalypse, Aziraphale was the most beautiful that Crowley had ever seen him in 6000 years of being in love with him.

Crowley felt a sudden weight form on his chest and a knot form in his throat. This was very possibly the last night he’d spend with Aziraphale. Even if by some miracle they survived, both Heaven and Hell were sure to keep the two separated. Crowley blinked furiously (something he rarely did), trying hard not to cry. He couldn’t lose his angel. Not again. 

He blinked again and saw flames engulfing the room, swallowing Aziraphale up in them. Crowley shook his head and the vision disappeared, but he still felt the heat of the fire around him. Still heard the crackle of books burning, and even though the angel was standing right in front of him, Crowley still felt the pain of his heart shattering when he’d thought he had lost Aziraphale. 

“My dear, are you alright?” Crowley was suddenly aware that Aziraphale was closer to him than before, and was staring at him with concern. 

Crowley made some sort of sound in his throat, but it wasn’t anything close to a valid response, and Aziraphale looked even more worried. 

“Crowley-” 

“I love you.” 

Well fuck. Crowley had not intended to say that. It effectively shut the angel up, though, and Crowley watched as his blue eyes widened in surprise. 

“I beg your pardon?”

“‘M in love with you.” Crowley laughed dryly. He might as well go all in if he was going to be dead tomorrow. “Have been for quite some time, for a matter of fact.” Crowley ran a hand through his hair, trying to act cool and nonchalant while every voice inside of him was screaming at him frantically to run far away and never return. 

Aziraphale continued to stare wide-eyed. Crowley was pretty sure he hadn’t blinked for a solid minute or two. 

“Angel?” Crowley was certain that whatever punishment Hell could come up with for him would be better than this. “Aziraphale, please say something.” 

What happened next was something that surprised both the angel and the demon, as Aziraphale threw his arms around Crowley and kissed him fiercely. 

Crowley kissed him back, of course, he wasn’t stupid enough to pass up such an opportunity. He was, however, quite confused. 

Crowley pushed away from Aziraphale, holding him an arm’s length away. “Angel?” 

Aziraphale looked at him shyly. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have-”

“No, no, don’t apologize. I’m just a bit lost. That wasn’t exactly the reaction I was expecting, considering all your ‘we aren’t friends’ mumbo-jumbo.” Crowley laughed nervously. 

 “Right. That. Well, I never said I was proud of being in love with a demon.” Aziraphale returned the nervous laughter.

“Of being what?” Crowley surely had misheard Aziraphale. Right? There was no way Mr. Holier-than-thou, Hereditary Enemies, Ineffable Plan could actually possibly love Crowley back. 

Aziraphale blushed furiously, something that Crowley enjoyed watching immensely. “I love you too, dear.” 

Crowley tried to speak, he really did, but the only sound he made was something that sounded like ‘ngk’. 

Aziraphale smiled and stood on his tiptoes to plant a small kiss on Crowley’s lips. “You alright there, dear?” 

“I… how long have you…” 

Aziraphale looked at the floor with an embarrassed look on his face. “1941. You saved my books.” 

Crowley remembered that. It had been one of his many attempts to get the angel to fall for him (not literally, of course). Guess it worked! Nice going, Anthony. 

“So I could have said something anytime in the past eighty years, but instead I waited until the night before we’ll likely get destroyed forever. Cool.” Crowley mentally chastised himself for being such an idiot. 

Aziraphale grinned at him. “Better late than never, I suppose?”  

Crowley just kissed him in response. 

And the angel was right, it was better late than never. Because as Crowley stood there, one hand in Aziraphale’s hair, and the other resting on his waist, he found that he didn’t care what happened tomorrow. He didn’t care what Hell did to him, what punishment they’d come up with for his countless crimes. He’d do it all again so long as it ended with him where he is now, in Aziraphale’s arms. Because if Crowley’s angel loved him back, then all was right with the world. 

#ha i didn't proofread this at ALL #it definitely sucks but whatever ig #i've never written for them before even though i had a really intense hyperfixation last year #good omens #good omens fanfiction #good omens fic #ineffable husbands #ineffable husbands fic #eli.writes

[yamisnuffles]

Let Them Eat Crepes

Crowley suffers through Aziraphale eating crepes after the rescue at the Bastille.

Rated M. Read on Ao3

A very silly thing written as a gift for @racketghost to hopefully bring her some cheer. - - - - -

When Crowley had taken up residence in Paris, it hadn’t been to play host to a fussy angel with a death wish. He’d thought of the angel. Of course he had. Any time through history when he kept a room with a bed, he took some time to imagine said angel in said bed. But Paris was a nightmare and he was only there to keep up appearances, maybe scrape up the occasional detail for a report. He hadn’t thought Aziraphale would ever actually appear. Not in the middle of a bloody revolution. Certainly not dressed like that.

“What good fortune they offer crepes at the very same inn where you are keeping a room,” Aziraphale said.

Crowley sipped at his cider. It was supposed to pair well with the crepes. Not that he was eating any himself, despite having ordered food. Somehow his plates always ended up in front of Aziraphale.

“Yeah, fortunate.”

Aziraphale wiggled in his seat and speared another bite on his fork. “And such good ones, too.”

He punctuated the statement with a moan that sent Crowley’s blood on a trip south. He took a much larger gulp of cider. Alcohol tended to at least postpone the inevitable reaction to watching the angel eat. At this rate, he’d probably be better off asking for a whole cask. They were only two plates in and hadn’t yet reached the cruelest part of any meal.

Crowley was fairly certain Aziraphale resented the creation of forks. Sure, he would use them, but there always came a moment in any meal when he abandoned his utensils in favor of more natural options. Whether it was licking the last bit of broth from a bowl or chasing some spot of cream with his fingers, it happened without fail and it was hell. Literal hell. Well, maybe not literal but Crowley thought it came close to anything they’d come up with Downstairs.

He was, at present, using a torn off scrap of crepe to sop up a bit of golden yolk. He swept the delicate pastry across the plate and let it drag through gooey Gruyère that clung to his thumb and forefinger. Once this process was complete, he would pop it all into his mouth with a moan and suck his fingers clean. He continued on with a single minded focus until the plate was absolutely spotless and Crowley was on the edge of breaking his tightly clenched jaw.

Aziraphale stopped short of putting the final bite in his mouth and looked up at Crowley, as if only just remembering he wasn’t alone. “I know you said you didn’t want any, but maybe just a taste? It really was divine.”

He held out that final scrap on the tip of glistening fingers, as though he expected Crowley to simply nip it away.

Hell. It was hell and Crowley was going to die.

He licked his lips. “Nah. No. M’fine.” He coughed and looked at the empty bottom of his mug. He considered getting more but he needed more than just alcohol at that point. “I’ve got a few good bottles in my room. How about we head up there.”

Aziraphale ate the rejected scrap of food and licked away the grease that had coated his fingers as he held it. “But I haven’t finished yet,” he said with a frown. “It would be a shame to go through all that nasty business at the Bastille without at least eating my fill.”

Wide blue eyes drifted toward the kitchen and then back at Crowley, widening further as they went. Eyebrows lifted up. A bottom lip made its appearance and wobbled for good measure. It really was a marvel, looking back, that it had taken Crowley so long to suggest Aziraphale take on temptations. The angel was a natural at it.

Crowley ran his tongue over the sharp edges of his teeth and considered his options. “Ehhh, it’ll be fine. They’ll bring the food up.” They might not know why, but given they’d only started offering crepes an hour ago, it was hardly the most confusing thing they’d been through that day. “We can finish up in my room.”

“Oh, good.” It was clear the moment Aziraphale was appeased because his pout was instantly replaced by a smile. “Well then, lead the way.”

Crowley risked a surreptitious glance downward that he hoped his glasses blocked from view. Despite the growing tension in his abdomen, it didn’t look like his trousers were in a state to give him away. If he walked a little oddly, he had to hope Aziraphale was too focused on the promise of future crepes to notice.

When they got up to Crowley’s room, Aziraphale gave it all an appraising look. He wrinkled his nose at one of the chairs, removed his hat, and used it to wipe the offending furniture off before he took a seat. “Charming place you have here.”

Crowley shrugged with as much disinterest as he could physically muster and went into the small bedroom off the main room. The wardrobe had been repurposed as a wine cabinet. “Doesn’t need to be charming. I’m a demon. It’s supposed to be dark and dank and gloomy,” he called back as he ran his fingers over the labels of some of the wine he’d liberated from now deceased nobles. He grabbed two bottles of Chardonnay and glasses for the both of them and, after a moment of chewing on his lip, a bottle of Champagne. “Besides, not like I’m planning on staying much longer.”

When he returned, he found two large platters of crepes had been delivered. Aziraphale had a fork in hand but seemed unable to decide which to sample first. He settled on one dusted in sugar with sliced lemons on top. His lips puckered slightly around the lemon before relaxing back to a smile. Crowley wanted to lick into his mouth and see if the tartness of the lemon remained or if it would be all Aziraphale. Instead he uncorked a bottle with his teeth and drank a hearty swig of Chardonnay.

“If dark and dank is what you were going for,” Aziraphale said, “then well done, my dear. It’s good to hear you won’t be lingering, though.”

Crowley swallowed down more wine. Between that and all the cider before, he could feel his limbs loosening. He stretched out his legs, forgetting why he’d been keeping them crossed in the first place. “Not much more to do here, really. Can only write, ‘the humans have chopped off more heads’ so many times. Got my commendation, anyway. Might as well head out before Downstairs starts expecting something new and exciting.”

Aziraphale nodded. “Seems prudent.”

He picked up a stray slice of lemon, dabbed it in sugar, licked it clean, and then did it all over again again. Crowley watched the whole thing, entirely enraptured, especially when Aziraphale’s thick, pink tongue would make an appearance to remove any lingering sugar from his lips. Warmth that had nothing to do with the copious amounts of alcohol Crowley had imbibed settled firmly between his legs. His feet had wandered dangerously close to enemy territory. He pulled them back and threw one foot over a knee in an attempt to disguise the growing tenting in his trousers.

“Those worth losing your head over?” he asked, nodding his head toward the food.

Aziraphale took the bottle from Crowley and poured himself a glass. “Sometimes you miss life’s little pleasures and you have to take a risk to get what you want.”

Pink blossomed high on his cheeks. Crowley tilted his head.

“But death? For crepes?”

Aziraphale smiled around another bite. “Yes, well, it would have only been discorporation and they’re really rather good, if a bit clueless.”

Crowley narrowed his eyes. “Are we still talking about crepes?”

Aziraphale didn’t answer beyond a small huff of laughter. Silence settled in while he continued on eating. Crowley was certain he was missing something but he was too distracted by the sight in front of him to think straight.

It was odd to see the angel in red. Some secret part buried deep in his chest liked it, loved the message of rebellion that it shouted to the world. He'd never admit to it but, as much as he liked it, he'd loved every last gold thread on the absurd outfit that had come before. He could still see heavy manacles around delicate, lace covered wrists. He could practically feel the ghost of curved calves wrapped in sumptuous stockings. His fingers ached from the memory of feet clad in ostentatious silk. How he'd wanted to take it all off, piece by ridiculous piece.

And there Aziraphale was before him, with a view of the bed just beyond. Maybe he would wear those chains again. Or, better yet, perhaps he’d put himself entirely in Crowley’s hands. Crowley could spread him out on the mattress and peel it all away until only pale skin and paler hair remained.

Aziraphale dropped his fork with a clatter. “Oh.”

Crowley’s eyes widened. It wasn’t just that he could imagine it all perfectly, Aziraphale really was back in all his finery. Only, it wasn’t identical to what he’d been wearing before. Gold had been replaced by silver and a vein of deep scarlet ran through the embroidery on the sleeve.

“Well, that was certainly frivolous of me,” Aziraphale said, oblivious to Crowley’s growing distress, “but Heaven can hardly fault me if I didn’t mean to do it. I had been thinking about how much nicer silk was against the skin but… no, I certainly don’t remember actually willing it back.”

“Right, unhhhh—” Crowley’s voice came out as a choked squeak. He opened another bottle and, in a maneuver not recommended to those without demonic serpentine attributes, downed half of it in one tremendous gulp. He tried not to consider the way the angel’s eyes were trained on his neck as he ran the back of his hand across wine stained lips. “Sometimes these things just happen. You know. No use worrying about it. No one will see you here, so just eat the rest of your crepes.”

The corners of Aziraphale’s mouth tugged down slightly. “If you’re impatient to be somewhere, don’t let me keep you.”

“Not impatient just…” Crowley switched the cross of his legs in search of some relief. He had to use one hand to still the other in order to keep from palming away the ever building tension. “You know.”

Aziraphale arched an eyebrow. “I’m not sure I do. Are you alright, my dear? You seem uncomfortable.”

“Yeah, I’m, er…” Crowley tugged at his collar. It was too tight. He could feel himself swallowing and every swallow sent his mind elsewhere. “Hot. Should probably open the windows.” He was halfway to his feet when he remembered why getting to his feet under Aziraphale’s watchful gaze was probably not the best idea. It didn’t seem likely the angel would be secretly ecstatic to find out that he was hopelessly hard just from watching him eat. “Actually, nah. Would need to open the curtains and with your clothes… best to keep things shut. I’ll be fine. Really. Get back to your crepes. You said it yourself, it would be a shame not to finish after everything you did to get them.”

Aziraphale picked at his final crepe. His whole body melted with a moan as soon as it touched his tongue. All the while, his eyes were still locked on Crowley.

“Oh, but it wasn’t just me who went through a lot for these.” He carefully cut another portion of crepe and nudged the sliced tip of a strawberry onto it. He then swirled it through a cloud of rich cream and held up the fork. “Strawberries and whipped cream. Try a bite. For your troubles.”

The whipped cream lost its structure against the warm crepe. A rivulette of white travelled down the length of the fork and onto Aziraphale’s fingers. Crowley licked his lips. He couldn’t possibly take that bite or he would never be able to stop. But Aziraphale was looking at him so expectantly and he couldn’t think of a good reason to refuse.

He leaned forward and took the fork into his mouth. It was alright, as food went, but he barely registered the taste. He was far too focused on the way his cock pressed to his stomach when he was bent forward. And then there was proximity of those white, sticky fingers. His head swam with visions of grabbing Aziraphale by the wrist and licking the cream away.

It was all a mouthful too far. He’d tried. He really had. His eyes shut as a desperate groan tore up from his throat and his trousers became a mirror of Aziraphale’s fingers, wet and sticky and warm. He wasn’t sure he could bear to open his eyes again. He fell back into his seat and dared to crack open one eye.

Aziraphale was smiling. “I told you it was good.” He pushed the plate forward. “Would you like to share the rest?”

Crowley sighed and leaned his head back. “Nah, you eat it. I’m good for at least a couple more hours.”

#good omens #ineffable husbands #crowley #aziraphale #fic #my writing #racketghost

[roseskiesandbutterflies]

My Melancholy Blues (Good Omens One-Shot)

Summary: 1923. When Aziraphale bumps into a rather drunk Crowley for the first time after their fight at St James's Park, he's hellbent on helping the poor dear. Pun not intended. But maybe it isn't just Crowley who needs help. After all, what is it we say about coincidences?

Warning(s): alcohol, swearing, cigarettes, angst

Word Count: 2.1k+

A/N: I’m back! I’ll be quick because this is for the DTIYS from @whiteleyfoster and it needs to be up by the end of September to be considered and September in the UK ends in 2.5 hours. Classic me leaving this until the last minute. Anyway I hope you enjoy, sorry about the angst but it just kind of happened. Whoops. Also the title comes from My Melancholy Blues by Queen! The song isn't a perfect match to this fic but the vibe is similar enough for me to like it.

"Hey, 'ziraphale," Crowley slurred from the rooftop he was perched precariously on, waving like a lunatic, "Cooee!"

He watched as the small white blob that was hopefully the angel in question stopped dead in his tracks. Something not all that dissimilar to astonishment washed over his face, before looking up warily, almost scared of what he would find. Shock soon turned to concern when he saw that Crowley was, in fact, sitting on the roof of the Ritz with a ridiculously lopsided grin on his face. Honestly, he thought to himself, a little over sixty years and not a single word, and then I find him drunk in the middle of London. Typical. He shook off the thought with a hardly noticeable eye-roll before calling back, "Crowley? What on Earth are you doing up there?"

Crowley made a face at him, "What does it look like I'm doing?" He waved the bottle of wine he was holding in Aziraphale's vague direction before taking a swig of it.

"I can see that," he said, speaking a little more slowly when he started to realise just how drunk Crowley was, "What I meant was why are you drinking on the roof of the Ritz?"

"The view up here's great! You can see Buckingham Palace from up here!" he said, quite keen at defending his choice of location.

"Surely there's a nicer place to drink in, though? Perhaps somewhere warmer?" he suggested, really quite worried now that he could see how little Crowley was wearing.

"Nah, I was in this club in the East End but the music was a bit shit so I left," he shrugged.

"Right," he nodded unsurely, "And it never occurred to you to go to another bar?"

Crowley suddenly looked very offended, pouting like an extraordinarily petulant child, "Why are you so worried about where I drink? I thought you didn't care about me or something. 'S a bit suspicious if you ask me."

"No, no. Curious is all," Aziraphale said, blatantly avoiding the issue they hadn't got round to resolving yet. No matter how annoyed he was at Crowley, and how the latter must feel towards him, he didn't think he could bear to fight with him again. He'd much rather dance around the truth for a little while longer.

Crowley, even in his not quite sober state of mind, seemed to understand, though the tension was so thick it wasn't exactly difficult. He quickly changed the subject, "You should come up here, angel, you'd like it. Promise."

He looked so hopeful and even vulnerable, as if his whole world was about to come crashing down and Aziraphale sitting with him was the only thing that could stop it. If he'd refused then that would have made him very heartless indeed, and that simply wouldn't do. Though luckily for him, he didn't have the time to even briefly consider the proposal before he found himself sitting by Crowley's side, staring down at where he'd just been standing. He shifted himself so he opposite him, with his back leaning against the chimney post, feeling considerably steadier than he was before.

"Well," Crowley looked at him expectantly, "What do you think?"

Aziraphale blinked before murmuring, "I think you look lovely, my dear. The blue of your dress really compliments the colour of your hair-"

He was cut off by Crowley's undignified snort, "Well, thanks, angel, but I meant the view. Not my dress. Though I'm glad you like it," he reassured him quickly when he noticed his mortified expression.

Aziraphale's tense expression softened like melted butter when he finally looked at the breath-taking landscape surrounding the two of them, encompassing them in the odd security that comes with strangely empty cities. Crowley was right, you could see Buckingham Palace from the rooftop, as well as St James's Park and Berkeley Square and the rest of Piccadilly. Incandescent lights shone from the streets below, but they were nothing compared to the forget-me-not blue of midnight skies above them, dusted with millions of stars like icing sugar on a cake. "Oh," he sighed softly, wholly content and at peace with the world, "Oh, Crowley, it's beautiful. It's, well, I never realised London could be so..." he trailed off, left speechless from awe.

Crowley grinned up at him, "Just wait until the sun comes up. Won't be long now."

Aziraphale's smile faded ever so slightly, "You say that like you've been up here before," he said gently, trying hard not to come off as accusatory.

Crowley's face morphed into one a child might wear when caught with their hand in the cookie jar, but he quickly shrugged it off, leaving it for Aziraphale to mull over by himself. "Drink?" he offered, holding out the bottle of wine.

"Oh, a drink would be lovely, thank you," he smiled, taking it cautiously and sipping at it, letting the alcohol seep in and ease his aching mind.

"What are you doing out this time of night, anyway?" Crowley asked innocently as he took the bottle back from him.

"I-I fancied a walk. Been spending far too much time indoors recently. Needed some fresh air," Aziraphale stammered out, passing the bottle back even though he could have easily finished it off right there and then.

Crowley hummed in response, deciding not to question it even though his gut was screaming at him, screaming that he was lying, he needs help, he needs someone, anyone.

He needs you. Just as much as you need him.

He decided to ignore his intuition because ignorance was far easier than the truth. It slid down like honey and soothed your soul, however temporarily.

"So, the nineteen-twenties," Crowley mused, letting his eyes dance over his surroundings, "'S been an interesting decade so far, hasn't it? Great nightlife. And the fashion, ooh. I've really been enjoying this whole flapper thing. What d'you make of it all, angel?"

It took Aziraphale a moment to respond, "I-I can't say I'd noticed much," he murmured, eyes hellbent on avoiding Crowley's.

Don't look into my eyes. Don't look into them, my love, because if you do, you'll know everything. I'll have no more secrets left, none at all. And I don’t think I can handle that.

The alarm bells in Crowley's head were deafening by that point, even he couldn't ignore them any longer. "Noticed what?" he asked, cautiously placing the wine bottle behind him, deathly terrified of the answer.

"Any of it," he said, voice no louder than a whisper, "I haven't noticed any of it."

Crowley's eyes widened as he tried his best to push down this rising tide of dread inside of him, "Angel-"

"Don't, Crowley," he pleaded, voice breaking but desperately trying to hide it. It was when he finally dared to glance at him that Crowley could finally see the vulnerability and the fear and the anxiety and just about every other emotion that humans had a name for. "Please, don't make me explain, I can't-" he stopped midsentence, inhaling deeply, desperately attempting to pull himself together, "I don't want to talk about it."

Crowley momentarily looked like he was about to object, and Aziraphale’s heart would have skipped a beat if he had one, but he didn’t, opening and closing his mouth like a goldfish. He let himself wonder, for a fleeting second, if perhaps he hadn’t been alone in his weird and confusing feelings. For he had felt this strange sense of loneliness for decades after their fight back in 1867. He’d spent much longer than a few decades without his angel before, but that time had been different, had stung in a way that struck him to his very core. Maybe there was a chance that Aziraphale had felt much the same way. Maybe they were more alike than he thought. He brushed off these thoughts as quickly as they’d arrived; it was unwise to ponder these things while in the presence of others. Instead of making a comment that wasn’t likely to be welcomed with open arms per se, he nodded deeply, oozing with understanding.

Crowley would be a hypocrite if he said that he wouldn’t mind being interrogated like that if he was in Aziraphale’s position, and he was sure he’d already worked most of it out.

Aziraphale softened in relief, the unshed tears in his eyes glistening like gemstones in the glow of the sun that was just starting to rise, creeping slowly up his face as it peered over the London skyline. Crowley couldn’t help it if his eyes lingered on the angel’s face. The logical side of him knew that angels were ethereal by nature, but only now was he starting to understand why. He seemed to literally glow gold with the dawn, outshining the sun and putting it to shame. His ivory suit had been dyed champagne by the sun’s rays, champagne, the colour of the drinks people downed with ease, the colour of the streetlights below them. His eyes were sapphires buried behind a veil of melancholy, framed with the wrinkles that came with centuries upon centuries of things to find joy in.

Oh, the irony, Crowley thought sadly to himself. He forced himself to cast his eyes away, feeling Aziraphale starting to squirm under his stare, instead looking at the Marlboro Red which had materialised in his hand miraculously, or not, depending on how you looked at it. He lit it with a click of his fingers, taking a drag and offering it to Aziraphale. No words had to be said; they’d known each other for long enough, they could say anything with no more than a look.

He eyed it nervously but only for a second, vulnerability taking over and impulses kicking in, and it was in his hand and he was breathing it in before he could even register what he was doing. The smoke waltzed circles around them before leaping away in the early morning breeze. Sparks flew off the cigarette as Aziraphale passed it back, glowing crimson in the sunrise, dying embers of a phoenix blowing away in the lapis blue of the sky.

They sat in the strangely comforting silence for a few moments, the dawn bringing with it its own eery peace. It wasn’t until the cigarette had nearly burnt away completely did Aziraphale finally murmured something, “Will we be okay, Crowley? You and me? Will we be alright?”

Crowley blinked back at him in surprise for a second before mumbling, “I don’t think I understand.”

“I think you do,” he said, voice filled with the spirit of the clouds above them, sweet and gentle and oh-so-soft, “Will we be alright?”

Crowley took advantage of the now burnt out cigarette to think of a response, leaving it to fall out of his hand and onto the pavement below, watching the ashes scatter over the London streets as if he was mourning them, “Yeah. I think we’ll be okay. Do you?”

“I hope so,” he said, voice no louder than a whisper but speaking volumes all the same. A single tear escaped, a drip of molten gold running down his face.

There was a lump in Crowley’s own throat just at the sight of his angel, and at the overwhelming meaning of those three simple words. He couldn’t stop himself from reaching out and brushing the tear away and my, hadn’t they gotten rather close. Aziraphale melted like butter under his touch and Crowley’s heart could burst just looking at him. Suddenly he was pressed up to the demon’s chest, arms hesitantly snaking around him, leaving Crowley speechless in shock for no more than a second. He quickly wrapped his arms around Aziraphale, resting his chin on the top of his head as the angel buried his face in his chest. They fit like two pieces of a puzzle that had remained unsolved for far too long, both of them internally sighing in relief and shouting for joy because they knew that this was where they needed to be. Neither let go, for neither wanted to, and they held each other as the dawn sun watched over them, casting its protective glow over a moment that deserved to be shielded from prying eyes.

And in the years to come, they would both act like that fateful night in nineteen twenty three had never happened, tucking the memory away in a far-flung corner of their minds and putting the whole thing down to alcohol’s wicked influence. But, no matter how much denial they would put themselves through in the next century or so, they both remembered in the depths of their hearts the words that had been said and the words that had been buried deep between the lines.

#whiteleyfoster dtiys #good omens #good omens imagine #good omens headcanon #1920s good omens #good omens angst #Ineffable Husbands #Aziraphale #aziraphale one-shot #aziraphale imagine #aziraphale headcanon #crowley #crowley headcanon #crowley imagine #crowley one-shot #1920s

[mikaa-mina]

At Garden’s Edge- Ch3 Dead Plants and Memes

Beta read by Tarek_giverofcookies

At Garden’s Edge

Chapter 3- Dead Plants and Memes

“You know,” Crowley drawled with his chin in his hand, elbow braced on the register counter as they both stared down at the 5th dead plant Aziraphale had brought back to the shop, “I’d probably give you a discount for bringing the pots back if I didn’t know it was because you kept murdering my plants.”

“My plants, you mean,” Aziraphale corrected, trying to distract them both from the fact that this was the fifth, the fifth!, plant he’d killed.

Crowley tipped his head to the side, a sly tilt to his grin as he looked straight at Aziraphale from behind those dark glasses. “Do I?” he challenged, a hint of a purr to his voice that sent a shiver down Aziraphale’s spine and gave him a feeling that he was perhaps missing something.

“Well, of course,” he insisted, “I did buy it after all.”

He peered at Crowley trying to figure out that feeling and a hint of awareness of... of something but before he could figure it out Crowley’s grin tripped into an amused smile and he shoved himself to standing, palms flat on the counter.

“Right. Victim #6.”

“Excuse me?” Aziraphale’s mouth turned down, offended as much as he was embarrassed but before he could continue on Crowley snorted, gave a dismissive wave and claimed, “teasing, teasing,” and sauntered out from behind the counter to prowl the isles of his shop.

“Well, still!” Aziraphale insisted, trailing after the ginger and worrying the ring around his pinky finger, back and forth, back and forth, “that was terribly-”

“-Rude?” Crowley supplied with a glance back at him over his shoulder, grin terribly bright.

Aziraphale huffed. “-Inconsiderate. Honestly. It’s not as if I mean to kill them Crowley,” he rushed on when Crowley turned around, mouth open to say something, “or feel good about killing them!”

Crowley shut his mouth, twisting it back and forth as if he was literally chewing over his words as he watched Aziraphale in that particular way that made him think he was seeing far more than just Aziraphale’s physical form.

Crowley finally settled on a soft “I know” before abruptly turning on his heel to march towards a purple leafed plant and carrying on in a much lighter tone, “Alright! What about a gorgeous Elephant Ear?”

Aziraphale just watched him for a moment, feeling something else in his chest and a slow wonderment over how very many sides Crowley seemed to have and just how well hidden they all were but the one he chose to front.

Perhaps that quiet admission would have meant nothing or not all that much to someone else, but Aziraphale was used to a lot of his own particulars being brushed aside and yet Crowley hadn’t. The man had been honestly teasing most likely but when it hit a nerve he had paused, looked, addressed it, then moved on to keep from making Aziraphale more uncomfortable. So it hadn’t looked like much, a brush off, a stumble in conversation perhaps, if not for that soft tone of voice. The careful eye contact. The pause.

Aziraphale had nearly thirty years of reading every minutia people revealed in situations more perilous  than this one and even with leaving that life, the skill and passive use of it hadn’t faded. So he noticed it all. Noticed that the loud mouth Crowley, prone to bluster, cutting wit, and dramatics, had decided to stop and be understanding, soft even, for just a moment.

Crowley was still prattling on about the plant, seemingly a touch nervously now.

Ah. He hadn’t yet responded had he? How terribly rude to leave the dear hanging like that after such a kindness. A kindness he hadn’t had anything to gain by.

Perhaps he was still so used to the cruelty of the life he left behind and that was why that small kindness had surprised him and meant so much at the same time.

Crowley picked up the pot and turned to face Aziraphale finally, somewhat half hidden by the plant.

“So. What do y’think?”

Aziraphale smiled terribly fond and reached out to gently run his fingers across a leaf.

“It’s lovely.”

“Ngk.”

-

“You are ridiculous.”

Crowley scowled at the computer screen, knowing that even while being on the other side of the internet that Anathema would be able to tell. “Am not. Shuddup. Are you gonna help me or not?”

She cackled. “With this quest? Sure!” And as if to prove the point, she hexed the monster that had spawned behind them while they were talking and began attacking them.

Crowley groaned, “no you witch,” she laughed and he ignored it, “with the book.”

“For your problem customer? God you really are being ridiculous, just ask him out already.”

Crowley groaned in real life while simultaneously eliminating three more of the threats in their game AlwaysWinter. “Not everything is about that Anathema.”

He could hear her eye roll. “Whatever you say, you closeted romantic. This cave’s clear. Which way?”

“Left. The boss’s right and once we beat him we wont be able to come back.”

They continued for a while, just clearing the remaining monsters and looting the dungeon’s branches, chattering about the game or Anathema’s day. Then as they made their way back to the final cave with the boss and it’s goons, Anathema asked. “What is it about then?”

“What’s what about?”

“Oh don’t play dumb, it doesn’t suit you.”

Crowley snorted.

“Crowley.”

He groaned. “Fine. Whatever.” He was silent for a moment, staring unseeing at the boss as they came to a stop just outside of the entrance of the cave. A few more steps and they’d trigger the boss battle and he wouldn’t have to talk.

She’d never let it go if he did that. She’d just hound him as soon as they were done. At least this way, he could just blurt something out and then start the boss battle after she got one line in and maybe the conversation would be dropped after that.

He sighed. “It’s just- he’s, ugh.. this is dumb- ridiculous.”

“Is not.”

“Of course you wouldn’t think it is. You just want blackmail material on me.”

She laughed. “As if I don’t have enough of that already. You’re stalling flower boy.”

He groaned. He didn’t like this. Or he did. It was hard to tell anymore. Was it freeing to be more honest, more vulnerable with someone you could trust? Or was it bloody terrifying?

“He’s ridiculous, fussy, funny, kind, and a bit of a bastard. I just- I’d- I fucking hate this. I just want to befriend him. Is that good enough for you?”

Maybe he was a bit more aggressive than warranted at the end there but Anathema didn’t say anything, just was quiet for a moment. Just as the anxiety was starting to itch beneath his skin at the thought of having pissed her off, she softly said “you really are sweet Anthony.”

“I am not! I shouldn’t have told you- I’m-”

“-yes yes, you’re scary and mean. What I mean is that’s really sweet. You should have more friends and I think it’s sweet that you want to befriend him.”

“Feel like a bloody high schooler saying it like that.” He complained, dragging his hands down his face  in exasperation, careful not to dislodge the headset he was wearing. Two months of sporadic meetings with the man and he still hadn’t figured out a way to befriend him or make it all sound normal in his head.

In a mocking ‘there, there’ kind of tone Anathema cheerfully added, “and you’re just as bad at it as one!”

“Are you ready to start the boss battle?” He asked a touch desperately, trying valiantly to move past all of this.

“Oh fine, you big ba- CROWLEY What the hell are you doing?!”

“I’m not doing anyt-” his indignant tone spluttered to a halt as he dragged his hands away from his face to look up at his screen just in time to see his character charging in through at least three groups of minions and heading straight towards the boss.

“Just because you want to run away from your feelings DOESN’T MEAN LITERALLY RUN STRAIGHT INTO THE BOSS BATTLE YOU-”

There’s a weightless moment where the blood in his veins freezes, his heart trips on the next beat, and his mind throws itself into a figure eight of panic trying to figure out who found him. And then Warlock’s symbol pops up on his screen, three sixes connected by the stems to make a looping circle figure, and then Warlock’s voice itself hacks into their voice chat yelling “LEEEEEEROY JENKINS!” and all of the breath Crowley was holding rushes out in choked off laugh.

“Who the-” Anathema starts but Crowley cuts her off because he can’t help the feeling of pride that just swelled, “my little hellion! You’re getting better- you didn’t even set off any of my firewalls this time.” Not a peep, and that wasn’t easy to do, Warlock really was getting better in leaps and bounds.

“Little hellion?” Anathema mutters lowly, thinking, as Crowley finds all of his control over the computer is stripped away. The mouse, the keyboard, everything but the voice chat left open for him to still communicate with them. He’s pulling out his laptop when she goes, “oh! So this is one of the kids!”

“Not a kid!” Warlock retorts, offended, and this is good, good, because he’s distracted allowing Crowley some more element of surprise.

“Oh? How old are you then?”

“Sixteen!”

“Sixteen? Who taught you Leeroy Jenkins?!”

“Nanny did!”

Bewildered, Anathema disbelievingly repeats, “Nanny?!”

He’s not going to try and retake control over his desktop computer, a hacking tug-o-war over it would be fun but--

“Oi! Do not kill my character Warlock!”

“Well hurry up and take back control of your computer! You’re getting slow in your old age, Nanny.”

“Slow?! Are you telling me you can’t keep a simple character-” now surrounded and being beat on by no less than twelve minions and a boss “-from dying for five minutes? Some gamer you claim to be.”

His character’s health is dropping dangerously low and it keeps getting stunned and really Crowley needs to look away and focus on getting past Warlock’s firewalls, which have gotten better, good boy, “and don’t think I didn’t notice you not helping Anathema!”

She laughs, “I’m just enjoying the show, Nanny.”

At the same time Warlock and Crowley both make noises of objection to that.

“-guh-wah-Anathema!”

“Hey!! Only I get to call Nanny that!”

“Okay, okay!” She backs off with a bemused laugh, “can’t say I expected that.”

“Full of surprises, me.” Crowley snarked back, half distracted by hacking into Warlock’s computer and yet unable resist sassing back.

“Why are you guys playing this lame game anyways?”  Warlock broke in impatiently, trying to hide the fact that no matter how fast he’s picking up the controls and powers, he might be too late to save Crowley’s character from an unfortunate death.

“Because he doesn’t have enough friends to play dnd with.”

“Excuse you! Where are all of your friends to play dnd with, witch girl?”

“Oh my godddd that’s even lamer!”

“Oh as if you didn’t pick the standard tiefling warlock the first time you played, little hellion.”

“Nanny!! How do you even know about that?!”

Anathema’s cackling in the background is the perfect soundtrack for this moment. He hits the last key and lets the grin take over his face as he seizes control of Warlock’s computer at home. “You had your first game online.”

“You spied on me?!”

“Nah. As soon as I figured it was dnd I buggered off, didn’t want interrupt your game with one of our wars.” Crowley paused, finally figuring out just what was in Warlock’s tone just then, “oh? Wait- did you do something embarrassing that I should find out about?”

“No!!”

That was a yes then. Oh what-

“God take back your character already Nanny!”

“Eh, I’ve got something better.”

“Wait- crap-”

“Language-”

“As if! Just- wait before you shut my computer down!”

“...alright. What?”

“My dad’s got this thing coming up and I may have left your business card with him.”

“May have?”

“Okay fine. I definitely left it. And probably forged a promotional email from you to him.”

“Warlock!”

“It’s fine! I swear it’s fine!”

As reassuring as that was, Crowley was still digging through the boy’s hard-drive looking for the evidence, “you don’t even have my business card.”

“Noooo,” he drew out, “but, uh, it wasn’t hard to recreate. Not sure if I got the right paper but dad doesn’t really notice that kind of thing anyways.” A muttered, barely heard, “he doesn’t notice anything really.”

Crowley found it finally and took a moment to sit and look at it. Surprisingly, it was done really well. It matched his business card and website and could, actually, look like a real email from his business. If he was the sort to keep up with emailing. Newsletters were a bit out dated for him and honestly, most emails like that tended to be entirely too annoying to read so he figured he wasn’t loosing out on too much business that way. Though it would ring as more legitimate for his business to have both to a rich snob like Warlock’s unfortunate father.

He’d been quiet too long evidently, because Warlock’s voice came through less confidently than usual as he asked, “was that not alright?”

He probably only meant well, and, well, it’s not like Crowley couldn’t use the business.

“Nah, it’s fine. You did a really good job on the email, almost looks like I could have sent it myself.”

He could practically hear both the relief and eyeroll over the headset from Warlock. “If you ever sent emails you mean.��

“Eh. Outdated. Anyways, when’s this event? Hold on- does this say- it says I’ll set up and arrange the flowers on site!”

“Uhhh… Yeah?”

Crowley groaned, “no no, I’ll figure it out. ‘s just a pain to do by myself.”

Anathema, sensing a weak point, jumped in, “maybe you should hire someone to help you out at the shop then.”

Crowley groaned, “not this again Ana...”

“Don’t call me Ana and yes this again. I don’t understand why you feel the need to work yourself to the bone in that place by yourself.”

“I’ll call you Ana all I want if you’re gonna keep beating this dead horse. I don’t trust anyone else with the plants! Some of them are delicate and I don’t need any clumsy fingered dolts bruising them or-”

“-or harming them or blah blah blah, just get someone to help you transport them then! Or just run the cash register and not touch the plants!”

Crowley groaned.

“Yeeeah, I’m gonna go now,” said Warlock, the son of two parents who didn’t really get along and often fought.

“Ah, shit, sorry Warlock. Not a real fight, just a...”

“disagreement,”

“Dissagreement. We’ve been through this debate a hundred times and Ana doesn’t know when to stop-”

“-Only because you don’t know when to give in!”

“Anyway! It’s after 11pm on a school night, shouldn’t you be asleep?”

“Well you see-”

“Goodnight little hellion!”

“No- wait!”

A moment of silence and then Anathema asked, “did you just shut down his computer?”

Crowled hummed a deviant agreement before adding, “and all his lights and phone.”

She was quiet for a moment. “That really is evil.”

“Eh. The phone’ll reboot in an hour and he knows how to unlock his computer- hey- wait a minute! When did my character die?!”

He stared mournfully at his dead character, had a moment of silence for his lost exp, and tried not to feel more betrayal at Anathema’s character hiding in the entrance of the cave than the boss and its minions standing over his dead body.

Anathema laughed.

#Crowley #Aziraphale #Good Omens #Anathema Device #Warlock Dowling #Ineffable Husbands #Just Ineffable #Good Omens fic #Good Omens fanfiction #Gomens fic #Humor #Hacking #My Writing #At Garden's Edge #Multi Chapter Story #Multi Chapter Fic #You can also read this on AO3! #:DDD #This is so much fun to write!

[creepy-crawley-crowley]

Naive - Crowley X Angel Female Reader

This was requested, and it was requested byyyyy: @adela-topaz-caelon

My lil request is a Crowley x Angel Reader where said Angel is an angel who was booted out of heaven because she's vaguely out of character for an angel, but is definitely one, and often helps the two men and they blatantly love each other but don't know, and Aziraphale is so tired of it, because he's noticed it since the beginning, and he just had enough. I don't mind if it's fluffy or smutty, or both, if you decide to take it on. I just would love your writing on this 😊

One: I FUCKING LOVE THIS REQUEST SO MUCH PLEASE SEND MORE I BEG YOU

Two: Oblivious but in love idiots are the best idiots haha

Warnings: uh, spicy at the end but it isn't full smut because I won't write full on smut like the furthest I will go is clothes removal you can imagine the rest.

You all know the drill, right? Gimme a shout if you wanna be on the taglist, too.

"Oh my, they are...hopeless! Oblivious! Absolutely...agh! Fools in love, that's what they are...ugh." Aziraphale groaned. He was pacing in the back room of his bookshop, fretting about his two closest friends.

Now, the context of this situation: Crowley, a demon, Aziraphale's best friend, is hopelessly in love with Y/N, an Angel, also Aziraphale's best friend. She's also hopelessly in love with Crowley. Why is Aziraphale so annoyed? Because they're so obvious! But yet neither of them seem to notice.

See, it all started at the start, in the Garden Of Eden. Aziraphale was stood on the wall, watching Adam and Eve, yada yada, and Y/N was with him. Y/N was...unique. She'd been kicked out of heaven for being...out of character. Hadn't fallen, though, not really, much to Aziraphale's delight.

And then Crowley came along. He slithered up the wall, and stood beside the two Angels. He knew instantly who Aziraphale was, but who was that? Who was the other one? The thing that confused him most, though, was that Y/N's wings were a mix of black and white.

Was she fallen? Kinda. Was she a Demon? No. An Angel? Yes.

Crowley felt his confusion grow by the minute.

In fact, he was intrigued. He was going to get to know this stranger, whatever it took.

The next time the two really met was in Paris. Aziraphale had gotten himself into a spot of trouble, and Y/N had seeked Crowley out, and dragged him to Paris. Aziraphale, after being set free, wandered off, probably to get food. Perhaps some crêpes.

This left Y/N and Crowley to talk. And talk they did. They'd met many, many times before Paris, obviously, but it had been a while since they'd had a proper chat...3000 years, give or take.

Aziraphale thinks that this moment is when Crowley realised how hopelessly in love he was with Y/N. Aziraphale could see it on his face, they way he looked at Y/N with gentle eyes from behind black glasses. Crowley denied it whenever the subject was brought up. "We're just friends!" He would protest, scrunching his face up in faux disgust.

Or maybe he had fell in love when Y/N had ran off after a unicorn, and returned riding it, smiling as if she had just won the lottery, although that didn't exist then. In fact, that occurred during the Noah's Ark problem.

Aziraphale was a being of love. He knew love when he saw it. He saw the love in shared glances when they thought nobody was looking, he saw the love in the way they spoke to each other, he saw the love in the tiny touches they shared. He saw it all.

He thinks that Y/N fell for Crowley when he saved his books after blowing the church up. Not that it was his fault...kinda. Anyway, Y/N had flown in on trembling wings, having seen the bomb go down, and knowing who was there. She had literally tackled both of them in a hug, engulfing them with her wings too.

"You idiots! You stupid, stupid idiots!" She had yelled. "I can't believe - who made the bomb fall?" She seethed, and Crowley had sheepishly raised a hand, and she had glared that him for a few moments, before her gaze softened, and she smiled, yet again hugging the Demon.

Or perhaps she had fallen for him in Rome.

Don't even get Aziraphale started on the 80's. They were at their worst then, Crowley was trying to hide his obvious feelings, and so was Y/N, but they did terribly, and only worsened the situation, because they both most certainly did not get drunk, and certainly did not drunkenly make out. (They did.)

Yeah, that never happened, as far as Aziraphale thought they knew. But Aziraphale knew, of course he did. That was one image he couldn't erase.

And then there was the 90's. They weren't so bad, actually, Aziraphale had decided. They had fallen out after an argument about Crowley and his need for holy water. Y/N had assumed the worst upon being told.

"You what? Aziraphale gave you holy water?" She had screamed at Crowley, wings out, and her eyes were narrowed to the point that they were mere slits. Crowley had nodded, slightly frightened by Y/N's reaction. "Crowley, you can't have holy water! You know what it'll do to you! It'll...It'll destroy you! Or is that why you wanted it? An easy way out?" And as soon as the words had left her mouth, Crowley had reacted.

Aziraphale shivered at the memory. It hadn't been pretty, actually. Crowley had accidentally burnt a few books in his momentary anger, although as soon as Y/N had left, he regretted it, turning to face Aziraphale, his golden eyes wide, looking rather shocked.

They ignored each other for seven years, which had mildly impressed Aziraphale, who hadn't thought they'd even be able to stay away from each other for a week. But no, both of them were even more stubborn than a mule, and boy oh boy, could they hold grudges.

They managed to fix things in '99, when Y/N had been in the bookshop. She had had a run in with a few demons, and although she had never revealed what had really happened, it had scared her to the point where she was quivering in the back room of the bookshop, curled up, cocooned in her wings. And that's how Crowley had found her. Originally he'd come in to find Aziraphale, but he had heard gentle sobs from the back room, and went in, curious. Upon finding Y/N he had darted over, closing the bookshop with a snap of his fingers as he fell to his knees in front of her.

Not realising it was Crowley, Y/N had scuttled away, backed into the corner, trembling. Crowley was confused, that was for sure, but more than anything he was concerned for his friend.

"Y/N? Y/N what's wrong?" He had asked softly, sitting in front of her. Y/N had looked up with bloodshot eyes, peeking out from behind her black and white wings, and she had flinched slightly. "What happened?" He repeated, removing his glasses. Y/N had shook her head, and Crowley had frowned.

"There were some demons." Y/N had whispered, so quietly that Crowley could barely hear her. She didn't say any more than that. She had then slowly shuffled forwards, towards Crowley, and wrapped her arms and wings around him, burying her face in Crowley's shoulder, and that's where they stayed for a while.

They went back to their usual antics after that.

Aziraphale was relieved that they were back to normal, but now he was dealing with them dancing around their feelings again, and there was only so much dancing he could take, and he loved dancing...and food.

But now Aziraphale was just about done with them both. He was going to take things into his own hands, and began planning his master plan. There was no way it wouldn't work, right?

So, the next day, he led them both into the back room, and then locked them in there together. He had pinned a note on the door, the side that they'd be able to see, and Crowley ripped it off, reading it, and Y/N witnessed a rather amusing event. Crowley went red, and then sighed, and read it out.

"Hello Crowley and Y/N, this is Aziraphale, and I'm not sorry for locking you both in here. You two need to talk about stuff, and when I think you're done I'll let you out." Crowley read, grumbling, and Y/N chuckled.

"We can sneak out, you know." She stated, and after saying that, she shrunk herself, and wandered out, under the door. Crowley followed.

They snuck out, to the Bentley, and they both got in after returning to their natural sizes.

Aziraphale was state in the back, much to their surprise.

"I knew you'd try to sneak out, you know." He stated, smiling brightly. "This was my plan all along! Now I can talk to you both." He grinned. "You two are the most oblivious people ever, and I have therefore decided that I must do this myself."

Crowley realised what was happening, and hissed. "Aziraphale, don't you dare!" He growled, although there was no real threat. Y/N looked on, merely confused.

"Crowley, do it, otherwise I will." Aziraphale sighed. Crowley turned to face Y/N, and made a strangled noise, one of objection. "You can do it!" Aziraphale encouraged.

"No I can't! I've had...since the Ark to do it! If I could, I would have done it by now, Angel." Crowley managed to say.

"It's okay to be scared, Crowley." Aziraphale said, rather softly. Crowley hissed, almost angrily.

"I'm not scared! I'm just...just..." Crowley's shoulders fell. "I'm not scared. I just don't want to lose anyone."

"Hey, can someone tell me what's going on?" Y/N huffed, folding her arms, mildly annoyed, but confused, and overly curious, as usual. Crowley and Aziraphale looked at her. Aziraphale then looked at Crowley, who shrugged, then sighed.

"Don't...worry. Uh, it's not that important." Crowley smiled. Y/N sighed, knowing he had lied. "Okay, okay, Aziraphale get out, just for a minute." Crowley looked at Aziraphale, who smiled at him, before getting out of the Bentley.

"Y/N, I know it's stupid but there's something I really need to say to you." Crowley started, and his eyebrows fell as he tried to think of what to say. "I know I'm a Demon, and you're an Angel, kinda, and were supposed to be enemies, but there's nothing I could do. I tried to fight it because I didn't want to be like a human." He bit his lip, then removed his glasses, and his golden eyes stared into Y/N's. "I...I uh, how do I say this?" He mumbled. "I...like you? I really like you?" He blurted out, sounding slightly confused. Y/N smiled.

"I mean, it'd be problematic if you didn't." She chuckled, not realising what Crowley mean. The Demon groaned, mildly annoyed by her obliviousness.

"No! That's not what I meant! I meant that I really really like you and how on Earth do I say this? Okay...I don't like you as a friend, I like you as...more?"

Y/N realised what he mean, and her eyes widened, and she suddenly disappeared, leaving Crowley by himself.

Y/N had actually teleported herself inside the bookshop, and she had sat down, near Aziraphale. Aziraphale took notice of her shocked expression, and sat next to her.

Crowley stayed inside his car, groaning loudly, instantly assuming that the worst had happened and that she didn't like him back. That she didn't love him. Crowley growled at the thought. Love. What a useless thing.

"Y/N, my dear, what ever is wrong?" Aziraphale asked, confused. Y/N laughed softly, but as she laughed, she seemed to slowly descend into madness.

"He said he liked me as more as a friend, Zira. More than a friend! What does that even mean?" Y/N snorted, and Aziraphale sighed, glancing outside. Crowley was still sat in his Bentley, but now he was listening to Queen...probably.

"Y/N, it means he wants to...date you, I believe that is the correct modern term." Aziraphale hummed quietly. "It means he loves you. Y/N, I know you love him too. Everyone in Heaven and Hell might as well know, you two are so obvious! You've been dancing around each other for hundreds of years and I am just about done with it! Now go and talk to Crowley before he drives off and goes and does something stupid. Go." Aziraphale explained, and Y/N nodded, and ran back outside, clambering into the car.

"Crowley, let's go home, please." Y/N said, and Crowley raised an eyebrow, but drove anyway. "I don't want to cause a scene in the middle of a street. I have no idea what's going to happen next, Crow, but I'm hoping it's good." Y/N added, and Crowley raised an eyebrow, looking at her.

"Explain." He mumbled, mildly confused.

"Okay, okay...just...get inside first." Y/N said, rushing inside, to Crowley's flat. Crowley simply teleported, and sat on his throne as he waited for Y/N. Y/N ran in, and Crowley smirked slightly. "Okay, Aziraphale had to explain what you meant but I know now and I like you more than a friend too, or as Aziraphale said, love you and I guess he's not wrong." Y/N blurted, and Crowley suddenly coughed, standing up and walking to her. "And you're a really...cool demon too, so, I guess that's a bonus. You're pretty nice-" Y/N continued, and Crowley snarled, automatically darting forwards, and he (though gentler than usual) pushed Y/N against the wall.

"I'm not nice!" He snapped, and Y/N blinked. "I'm...not...nice!" Crowley repeated, through gritted teeth, and then he suddenly felt a gentle hand cup his cheek.

"Huh, Zira wasn't lying when he said you didn't like being called nice." Y/N mumbled, and Crowley didn't miss her eyes quickly flitting from his lips to his eyes. Or glasses, rather. He smirked, and edged slightly closer.

"You knew exactly what you were doing, damn. Little Miss Innocent isn't as pure as she seems." He remarked sarcastically.

"Well, obviously, I was cast out of heaven for a reason." Y/N stated, rather dryly. Crowley snorted, and Y/N smiled, and down her eyes went again, and back up, and Crowley hummed softly. "Are you just gonna stand there then?" Y/N asked, starting to shift slightly so she could get away. Not that she really wanted too, but it worked, because Crowley rolled his eyes, before pressing his lips to hers.

It was everything that Y/N had wished for and more. His lips were soft and gentle against hers, and might have well been puzzle pieces, slotting perfectly against hers. She realised that she could faintly taste wine, ands she smiled into the kiss, hands coming up to wrap around his shoulders, holding him as close as possible. Crowley's glasses were hard against her features, but she didn't mind because, finally, after thousands of years she was getting what she wanted. Crowley pulled away, quickly removing his glasses.

"How long?" He asked quietly, and Y/N smiled, lips still brushing against each other.

"Since Rome." She admitted, and Crowley hummed softly. "What about you, Crow?"

"Since the Ark." He mumbled, and Y/N smiled more, before seeking out his lips again.

Crowley gently held her hips, absentmindedly rubbing circles into her skin with his thumbs. "I love you too." He whispered, and Y/N nodded slightly, playing with the ends of Crowley's red hair. She connected their lips again, a little more force, a bit more want, and lot more need and Crowley knew where this was leading but he didn't mind. Besides, he was a demon, he was supposed to sin.

So he went along with it, revelling in the moment, and he unintentionally let Y/N take the lead. But only for now, he thought to himself. But he was still a Demon, and still decided to tease Y/N a little, his hands sometimes moving a little lower than they should've.

Y/N's only reaction was to huff, and gently bite his lip, which would cause Crowley to gasp, and allowed Y/N to have her way, not that Crowley minded. He certainly didn't.

He soon grew tired of just enthusiastically kissing though, and pulled away, pressing a uncharacteristically soft kiss to the corner of her mouth, and he began to trail kisses down to Y/N's neck, humming 'Somebody To Love' as he went. Y/N's grip on his shoulders tightened, and Crowley smirked, gently nipping at her skin, causing Y/N to gasp quietly.

"Crowley, you better not leave marks!" She hissed, and Crowley merely winked, before grazing his teeth across her skin again, before suddenly just nuzzling into the small crook of Y/N's neck. Y/N blinked, confused, but she smiled anyway, resting her chin on top of Crowley's head.

Then Crowley did the opposite of what Y/N had told him. He left a hickey.

Now, Y/N could pretend to be angry all she wanted, but she wasn't really, she never really could be. After all, it was Crowley. Who could be mad at Crowley? (A lot of people.)

So instead, she softly flicked him when he was done, and sighed.

"You're lucky I love you, Crowley." She grumbled, and Crowley shrugged, and pecked Y/N's lips, smiling. He then began working on the buttons of Y/N's shirt, and, well.

The rest is history.

Tags: @dekahg , @steampowerednightvaler

#crowley x reader #crawley #crowley #good omens x reader #good omens #aziraphale #reader #x reader #crowley good omens #kinda smut #?? #at the end #eh #but eh

[illusionlock]

pazam: a mess, truly a mess

so i usually dont do these kind of posts, i guess you could say its a call out of some sort? but i never liked that word, i prefer rather to just compile sources on WHY people would believe that a certain person is not truly as nice and understanding as they seem. consider this more of a psa post, detailing on whats going on with pazam on the sfm community, why so many people are against them.

So, a while back, tumblr user jymble made a post on the main tag stating that pazam was transphobic. they linked back to this post, which contains screenshots of pazam in a group chat stating that they do not feel comfortable with the idea of trans people. now, this did happen 9 months ago, true. however, for the record, pazam is already an adult, 24 years old, so they should have some tact. and as further and more recent events will show, they actually havent changed that much at all, at least not as they claim.

the screenshots should be in the post, but here is a transcript

[Screenshot one]

Pazam:

What????? Why?????

I literally HAVE NOT been doing ANYTHING malicious to them

And if it did I apologized

Yes I do have discomfort about them but I keep it to myself

Why are you doing this????

[End screenshot one]

‘Them’ here refers to trans people in general. Notice the defensive and victimizing stance they almost immediately take upon being confronted about their feelings on trans people.

[Screenshot two]

elliott:

of COURSE you dont

sammaku:

Like specifically

Elliott hush

Pazam:

This whole concept of transness and changing your gender physically

I hate to say it again but it weirds me out and it makes me question my own gender which flings me into anxiety, depression, and obsession

sammaku:

Its fine to not understand but are you willing to learn about it

Pazam:

I don’t want to talk about this anymore

sammaku:

That depression anxiety and obsession just comes with gender issues

(the rest of the text is cut off)

[End Screenshot two]

notice once summaku asks them if they would at least be willing to learn about it, pazam immediately deflects it by saying they dont want to talk about it anymore.

[Screenshot three]

Pazam:

Seriously??? That’s all it takes????

Wow I’m a moron

I’m sorry for all the trouble I’ve caused to you

@.aziraphale @.elliott @.sammaku

I just don’t get this stuff period

And I’ve gotten into trouble with this stuff before

I’ll probably never understand it for the rest of my life but I’ll try to be more tactful around y’all

Especially since you’re all young

And I’m like an adult

[End screenshot three]

While at first this would seem like they had finally learned their lesson and apologized, the things they add on after the @s become quickly worrying. Not only do they admit to ‘have gotten into trouble with this stuff before’, meaning they have probably shown their transphobia in other places and been called out, but they also stand firmly on the fact that they will never understand it or ‘get’ it.

And of course, as jymble points out, the implication that the people they were talking to were only acting like that because they were young.

A while after this post was made, Pazam had posted an apology, and went onto contact jymble asking for the post with the evidence of their transphobic to be taken down. The reason? They were afraid people would see it and think they were still transphobic and not give them a chance.

In this more recent post, you can see the conversation play out between Pazam and jymbles. Long story short, Pazam feels that it’s unfair that that post is still up after they apologized, and jymble of course said they would rather not take it down, people deserve to know what they did and take their own conclusions, even if that involves avoiding them. How does Pazam respond? By flat out deleting the apology post. I’d love to show the apology post to give you both sides of the story but I cannot anymore, because Pazam in a very bizarre move just deleted it because they got mad a trans blogger wouldn’t take down their post with proof.

Here’s the transcript of the screenshots:

[Begin Conversation]

rebloggidy (Pazam’s personal):

I’m by no means transphobia-free after learning what I’ve done but at least I know my actions and am making an effort to be a better person towards trans people.

rebloggidy:

Hi again. So I hate to be that person but would it be ok if you took down that post about the transphobia claims? I know it took me 9 months to apologize but if people only see your side of the story and not realize the post I saw they’ll take it out of context and still think I’m transphobic. Do you understand?

jymble:

... i already told you im not taking down the post.

[jymble sends a screenshot of her own message in a previous conversation, the screenshot reads as follows:

however, i dont think im taking the post down, nor am i entirely comfortable with you interacting with me either. people deserve to know how you acted with this stuff, until youre really and truly *better* with it instead of just trying, and i was a direct target of it]

jymble:

you oughright told me "im by no means transphobia-free", word for word sorry, but i told you before. im not taking the post down.

rebloggidy:

I remember that. But what I'm trying to say to you is that if people who read it out of context will immediately think I'm still transphobic without the other side of it (my comment)

And I don't want people to think that in the future

jymble:

if people make assumptions without looking at the entire situation, thats on them

i am not deleting the post and thats final. people have a right to know what youve done, and they have a right to be uncomfortable

rebloggidy:

I'm ready to take down my post because frankly, I'm sick and tired of having to justifiy something that I did 9 months ago, and that people grow and learn even not 100% during that time and I'm ready to move on.

I'm still into smile for me and feel free to make a blacklist of my name so anybody who rbs my work on your dash can have it hidden or something.

Take care.

[End conversation]

a lot to unpack here, but perhaps most notable is when jymble simply stands her ground and tells pazam she wont take down the post, pazam straight up decides, without being told to or anything, that they should take down their apology. later on, they made a post stating why they deleted the post, and saying they had ‘been forced to’.

I also would love to link it here, but as of now of writing this, like, not even an hour or so after I had seen that post, it got deleted. The only memory I have of it is a conversation I had with my boyfriend about Pazam, in which I copypasted a fragment from that post that read:

“ So for those wondering where the apology post went, I was forced to delete it. I wanted to archive it in some way so I could pull it up for reference, but there was no way I could. Also I didn’t really want to see it every time on my blog because quite honestly it’s upsetting to look at.”

There are some lies and twisting of truths here. Pazam wasn’t forced to delete it, they decided they should do it as a way to somehow get back at jymble. And the excuse that it was upsetting for them to look at is just inexcusable, what matters most, letting people know of what youve done and that youre sorry, or just never addressing the situation?

But, well, I’m just hoping you’ll take my word for it. As you see, Pazam has officially deleted ANY traces of acknowledging this situation on their blog.

This worries me. If Pazam is truly as concerned that they will be seen as transphobic as they claim, why are they deleting anything that could give them a chance of showing their own side of the story?

Now, that is the end, for now, of Pazam’s history with transphobia. However! It is not the end for some other very shady things.

Namely, Pazam has consistently whitewashed characters from Smile For Me, specially Kamal, and when called out on it, simply deletes the asks.

Want to know how I know this?

I sent them an ask myself. I had come across this picture of Boris and Kamal:

And I knew that this wasn’t right. I can understand using light colors and doing watercolor, but if they can make Boris’ hair brown and vivid enough, why not Kamal? He looks like another character completely, or like he’s deathly sick! 

So I sent them an anonymous ask, perhaps a bit exhasperated, true, and my wording could be better. It went something like: “i am begging you to draw kamal with darker skin”.

I waited, checked. But nothing came of it. They never answered it.

Pazam flat out ignored when they were told they had drawn a canonically brown man with skin way too light. Not even a lone text post saying ‘hey anon, i dont agree with you’ or ‘hey anon im sorry it wont happen again’. Nothing. No word, no opinion.

And with this situation going on with them evading responsibility, I can’t say I’m fully surprised.

And, yet another thing. People had expressed concern over the fact they had drawn their Flower Kid, who is 17, in very intimate and close positions with Dr. Habit. It included nuzzling faces, cuddling in bed together, wearing his coat...

And they did hear the claims this time. As of now, their Flower Kid is 24, according to them.

Except... They do not look 24. At. All.

this is a 12 year old. at best. short body, stubby legs, big head. those are all attributes of a very young character, usually children. like, legitimately, thats how childrens anatomy is in real life. the younger the person, the bigger their head is in proportion to their body.

We have already had an adult trying to justify drawing their flower kid who barely looked like an adult if at all in intimate situations with Habit. Let’s not let it slide by again.

And yes, I’m aware Pazam claims that those pictures were not supposed to be interpreted as romantic, ‘only platonic fluff’ and that they intend to keep it that way, but I have talked to my boyfriend who is a survivor and he said it very well could be a case of someone just trying to cover their tracks.

BUT, all that being said, maybe this one particular instance could be just us being wary. Still, it does not diminish all that they have done, specially ignoring the whitewashing claims.

What you are going to do with this information, I do not know. Maybe you don’t care and will keep reblogging their content. Maybe you’re disgusted by them. But I’m just here to give you the facts. Personally though, I’m not willing to give them much of a chance after the way they’ve behaved. They are 24 years old, three years older than me, and I think I could do a better job of handling a situation like this, frankly.

#don't be scared. i am here with you. #smile for me #smile for me game

[sincerly-kate]

Falling Skies (Crowley x Fem!Reader)

A/n: Hello! So I’ve decided to start writing on here, and I hope that you guys like it and feel free to let me know about any requests or ideas that you’d like me to write in the future, enjoy! Also thank you to @ourownsideimagines for getting me out of my writers block!💙💙

Warnings:Slight angst, fluff ending and kinda swearing?

Summary: Crowley and Y/n have known each other since before his fall. Unknowingly to the other, they both ended up falling for the other over time. Crowley responds to this in his own ways, but what happens when Armageddon starts and they both need to pick a side?

Y/n; the sister to the archangel Gabriel. Some may say that this had its perks and that she could get away with whatever she wanted whenever she wanted; the ones who said this obviously didn’t know Gabriel very well. If anything, she was kept under a much more watchful eye. In y/n’s eyes, this was so she didn’t hurt his perfect reputation up in heaven. There was only two people in the entire world that truly knew y/n.

An angel named Aziraphale, that was more of a brother to her than her actual archangel brother ever could ever be,

and a certain demon named Crowley.

unknown to the other, they both shared feelings for the other.  And as one normally does, they both decided to ignore this feeling.

The three of them have known each other for about 6000 years, and over the years they’ve seen each other through it all.

From the garden of Eden to modern day, they became a trio of unlikely friends. but if it came down to it, they would be sacrifice themselves for the other when it came down to it.

Right now, you and Aziraphale were in his bookshop. You were there to keep him company, while Aziraphale on the other hand was trying to find a certain object that he refused to tell you about.

"Y/n? Are you quite alright dear?" you were snapped out of your thoughts by a certain blonde haired friend of yours.

“Oh,” You turned your head towards Aziraphale, “I’m fine.” You moved your head from the palm of your hand that you had it resting on and gave him a thin lined smile.

Aziraphale gave you one of his knowing looks, he knows you were lying but he knew you didn’t mean any harm by it; that’s just the way you were.

No thanks to Gabriel and the others, you always kept your thought and feeling to yourself. You were always told that they were a sign of weakness.

You sighed and pushed yourself off the couch and walked towards the bookshelf Aziraphale was in front of.

“Now, I think both of us know that far from the truth.” He gave you a sympathetic smile before taking his attention from the shelf, and to you.

You sighed and leaned against the shelf and looked to the ground in defeat. ‘Damnit, he knows me too well for my own good.’ You thought.

“Now, are you going to tell me why you were daydreaming about Crowley, or are you going to lie?” He said bluntly, not even phased by your cheeks suddenly turning a bright pink. You then straightened out your back, and tried to may your way towards the door.

“Uh- erm. I-I don’t know what your talking about Az…” As you slowly sauntered towards the door to make an exit with at least some of your confidence intact, a force decided otherwise and pulled you backwards by your jacket.

“Dear, you are not leaving until you tell me what’s going on between you two. I may be oblivious at times, but I’m not blind.”

You turned around, to look your ethereal friend in the face. You sighed and then began to speak, “He hates me, I just know it Az! In all of my centuries existing, I’ve never once done anything to him! One day he wants to talk to me and then the next he wants nothing to do with me. He wouldn’t even care if I didn’t even exist.” Your voice becoming lower and lower as you continued.

A book then slammed onto the table, “Y/N! In all my millennia of knowing you and Crowley, I don’t think I’ve seen anyone else look at another like the way you two do.” You jumped at not only the sudden noise, but also his words.

Crowley; in love with you?

You don’t think you’ve heard anything more impossible.

“Goodbye Aziraphale.” You said in a monotone, as you walked out of the shop; but this time he let you.

As your face confronted the cold air, you headed into the direction of your flat. Once you were halfway there, you got shoved by one of the pedestrians on the sidewalk.

You turn around to confront them, “Hey! Watch it!” but by the time you turned around all you could see is what looks like to be the older man in an army jacket who was already halfway down the street, and seemed to be heading in the same direction as the bookshop.

-

You were just about to have a nap when you suddenly got a phone call from the demon himself. You picked it up, and before you could tell him off for ignoring you for the past five days, he started to talk.

“Y/n, I need you to meet me at the Tadfield air base. Now.” You could hear something in his voice, but you couldn’t quite put your finger on it.

“Crowley, if this is one of your little-” once again; you were interrupted.

“No, seriously angel, I need your help.” You knew it must’ve been serious if he was actually asking, nearly begging, for your help.

“Alright, is Aziraphale coming with us?”

“… no Y/n...” By his tone and lack of nickname, you could tell that something must’ve happened, but you decided you’d ask him once you got to the air base.

“Alright, I’m on my way.”

-

Once you had gotten to the air base, you noticed two other individuals were at the gate as well. This made you confused as to why they would be at the air base, that was supposedly abandoned from what you could see.

“Hello?” You tried getting their attention and hopefully some answers, but as they turned around you noticed that one of them looked familiar.

“Hey! You were that idiot who almost knocked me over!”  you started to aggressively stomp towards him, but a female's hand had stopped you, and spared the gentleman from your wrath.

“Lady, I’m going to have to ask you to get that hand of yours off of me!” you shoved her hand off you, and what happened next will still confuse you till the end of time.

“Y/n dear, I’m going to have to refrain you from harming that man.” Aziraphale’s voice then suddenly coming out of the mystery woman.

“A-Az?” Your brain was incapable of processing what the hell was going on, but before you could ask, a certain Bentley that was engulfed in flames and the sound of Queen coming out of it was turning towards the base.

You were still speechless by the time Crowley got out of his Bentley,

“Hey, Aziraphale! I see you found a ride. Nice dress. It suits you.”

Your head then turns towards ‘Aziraphale’ with a more than confused expression, he waved it off and said he’d explain it to you later.

Once you guys got into the base, you could already see the four horsemen, and in front of them were four… children?

Upon closer inspection, you finally realized that one of the children was standing out most to you.

“Is that? -” You pointed to the child,

“Yes, that’s the antichrist, get with the program here!” Crowley said to you with an underlying irritated tone.

That just pissed you off more.

“Oh, that’s IT!” You then turned your body around to tell him off; screw Armageddon; he was pissing you off. Unfortunately, ‘Aziraphale’ stood in front of you to stop you.

“C’mon dear, don’t do something you’ll regret.” He then guided you towards the children and the horsemen, but also knowing damn well you wouldn’t actually harm him.

-

Somehow, the children and the Antichrist who you found out eventually was named Adam, got rid of the horsemen. You were about to turn around and head back to your flat, until you heard a wretched voice.

“Y/n! Good to see you, shouldn’t you be in heaven with the other angels?” Gabriel said to you, his voice was laced with an undertone of annoyance and his violet eyes filled with fury, seeing that you were quite literally in between another angel and a demon, both that have been giving him issues since who knows when.

You felt yourself shrink into yourself, and feel your white wings become exposed as you were about to fly up.

But something stopped you, or more like someone.

Crowley was holding your hand and keeping you from leaving again, especially since he realized he’d have to fight you if Armageddon was to start. He would rather be discorporated then fight you in what he’d know would become the death of both of you.

“No, she’s not going anywhere, especially with you.” Crowley then for once stood up to Gabriel, you never thought that in your life he would do that; especially for you.

You were completely shocked but felt a warm feeling that he would even dare stand up to him for you, but I guess what has he got to lose if the end of the world starts in a few minutes?

“Fine then, you win then!” You were confused as to what he meant, until you started to hear a high pitched scream.

You then realized that this scream was yours.

Your back was burning, and you let go of Crowley’s hand as you fell to the solid ground underneath you, and both of your hands went to your back; more specifically your wings.

You then your vision was becoming darker and darker, but before you completely passed out, you heard Crowley and Aziraphale scream for your name.

-

Once you came back to your senses, you tried to stand up, but your back felt as if it was on fire, so you fell back onto the bed.

This caused you to let out a groan from pain, and this also alerted the two beings that were in the other room.

“Angel?” You heard Crowley’s voice coming from the other room and the sudden sound of two pairs of feet making their way towards you. Crowley then turned the corner with Aziraphale in his own body in tow.

“Angel, you’re alright.” He then came up to you with relief filling both of your faces, he then grabbed both sides both your face and kissed you with a passion you never knew he had for you.

You started to kiss him back, tasting some of the salt from tears that were falling from both your faces as you both then pulled away, realizing you weren’t quite alone.

“FINALLY!” You both hear Aziraphale yell, as he makes his way out of the room to give you both privacy to talk.

You laughed at him, but then a sudden jolt of pain stopped you from laughing harder. You tried to grab for your wings, but Crowley’s hand stopped you from doing so.

“Don’t worry Y/n, we’ll get him back for what that bastard did to you, even it’s the last thing I ever do.” He kisses your hand, as you turn around to see your now broken, burnt, pure black wings behind you.

#good omens #good omens x reader #good omens fanfic #anthony j crowley x reader #crowley x reader #crowley #aziraphale #kate writes

[wanna-b-poet31]

Observations on Aziraphale and Food

In the last few days I’ve noticed a few things I never considered in my earlier Observations of Aziraphale and Food. Primarily, how much Gabriel (and Heaven)’s treatment of Aziraphale’s relationship with food mirrors their treatment of his relationship with Crowley!

Let’s take a closer look at the Sushi-house scene.

As I mentioned before, Aziraphale goes from an expectant smile to a terse, forced one in a matter of seconds. He glances to his left, at a mirror (not a door), expectantly and his face falls considerably as he’s faced with Gabriel’s >garbage< presence.  There’s a tense greeting (Gabriel cutting off Aziraphale’s attempts at politeness) and then Gabriel starts by saying:

[gif: Gabriel, pointing to food saying “why do you consume that” with an emphasis on that, indicating a dismissive tone]  

I maintain that Gabriel’s actions here ARE abusive with a capital A, but they’re also dismissive and hypocritical. Look at the condescending pointing, accusatory tone, the grimace of the Hollier-than-thou archangel. Not only is food, and eating disgusting to him, it’s “unnatural” to him. It repulses him, and is somehow sullying “the temple of [his] celestial body with gross matter”.

In the above gif, pay particular attention to the feigned look of momentary confusion before settling on the condemnation of food as “gross matter”. Yes, you could read this as him being genuinely confused about why/how Aziraphale could possibly choose to indulge in food, but any authenticity is immediately undercut when Aziraphale points out Gabriel’s attire and Gabriel admits he “likes the clothes”.  In almost the same breath he’s ready to attack Aziraphale. 

Functionally, Gabriel is “guilty” with the same “sin” of over-indulgence, of an overattachment to human items, to coveting clothes, but it is Aziraphale who is wrong. It is somehow Aziraphale who is “deserving” of punishment. Gabriel is not without sin, so why is he throwing the first stone?

Control. 

Heaven’s need/demand for control is fundamental. Aziraphale’s indulgences are only gluttonous to Heaven and Gabriel because it allows him an outlet to exercise freedom outside their sanctioned, color-coded, cold-blooded power structure. Like nothing is intrinsically wrong with Aziraphale liking food, there’s nothing intrinsically wrong with working or loving Crowley. Michael clearly reaches out to Ligur as equals, Gabriel joins Beelzebub freely at the airfield, and then Eric, a disposable demon, is referred to as Heaven’s new associate.  Essentially, because the ineffable spouses can’t be controlled  (at least not easily) when they’re together, and on the same page, they must be crushed. 

The double standard exists almost exclusively to harm Aziraphale and Crowley, our loveable bastards. Unlike other bad angels and demons we see in Good Omens, they will choose to be kind, Aziraphale will choose to be “frivolous” with his miracles, and Crowley will choose compassion towards kids (although he does plead on the behalf of all humanity when he talks to God). 

But, Gabriel and Heaven cannot allow for dissent or variable. Heaven cannot allow Aziraphale the same freedom to interact with demons because it would erode their control over the principality. Partly because of Aziraphale clear, explicit, and repeated concern and disagreement with the end times -- more than once offering solutions that don’t require a war to have to happen at all -- but because Aziraphale is a liability to the cause. 

So What Does This Scene Do?

This is the most critical moment for Aziraphale as it is a direct test of the pretext that he has established between himself and Crowley. We get the feeling that no one from Heaven has actually witnessed Aziraphale’s eating and drinking habits, and Aziraphale has banked so much on the idea that consuming food and using food as a layer of protection. So when Gabriel asks him about it the accusation speaks volumes. The message from Gabriel is clear: Aziraphale is wrong for eating, but also, his acceptance that it is necessary for Aziraphale to masquerade on earth shows that the pretext works.

Aziraphale tries to present his interest, a small act of individuality, of love, without pretext. To love something, someone, simply because he loves it. And this is the reaction he gets:

[gif: Gabriel from Good Omens makes a face of repulsion while Aziraphale tries to explain that people he likes sushi just because it’s nice]

It’s immediately clear that simply loving his interest is will be rejected. 

If something so small, so inconsequential like food is easily condemned because he likes it without a reason, then there’s no way in Heaven or Hell that being transparent about his feelings (platonic or no) towards Crowley will be accepted.

So, after a beat, Aziraphale has his reaction ready, smoothly arguing that eating sushi seeing Crowley, is something humans do. Through a forced smile, he insists he’s doing it merely for “Keeping up appearances”. And, with some commentary about the nice suits, Gabriel grudgingly accepts this excuse. It is within reason that Aziraphale is indeed going to need to be “keeping up appearances”. 

His transgression is still “condemnable” in Gabriel’s worldview (as evidenced by the face of repulsion at being offered tea), but Aziraphale’s actions are suddenly acceptable because it doesn’t denote independence, nor breaks Heaven’s double standard.

This scene reaffirms Aziraphale’s use of food as a safety net. And reminds him how critical it is for them to have a pretense, a catalyst which allows them a cover from the wrath of their respective bosses. The mere fact that he can escape this encounter without being harmed because of the pretext of food, is motivation enough to keep holding Crowley at an arm’s length away. If he can spin their encounters as innocently going to lunch to “keep up appearances,” both are protected. Both, at least Aziraphale hopes both, are safe.

Remember, Aziraphale is the one who constantly insists that Hell will Destroy Crowley for being caught being with him. While at the Globe, at the park in the 1800′s,  or in the Bentley with the thermos -- places mind you where Aziraphale’s preferred pretense is barely there and he is most vulnerable--  he doesn’t emphasize his own safety, but Crowley’s. He needs this pretext yes, he knows Heaven will make him pay, but he cares, despite it all so much for Crowley.

As long as there’s the pretext of a meal, there’s safety. 

Which, to me, at least makes the 60′s Bentley scene so much more powerful. 

Crowley is willing to drop the pretext in a heartbeat. In fact, if you go all the way back and look at his initial request for Holy water, that IS his first attempt at dropping pretext. He is announcing that he is willing to drop literally everything, to throw his lot in with Aziraphale, all he needs is a weapon. He is as explicitly as he can, telling Aziraphale that if this all goes to Hell, they are not so different, (read: they want the same things) and they need physical protection. 

But, Aziraphale has a weapon. He has food; he has social decorum; he has excuses; he has loopholes; he has pretext. He is almost literally physically unable to disobey Heaven and he’s been conditioned to need Heaven like an abusive parent. His need to be accepted by Heaven is almost as much as he willingly chooses to love Crowley, so he cannot surrender pretext. Especially if the threat of Crowley’s (and his) safety hangs in the balance.

Back in the Bentley, When Crowley says “I’ll give you a lift. Anywhere you want to go” he’s effectively saying “I will give you the picnic, I’ll take you to the Ritz, I will drop all pretext now. I’m ready for that future with you, without ”. 

Aziraphale rips all of our (and Crowley’s) Hearts out when he says “You go to fast for me, Crowley” because we’re all aware that it’s not a no to the romantic feelings. But he just handed Crowley a literal suicide pill, the seeds of his best friend’s own destruction. He has just detailed how Holy Water will destroy Crowley’s very essence, how he has just made Crowley unsafe with the tartan thermos. And yet, he refuses to dismantle all of the safety nets he’s constructed for himself and Crowley. 

TLDR: Food is a pretext that Aziraphale tests and uses to evade Gabriel’s/Heaven’s abuse. And, he so badly needs to and wants to shield Crowley and himself, meanwhile, Crowley is more than willing to be the thing that protects them both. They’re both so ready to be loved and protect the one they love most.

Thanks for coming to my TedTalk

#Ineffable Husbands #good omens meta #gomens #go #gomens meta #a/c #aziraphale #aziraphale/crowley #crowley/aziraphale #Crowley and Aziraphale #these two are so in love #thanks for coming to my ted talk #anthony j crowley #anthony janthony crowley #crowley #Crowley's Bentley #aziraphale's heart #romance #love story #good omens is a love story #good omens gabriel #gabriel #FUCK GABRIEL #good omens gif #gomens gif #ineffable spouses #good omens

[littlehollyleaf]

(I had a really long, detailed version of this....... but Tumblr ate it D’: so this is... heavily abridged, sorry!)

Tagged by the ever lovely @castiel-saved-me-from-myself​ <3

pick 10 ships without reading the questions

Interesting... ok!

1. Dean/Cas (obviously)

2. Aziraphale/Crowley

3. Nygmobblepot

4. Foxma

5. Babitha

6. Amy/Rory

7. Nomi/Amanita

8. Eve/Flynn

9. Catradora

10. Cosima/Delphine

1. Do you remember the episode/scene/chapter that you first started shipping 6?

I think I started shipping Amy/Rory during the Venice fish monster ep - cos that was when I felt Amy really did love him back and they had a future together. Before I suspected that her running away with the Doctor was a sign she and Rory weren’t right for each other.

2. Have you ever read a FanFiction about 2?

Only read a handful of Ineffable fic. Overall I’m perfectly happy with the canon alone.

3. Has a picture of 4 ever been your screen saver/profile picture/tumblr?

Yes I’ve had Foxma themed phone backgrounds and a tumblr header :)

4. If 7 were to suddenly break-up today, what would your reaction be?

Disbelief and disapproval. Nomi and Amanita were one of the great constants of Sense8 for me. I think a break up would be out of character for them tbh. Plus it would be denying the black and trans characters a rare example of a happy ending, which would suck.

5. Why is 1 so important?

I wrote such a detailed thing about how DeanCas is not only important to me personally but also how I feel it’s been important for TV/media in general... ugh, tumblr!

In a nutshell - this ship helped me better myself in various ways. It introduced me to fandom,  which boosted my confidence and independence via increased socialisation; it encouraged me to write more, which improved my writing skills; meta discussions educated me on lots of issues, inc. but not limited to abuse, sexuality, gender identit, autism and racism.

I also genuinely believe that the loud and open fandom support of the ship has been a significant help in the ongoing battle for more and better queer rep in media.

6. Is 9 a funny ship or a serious ship?

Serious! Catra and Adora’s relationship is a core part of the whole show, relating to lots of the wider themes of abuse, toxic behaviour, growth and forgiveness. Plus the significance of a same sex romance involving the lead character in a CHILDREN’S CARTOON really cannot be overstated.

(but it is also cute and funny sometimes :p)

7. Out of all of the ships listed, which ship has the most chemistry?

I’ve spoken before about having issues with the concept of ‘chemistry.’ If I ship characters it’s usually because I find the combination of their characterisation and story arcs interesting/compelling. I often don’t notice (or I guess care about?) chemistry.

So I think I’m not qualified to answer this one.

8. Out of all of your ships listed, which ship has the strongest bond?

Agreeing with @castiel-saved-me-from-myself​ here - you can’t really beat the Ineffables millenia long romance :)

9. How many times have you read/watched 8’s fandom?

I’ve rewatched The Librarians 2 or 3 times now. It’s DAFT. But it’s fun. And Eve and Flynn make me feel warm and fuzzy.

10. Which ship has lasted the longest?

Again, as @castiel-saved-me-from-myself​ said - it’s gotta be the Ineffables, both within AND outside of the story, since Good Omens was originally published over 30 years ago and the Zira/Crowley shippers have been going strong all that time. Otherwise it’s DeanCas.

(though idk if Catradora was a ship back when the original She Ra cartoon was airing, or when the original cartoon was made, so it’s possible that is also a contender!)

11. How many times, if ever, has 2 broken up?

Lol at @castiel-saved-me-from-myself​ for getting Nygmob for this one, as their relationship is, like, 90% break up :P

For the Ineffables though it’s basically just the once - when Zira chooses Heaven over Crowley. Not made such a Big Deal in the book IIRC, but in the show it’s the infamous Bandstand Break Up scene.

All other separations are only minor, temporary squabbles imo. Which is what makes the Bandstand scene so PAINFULLY, BEAUTIFULLY, ANGSTY AND EMOTIONAL and why I love it so! 

12. If the world was suddenly thrust into a zombie apocalypse, which ship would make it out alive, 2 or 8?

I figure angels and demons probably can’t be killed by zombies, so the Ineffables are the most likely.

But Eve and Flynn did actually face off against zombie-ghost things in an alt universe during a whole Loom of Fate plot and survived, so I think they’d probably also make it.

13. Did 5 ever have to hide their relationship for any reason?

No, Babs and Tabs were always open about being together, even when Tabs was also in a relationship with Butch.

I might argue they hid the depth of their feelings for each other though, even from themselves, and instead made out what they had together was just a casual ‘friends with benefits’ type thing.

Though Tabs did hide things a little when she sent assassins after Jim cos she blamed him for putting Babs in a coma. She clearly knew her brother would disappprove, which is why she didn’t tell him what she was doing. I guess that kinda counts as hiding her relationship with Babs? She was trying to conceal how much Babs mattered to her?

14. Is 4 still together?

Lol, Foxma were never together (ALAS!). But the show did end with their lingering fondness for each other intact I think.

15. Is 3 canon?

Is Nygmobblepot canon? Rather a touchy question for the fandom tbh.

If we are talking EXPLICIT canon - then no. 

They never got a kiss or a MUTUAL love declaration (and they had a controversial ‘we’re brothers’ exchange in the penultimate episode) - ergo there is not enough, imo, to say they ended the show officially romantically involved.

However, Ozzie DID EXPLICITLY DECLARE HIS ROMANTIC LOVE for Ed, and that was never rescinded. There is also LOTS OF SUBTEXT floating around Ed to imply he reciprocates. Plus they did end the show together as clear Partners in Crime.

So is Nygmob subtextual canon?

I would say yes.

But explicit, CANON canon?

A frustrating no that fandom remains, understandably, critical about.

16. If all 10 ships were put into a couple’s Hunger Games, which couple would win?

I think a toss up between Nygmob and Babitha - because everyone else has too many morals that would hold them back from killing :p

(and since Ed and Oz have both bested Babs and Tabs in the past I lean towards them... but it would depend on when in Gotham canon the games were happening!)

17. Has anybody ever tried to sabotage 10’s ship?

Breaking up Cosima and Delphine was a LITERAL PLOT POINT of Orphan Black at one point, so very much yes! I forget the details (the show got very twisty, with lots of different organisations working on different agendas in the shadows), but I’m pretty sure Delphine was shot because she was protecting Cosima. I remember it BROKE MY HEART and I thought it was a casebook example of Bury Your Gays. But, spoiler: it wasn’t ;)

18. Which ship would you defend to the death and beyond?

Going with DeanCas, because I think that, historically, it’s the one that’s been in most need of defending.

19. Do you spend hours a day going through 1’s tumblr page?

Not anymore I’m afraid. Though 3 or so years ago I used to spend most of my free time on DeanCas and spn meta. Ah, nostalgia.

20. If an evil witch descended from the sky and told you that you had to pick one of the ten ships to break up forever or else she´d break them all forever, which ship would you sink?

Foxma. Because while I adore the idea of a messy, confused ~something between them, in my heart I know that Foxy deserves better :P

I was too tired to bother with tagging the first time I completed this - DEF not gonna bother now!

Play if you want - it’s fun :D

#a true but boring story #about me

[coloursflyaway]

Fall On Me

Pairing: Crowley/Aziraphale

Rating: T

Word Count: 4.200

Tags: Fluff, mutual pining, love confessions, getting together, first kiss

Link to AO3

Occasionally, Crowley still thinks of Alpha Centauri. Although, no, it’s hardly enough to be classified a thought, more the hint of one, the notional equivalent of picking up just a little bit of another radio station while listening to music. Not because there isn’t enough to think about, not even because he doesn’t want to, but because he absolutely forbids himself to do anything more. He’d forbid himself from thinking about it entirely, but unfortunately his brain is not like his house plants and cannot be frightened into submission. Crowley knows this because he has tried. Several times.

So, he still occasionally thinks of Alpha Centauri. They’re not the clearest thoughts he has ever had, because all of those had come from a healthy mix of not sleeping and three hundred quid’s worth of cocaine pumping through his bloodstream, they’re more of the fuzzy and shapeless kind that leaves you a bit disoriented afterwards. Their topics include, but are not limited to:

the vast nothingness of space

the lack of gravity

Aziraphale

the problem of deciding on which of the twin stars to settle on

the possibility of solar flares feeling ticklish

Aziraphale

the new and exciting possibilities of inhabiting a new solar system

Aziraphale

Some of them, like wondering if he would be able to taste the magnetic activity of his new home, are relatively comforting thoughts, while others are quite the opposite. Anything, that is, that has to do with a certain angel. And of course, it is those thoughts which take up the vast majority of the time he spends thinking about Alpha Centauri; it’s all light blonde hair and soft wrinkles that make gentle eyes look gentler, cream-coloured suits and smiles so bright that Crowley thinks he might remember Heaven for a moment. What makes it more difficult is that it is so easy, impossibly easy, one might say, to go from there to, well. Alpha Centauri. And how it could have been if they had let the Earth implode, run away together and made a new life there. Maybe without books, without wine and without his Bentley, but with each other and with an eternity to spend.

The thought, even if is just fleeting, a minor ripple in the dark, menacing sea that is Crowley’s mind, is enough to make something bloom in his chest that is decidedly undemonic, something warm and soft and bright, something that is as old as it is new, and as beautiful as it is torturous. He knows what it is, has known it for at least four thousand years, which is the precise reason why the Feeling has remained nameless, even if it is stubbornly clinging to the door in Crowley’s mind through which he is continuously trying to push it.

It’s the Feeling which is making Crowley think of Alpha Centauri now too, because he can feel the first tendrils of it spreading in his chest, just waiting for a crack in his vigilance to strangle him. He won’t let it, he decides, while he watches Aziraphale pop another biscuit into his mouth, humming like it’s the best thing he has ever tasted when Crowley knows for a fact that he got them for ninety-nine pence at Tesco half an hour ago. But there is something endearing about it, the way Aziraphale’s eyes flutter shut for a moment, the corners of his lips turn up ever so slightly, how he throws another biscuit at a duck, hitting it square in the face, and how he looks at it with slight regret, because he won’t get to eat it. The biscuit, that is.

“So?”, Crowley prompts, before he can think of something stupid, like wonder if Aziraphale’s eyes would look differently in another sun’s light. “Hm?” Aziraphale looks over to him, his face such a perfect picture of innocence that Crowley can’t be anything but suspicious. “The thing. The thing that you wanted to talk about. That you didn’t want to discuss on the phone.” It could be literally anything, from a new cat that the angel had spotted hanging around the book shop to another bout of the Apocalypse, the this-time-actual end of the world, time, and everything Crowley has ever held dear, so he had decided very early on that he would not worry about it. Only that deciding something and actually doing it seems to be mutually exclusive. “Oh. Right. Yes.”

Aziraphale straightens almost imperceptibly, going weirdly still, and the danger scale in Crowley’s mind is suddenly tipped violently towards BAD.   “It is hardly anything, really”, Aziraphale says softly, looking stubbornly down at his biscuits, and the scale tips further. “A trifle, really. Just something that we, well, not discussed, but something that was mentioned.” Crowley waits for a few seconds if the angel intends to say anything else, but when nothing comes, he prompts, “Yes?” Not really because he wants to know that badly, but because he doesn’t want to give the building anxiety any more room in his mind than it has annexed already.

“Yes. Well. If you perchance remember, I think it was in the seventies, or maybe the late sixties, now that I think of it, I had brought you the holy water, and you…” Again, Aziraphale doesn’t finish the sentence, instead his voice goes softer, softer, until it’s gone; Crowley remembers the evening more than clearly, the heist and the hope and the heartbreak. “What I am trying to say, back then we talked about having ourselves a little picknick at some point. And since the world doesn’t appear to be ending anytime soon I figured, why not do that now? As long as we still have time.”

Crowley, just a few weeks ago, has stopped time himself, and yet Aziraphale seems to be able to do the same thing, because the Earth most definitely stops, everyone around them stops, and Crowley’s relatively useless heart? Oh, it stops the hardest of all.

Because he knows what that moment meant to him, that one second in which he thought that maybe they were on the same page after all, because he knows what he wants this to mean, because… because he knows it can’t be that. He takes a deep breath, and squashes what could be hope blossoming in his chest like he has done with a dozen ants on the way here.

“…yeah”, he answers Aziraphale what would have been several seconds too late, had time not stopped in between to give his heart the chance to break.  Another deep breath, since it almost feels like he needs twice as much air to speak even a single word right now. “Sure. Anywhere special you want to go to?” “No.” Finally Aziraphale looks up, smiling so brightly it hurts Crawley’s eyes even with his sunglasses on; as much as he hates it, he can feel his heart mending in his chest. “Wherever you want to go, dear boy.”

 They agree on meeting on Tuesday, because Tuesday seems like the right day to choose, and as always Crowley picks Aziraphale up at his book store. He looks… different. Crowley cannot pinpoint why, or how, because Aziraphale is wearing the same too proper clothes, his hair tousled, a picknick basket in one of his hands, but there is something just off about him, like something has changed without Crowley noticing. The thought is vaguely disconcerting.

Crowley doesn’t bother getting out, just waits until Aziraphale gets into the car; like always the world seems a little bit brighter as soon as he’s near. “Mornin’, angel”, he greets, and Aziraphale gives him a smile that also isn’t quite right, but too close to it for Crowley to say anything. “Does this really still count as morning?”, Aziraphale asks instead of answers, “It’s a bit late for that, isn’t it? I suppose it could count as a very late morning, if you insist, even if I would definitely say it’s closer to midday.” “I don’t insist on anything.”

It’s impossible to keep the amusement from his voice, and Aziraphale must notice it, because he flashes Crowley another smile; this time it feels real. “In that case, good midday to you to. Have you decided where we’ll go by now?” “Absolutely not.” He flashes Aziraphale a toothy grin and starts the car to go wherever it wants to take them. “Just as well.” The angel looks away from Crowley, out of the window to watch London’s streets pass them by, every molecule of his earthly body radiating contentment, and there is something about this too, Crowley thinks as he almost runs over a very small woman and her even smaller dog. It’s almost like something clicked in place, some part of Aziraphale’s brain that used to tick, or click or move in another rather infuriating way, and which now has found the one place it fits in and made it its home.

“Maybe somewhere green would be nice”, Aziraphale says slowly, every word crisp and clear in the warm air, “Proper green, I mean. Not the way a park is, more like the countryside. Green and… peaceful. Yes. I think that would do nicely. What do you say?”

What Crowley wants to say is something close to the lines of this: I have absolutely no preference when it comes to this, because I haven’t cared less about anything in the last century than I care about picknicks, but I would willingly walk through the Pearly Gates of Heaven with you if it meant we spent more time with each other.

What Crowley says, however, is this: “Sounds good enough to me.” Which doesn’t quite hold the same emotional gravity.

“Splendid”, Aziraphale answers nonetheless, absolutely oblivious and lets one of his hands drop down from the wicker basket he is balancing on his lap, despite Crowley, like always, driving at a speed that would make some tornados dreadfully jealous. The hand lands in the most inopportune places it could, at least from Crowley’s perspective, which is between them, palm turned towards the sky and fingers stretched out just enough that the tips brush against Crowley’s thighs every so often. It’s the perfect position for someone to take it, hold it tightly, maybe even wave their fingers together to feel the thrum of blood beneath Aziraphale’s skin.

Even taking in account the one time his entire car was on fire, it’s still the worst drive of Crowley’s life.

 They arrive… well, they arrive somewhere. Not that the where part matters much to Crowley, he just stops the car when Aziraphale next to him mutters something like, “Don’t you think that this looks nice?” In Crowley’s opinion it really doesn’t. It’s essentially a field, very green and kind of soggy, complete with a few stubborn bushes that have yet to get the memo about agriculture and an unenthusiastic crow picking at an invisible object that might, or might not, be food. It’s as boring as the English countryside can get, but Aziraphale smiles at the crow like it’s the most magical of God’s creations and transforms the entire scene into something worthwhile.

So they get out of the car, Aziraphale still holding tightly onto his basket, Crowley’s thigh burning with the residual angelic touch; when the angel has found a slightly less soggy spot, they spread the chequered blanket on the ground and when they sit, Aziraphale is just a little too close. He must not notice how their knees touch, but Crowley does.

Deft fingers pull plate after box after platter from the basket, fresh strawberries and little sandwiches, scones and clotted cream and a tiny jar of jam, slices of cold meat and three different kinds of bread rolls, and as a triumphant finale an entire chocolate covered cake. Crowley can’t do anything but watch, both surprised at the amount of food and surprised that he’s even surprised. “Angel, how long do you intend to stay here? A fortnight?”, he asks, the surprise firmly refusing to leave his voice just yet. Aziraphale’s ears turn slightly pink.

“I, er, I couldn’t decide. You see, you never told me what you wanted to eat, so I just. Brought everything.” His voice is smaller than usual, but his eyes are still bright when he looks up at Crowley through his lashes, who promptly forgets how to be snarky for the first time since his creation. “That’s – “, he starts, then chokes on the words he couldn’t think of anyway, because Aziraphale gently lays his hand on Crowley’s knee. It’s the smallest of touches, and yet Crowley can feel the warmth he hasn’t possessed for centuries burn through the fabric of his jeans, heating up his skin. “Nice”, he finishes lamely, at least several moments too late, hoping that his glasses are dark enough to conceal the fact that his eyes are glued on Aziraphale’s perfectly manicured fingers on his knee, stretching out to touch his thigh.

“That’s because I am an angel, dear, it’s what we’re meant to do”, Aziraphale says easily, no change in his tone of voice. His other hand is picking up one of the tiny sandwiches like he isn’t aware that he has just launched Crowley’s mind into space, more accurately 4,37 light years away to Alpha Centauri, where it is plucking the fantasy of the life they could possibly have had right from the gaseous surface and transporting it here. To this field, this moment, this eternity. It’s impossible, and yet this time, Crowley doesn’t manage to squash the hope completely before it can bloom in his chest.

It’ll hurt like a bitch when Aziraphale eventually breaks his heart again.

Fingers tightening around his thigh bring Crowley back to Earth entirely, to Aziraphale smiling at him with eyes that should not be allowed to look so kind. “You should try one of the scones”, he tells Crowley brightly, “I picked them up at this charming little store in Edinburgh in the morning, they’re absolutely scrumptious.”

The scone is halfway to his mouth when Crowley really, truly realises what Aziraphale has said, isn’t just taking an order. It makes him pause, hand raised and mouth hanging open before forming the first string of passably sensible words since they sat down. “You went to Edinburgh for scones?”

This time, it’s not just Aziraphale’s ears that turn pink, it’s the tip of his nose and the apples of his cheeks too, leaving Crowley with the very demonic urge to just eat him whole. “I might have”, Aziraphale admits, sounding bashful. “But I was there anyway to pick up the jam, so it really wasn’t much of a bother.” “…the jam.” A moment passes with Crowley just trying to understand what is being said, but then again, this is the angel he had to break out of prison because of crepes. The thought passes, quicker than expected, because another pushes and pulls until it can take its place. “Where are the strawberries from?”

The blush dusted across Aziraphale’s face grows deeper in shade, and Crowley cannot be absolutely certain of the answer, because it is mumbled into the rest of the sandwich the angel is stuffing into his mouth. “Trondheim.” “The cake?” “This lovely café in Vienna, really charming, you’d love the décor-“ “What about the sandwiches?” “Oh.” For the first time, no colour changes on Aziraphale’s face, instead he looks vaguely pleased, which only makes Crowley more suspicious. “Those I made myself. I even cut off the crusts, see?”

Aziraphale holds up one of the little crust-less triangles for Crowley to see, a grave mistake. “That salmon is not from Sainsbury’s though, is it?” “It could be”, Aziraphale answers, telling Crowley that it absolutely isn’t. “There is absolutely no reason to think it isn’t from a local supermarket and instead from… from a small shop in Cordova, Alaska.” His voice grows more strained with every word he’s saying, and Crowley can’t help but chuckle.

“Really, angel”, he says without any malice, but a lot of amusement. “I always knew you were crazy about food, but –“ He doesn’t get to finish, because Aziraphale interrupts him, words flying from his mouth in a way that reminds Crowley of the eruption of Mount Vesuvius. “I’m not. Crazy about food I mean. I mean, I am, but that’s not – it isn’t what this is all about, it’s not – “Aziraphale pauses, and something changes in his posture, or maybe the slant of his mouth, or maybe the intensity of his gaze. Whatever it is, it steadies the angel’s voice when he finally finishes his sentence. “None of this was for me.”

It doesn’t make much sense. “Who’s it for, then?”, Crowley asks, stealing the sandwich from between the angel’s fingers and stuffing the whole thing into his mouth. Over the past millennia, Crowley thought he had seen every possible facial expression on Aziraphale, but he’s proven wrong right here, in the English country side, because never before in all of creation has a creature looked upon another with such utter incredulity painted across his face. “Crowley”, Aziraphale says, sounding as stunned as he looks, almost desperate. Crowley chokes on his sandwich.

“What?”, he gasps out once he can speak again, having miracled the sandwich from his tracheae to Alpha Centauri, the first place he could think of. His voice is hoarse nonetheless, but it doesn’t matter, since he can hardly form more than one word. “What?” “I thought it was obvious!” Aziraphale is flailing, hands flapping through the warm summer air. “It’s what we discussed! A picknick, or a dinner at the Ritz, and since you didn’t do anything when we were at the Ritz, I thought – “ “I didn’t do anything?” Crowley interrupts him, sounding at least as scandalised as he feels. “I did everything! All the time! I asked you to run away with me to Alpha Centauri!” “Well. Yes.” Aziraphale huffs slightly, crossing his arms in front of his body. “I guess we both can agree that wasn’t your best idea.”

They can, but Crowley cannot admit that right now, especially not when his heart is finally starting to realise what exactly they are bickering about. It’s not a sudden thing, realising, it’s more like making a good cup of tea in the morning, letting the tea bag steep just the perfect amount of time, adding milk or sugar or in Crowley’s case, nothing at all. Realising takes time, time which he, after 6000 years, more than deserves. At first, it doesn’t feel like much at all, maybe like a small fit of cardiac arrest, but the sensation grows stronger, his heart seemingly sucking in blood without pumping it back into his system, growing wider, fuller, heavier. Warmer, too. It seizes up, like it wishes it could explode, and Crowley thinks, for the first time without panic clinging to the words, Oh shit, he knows.

He must know, maybe not quite the extent, or the amount of time, or the sheer mind-numbing pain of it, but Aziraphale knows, and not only that, he doesn’t mind. In fact, it seems that – and Crowley’s heart suddenly releases the blood it has been hoarding all at once, filling every vein, every vessel with warm, tingling knowledge – Aziraphale might reciprocate. An impossible thought, and yet there is a hand on Crowley’s knee still, there are the angel’s eyes on him, unwaveringly kind, unfailingly loving.

His heart beats another time, and the warmth is almost unbearable, the intensity, the brilliance of the feeling enough to make Crowley forget how to breathe for a solid minute, if not longer. After such a long time, he can’t quite recall what it was like to gaze at God, but he thinks it must have felt something close to this.

Crowley is almost done with realising, the tea close to finish steeping, but there is still something missing, there is still the need to hear Aziraphale say it out-loud and make it real. “You mean…?”, he croaks out, because he has quite forgotten how to speak, but it’s enough for the angel to understand. “I suppose you could say that I finally caught up to your speed.”

Up until now, Crowley would have said he knew every single of Aziraphale’s smiles by heart, but this moment proves him wrong; the corners of the angel’s mouth pull up in a way he has never seen before, a curve of lips that makes Crowley’s heart shine brighter than all stars of Alpha Centauri combined. It’s a small smile, a kind one, but most importantly one that tells its audience that the person wearing it harbours not a single trace of doubt in their mind. And it’s directed at him.

A small part of Crowley still wants to ask Are you sure? but he doesn’t, because he knows. He knows with an intensity that makes it feel like he has never known anything in his life before, like all dogmatic principles of Heaven and Hell could only pale in comparison to the certainty of Aziraphale’s hand squeezing his knee, his eyes filled with an amount of love that should have to be enough for the entire Earth, not just one single entity on it.

“Alright”, Crowley says instead, mostly because he isn’t quite sure what to say, can’t think about it with Aziraphale looking at him like that. In all his life, Crowley never really understood the concept of physical beauty, at least not until now. Because now he can’t even think of tearing his eyes from the angel’s face, committing every groove, every slope and curve of it to memory once more, can’t imagine anything he’d rather look at for the rest of eternity. Aziraphale is beautiful, maybe not for human standards, maybe not even angelic ones, but he’s the most beautiful thing in all of existence in Crowley’s eyes.

Something starts to grow next, maybe inside, the Feeling inside his chest, something that feels more longing, maybe a little bit hotter still, a yearning, a hunger, something that is inextricably connected to this human body he is inhabiting. It isn’t lust, but at the same time not terribly far removed from it, a craving which informs Crowley in no uncertain terms that it will not go anywhere unless it is satisfied.

A moment passes until Crowley realises what it is his mortal body wants; when he does, he’s, well. Surprised. He’s seen humans do it before, but never has been terribly impressed with the concept. All in all, it seems relatively pointless, wet and possibly unsanitary, and yet his gaze flickers down to Aziraphale’s lips, which look plush and soft and impossibly inviting. Like they would feel perfect pressed against any patch of Crowley’s skin, most of all against his own mouth.

Maybe it’s because he never expected to be in this position that Crowley never considered how it would be to kiss Aziraphale, but the second the thought appears in his mind it overtakes it completely, leaves Crowley breathless with want. He looks down on Aziraphale’s hand on his leg, then slowly, ever so slowly, covers it with his own. Aziraphale’s skin is warm, soft, doesn’t feel angelic but human, and suddenly, it’s the simplest thing in the world to lean in.

Their lips meet in the middle, since apparently Crowley wasn’t the only one thinking about it, and it’s with the first touch that his eyes flutter shut, almost an involuntary response. It’s a soft kiss, a chaste one, a perfect kiss to be the first of a million.

Beneath Crowley’s hand Aziraphale turns his own around, weaves their fingers together and holds onto Crowley’s hand like it’s the only thing that is keeping him from sinking. And Crowley, lips parting easily to deepen the kiss, eager to take every little ounce of love Aziraphale is willing to give, seconds the sentiment.

They break apart at some point, and it’s only because their surroundings haven’t changed significantly that Crowley knows that they haven’t spent a century kissing. Still, it feels like it could have been that long, because everything has changed. Not the world, but then again, the world was never that significant; the sun isn’t brighter, but he is, and looking at Aziraphale, the angel is, too.

“So”, Crowley says after another moment-slash-eternity, “This is happening now, right? I mean, for a longer amount of time. I mean, for-“ He stops, cannot say it, cannot even think it. Even if it seems like a lifetime away since he thought it impossible altogether, it still hasn’t been long enough to truly wrap his head around the concept. Aziraphale seems to know, for once takes the plunge so Crowley won’t have to. His eyes are glittering with the sunshine of an early autumn day and his own celestial light as he takes their intertwined hands and raises them up to his lips, presses a kiss to each of Crowley’s knuckles, just as sweet as their first one was. And his voice is almost as soft when he, lips still grazing Crowley’s skin, says, "Yes, dear, I think forever would be quite the right word for it."

#good omens #ineffableboyfriends #ineffable husbands #crowley #aziraphale #crowley x aziraphale #fanfiction #fanfic #fic #good omens fic #good omens fanfiction #also just fyi their first kiss absolutely lasted at least five full days

[duocreatix]

Ok, can I talk a little thing (or two) about Good Omens impressions?

Or actually, can I talk a little about the development of their love story as shown in the (glorious) third episode?

I was re-watching the series with my husband and, when it came to this specific episode, some things came to my mind while watching the marvelous half an hour of it that I’d like to put into words for a better understanding, for me and for y’all that maybe agree with me.

First of all, I’m gonna start from the idea that Crowley wasn’t primarily in love with him since the Garden of Eden, but acquired a heavy interest, almost an obsession, towards Aziraphale (the first angel that treated him as an equal) that slowly translated into pure affection (and eventual love) throughout 6000 years together. Where this transition occurred is not clear during the scenes, since the whole flashback is told from the angel’s point of view… except the 1967 scene, and this is important.

Secondly, I’ve already seen many people discussing that, in the 1941 church scene, Aziraphale didn’t found out he was in love with Crowley, but that he was being loved back, and I personally agree with this thinking line. This is also very important.

Why? Let’s go back a little bit…

(This is gonna be long, please bear with me…)

So, based on what’s written in the book, Aziraphale and Crowley agreed on sealing the Arrangement in 1020 AD, and the series showed very well the changes in their dynamics between 537 AD (before the Arrangement) and 1601 (after the Arrangement), where I’ll start.

Aziraphale leaves this marvelously obvious when he basically smiles at the sight of Crowley (even though he also smiled when saw him at Rome in 41 AD) and, well, asking for extra favors with that puppy eyes of him…

(and Crowley accepting, which is adorable in my opinion)

They’re doing favors to each other for almost 600 years by then, seeing each other more frequently than ever, so yes, they’re already seeing each other as friends (or at least kind of coworkers). Is Crowley spoiling the angel and said angel is starting to take advantage of this demon’s tendency? Absolutely. But romance…? Maybe not yet.

And then, well, comes French Revolution and Aziraphale is locked in the Bastille in the verge of being discorporated and Crowley comes to the rescue. Maybe the angel hadn’t fallen in love yet with the demon, but I’m in favor of the theory that, being the bastard that we already noticed he can be, Aziraphale walked into France aware he wasn’t appropriately suited for the historical moment (and with a miracle restraint) hoping to run into Crowley. So, yeah, that would justify the literal stars that shone in his eyes when he listened to his demon’s voice:

I could screenshot this entire scene piece by piece to prove my point, but I won’t, ok? The entire development leaves clear their mutual pining and how used to Crowley being always there Aziraphale became in those 770 years of Arrangement, to the point of risking his human form in the name of gluttony, almost in a leap of faith because he was sure Crowley would save him at the end.

(Aaaand he does all this not so little selfish things conscious that they could bring problems to Crowley, as he mentioned during the Globe Theatre scene, but the demon keeps doing anyway just to please his angel… Is Crowley already in love? Probably yes)

And then we arrive in 1862, and that for me was the breaking point in their relationship. Up to now, as I mentioned, Aziraphale always had the certainty that Crowley would be there for him, but this drastically changes here. I have my own thoughts about the holy water situation, and what amazes me the most is the fact that, instead of reading Crowley’s request as “I want holy water so I have a weapon to use against other demons if they ever come to me”, he read like “I want holy water to end my own life in case everything goes wrong”.

You can see, right here, his change of posture:

What does it mean? Simply that, for the first time in 5840 years, Aziraphale felt the fear of really losing Crowley, forever, no coming back, and panicked. The panic was big enough to label their relationship as other thing than friendship (probably as a defense mechanism against the fear of losing, even what they have done all those millenia is, indeed, fraternizing), which enrages Crowley: So what you’re saying is that I’ve been fooling myself all these centuries thinking of you as a friend, as someone I could trust my fucking demon life???

Thinking about it while writing, the whole “I-don’t-need-you-And-the-feeling-is-mutual-obviously” sounds like pure bickering from both sides trying to hurt the other. Do they succeed into it? Marvelously: they stop talking to each other, Crowley probably goes to his century-long nap (while hating himself for the fact that he knows he loves the angel, otherwise he wouldn’t be so angry with the fraternizing thing), and Aziraphale starts attending Gentlemen’s Clubs to forget his sorrows and try to detach from Crowley (any ficwriter can insert Oscar Wilde right here in Azi’s life). Their relationship ruins from here, and they’ll never be the same.

So, we arrive at 1941, both angel and demon living their lives fully apart from each other… but Crowley is unable to refrain himself from worrying about his angel. And then, that pathetic excuse of a demon, aware that Aziraphale was manipulated by the Nazis to hand over his precious books and was about to be discorporated again, enters a church, steps on consecrated ground and diverges a whole enemy attack to save the angel he loves.

Meanwhile, Aziraphale really considers he’s totally alone this time (i.e. without the guarantee of Crowley being around, because he barely knows if he still exists), doomed, forced to being discorporated and having to deal with celestial paperwork… Look at the despair in his eyes:

Thankfully, things go well and the two escape miraculously from the explosion, and Aziraphale can breathe again, like things can almost go back to how they were before. Almost.

 And then comes The Scene:

And that’s here, the exact moment, when Crowley, more than saving his life (which, btw, he had no obligation to do), also saved his books, that Aziraphale actually feels Crowley’s love for him emanating for the first time, and it leaves the angel absolutely astonished. His feelings are being returned for real, and he honestly doesn’t know what to do about it.

Look at him, look at his eyes and dare to tell me this isn’t pure love??? He thought he lost his friend, but in the end he came back in his aid, like some sort of knight in a shining armor… and also saves everything he cares about!! (bonus points for the romantic soundtrack, Mr. Arnold)

Poor Aziraphale. (evil laugh)

Finally, we arrive at 1967, where this whole consideration came from. As I said, this is the only scene from Crowley’s POV, and there’s a reason to it: up to this point, Aziraphale is finally certain of his own feelings and that he’s actually being reciprocated, but the other side isn’t. So, while Crowley keeps going with his plan, the angel decided to pay back the gesture from 1941 by providing the Holy Water he needs so much.

What does it mean? It means for Aziraphale an opportunity to stop Crowley from hurting himself again or being caught by Heaven’s lot during the robery (even if providing said water causes trouble to himself), but mostly is another leap of faith to both sides: Aziraphale is willing to trust that Crowley won’t kill himself with Holy water while asking Crowley to trust his word and keep the fucking tartan thermos closed until it’s needed (which he actually does).

So, what I really, really wanted to reach is this specific point:

Tbh, their interpretation was crucial to me here because, let’s be real, the dialogue in this scene is very subtle in its real meaning. This moment is Crowley’s time to realize and understand what’s going on with Aziraphale through the last hundred years, and it hits him like a rock: his angel loves him enough to go against his own principles to attend his request, sacrificing his rationality and risking being discovered. He’s right there, by his side, raw and truly open like he wasn’t for centuries, letting the demon sense his own feelings for the very first time. So yes, after everything he said, Crowley, he loves you back.

And, interesting enough, what’s his first reaction after acknowledging this fact? Offer a ride, wanting to spend some time with his beloved angel and, who knows, make up for lost time. But Aziraphale feels too fragile, too uneasy, about the fact that he opened himself for Crowley and now the demon truly knows his feelings, and needs time to rebuild his walls and create a convincing facade that’ll deceive his lot he has nothing to do with his hereditary enemy. He wants to reciprocate Crowley, but now like that, it’s too early for him yet: Don’t expect me to accept your advances right away, I’m feeling too vulnerable right now and I’m afraid that I’ll let you consume me completely if I surrender in my current state, so please respect my time.

Interesting enough, Crowley actually kept his cool facade in 1941, when he let the angel see his true feelings, something that seemed impossible to Aziraphale when he did the same. He’s an angel, after all, he’s unable to lie!

This way, he’ll probably only understand Aziraphale’s insecurities when he goes through the same situation, or at least the closest he’ll get: while the angel feared losing the demon, the demon really lost the angel, and with him his stability, his other half, his world:

And suddenly, running away from the Apocalypse didn’t matter anymore, to the point the sunny ballad of “You’re My Best Friend” turns into the anguished prayer of “Somebody to Love”.

#GoodOmens #Aziraphale #Crowley #ineffable husbands #my interpretation #please let me know if you liked it #never done this before #also forgive my english

[mostfacinorous]

Whumptober 21st

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Today’s story will be continued tomorrow.

Whumptober 21st: Laced Drink

Crowley was fantastically, tragically committed to aesthetic. 

None of this would have happened, had he not been. 

It all came down to absinthe. 

Crowley’d managed not to have any, during the height of its popularity, primarily because he’d been nursing a wounded ego from a run in with Aziraphale’s morality-slash-temper, and he knew that where the brightest poets and artists and writers were, he’d find the angel. 

Unfortunately, at the time, that was also where you’d find the drink. 

And sure, he could have gotten his hands on some, but why bother, when there were other alcohols in abundance, and ones that hadn’t been medicinal to start? 

To be honest, he didn’t trust anything a human doctor claimed could cure ills, even if it did end up being sold in bars. 

That said, the moment it was banned, his interest became a good deal more piqued. Nothing was quite so tempting as what authorities said you couldn’t have. He knew that better than anyone. 

And so he’d tracked it down. Oooh, illegal absinthe, only drunk by the poshest, the wickedest, the most adventurous. Poison green, and rumored to make you see things-- Crowley couldn’t argue with the marketing campaign. It was right up his alley.

And as he and Aziraphale were currently fairly close, he thought this was the perfect time to indulge. 

So he gathered what he needed: edgy, suggestive, outright tempting outfit; invitation to the most difficult to find club; one angel, reservations for the evening, and his flair for the dramatic, which, fortunately for him, he never went without. 

He knew he liked the place the moment he walked in. It felt like where sex parties might happen, very dungeon-y, stone wall treatment and yellow lights that cast each table in just enough illumination to see by. Dark. Mysterious. 

It also had seating that managed what very little of his own furniture could, and straddled the line between imposing and incredibly comfortable. He’d be suspicious about Aziraphale’s hand in the latter, if he hadn’t been the first one into the club, and the first to sit down. 

Once they were seated, the order he’d placed ahead of their arrival came out. Wine and a charcuterie board for the angel, absinthe for him. He’d made sure they thought him enormously wealthy, important, and influential. 

“Goodness, I thought that was illegal now.” Aziraphale commented, already placing aged beef on a tiny round of sourdough. 

“Human laws.” Crowley scoffed, adjusting his slouch for maximum visual indolence. 

He was actually very excited for this, and glad that his favorite audience was here to watch him being dreadfully fashionable and impressive.

The drink itself was pretty enough, the green a lovely shade and the sugar cube delightfully alight, which, when he held it up, lit him infernally from below. It was all very theatrical, and he knew Aziraphale was impressed, even if he wouldn’t say as much. 

“I haven’t had any myself in a long time,” Aziraphale mentioned, off hand, and Crowley wrinkled his nose, temporarily annoyed at the reminder. 

“Yes, but that was when it was allowed. I’ve never tried it.” 

Aziraphale’s eyes lit up and he looked so incongruently delighted that it gave Crowley pause. 

“Oh, in that case, I’m so glad you invited me! Give it a go, it’s something quite unique.” 

The earnest urging somewhat ruined the performative mood, but of course he should have realized that Aziraphale would be entirely too indulgent in Crowley’s experiments with flavor-- goodness knew it was the angel’s favorite vice. 

Crowley blew out the fire and dropped what was left of the sugar cube into the drink below. He swirled it slightly, raised the glass towards Aziraphale in a small salute, and knocked it back. 

The flavor was awful. Noxious, almost, and worse, it stung, burning its way down his throat. 

He completely ruined the aesthetic by coughing, gasping, and dry retching. 

“Really, it’s not all that ba--” Aziraphale began, but Crowley had already realized what was happening. 

“Anise.” He gasped, hands coming up to grab his throat, as if that would help. 

“Yes, it’s a rather distinct flavor, I--”

“Anise for exorcisms.” Crowley choked out, and Aziraphale’s eyes grew wide and round. 

“Sober up.” He instructed sharply, and Crowley did his best, refilling the drained glass, but it was too late-- the effects lingered, even once the anise itself was out of him. 

Crowley’s eyes swung wildly around the bar, and lit on the bartender-- a woman, stylish and chic, who was mixing the drinks that the waiter asked for. She had an ankh around her neck and a protection sigil tattooed on her shoulder, and bore all the hallmarks of a modern pagan.

His eyes narrowed. 

“Witch.” He nodded in her direction. 

Aziraphale groaned.

“Of course, it wouldn’t work if the person using it didn’t believe-- what can I do for you? Shall we leave?”

Crowley had broken out into a very un-aesthetic sweat, and Aziraphale couldn’t help but notice he seemed a bit… blurry round the edges. 

“Oh dear-- hang on.” Aziraphale said, mouth firming into a determined line as he stood from the table. 

He approached the bar, breaking some unspoken taboo of service, he was sure, and flagged down the witchy bartender. 

“Excuse me,” He began politely, “But I’m an angel, you’re a witch, and I believe your drink is in the process of exorcising my demon friend. I don’t suppose you have something to counteract it?” 

“I-- what?” She looked around the bar, eyes lighting on Crowley and widening. “Is that-- what.” 

Aziraphale sighed.

“You believe in anise as a demon banishing agent, and it is doing its best as a result. But I must ask you to reverse the effects, please.”

“I don’t-- I didn’t actually think demons were real! And that shouldn’t have worked-- it’s alcohol!” The woman protested. 

Aziraphale gestured back at Crowley.

“Perhaps you should have considered that before memorizing ways to be rid of them. Now, is there a means of-- I don’t know, binding a demon to a body, or allowing a spirit in or something? I can promise you the body is his own, he isn’t simply having a ride along.” 

Aziraphale was somewhat sympathetic, naturally, but he didn’t precisely have time to waste on this. 

“Now, please.” He demanded, and the tone of his voice spurred her into action. 

“Uh-- Cinnamon for evocation of a spirit and quick success--” She pulled Fireball from the shelf and poured some quickly into a glass. 

“Dandelion for grounding and healing and Burdock for counter magick--” A slosh of No Name gin followed. She ran her hands along the bottles, thinking quickly. “Oh! Björk is birch bark, perfect!” 

She poured while she talked. “That’s new beginnings, psychic protection, and binding.” She looked at what she’d made and wrinkled her nose. 

“That’s going to be gross.” She told Aziraphale, but handed him the drink just the same. 

“I hardly think he’ll mind, so long as he’s around to complain about it.” He called back, already bearing the drink towards where crowley was visibly shaking apart at the seams. 

Aziraphale paused, unwilling to just pour it down his throat when there was nothing to specify that Crowley was the spirit to be bound. 

Thinking fast, he dipped his finger in the liquid and traced it over Crowley’s tattoo-- he couldn’t remember the proper summoning sigil at the moment, but that ought to devote the drink to Crowley well enough, according to the bartender’s beliefs. He just hoped that she truly believed that this would do the trick. 

“One way to find out,” he murmured. “Down the hatch, old friend.” He plugged Crowley’s corporation’s nose, tilted his head back, and let the liquid drizzle into his mouth. 

He swallowed, thank goodness, and Aziraphale hovered there, waiting for a response. 

Slowly, Crowley stopped vibrating quite literally out of his skin, and leaned back, panting, against his chair. 

“That--” he groused, “Was disgusting.”

Aziraphale let out a relieved huff and turned to look back at the bartender, waving at her gratefully. 

She gave him a shaky smile and flashed him a double thumbs up. 

“Wine?” He asked, turning back to Crowley, only to find that he had already finished half the glass. He looked on, amused, and made himself a sourdough round with meat and cheese. 

Crowley surfaced for air and the glass refilled miraculously as he passed it back to Aziraphale. 

“I’m not sure whether to tip the witch or curse her.”

Aziraphale frowned.

“Now, none of that.” 

Crowley made a face. 

“I hate to say it, but maybe we should go. I’m not feeling… quite right.” Crowley spoke slowly, and though he seemed solid enough, he sounded a touch distant, too. 

Aziraphale sat a little more upright in his seat.

“Shall I go ask for more help from our friend at the bar?” 

“Nah. Think I’m coming down with the exorcism flu. Happens sometimes.”

Aziraphale frowned, wondering when the last time it’d happened was, but stood just the same and offered his hand to help Crowley to his feet. 

He waved, settling the bill with several large notes tucked neatly beneath the meat board, and managed not to look longingly at it as he helped his friend out of the bar.

#whumptober #whumptober2019 #good omens fic #alcohol cw #witchcraft #canon typical magical handwaving #that writing thing I do

[yamisnuffles]

Cosmic Love

Not long after the Great Flood, Gabriel comes to lay down a few ground rules for Crowley and tries to set Aziraphale on a better path.

This is the fourth part in my Too Much of a Good Things series, where both Crowley and Aziraphale are angels. It won’t make sense if you haven’t read the other parts.

Read on Ao3

-

While of course no angel was exactly alike, there were a few things about the Seraphim generally considered rules amongst the other angels. For one, they burned with a fiery passion in all they did, both figuratively and quite literally. For another, they had very lovely voices. If they were to be found anywhere other than deep in the cosmos, it was at the Almighty’s side, singing Her praises. Finally, they were weird. This last point was generally considered a byproduct of the prior two.

Of course, because the Seraphim tended to work at a distance from many other angels, this opinion was likely little more than gossip. How many of the Host could say they spent enough time with even a single Seraph to sum them up? That was Aziraphale’s opinion on the matter. Or, at least, it had been until he had spent enough time with a certain Seraph to form a distinct impression.

Aziraphale had started to wonder if Crowley himself was the reason the Seraphim had developed such a reputation. He was certainly dramatic and what was that if not a sort of passion. Aziraphale hadn’t ever heard him sing but Crowley also had a lovely speaking voice. As to the last bit, well…

There were plenty of ways that Crowley was different from anyone else Aziraphale knew. Crowley went by Crowley instead of his God given name, for one. It was certainly his choice and one Aziraphale respected but he couldn’t say he understood the impulse. For another, Crowley was often using nonsensical turns of phrase, talking about lead balloons and zoos and the like. He said them in ways that implied what he was saying made perfect sense but always made Aziraphale feel an awful lot like something had gone wrong with his hearing. And then there was the way he was always calling Aziraphale “angel” as though they weren’t both angels. As though Aziraphale was something special, singular to Crowley. It made Aziraphale’s heart flutter in a way that definitely wasn’t normal, not for him.

Which was to say nothing of the way Crowley walked since he’d regained his legs. The way his hips and his legs seemed to have a rhythm all their own that defied logic and the laws of gravity while they were at it. It was peculiar. Outlandish. Altogether too much in a way that awakened parts of Aziraphale he’d rather forgotten he’d had and if that wasn’t strange, he didn’t know what was.

Crowley was doing it at that very moment, sauntering about like he wasn’t bound by any of the rules of his corporeal form. Aziraphale had been content to quietly watch him at it until the Seraph started to do something else odd. Crowley had been replanting the fertile but devastated landscape. Lush greenery sprang up in his wake was he walked, arms outstretched. It was a beautiful sort of dance with the way he moved. Or would have been, had Crowley not made frequent stops to grumble at whatever he’d just grown. 

“My dear, are you… talking to the plants?” Aziraphale asked. Talking seemed the kindest way to describe what Crowley was doing. Hissing was far more accurate but Crowley got a bit tetchy when his lingering serpentine features were pointed out. 

Crowley gave a low lying shrub a parting glare. When it raised its limbs further up toward the sun, he nodded and then looked at Aziraphale. “Just giving them a few reminders.”

“Of?”

“Of the flood. Of the fact that I am graciously giving them all a second chance.” Golden eyes became molten and turned on the plants once more. Their leaves quivered under his glare. “That this all could be taken away in a moment if they’re not careful and so they need to grow better.”

Aziraphale’s heart squeezed uncomfortably at the implications. He tried to think of a way to respond gently to that but a sudden flash of lightning brought his brain to a halt. Gabriel appeared before them in what had been a pristine new field of poppies.

“Greetings, Aziraphale,” Gabriel said in that booming voice of his. He fixed a bright, white smile on Aziraphale and then turned it on Crowley. “And just the angel I was looking for. Hello, Sala-”

“Nope,” Crowley interjected.

Gabriel kept his smile in place, though it tightened noticeably. “Excuse me?”

Crowley crossed his arms. “That’s not my name anymore. It’s Crowley.”

Though Crowley might not be phased in the slightest by the Archangel’s clear displeasure at being both interrupted and corrected, Aziraphale couldn’t help but squirm. “Yes I, ah, I mentioned it in my memo to you?” It wasn’t a question. He knew he had but his voice rose all the same. He twisted the ring on his pinky finger. “In the report about the ark and everything.”

“I thought that was a joke,” Gabriel replied. “We all had a good laugh about it. Well, whatever.” He shrugged and turned his violet eyes down at the flowers crushed beneath his sandaled feet. He either couldn’t see or didn’t care about the way Crowley was glaring at him. “What is this?” he asked, wrinkling his nose and peeling a petal from his sole. “There isn’t supposed to be anything growing here yet.”

“Yeah, well,” Crowley shrugged. Despite his feigned nonchalance, his fingers twitched in clear desire to heal the crushed flowers. Instead he swept his arm to his side and tall grass sprouted in a clump. “Now there is.”

Gabriel frowned. “I see that. Why?”

Crowley bared his teeth in a sharp smile. “Dunno if you noticed, but there was a really big flood recently. That big boat full of humans and animals need more than a whole mess of mud to get on with things. Soooo-” An aggressive arm sweep and more poppies grew up around Gabriel for every one he’d trod on. “I’m helping them out. S’what we’re supposed to do, isn’t it?”

“We aren’t supposed to interfere directly with the affairs of the humans unless ordered. And you aren’t supposed to interfere at all with them.” Gabriel’s frown was traded for his widest, most mirthless smile. “You’ve done more than enough of that, wouldn’t you say?”

Aziraphale nearly stumbled in his haste to get between the two angels. He rather felt like doing so might cause him to be ill. He’d rather not. He’d seen it happen to humans and it looked dreadfully unpleasant. However, he couldn’t let this escalate any further. His own smile fluttered about the edges.

“Gabriel, is there a reason you’re here?”

“To see this, of course,” Grabriel replied, gesturing to Crowley. As though the Seraph was a thing, a spectacle, and not a fellow member of the Host. Aziraphale knew the Archangel couldn’t possibly mean it in that way but it did make his stomach turn again. “When you said in your report that our errant angel, Crowley, had regained his original corporation, I just had to see it for myself. And what do you know, that wasn’t a joke either.”

Crowley’s only response was to bare his teeth further. Snakes weren’t capable of smiling, but Aziraphale had the distinct impression that it would look something like that if they could, a sickle sharp slice of venom. It made the too human hairs on the back of Aziraphale’s neck rise up. Danger, it said.

“No, not a joke,” he said. “Why- why would I lie in my report? I try my best not to embellish.”

Gabriel waved his hand. “Yes, yes. You were quite thorough, Aziraphale. But who would believe this? Not me. Not Michael. Sandalphon was taking bets on whether it would ever happen at all. No hard feelings or anything. You just gotta admit, this came as a surprise.”

Aziraphale couldn’t even think of what to say to that. His mouth worked around a response that wouldn’t come. Before he could find the words, Crowley stepped forward.

“Right, well, here I am. So if you’d just-” Crowley flapped his hand dismissively.

Annoyance flickered through Gabriel’s otherwise impassive features. “That’s not all I’m here for. 

You may have your original form back but, sorry to say, that’s not the end of it. It’s been decided that it would be best for everyone if you stay down here to live amongst the humans, as one of them. You’ll still have your miracles, of course. We’re not monsters. Though, in the future, do be less wasteful,” he said, gesturing at the lush greenery around them. “But that means no trips to Heaven.”

“Good riddance,” Crowley muttered.

“And no going off into the stars,” Gabriel continued brightly, as though he hadn’t heard Crowley’s aside.

Aziraphale gasped. He put a hand on Crowley as much to steady himself as to keep the Seraph back. But Crowley was no longer on the offensive. He was trembling. Aziraphale turned to look at him and saw his mouth was hanging wide.

“You can’t.”

Gabriel laughed. “I can’t? The Almighty may have decided in Her infinite goodness to let you stop crawling around but it’s up to Heaven to decide everything else. The humans are still suffering because of what you did, so it’s only fair, don’t you think?”

Crowley’s mouth thinned and a shadow passed over his golden eyes. It should have been easier for Aziraphale to read him now but he’d gotten so used to the body language of a snake. He needed to relearn everything about how Crowley expressed himself. All he knew at the moment was that his emotive friend was all too still and quiet for his liking.

Aziraphale cleared his throat. “Gabriel, could I perhaps speak to you for a moment? Er, privately.” Gabriel raised an eyebrow but didn’t protest when Aziraphale led him out of Crowley’s earshot. “You’ll have to excuse Crowley’s behavior. He’s been rather moody since the flood, what with the almost dying and being left out of plans. I don’t think he quite understands the… the ineffability of it.”

“Aziraphale, buddy, if it was up to me, I’d say getting his body back was the end of it. This is nothing personal. But you’ve got to consider appearances.” Gabriel wrapped one arm around Aziraphale’s shoulders and used the other to gesture at the sky. “Think about it. He already skipped out of his duty during the War and then there’s Eden. How do you think the other angels would feel if he got off so easy? Not to mention those mucking about in Hell. We let Salath- Crowley off after a mere thousand years and before you know it, we have demons demanding they be let back into heaven.”

Aziraphale squirmed uncomfortably. “Yes. Yes, I suppose you’re right.”

“Of course I am. As long he’s under Heaven’s care, we’re responsible for him. You wouldn’t rather he not be under our care, would you?”

Aziraphale’s throat went suddenly dry. He couldn’t help but look back at Crowley. The Seraph was barely visible crouching amongst the poppies, a shock of red hair amongst even redder blooms. Nearly everything Crowley had done since coming to Earth seemed designed to make Aziraphale fret on his behalf. He was always pushing at the bounds and asking too many questions instead of trusting in the Plan. Was Gabriel’s goodwill all that had kept Crowley from Falling? If so, what if he ever found out about the things that Aziraphale had left out of his reports, like why Crowley had nearly died during the flood?

Aziraphale shivered. “Crowley really does care for the humans. He sometimes shows it in an unusual way but he is trying. Perhaps if he had duties to keep him occupied?”

“I don’t think so, Aziraphale. It might seem nice to give him some busy work, but think about it from the other side. After what he did in the Garden, which souls are we supposed to trust to his care?” Gabriel shook his head. “I told you bud, gotta keep your eyes on the big picture. Good. Evil. We don’t need rogue agents messing things up.” He clapped Aziraphale on the back hard enough to wind him. “Big picture. Something you should keep in mind yourself when you consider what company you keep.”

As quickly as he’d arrived, Gabriel was gone, leaving only the tang of ozone and disapproval in his wake. Aziraphale let out a long, shaky breath. He knew what the Archangel was getting at- that he would be better off without Crowley around. It might be true but he wasn’t worried about himself. Well, not entirely. In truth, ever since he’d given away his sword he’d worried that he wasn’t doing the right thing. But he worried more about Crowley. If Gabriel was concerned about the influence Crowley might be on him, he was far more concerned about the effect he had on Crowley. Maybe they’d both be better off without each other.

With a heavy heart, Aziraphale turned to discuss the matter with his friend. However, Crowley was nowhere to be found. Aziraphale turned his head this way and that, hoping to catch a flash of copper hair or yellow eyes. Nothing. Wind rattled through the grass and dislodged a single white feather from its depths. Aziraphale sucked in a sharp breath. He could feel his heart pound and stopped himself before he got too worked up. There was no reason to believe Crowley was in danger. There had been those demons for a time but… No, no. It was fine. Crowley was hardly defenseless. He wasn’t human.

Nor was Aziraphale, for that matter. He extended all his senses. He wasn’t limited to anything so mundane as sight. Crowley had been difficult to find when he’d been a serpent, muted in a way. Since that day on the ark, though, he’d been like a beacon. He must have loved the world fiercely indeed for as bright as he burned. He was so full of love it was hard for Aziraphale to sense much else around him. 

“There you are,” Aziraphale sighed, letting out a breath he hadn’t been aware of holding.

With a snap, he appeared in the upper atmosphere. He had to yank his wings quickly into this dimension to keep from falling. Once he’d steadied himself, he examined his surroundings. Above the clouds and everything else, it was easy to find Crowley. With his wings extended and his long hair trailing behind him, Crowley looked like a comet that was defying gravity to shoot upward. He went high enough that he was just one more shining point amongst many when something violently rebuffed him and he went crashing earthward.

Aziraphale shot forward with a yelp. He needed to tuck his wings in and propel himself faster with a miracle to surpass the speed of Crowley’s disastrous descent. He swept the Seraph into his arms and unfurled his wings again in time to stop them from crashing. Crowley looked dazed. He stared owlishly at Aziraphale as the Principality did his best to settle them in for a comfortable landing. He tried to place Crowley back on his feet but the other angel seemed liable to topple over if Aziraphale loosened his embrace.

“Crowley, are you alright? What were you thinking?”

Pink colored pale skin and obscured the freckles that dusted over Crowley’s high cheekbones. He found his feet at last and staggered back a step. “Just wanted to test,” he mumbled. He threw his head back to look up. His eyes were intense as he stared up at the clouds that dotted the blue sky, as if he could see beyond all of that to the cosmos. His eyes were wet when he looked down at Aziraphale. “How did you find me?”

“Simple. You positively radiate love, my dear.”

“I… ngk… wuh?”

Crowley’s face was positively scarlet now, though Aziraphale couldn’t fathom what he had to be embarrassed about. Best to reassure him after all that he’d just been through.

Aziraphale smiled softly. “Yes, I don’t know why I didn’t notice it in Eden but I suppose you hadn’t had time yet to really appreciate creation. Now, well my dear boy, I’m really in awe of how fiercely you love this world. But I’ve always heard how passionate the Seraphim could be.”

He meant it as a slightly teasing compliment but it didn’t seem like he’d hit the right mark. Crowley was still sputtering and the red of his face had seeped up to his ears. “Course you can sense… don’t know why I didn’t think…” All that nervous energy spread and caused Crowley’s wings to flutter. “Yeah, the world’s great. Just love it. Never known anything like it.”

Aziraphale smiled wider over the way Crowley’s voice broke around the word love, as though it was too much to even say. He put a gentle hand on Crowley’s shoulder. “I know you want to go back to the stars but perhaps you can remember that until you’re able to return. It can’t be so unbearable to be trapped with something you love so much can it?”

A small, broken noise escaped Crowley’s throat. “No, s’fine, I guess. Nice. Great.”

Aziraphale thought of what Gabriel had said.  Aziraphale couldn’t imagine it was possibly that bad to be around any angel who knew how to love so wholly but he often felt there was a lot he didn’t understand about how to be a good angel. He certainly didn’t know what was best in this case- for him, for Crowley, for anything. Maybe he didn’t need to decide that just yet. It felt cruel to abandon Crowley when he was reacclimating to the world after a millennia as a serpent, especially when he no longer had the comfort of the stars.

“Shall we get back? I know Gabriel said you oughtn’t miracle the plants back but I do think the humans will be rather confused if they come across things unfinished like that.”

Crowley beamed. “Anywhere you want to go, you know I’ll follow. So lead the way.”

#good omens #good omens au #go au: tmgt #fic #my writing #crowley #anthony j crowley #aziraphale #good omens gabriel #and now I can get back to the other fic people voted on #no one wanted this lol but WEV I DID