#ritz is polite and leaves

[hikarry]

The idea that Aziraphale is that type of person whom everybody knows their name is so sweet. Every lil cafe, bakery, even restaurants like the Ritz, they know him by name and know what he likes.

And they also know "the other one".

They don't know his name nor his relationship to Mr. Fell. They just know he is ginger, appears to be always grumpy even though he is always polite, drives Mr. Fell around in his classic car and walks in a funny way

If Mysterious Ginger Goth appears by himself at the bakery, they know what he wants: Coffee and a box of pastries for Mr. Fell

There's a betting pool in Soho and surrounding areas over what their relationship is: Most think they are married but lowkey about it, some believe they are just friends, some cheeky ones think Ginger Goth is Mr. Fell's boy toy

When Mr. Fell disappears and they never see him with Ginger Goth anymore, they try to ask the man "How's Mr. Fell?" And he either ignores it or grumbles some shit no one understands, takes his coffee and leaves

Conclusion: Everyone thinks Mr. Fell and Ginger Goth Guy broke up and the whole of Soho is gossiping about it like it's the hottest news since the death of the Queen

#good omens #crowley #aziraphale #ineffable husbands #aziracrow #david tennant #michael sheen #anthony j crowley

[halemerry]

I’m doing it. I’m breaking down the Scene. You know the one. I've been tearing it apart for a week straight now in discord and figured I should leave my observations here. So, uh, yeah, this one's a big one so buckle up folks!

I want to start with the build up because I can never leave well enough alone and because I think the framing we have coming into this sequence is important. We start with the camera on Mr. Acts of Service himself. Crowley, after banishing Muriel, starts cleaning up the bookshop. The music playing is the soft slow rendition of the opening theme. He is returning this space to the status quo, resetting back to normal, fully intending to do this for Aziraphale before dragging him out to the Ritz, falling back on their typical pattern of going out together for food and drink.

Now in a moment he's going to get interrupted by Nina and Maggie but before we get there I want to take a second to draw attention to the area of the bookshop that Crowley will be operating in for the bulk of this. This space is one we very frequently see Aziraphale in. It's his desk behind the till - a spot linked intrinsically to him, even down to the fact that it's located on the east side of the shop. The windows are throwing beams of light onto Aziraphale's chair and onto the same spot Crowley will stand during The Scene. This lighting choice will not change from now until our last shots in the bookshop and the way the blocking plays around these sunbeams is very aware (as Good Omens nearly always is) of exactly where they will land.

Nina and Maggie enter the scene to have a chat about boundaries and communication. Maggie, his own mirror, tells him flat out that he can't play with their lives like that. Maggie and Nina then both tell him that he and Aziraphale need to talk. And I don’t think they're wrong, exactly, but I do think that Aziraphale and Crowley are actually a lot better at communicating in general than they are in these following high stakes scenes. But that's some meta for later - for now I want to just focus on the particular way Crowley's been primed for the conversation he and Az are about to have. Nina in particular does something really interesting. She does exactly what we as the audience did when we first saw Nina and Maggie: she mistakenly projects herself onto Crowley. She says he has trust issues because she does and in the process accidentally frames the core of their problem as Crowley needing to allow himself to trust Aziraphale, a thing that he actively already does and has done for quite some time and has been shown to us several times throughout the two seasons.

Now the build up we get for Aziraphale going into this conversation is very small. By which I mean practically non-existent. We start at the end of his conversation with the Metatron who tells him to go tell his friend the good news - which notably does not imply that the news is something that would require Crowley to make a choice - and sends Aziraphale on his way. Now the most crucial thing in this sequence, to me, is the expressions Aziraphale makes when he thinks the Metatron isn't looking at him. While polite and smiley when engaged with him, Az's expression falls as soon as he doesn't have eyes on him. Something is wrong and Aziraphale knows it.

Aziraphale enters the shop. The doorway is dark and shadowy and he hasn't composed himself yet - though he does give Nina and Maggie a little smile as they leave. Then, as soon as they're not looking at him, but before he approaches Crowley, the tension is back.

He hesitates, then smiles and approaches Crowley. Crowley, planted dead center in that beam of light from earlier, takes off his glasses and promptly starts nervously rambling. The music cuts off here entirely, giving us nothing to focus on but the noises coming from our lead actors, the background noise from the street, and the ticking of the clock in the background. Aziraphale puts up his hands like he's going to interrupt then lowers them again as Crowley keeps talking, his face shifting into this helpless sort of smitten look.

Now look at the light and how it hits the bookshelves behind Crowley as he tries to get his confession going. It's in the shape of a wing. Keep an eye on that - when the camera chooses to show us this one wing of light is important.

Aziraphale then interrupts and there are two things I want to draw attention to here as Aziraphale fumbles for words. First of all is the fact that he glances in the direction of the door (and the Metatron) at least three times as he's struggling to speak.

Secondly, I want to draw attention to the words Az actually says here. He first echoes the Metatron's earlier statement about good news. He then does not roll into the news itself and instead glances at the door and says the Metatron. He starts rambling about the Metatron to a very confused looking Crowley and evetually talks his way into that the Metatron said something. He then hits a wall again, scrambling to find words and instead of explaining the context of what the Metatron says he lands on Gabriel. His brain latches onto someone obviously on the forefront of both their minds and something vaguely relevant to the news he's about to share. He rambles more about Gabriel's job, glancing once again at the door in the middle of this, still avoiding getting to the actual point or perhaps even synthesizing said point as he goes.

We then cut to what is framed as a flashback. I think it is very notable we only see this as Az is telling it to us. In other words that this is not us witnessing an event happening but us witnessing what Aziraphale is telling Crowley. This sequence is the single scene where the Metatron calls Crowley by name despite actively avoiding it in any real time continuity sequences. He uses it twice here which I think also is the strongest thread in here that tells us that we are seeing what Crowley is being told not necessarily what actually happened.

The instant the idea of restoring Crowley comes up the wing of light behind Crowley loses visibility. Crowley's speechless for a moment so Aziraphale fills the silence, already looking like he wants to cry as he talks about the old days. (I also can't help but to notice that the lights behind Az in this shot look like eyes.) Crowley finally speaks and circles around the beam of light he's been standing in like an object seeking to re-establish a source of gravity. The music cuts back in here with tense drawn out notes.

Crowley talks about how Hell offered him his place back and he turned them down. Aziraphale in turn presses on ideas that we know he doesn't really believe. It's a echo of the bandstand and uses a lot of the same language of that fight - another fight we know features Aziraphale saying things he knows aren't true. By now, we have seen him multiple times this season express he does not want to go back and make it abundantly clear that the side they have made for themselves is important to him. We see him actively calling angels bad and incompetent, contrary to everything he's telling Crowley here. We see him be the one to repetitively remind Crowley that they are on their side and be the one that always draws attention to that first. Yet here he says Heaven is the side of light to Crowley - who by the way is literally framed in light. The frame is telling us outright that Crowley is already Good as he is, while Az's expressions are telling us he knows Heaven isn't.

Aziraphale can't tell him that he did not turn down the job and Crowley does another orbit. The music cuts again. This time, he stops with his back to Az, tilts his head upward and decides to ruin me by invoking God.

Here he is, hearing these awful things that he was sure they had moved on from, hearing these things he has tried for so long and so hard to help them both unlearn. But these sorts of habits and lessons are insidious and he knows that and he himself is even a victim of that himself. I mean, don't get me wrong, he recognizes this is weird, I think, but between his own self worth issues and the stress of the few days they'd had can't work out what exactly is off here. He's confused and lost and just been told, in his mind, that he is not good enough as he is - a thing he has always on some level also believed. Yet he reaches out to the parent that taught him that lesson in the first place for strength and grounds himself with that. He circles back to stand in the beam of light and, with that wing of light finally backlighting him again, he is brave and tries to be enough anyway. He bows his head downward, fully emerging the line of this body in the light and tries again. Because even now, even after that emotional blow, Crowley is an optimist who can't help but to try.

At first Aziraphale can't figure out quite what is going on here. He squints at Crowley and glances at the door again. Crowley meanwhile keeps continually glancing upward, whether at God or to hold back tears or some combination of both. In most of these shots Crowley bisects the room, creating a dark half to his left and a light half to his right.

Crowley says he relies on Aziraphale. Even here, even now when he's just hurt him. Because it is the truth. Because Aziraphale makes him feel less alone. Because Aziraphale proves to him that no matter how fucked the system is that there is still good in the world, even if he doesn't always agree with it.

It is only once there is no doubt what Crowley is doing that Aziraphale starts shaking his head in very small quick shakes. He looks panicked even as they both physically draw closer to each other. It's huge not here, not like this energy to me. Aziraphale asks Crowley to come with to help him run Heaven. This is the point where Crowley starts tearing up.

Crowley then says you can't leave this bookshop, trying to say you can't leave me. Az, nearly in tears himself, says 'oh Crowley. Nothing lasts forever' as a means to convey that the books aren't what is important here. Crowley, naturally, hears 'including us.'

Crowley looks down again, quietly agrees, and puts on his glasses, covering himself up again. He then wishes Aziraphale good luck and the music starts up again, still tense but sorrowful now. He leaves the light and heads to the door. Az can't help but to call after him. Please wait. And Crowley can't help but to listen. It's worth noting here that even as he rotates toward the north door, the light still gently hits his face. The shots in general are darker though. He's moved away from the light but it still can't help but to touch him.

"Come with me," says Aziraphale and then after a pause adds "To Heaven." Aziraphale, looking heartbroken, starts one of two 'I' statements he will struggle around in the next few moments. He lands on I need. Which. I want to pause there a moment because holy shit. That is not something they say out loud either. Az looks at him a moment, visibly struggling before he says his dialogue about Crowley not understanding his offer. Like he's said something he didn't mean to and needs to cover it up or like he can't handle the silence after such an honest statement. And on some level he's not wrong there. Because Crowley doesn't understand what Aziraphale is trying to say. But Aziraphale doesn't understand the way Crowley is reading it to course correct either.

Crowley says that he does understand and that he understands better than Aziraphale does. And he also isn't wrong either, from his perspective. Because he does understand the implications behind the offer theoretically in play here. Because he does know that the position Aziraphale is presenting him is not going to result in the outcome Aziraphale is presenting him with. There are some things you can't undo just like memories slipping through the cracks.

Az says there's nothing more to say, trying to dismiss Crowley despite having been the one to pull him to a stop moments ago. He puts on a fake polite smile for a beat but then his is jaw sets, mouth working as his eyes drop - unable to look Crowley in the eye.

Crowley tells him to listen as the music fades out and points upward. Aziraphale humors this, glancing up a few times before looking frustrated, saying he can't hear anything. The light from the window shines down in his direction without actually touching him. Crowley tells him "That's the point. No nightingales." The shot he's on here is a dark one without even any of the book shops pillars visible in it to brighten the shot.

Aziraphale looks frozen a moment here and then as Crowley calls him an idiot and says 'we could have been us' his face completely crumbles. He rapidly glances away to hide his face and Crowley moves and reaches to pull him back. They're both distraught. Az is clearly already holding back tears even before Crowley touches him. The angle of this shot frames Aziraphale in the light of the window. For the first time in this whole sequence Aziraphale is in the light, literally being physically pulled into it by Crowley.

The music swells, playing a similar theme to the one that plays as the Pillars of Creation are formed at the start of the season. They shift back and forth, the camera focusing on Aziraphale's face and hands. His hands move uncertainly, trying to reach out even as he's struggling emotionally. He is visibly shaking but he crucially does not pull away, not even a little.

His hands settle on Crowley's back, right where his wings would be, and for a brief moment gets taller, like he's allowing himself to lean into the kiss. They press together tightly, their mutual gravity sending them crashing together before they break apart. When they do Aziraphale looks devastated and his eyes move pretty much instantly to look out the window where the Metatron would be.

Crowley's glasses make him harder to read here, but he looks at Aziraphale like a man awaiting judgement in a trial he knows he's already lost. He's sad too, but as always, is waiting for Aziraphale's reaction. Because he might push continually at he boundaries of them as a unit but he has always let Aziraphale decide where to set them in stone.

Az fumbles over words here. He gets stuck on "I" here and lets it hang in the air. He then visibly thinks his words over, his expression slowly filling with resolve as he comes to some sort of conclusion. Then, like it's difficult to say, he falls back into old coded language. "I forgive you." A thing he has always said in response to things that he agrees with but cannot or should not allow himself to have.

Crowley sighs and tells him not to bother, refusing to fall into the old pattern that Aziraphale has. He is setting a boundary, for once, and even if it is one born from misunderstanding I am proud of him for being able to. He turns away and leaves. And this is where Az seems most in danger of falling apart. His lips move as Crowley goes, forming the start of a 'no' after him. He draws back from the door and turns his body away from it, physically distancing himself from anything that would feel like following Crowley. Except he can't help himself. With shaking hands he reaches up to touch his lips. He presses in, like he's trying to recreate the pressure and then his jaw works a moment and his expression sets as resolved.

The Metatron enters through the front door, which is framed in dark lighting. Aziraphale looks panicked and immediately turns his whole body away from him to hide his face while he collects himself.

He turns around after a beat and the Metatron asks 'how did he take it?' This is an odd question that only sort of half fits the fact that we are meant to believe at this point - that Aziraphale should be obtaining a yes or no from Crowley. It's not asking Crowley's choice at all. It's like the Metatron assumed a different conversation had happened or perhaps that he already knew the answer.

Aziraphale says he took it badly and the Metatron just takes a moment to direct a few casual digs at Crowley. He references him being stubborn and too curious - all the while avoiding the use of this name. At this point Az's eyes are locked out the window in the direction Crowley vanished to. The Metatron asks if he's ready to start despite originally having promised Az time to think over his answer. Aziraphale keeps glancing out the window.

For a moment he cracks, stepping away from the Metatron and back toward the east side of the bookshop. For the only time in this whole sequence he steps right into the sunbeam Crowley started in. It notably never illuminates his face as he mentions the issue of his bookshop (a statement absolutely not about the bookshop).

The Metatron explains Muriel will take care of it. Aziraphale looks back out the window with the start of an objection.

The Metatron interrupts him asking if there's anything he needs to take with him. Az's mouth takes a moment to try and form words. He steps out of the light again, starts to object, and then cuts off, eyes back to the window. Then his expression shifts again, settling in another state of resolve before he puts on his falsely polite face and follows the Metatron out.

As they leave the shop we cut back to Crowley. Crowley, who could've left to go handle his own emotions, did not leave. Instead he planted himself there, nice and noticeable. Like he wanted Aziraphale to see and know that he still has a choice. Like he needs to see Aziraphale make that choice for himself. Like he can't quite bring himself to be the one to close that last door. He stands there, framed by light, and doesn't move until the doors to the elevator to Heaven close behind Aziraphale. He then glances at Nina and Maggie and then gets in the Bentley, which starts playing the song that we now know he knows is supposed to be theirs. He turns off the music and drives away.

So there's a lot in these sequences and most of it probably won't help us figure out exactly what comes next, but there are definite signs that all is not as it's being presented to us. Whether he's actively lying or not, something is wrong that Aziraphale either can't or won't talk about frankly with Crowley. I suspect, whether it's under stress from a literal threat or because he believes that it is the safest option for them, that Aziraphale is doing all of this to protect Crowley.

There are also all sorts of signals here, especially in the lights, that gesture at the fact their togetherness is a net good. Together they are balanced and stronger for it and likely more in alignment with the Ineffable Plan. And, more importantly than that, that said togetherness is so clearly what they both want. They have loved each other longer than anything alive has ever loved anyone and none of this changes that. They both are saying that in their own ways here, even if those ways are not ones the other is particularly good at picking up and I for one cannot wait to get to see the payoff of them learning how to.

#good omens #gos2 spoilers #good omens spoilers #good omens meta #kind of #is it meta if its mostly me pointing and yelling? #come suffer with me #you have no idea how many times i had to watch these sequences for this #crowley #aziraphale #the bookshop

[biceratops7]

Oh… oh my gosh…

I just noticed something.

It seems to be that Crowley’s almost entirely stopped wearing his glasses while alone with Aziraphale. Even in moments they appear to be quarreling, they’re still off.

So in season 1 we were pretty much mostly in agreement the Crowley’s the one who knows he’s got it down bad and is just patiently waiting in agony for Aziraphale to catch up. And so… well? He still kind of kept some distance, just that little bit of reserve that would allow him to save face. Crowley talks a big game about running off together and being on their own side, but he is, after all, all about insurance.

There’s also, paradoxically, the element of Crowley’s eyes being the only thing that visibly marks him as a demon. They meaningfully separate the two in a way that at best they would politely ignore and at worst crack under the pressure of. The glasses serve the purpose of displaying an unwillingness to fully be close with Aziraphale before he’s ready to assure Crowley, but also a fear of setting them apart by highlighting a striking reminder of how Crowley officially “failed” to be worthy of divine and loving companionship.

Then you have Aziraphale, who still in part is trying to hide what he’s got going on with Crowley. Even though everyone seems to now know they’re close friends and mostly leaves them alone… so what exactly is Aziraphale still hiding?

Come on, we all know what it is. I mean fucking look at him! Micheal Sheen understood the assignment.

Alright alright, enough ribbing and back to hopefully smart and coherent thoughts. So this dynamic of Crowley being a bit ahead in the ✨understanding✨ front and Aziraphale needing more time is nothing new. But now we have a situation where Aziraphale is without a shadow of a doubt fully aware of his feelings, and has nothing else to stall with. In theory he has everything he wants with Crowley, to “dine at the ritz” and be left alone to enjoy the gifts of earth, and yet, he’s still longing. Then Crowley is just as ready to be the woo-er as before, but he’s also ready to be more vulnerable, more trusting, than ever.

Mark my words. SOMETHING is a-brewin’. So uh… who’s excited for season 2? 😅

#good omens #season 2 #trailer #ineffable husbands #meta #analysis #speculation #Aziraphale #crowley #Crowley’s glasses #the blitz #biceratops

[sierrrraaawwwwwcgtcvh]

Small veneer n velvet headcannons

TW: MENTIONS OF SEXUAL HARASSMENT!!

honestly? I feel like he’d definitely be clingy.

he’d be around you every chance he’d get. After shows, he’d immediately come up to you. He’d expect you to shower him with praise of course, it made his day even better.

He’s definitely someone who loves cuddling. He would be both the big spoon and small spoon depending on what mood he’s in.

I feel like he’d also LOVEE kisses. He’d maybe want them from you all of the time. Short and sweet.

he’d want you to do his makeup for him. Go with him to buy clothes.. maybe even buy matching yachts or cars!

Veneer doesn’t stand up for himself. HOWEVER, if it’s for you? He’ll stand up for you no matter what.

“I got you babe, don’t worry. They don’t know what they’re talking about. I love you so much.”

You’re in a bad situation? No worries, Veneer always shows up at the right time.

~~~

You’d been waiting for Veneer in front of the restaurant. You were about five minutes early so you didn’t think he’d show up soon. You wore the best formal clothes you had.

You took out your phone, checking the time. You sighed. It was only a few more minutes of waiting now.

“Hey there, pretty lady. What’re you doin’ out in the cold so late at night? Surely, you don’t plan on spending the night out in the cold?” You felt someone put their hands on your shoulders as you immediately tensed up. You turned around.

“I’m sorry, Sir. But, I’m waiting for my boyfriend. Please go?” You tried to be polite, but it didn’t work on the man.

“Oh, please. As if you could ever have a boyfriend. Say, let’s go back to my place.. I can give you the ride of you li-!” He got cut off by a large buzzing sound. He collapsed to the floor and you backed away.

“Ugh, I hate men like that! Babe, are you okay? I’m so, so, so sorry I’m late.” Veneer held a tazer in his hands as he stepped on the man’s body. He walked up to you and slowly put his hand on your cheek.

“Wanna go somewhere else? I’m sorry our date got ruined..”

-

Velvet would definitely make sure you’re on top of your skincare routine. She wants you to have the best skin.

Velvet would definitely be the big spoon. Unless she’s in a really bad mood.. then it’d be small spoon for her.

She’d want you to shower her with both praise and gifts! I feel like she’d love it if someone bought her gifts.. even if she already had it.

I think she wouldn’t be that good of a communicator when it comes to relationships. But, she’s all ears about becoming better.

She’ll always listen to what you have to say. If someone bothers you? They don’t even exist anymore.

“There’s NO way he just said that to you. Don’t listen to him sweetheart, he doesn’t know you like I do. You’re very beautiful.”

If someone has wronged or is planning on wronging you, Velvet won’t hesitate to step in and defend you with her life. She might drag her fans into it if it’s a mega situation.

Velvet would LOVEE going on dates. She’d probably wanna go somewhere fun, like an amusement park perhaps?

~~~

While on an interview once, Kid Ritz told the viewers. Along with Velvet and Veneer, that’d you were probably just using her for money. That’s how people were with celebrities.

“Yeah! Say, Velvet. Aren’t you in a relationship right now? They’re probably only using you for money, y’know… how most people are with celebrities they’re with? Am I right?” He laughed.

Velvet was NOT laughing.

“What did you just say..?” Velvet snapped at him. “I’ll have you know, that they aren’t using me for money! They have their own money, they earn it themselves! Don’t you dare say that again. You really are pathetic. C’mon Veneer, we’re leaving this dump.”

Later on, you showered Velvet with kisses and love. You were very happy she defended you. You’d never even think about using her money. You had your own that you worked for.

Later in the night.. Velvet and Veneer got their fans to start attacking Kid Ritz over messages for what he said.

“Thank you so much for being here with me, my love.”

#veneer x reader #Velvet x reader #trolls 3 #trolls band together #velvet and veneer

[slurpi13]

Demon Delivery

Summary: There wasn’t much Aziraphale wouldn’t put up with for a truly superb meal. But while dining out both luxuriously and otherwise was certainly typical, occasionally the angel desired a private night in.

Crowley had been the first to tempt his angel to the earthly pleasure of a good meal, and it was only right to see him through. Regardless of the meal being a takeaway, Aziraphale deserved no less than perfection, and that’s what he would have.

(OR: Crowley is one hell of a food delivery demon. Aziraphale rewards him thoroughly for his efforts.)

AO3

Explicit - 4127 words

The angel loved to dine in all forms, whether it be an unhurried evening of the finest wine and multi-course dining or a plate of greasy fish and chips.

By all means, Aziraphale preferred the luxurious experience of dining with Crowley at the Ritz—the hum of mild chatter, the soft piano melodies, and the posh excellence as he delighted in his dainty bites of decadence under the demon’s attentive observation. He did always appreciate the finer things, standards and all.

Nevertheless, the pair just as commonly frequented Aziraphale’s favorite chippy despite its typically boisterous crowd and modern decor, the angel mentioning the latter as if they were dirty words. The seating was lackluster, sleek stools and stiff booths, not accommodating to long, lavish dining events. The small shop was narrow and noisy, locals and tourists alike crowding around for their turn. A stray, accidental elbowing from said overexcited patrons wasn’t unusual, inciting warning hisses from the demon when Aziraphale was the recipient of such. Despite the atmospheric shortcomings, it was the best in London, according to the angel.

There wasn’t much Aziraphale wouldn’t put up with for a truly superb meal. But while dining out both luxuriously and otherwise was certainly typical, occasionally the angel desired a private night in.

Often, it was on a Tuesday—first of the month.

Crowley lounged upon his grand throne, one leg dangling over the armrest and chin balanced precariously against his palm. The screen of his phone glared back at him as the digital clock ticked over to five on the dot. Ever punctual, his phone began to vibrate with an incoming call. Straightening up in his seat, Crowley smirked, trying his best to keep it out of his voice as he held for an additional buzz before answering.

“Hello, angel.”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale began, delight in his tone as if it were half a surprise to find him on the other end, as if he didn’t know Crowley’s number by heart, as if he hadn’t just dialed it purposefully on the antique phone he kept in his shop. “Are you busy? I was wondering if you might like to come over.”

“Sure. M’not doing anything. Hungry?” He should have waited for Aziraphale to suggest or at least allude to it, but he couldn’t help himself, his own appetite already getting the best of him. Crowley had no doubt the angel noted it, despite no indication.

“Well, now that you mention it, I suppose I am feeling a bit peckish. Would you mind terribly picking up something on your way? Dreadful weather.”

The weather was dreadful, a steady pitter of cold rain dribbling down the window of Crowley’s flat. While Aziraphale did appreciate a sunny day, if rain and a chill stopped the angel from venturing out into the streets, he’d rarely leave the bookshop. Regardless of what excuse the angel may have, Crowley knew that it simply just so happened to be raining on this Tuesday, the first one of the month, when the pâtisserie Aziraphale favored rotated their offerings.

“What do you fancy?”

Aziraphale hummed, making a show of debating over what exactly he had a craving for, as though it hadn’t been on his mind before he’d called, if not all day. It was a formality, as was his polite insistence that Crowley choose something else if he’d rather when he finally settled on his request—three courses of Italian from a restaurant that would balk at the idea of a takeaway.

The angel was letting him off easy tonight.

Nothing crisp that needed to stay that way in a steamy container on a damp evening. Nothing that would spill and slosh onto his Bentley seats if Crowley didn’t cradle it gingerly with his free hand and drive at suboptimal speeds. Nothing that deflated once it reached a few perilous meters away from the oven or started melting the moment it touched room-temperature air. No celebratory towers of fragile pastry meant for parties being tucked away by a single, prim angel.

Slightly disappointed, Crowley’s smirk faded. “Anything else, angel?”

“Perhaps something for our dessert.”

Full fic on AO3.

#good omens #ineffable husbands #aziracrow #good omens fanfic #good omens fic #aziraphale x crowley #crowley x aziraphale #aziraphale #crowley

[wanderingmirror]

The 501st was having a meeting with a few members of the Guard, Senators Amidala and Organa, and some members of the Jedi Council. Anakin was currently going on a tangent about the Guard's laziness and stupidity. Or what he assumed was so. One of the Guards on duty was getting agitated. Those who were truly paying attention could see his armor shaking as his rage began to bubble past the point he could hide. Commander Fox was aware of Fenrir's rising anger.

Said Commander was kind enough to warn the council and Senate members prior to the meeting that he would be prone to lash out. Especially when Skywalker was around and in one of his rants. Despite his somewhat cordial behavior during the events of Five's disappearance and later the incident with Ritz, the Jedi Knight was still prone to rants against the Guard. It had gotten to the point that no Guardsman was willing to deal with him alone or at all. Hence the meeting. And once the male got into a new rant about how lazy the men on guard duty were Fenrir finally snapped.

The riot trooper hit the Knight with the butt of his blaster, knocking him to the floor and startling everyone in the room but the Guards. The clone raised his foot and stomped onto the weakest point in the man's leg and a crack was heard. Anakin wailed in pain and Fenrir held up his blaster to point at Jesse in warning. The other members of the 501st froze. The second oldest member of the Coruscanti Wolfpack growled and reached down to pull the wounded Jedi to his feet. Albeit unsteadily.

"Stand the fuck up. You stand back up. The rest of you sit down, or else."

Fenrir growled and most of the ones standing did so but Jesse. Fenrir looked at him and motioned for him to sit too. The blue clad clone did so with hesitation. The red clad riot trooper kept Anakin from sitting down and made him fall into a shaky parade rest. Back straight, legs shoulder length, arms behind the back crossed, and chin held high. Every time a noise of pain would leave the Jedi's mouth, Fenrir would scoff.

"What is it? Your leg? Shut the fuck up and be quiet. You have no right to complain."

He snarled and waved at Senator Amidala to begin her own talking. The brunette woman nodded, slightly disturbed by the events taking place, but used to Fenrir's type of teaching. He knew no better way to teach than experience. After an hour, Anakin started to flag and slump over. Only to get smacked on the back by Fenrir.

"Oi! Did I say you could be at ease?! Straighten up, you shithead! You ain't allowed to relax until I say so. You're a Jedi! Fucking act like it!"

Fenrir snapped and the brunette Jedi fixed his posture despite the pain. Obi-wan was looking mildly distressed by his old Padawan's treatment. Plo Koon was wincing with every growl Fenrir rumbled out. Despite the months having gone by, the Guard was still icy towards those outside of their unit. The only ones willing to be somewhat cordial were the Commanders, CMO Stitches, and very rarely Chemi. Due to the fact that the Healing Halls had been helping heal the Trooper turned Scientist's air ways.

They were never out right mean or cruel, but they never dropped their guard. They never allowed visitors. And they didn't try to make nice. They were all business and professional politeness. Except for a very small group of shinies who hadn't been abandoned yet. And they had been warned about said abandonment happening at any point. So they were enjoying their time while it seemingly lasted. When it was nearing the end of the meeting, Fenrir was still pacing behind Anakin with the gaze of a predator.

He never let the Knight relax, always barking for him to straighten up or fix his posture. The Jedi's broken leg was shaking, yet Fenrir didn't seem to care. He snapped when Anakin would go to ask to sit. Claiming that he had no right. That he wasn't allowed to sit with their "Noble Guests". At first those not in the know didn't really like the way the Guardsman was treating him. Until it finally clicked that he was treating Anakin the same way they were treated.

"Fix your fucking posture, Jedi! I didn't fucking say you could relax!"

Anakin was nearing his physical limit. Yet no one was interfering with what the crazy trooper was doing. He didn't understand why his master or Padme weren't doing anything! His leg hurt! Yet whenever he began to slip, the trooper would snap at him.

"And this is the end of the meeting. Trooper Fenrir, would you kindly allow the Knight to relax?"

Senator Organa asked with a wary smile. Fenrir growled softly but nodded. Hitting Anakin on the back and stepping around to face him.

"Did you learn your lesson, Jedi? Or am I gonna have to start paying a visit to the temple to teach you fucking discipline?"

He asked and the Jedi paled. He did in fact realize that this had been used as an example of what the Guard did daily. What they were forced to do every hour of every day. Before the Sith Lord was killed, before CMO Stitches had the supplies to treat them all. Before they could take time off and didn't have to support the entire Coruscanti police and security system. When they were under constant threat of death and recon.

"You can relax now. But if I hear anything about you talking shit again, I'll break more than just your fucking leg. I'll make you wear armor, go patrolling with me, and spend the whole day with no help for those injuries. And let me tell you, it isn't a walk in the fucking park. Not on this "Cushy Posting"."

Fenrir snarled and Anakin fell to the floor to sit. Whining with pain as Obi-wan walked over to check on him. Stitches didn't help, deciding that his old protege could deal with it. He should have learned that much with him. Kix just sighed as the Guards all walked out of the room. Fenrir more at a stalk than a walk with the intent of finding either his Soka or his Ori'vod, Chemi. Or even his own ad, Pup.

If Anakin had anything else to say, he kept it firmly to himself. Coruscant had Guard eyes and ears everywhere, after all.

#random #star wars the clone wars #clone ocs #no order 66 #starwars #original oc #commander fox #plo koon #obi wan kenobi #anakin skywalker #padme amidala #bail organa #injury #mentions of anger issuses

[terrence-silver]

Terry getting jealous of a guy Beloved meets at a gala, or literally anywhere lol. I’d like to see him getting overprotective and angry 🤭

---

During the afterparties of black tie events, all the gamblers tend to come out.

Champagne is copious and the podium contains ice sculptures and pyramids made out of filled liquor glasses trickling down, like a sparkling fountain. The jazz is loud and blaring as nightgowns shimmy back and forth on the shiny podium. Laughter resonates across the gold lit, music-filled hall of the Ritz's lushly carpeted Banquet Room. A wooden, dark mahogany roulette wheel spins with a gaggle of curious gawking eyes following it's circular motion like a hypnotic carousel and you make yourself at ease in the crowd. When Terry tends to leave, he tends to leave for but a second. His absences as short as they can be and the presence of his vice grip, or at least the shadow of it, so poignant, that even when he's gone, you feel like he's right beside you, lingering to the point you barely even notice you joined the company of people looking at the roulette wheel and that someone was addressing you. -"Wanna help me with a lucky number?"- The suited up man next to the dealer asks, the frilly collar of his black bow tie untied and disheveled. He seemed like he had a couple of extra drinks from the champagne pyramid tonight. You aim for the political correctness of politeness regardless.

-"Oh, I'd rather not. Don't want to be responsible if you hit a losing number."-

You try, apologetically, to shake him off and being as nice as you could about it. Really, in all honesty, the last thing you wanted was to irk an inebriated man in spite of the security detour at all exits or in equal measure be responsible for him throwing money out the window at your personal suggestion. He gives you a lingering look, up and down, like he was assessing you. -"You're Silver's, right?"- He asks, slurring a little and my god, was it that obvious? Like it was stamped on your forehead. The fact is almost amusing. You chuckle. Terry would feel proud at that one, especially considering the possessive noun that was attached to the state of belonging to Silver. -"You know him?"- You inquire, more with the objective of making small talk for its own sake than anything else. -"Who doesn't, c'mon. He's bigger than the economy of Denmark."- The man shakes his head and you quite honestly don't know what to say to that, not wanting to chortle in front of a drunk man, even though, admittedly, the statement was funny was much as it was undoubtedly true. -"So? Suggestion? From a friend's friend to another friend? I can handle a bit of losing, promise."- You sigh at his insistence, capitulating. You supposed it was partially your fault for deciding to tune out from the party in front of the crowded roulette wheel table of all places, but you digressed. -"Okay, if you absolutely insist then; Black. Twenty eight."- You shake your head, managing a harmless smile, watching the man place his bet on the smooth green layout in front of the dealer. The wheel spins.

You nearly jump out of your skin when you feel a familiar arm.

Terry's finger's sneaking themselves around your waist from behind.

-"Quit while you're ahead, Al, all the best gamblers do."-

You feel his chuckle against the back of your spine as he addresses the slightly tipsy guy and you feel instantly relieved and in equal measure, tense. Something about Terry addressing people with sayings and proverbs always carried the scent of danger about it. Like he was giving them an artificially kind piece of life advice with a double meaning before encouraging them to drink some Arsenic. -"Terry! How are you!"- The titular Al extends his hand across the table of chips and dices, shaking hands ardently while Terry's other free arm was promptly slung around you. You knew his penchant for jealousy and you genuinely hoped that you being accidentally (and involuntarily) chatted up by a drunk guy at a party full of people with champagne glasses in their hands wouldn't induce any of his envy, but watching their friendly exchange, you count your blessings. Yeah, they were probably just acquittances and everything was fine. -"I imagine it's my lucky night tonight! I had your lovely companion giving me tips."- Al clarifies gesturing at you, downing a straight shot of Cognac like it was water. Lovely. He called you lovely. You nearly bite your tongue imagining what was going on in the back of Terry's head, envisioning the grinding wheels.

His grip around you tightens seamlessly.

-"Since I see you're already introduced, I might wanna give you your next one."-

Terry's all charm and all smiles, but you sense a backhanded sort of politeness and veiled hostility in that statement, looking around the crowd, wondering if any of the energized faces focusing on the game noticed, finding they were fading into a blur of euphoria. -"Your turn, sir."- The dealer suited up with white gloves announces and you really wanted to get away from this table; while you were never a fan of chatty drunks and you made an endeavor to avoid them and be tactical with them if you could, you didn't exactly think they deserved some terrible fate befalling them merely for making the mistake of speaking to you. Terry did, though. That's exactly what worried you. -"Hit me, baby!"- Al excitedly slaps his hands together, ready for the next round. -"Oh, I'll hit you alright, pal."- Terry interjects and at that point, the alarms are off in your head. God, god, god, no, please. Nothing about those words was actually amicable or well intentioned as they seemed. You feel Terry's fingers practically dig into the fabric of your attire, squeezing. -"Red, twenty eight."- As promised, Terry makes his suggestion, leaning over to Al and dealer, taking note of it, spins the wheel. The dice turns and turns, until it lands on the wrong number and Al throws hands back, disappointed and making no effort to hide it. In fact, his emotional outburst was colorful enough to have people staring. -"Oh, man! Seriously!"-

-"Told you to quit while you're ahead."-

Terry jokes and at that point, you're officially numb with anxiety.

What was he planning?

-"Oh, brother. I need a drink. They're taking the fucking skin off my back."-

Al swipes an exasperated hand through his hair, stumbling backwards and turning around, heading for the bar, the crowd starting to whisper, alerted by his loud display of obscenities. Terry was doing this on purpose. He was, wasn't he? Smoothly talking this guy into acting out and embarrassing himself. -"What are you doing?"- You demand, furiously, whispering into Terry's ear, irked and annoyed once he responds by snuggling closer until his cheek is practically pressed against yours in a possessive, jealous display. No. Seriously. This had to stop. Now. -"The dealer owes me a favor and the owner of the establishment is an old friend."- Terry coos and of course he had connections at places like this. The aforementioned dealer meets his gaze and they nod at each other in mutual understanding and you gulp, feeling uneasy. -"He lost ten thousand dollars because of you, Terry!"- You seethe, whispering. -"So? The price he pays for looking at you like you're something to devour."- He's drunk, you yearn to retort swiftly. He's looking at everyone and everything like it's something to devour. Time's short, though and Al comes waddling back to the roulette table, a fresh drink in hand. Oh, for the love of god. Terry's arm around you is in a vice grip at that point, holding you in place. You dig your fingers into his wrist, but he doesn't budge. You swear you hear him chuckle, in fact. -"Okay, I feel hot!"- Al shouts with a newfound hope for winning and Terry strategically leans over, whispering the next number. -"Black twenty two."- You hear Terry mutter and you dig your nail into his arms, fidgeting to the side, trying to get him to leave this nonsense behind. The wheel spins and Al looses again.

-"No! Seriously!? Again!? Come the fuck on!"- He yells.

You were pretty certain the entire hall was looking at the the man at that point.

-"Terry..."- You try, silently, almost begging, regret lurching in your belly.

-"They're trying to hold an honest gambler down. You gonna stand for that, my man, huh?"-

Terry leans over for, perhaps, the third time in a row, muttering into the man's ear's, dripping in some verbal venom, and it hits you there and then, that to an outsider looking in, it must've seemed like Mr. Silver was trying to de-escalate the situation and talk the guy into calming down, but closely glued to Terry as you were, held unto by his arm, it was blatantly obvious that that meanspirited glint in his eyes was present in his hooded gaze. He was trying to make sure this man gets thrown out of here by security and blacklisted from attending future events, wasn't he?

He was annihilating what he thought was his competition, right?

Of course that's what he was doing.

Terry's hand travels discreetly south until he's touching your thigh and you, in a sense, get your confirmation. He was being territorial. -"Oh brother, the system is fucking rigged! I should've gone to Vegas."- Al starts slurring, antagonized, dropping his drink and spilling half of it over his tuxedo and hissing as a result, throwing his dice aggressively, until it bounced off of the table with a loud clank and landed on the floor. -"They don't want a self-made Industrialist making it big and scoring his slice of the American dream."- Terry quietly encourages, filling this guy's head with conspiracies and you discreetly try to nudge him in the ribs to get him to stop. You got it, okay? You got it! He didn't like people having your attention even if it was for all but five seconds, but this has gone on for too long, with your attempts interrupted by a suited up security detour interrupting he drunken ruckus and placing their hands on the man's shoulders with the intention of leading him outside of the venue, getting his attention with a diplomatic Sir, please, we'll escort you. -"Oh, fuck you, man! Don't touch me!"- He shouts, slinging his shoulder backwards at a futile attempt to throw hands as the security grabbed him, fully willing to drag him, if need be. You cover your mouth with your hand, unable to look at the scene, feeling all of this was your doing. You fault. All of it. Silently, Terry's finger finds your chin and tilts it back, ever so gently, where the gesture might've been mistaken for affection, making you look. -"Let me play! I've a constitutional right to win! The same as those old money Wasps do! Get fucked!"-

The shouting escalates and soon fades.

He's pushed down a back exit somewhere down the corridor.

The hallways echoing with his cussing until it promptly disappears.

The whispering and chatting in the grand hall continues, waiters making rounds.

The gossip making just as many around the stacked bar and the smoking joint.

Terry undoubted got his wish; getting rid of someone who was in your sphere.

Didn't even have to move his tiniest pinkie to achieve that.

-"You did that on purpose. As revenge over him just speaking to me."-

You state the obvious, your voice low and sour. His hand finally lets go of your waist and instead sneaks a feel of your lower back and posterior. You click your tongue, swiftly moving away from the damnable roulette table before he can get too handsy, because the last thing you needed after that circus is him getting horny too, atop of everything, even though you felt it was already too late for that. Him merely influencing someone getting into trouble like this was often enough to get him going, like an aphrodisiac. -"Don't wanna talk smack about him, but old Al's always had a bit of a gambling problem. I had no idea he had a violence problem too."- Terry feigns sympathy peppered with the cutting edge of mockery as he follows suit, behind you, ever the gentleman, adjusting his lapels, his nostrils positively flaring with mirth, leaving you with the only slightest trace of anger in his tone, subdued and buried under layers of sarcasm, coming through like some sort of venomous thing. -"If it puts your mind at ease, I'll have Milos send him a 'Get Well' fruit basket the minute we're outta here."- Terry promises and you were certain he'd do that solely as some sort of elaborate victory dance over some gambling drunk. Worst of all, he'd seem like a nice guy for it. -"Schemer!"- You practically spit when he grabs you ass again and his arms take hold of your shoulders, spinning you around to face him the second you reach a secluded hallway, his eyes close enough to reflect your face back to you like a mirror. -"Oh, deep down, you know you liked it."- He taunts, purring, bearing his teeth in a shark-like smile.

-"You love it when I scheme and don't get caught for it."-

#terry silver #80's terry silver #kk3 #cobra kai #tw; manipulation #tw; gaslighting #tw; gambling #tw; jealousy #tw; mindgames #terry silver x reader #terry silver x beloved

[samael-your-guardian-angel]

Meanwhile, at the Ritz...

God, it was a huge relief to finally have a bit of breathing space.

Not that Samael didn't enjoy spending time with all his new friends. But if he had to spend one more night in a sleeping bag or with his face mashed against Asmodeus' tickly neck rufflly-thing, he'd go spare. Again. There were only so many mongoose zoomies he could do without getting bored of those, too. It was blessedly clear out when Samael and Asmodeus finally left Crowley's flat together- no holy water raining from the sky, thank goodness. Samael was sure that Momo would have rather risked a mere umbrella than even try Samael's genius hamster ball idea.

And it was so nice to finally have some "us time" with precious Momo. Samael quickly fell into his old habit of staring and watching Asmodeus enjoy several courses of fine dining, now openly fixated on Mo's mouth. He couldn't help it, really. Now that Samael finally knew what it was like to kiss Asmodeus, he was utterly fixated on Asmodeus' lips, and he was too besotted to hide it anymore.

He'd never known what it was like to want so much before. Was this how humans beings felt? How on earth did they go walking around like this? It was a miracle anybody got anything done.

It was driving Samael to distraction, which is why he didn't remember The Very Important Thing until after he and Asmodeus had checked into their room and set up Eric's presents (what a sweetie!) around the place. Samael was filling up his new little watering can in the bathroom sink when he remembered, and promptly dropped it. It clattered loudly in the sink, so loud it made Asmodeus look up from his wire brushes and salt-and-lemon paste.

"Are you alright in there, dear angel?"

"Yeah," Samael said, thinking about the Very Important Thing and all its implications.

"Did you fall in the sink?"

"Very funny," Samael said, and left the watering can where it lay. There was no easy way to say it, so he stuck his head out of the bathroom and said bluntly, "There's zombies now."

Asmodeus froze in place, like a statue dedicated to cleaning centuries-old dirt off of Roman coins. "I'm sorry, what?"

Samael came back into the bedroom and flopped melodramatically on the carpet. It was very soft, plush, five-star carpet - much more comfortable than Crowley's concrete floors.

"We accidentally made zombies happen," Samael moaned. "Well. I didn't. Technically, Yeshua did. But I didn't realise until I saw the newspaper on my phone. People can't die, and now anyone who should becomes a zombie instead, and - they're gonna go around eating people, and then those people will become zombies, and-" Samael made an explosion noise. "-it's going to turn into Dawn of the bloody Dead out there!"

Asmodeus did not blink.

"We should've just gone home. I should've just brought you home," Samael continued to lament. "I meant to. Meant to drive over here, grab you, drive back- only I ended up passing out 'cause I just had to bring my car with me, and that was too much, and now Eric's phone's gone by now and we can't go home-"

"Yes, we can," Asmodeus interrupted.

Samael sat up.

"What do you mean, we can?"

"We can call my workshop's landline and go back anytime," Asmodeus continued, coolly. Samael stared at him.

"I thought we could only go back through Eric's phone."

"Apparently, we can go back through any of them," Asmodeus said.

"Oh, when did you figure that out? Were you planning to share that with the class anytime soon?" Samael exclaimed, agitated.

"Don't start- I was only just told myself. Yes, told, by the Unmighty-" Asmodeus rolled his eyes as Samael fell back to the carpet, groaning. "I think it was the most polite "please pack up and go, you're overstaying your welcome" I've ever received, if that's what She meant. She even told us how to close the gate behind us."

Samael stared up at the ceiling.

"Why are we still at the bloody Ritz, then?"

"Well- I wasn't sure if we should leave. I've been trying to help with this mystery, you know-"

"It's not our mystery. It's not our world," Samael said. "Ugh, and I could have gone back to water the rest of my plants- they're probably all dead by now-"

"Are the plants really the priority here?"

Samael flapped his hands. "I don't know! I don't know if we're making things worse by staying! If Enoch finds out I was the one who wrote his human name in the Book-"

"How on Earth would he find that out? He can't figure out a shopping cart on his own-"

"If God - doesn't matter which one if She's still God - hinted strongly for us to leave-"

"You cannot possibly be suggesting that we just abandon everyone to deal with the zombie apocalypse on their own."

"We don't have to close the gate behind us!" Samael got up and started pacing. "We can leave it open as a contingency, or even just so we can still ring and chat to everyone-"

"Potential zombie apocalypse aside-" Asmodeus said, putting a hand up. "It might be safer for us here."

"How the Hell would it be safer for us here?"

"Well, somebody from back home sent me here," Asmodeus said. "Someone back home wanted me gone, or us separated, and if we went back and anything happened to you-"

Samael rested his forehead against the nearest wall. "I don't want to be at another bloody impasse, Mo."

"We don't have to decide right now," Asmodeus said. "Hence the Ritz. We can sleep on it, at least, in a proper bed at that."

"Good fucking idea," Samael grumbled, and flopped on the mattress. Asmodeus rolled his eyes again, and returned to his work.

#ooc

[thesherrinfordfacility]

Is that sad Crowley a shot after the smitten conversation? I think i saw a theory that he actually had planned to confess there at the resturant rather than the bookshop - apparently his is the only table with a rose and he had wine just for them (which I think is code for them sometimes that hey, I wanna talk to you about something important but I need an excuse if it doesn't go my way) some other things - but the conversation hadn't really lended itself to that. Really sorry if this was one of your theories and I've misremembered. I've been reading SO many metas. Just curious what your thought on the matter was if it wasn't one of your theories though.

hi honey!!!✨ nope you haven't missed a theory/meta (i totally sympathise with the reading so many bit though, you and me both!!!), but i guess this is as good a time as any to look at this scene!!! i don't really have a theory on the matter, but instead perhaps a take on existing theories✨

okay so most of the promo photos seem to be from rehearsals, or taken 'outside the scene' (hence alternate angles compared to what we see in the show), but i think we can be fairly certain that the crowley shot comes from this bit of ep5, just before aziraphale sits down with him:

now in the above bit, we don't see justine, but we do see her in the promo photo itself - all to me just confirming that essentially it was rehearsal/staged specifically for a promo shot.

bear in mind too, that the scene ends with crowley leaving aziraphale at the table, so we can be sort of sure that the above is from the beginning of the scene script, as it were.

anyway! i have seen the/similar theories to what you describe, and tbh... i personally don't agree.

in my opinion, crowley has just been slapped with the knowledge that his and aziraphale's relationship (?), or at least how they feel about each other, is obvious to others. i no longer think it was just a 'oh this feeling is love, holy shit okay' revelation, but a 'oh everyone can see it, aziraphale has been more blatant than i realised, do we need to hide anymore? is he trying to tell me he's ready?' revelation. imo, this directly results in:

i don't necessarily think crowley had honestly processed the above realisation, not fully, by the time he invites aziraphale to sit with him at justine's. i think he sat there steadily making his way through a rather expensive bottle of wine (or several), looking back over centuries of them and possibly just throwing the word around in his head and letting it settle. he then sees aziraphale, and beckons him over to join him because he kind of reached a bookmark and felt he might need to 'hold that thought' for a moment.

and as far as i see it, he just seems to offer aziraphale a glass... not out of politeness per se, but because it's what they do, it's their thing. i don't think however he meant it to dress the scene for a romantic confession, though. tbh, i think crowley would potentially know aziraphale a little better than to confess anything or even discuss anything in this particular scenario - im much more of the mindset that he was later idly planning to suggest they be more of an 'us' at the Ritz, and then realised following the maggie/nina intervention that he actually needed to say something unambiguous and unequivocal before they got anywhere near the Ritz... because that's exactly what they do not do, and the bookshop is literally the safest place for him to tell aziraphale how he feels. obviously this gets a little (see: a lot) derailed.

last thing, i guess: im a little confused about the reading into the roses bit, because as far as i can see in the scene where aziraphale is chatting to justine, both tables adjacent (or at least one of them) to crowley's eventual one have roses too:

so yeah, not much else to add really! im not personally convinced crowley would have confessed here at all if aziraphale had actually sat to have a drink with him - maybe only if they literally had sat and chatted for a good long while.

but ultimately most of the conversation seems so centred on gabriel, especially following the end of ep3, that i think crowley kind of arrived at the thought train: 'okay right we're practically a couple, i know my feelings are reciprocated, and they seem obvious to everyone, and we're not longer working for our sides, we might be safe to- oh shit. gabriel.' literally, in his eyes, the last barrier to them being left alone and being left to be with each other, because of the threat he poses to aziraphale (and had already posed to aziraphale in s1)✨

hope that answers your question, lovely!!!✨💕

#good omens #ask #crowley meta #s2 meta

[aziraphales-library]

hey! might i ask for some random outsider au’s?

Hello! Nonny, we have an absolute shed load of fics on our #outsider pov tag, so check that out for all you random outsider pov needs. Of course, there are always more and I do have a soft spot for them myself, so here are more for our extensive collection...

An Evening Stroll by hopelessineffableromantic (T)

Let's go on a walk, through a tiny village in the South Downs.

The Cupbearer, or, The Exile's Tale by CopperBeech (T)

There’s an uncanny pair who seem always to turn up at the Ritz just as a table becomes available. There’s a maitre d’ who finds it curious. And he has his own story to tell.

Lost Property by PinkPenguinParade (T)

“You’ve taken something of mine, dear boy, and I will have it back.” The angel held out a hand, firm but still bafflingly polite, and just... waited. Angelically. In the back corridors of Hell. Right next to the Thing in the disused lavatory.

The Stars Shone Bright by IneffablePenguin (T)

One frozen winter night in Victorian London, a young girl in distress has an encounter with two very unusual strangers.

A ships-passing-in-the-night outsider POV tale.

Bad Beat by Enna_Spooky_Trash (T)

“Tell you what,” Annalee interrupts. There is a sloppy grin on their face, and they have cocked a challenging eyebrow at Mr. Leeds. “Fifty pounds say those two share a history and are very into each other. And that they are quite possibly shagging in the broom closet whenever Warlock’s taking his afternoon nap.”

In which the Dowlings' house staff notices the strange tension between the Nanny and the Gardener, and speculates on the nature of their relationship. A bet is made. One shot.

Neighborly Advice for Cryptids by lucky_spike (G)

Aziraphale and Crowley have lived in London for many, many, many, many years. And they think they've done a really good job of passing as humans. They have not. And when they start showing signs of possibly leaving, with moving boxes and greater-than-usual plant movement, their very human neighbors have concerns.

Chapter 1: Aziraphale Chapter 2: Crowley

- Mod D

#good omens #ineffable husbands #outsider pov #mod d

[karmaveil]

Pt 2 of my Good omens sad (thx btw for all the love on the last one)

“You’re not selling any of the books are you?” Crowley said standing in the shop looking at Muriel.

Muriel didn’t know how to respond this is the first time in weeks Crowley actually said something to the angel first they didn’t know what to make of it. “Ah. Yes, I- I mean no. No. Of course not. Mr fell himself-.”

“He talked to you!?” Crowley interrupted. His eyebrows furrowed in a worried expression. First time he’s shown anything other than depression or despair on his face.

“Yes. Mr Crowley. He started checking in about a week ago.” Muriel said with slight concern.

His expression fell. The thought of Aziraphale coming back filled him with a strange dread. Something hopeful yet the pain of him leaving overshadowed it.

“Does he….never mind. I… I don’t care…” He stammered as he just burst back out the door.

Muriel stood there not understanding what Crowley was going to ask… and then the angel appeared as he has done just last week.

“Ah.. hello Muriel how long has it been?” The angel sounded kind, but tired, a sad emotionally drained tired.

“Since when mr fell? You last checked in a week ago.”Muriel said meekly. “Or do you mean-“

“Yes! Yes I mean…. Since…I left…”The angel looked downward in regret. It pained him every time he came back here but it felt worse not being here.

“About uhhh 6 months?” They have been alone in the shop for about 2 of those months before Crowley started showing up and in those 2 months they wondered why the demon and angel were so sad. It still puzzled them. Aziraphale said it were fine for them to read the books just not sell them, but the angel was still nervous about messing up the shop since it meant so much to Mr fell and Mr Crowley.

“Only 6 months?! It felt longer than that!” Aziraphale exclaimed.There was a moment of quiet as Aziraphale walked throughout the shop. Everything that has happened, running through his head. All the moments….the drunken banter….the lunches at the ritz how the bookshop felt like….home. Tears formed in the corner of his eyes. How he missed it. How he missed…him.. “oh….what have I done?” The angels voice cracked as his tears fell. “I knew….deep down I knew…heaven wasn’t ever going to change….”

Muriel didn’t know what to do. What did he mean heaven wasn’t going to change? Why would heaven need to change? “Why would it need to mr fell? Is there something wrong with heaven?” The impressionable angel asked curiously.

Aziraphale didn’t know how to respond. He knew heaven isn’t right but he’s the supreme archangel now… he can’t tell another angel that. “Oh I’m just stressed dear.. no need to worry.” He said avoiding the question. Like he avoided everything. “So I guess I missed him then?” The angel changed the subject looking out the window for any sign that Crowley was outside…waiting on him again. But there was nothing. “Yes…I’m sorry mr fell. You just missed him actually. Left just before you came. Maybe one day you’ll see him though.. he comes every day.” The young angel smiled in encouragement.

“It’s..quite alright.” The angel sighed sipping his tea. “It’s probably for the best.” The angel still looked sad even as he smiled. Then he politely bowed and left the store. And Muriel was alone once more.

#good omens #ineffable husbands

[janis-1987]

Good Omens S2 ending fluff

This is a very, very, short self indulgent drabble because I was fucking crushed by season 2′s ending. 

Spoilers Ahead

Aziraphale couldn't believe Crowley had just kissed him. He stood there, frozen in place, staring at him with tears in his eyes. A thousand thoughts race through his mind, question upon question bubbling up inside of him.

Upon not getting a response, Crowley turns to leave, devastated that his angel, the being he'd loved for years and years was about to throw it all away. All to go back to a place that had turned its back on him without a second thought, to return to people who were willing to erase him from existence. Of course the angel wouldn’t want to be with him as he was, how could he have been so stupid?

That was when he felt Aziraphale grab his hand.

He looks back at him, trying desperately not to cry. Before he can even grumble so much as a half formed 'what', Aziraphale had pulled him into another kiss. A kiss filled with thousands of years of longing and passion and desperation. A kiss that said a million things all at once. A kiss that was filled with all the unsaid words from their past. But most importantly, that kiss told Crowley all he needed to know, Aziraphale loved him.

"I'll... Well, I suppose I’ll have to politely tell them that I must decline their offer. I would rather have you. And that deal is worthless if you aren’t coming with me." Aziraphale says quietly as he holds Crowley's face in his hands, tears falling down his face, "Please, if you can forgive me for even entertaining the idea, can we be together? Can we be an us?"

Crowley makes a noise between a scoff and a laugh as he pulls Aziraphale closer to him, "Course I can, angel.”

Aziraphale sighs in relief and smiles, “I’m glad you can.” He felt safe now, and better than he ever had before. Crowley was all he needed. Beelzebub and Gabriel had the right idea. Forget Heaven and forget Hell, forget it all. All that mattered was the two of them, they were truly on their own side now. He presses his forehead against Crowley's, feeling his whole body relax in his hold.

"So, how does a very alcoholic breakfast at the Ritz sound, angel?" Crowley asks in the softest tone he's ever used in his life.

"Perfect, my dear."

#good omens spoilers #good omens season 2 #gos2 spoilers #gos2 #fanfiction #good omens fanfiction #good omens fandom

[milkratz]

My GW2 OCs

Just listing my ocs, let me know if you’d like to see them more or read more about them! (I will always talk about my ocs). Theres a bit of a complicated story line between the first three commanders. 

Lourdelle Revnaskin - They/she. Main Commander, Norn Revenant/Herald. Almost 10 feet tall and canonically about 26 years old. Wears her Revenancy mask constantly (much more connected to the Mists and legendaries than the average revenant, so harder to control.) Does not use her last name. 

Monalei - She/her. Second Commander, Sylvari Mesmer/Mirage. About 5′5, 13 years old (personal story began when she was 3). Very charming, but closed off. Has never taken off her mask, so no one knows what her face looks like. 

Rozennie - Third Commander, Charr Warrior/Spellbreaker. 9 feet tall, 29 years old. Has an intense temper but has been told to wrangle it ever since she was young, leaving her feeling unheard. Focused on reconnecting with the Flame Legion, out of respect for her mother who spent many years of her life attempting to make bridges with the Flame Legion. 

Amarie Ulf - She/they. Norn Ranger. 9′6 feet tall, 34 years old. Dedicated to restoring the Shiverpeaks and reestablishing the Giants. Often works alongside Lucent Vortex. Also works in saving endangered races, with a large focus on Griffons and Maguuma creatures. 

Eursidae - She/her. Norn Necromancer. 9′5, 17 years old. Adopted daughter of Lourdelle. Wants to explore the world and discover even more than Lourdelle did (though is willing to admit she probably won’t surpass the Legendary Commander’s legacy). Wants to explore death magic beyond what is known.

Ritz Morose - She/they. Human Mesmer, of Canthan origin. 5′7, 23 years old. She’s like a land pirate. A bandit. Really enjoys money and jewelry. Performed/s in a circus; Enjoys attention, but honestly, very mysterious. Capable of conjuring powerful illusions and imagery, but generally pretty weak. 

Akiryen - Sylvari Thief. He/him. 5′10, 1 years old (freshly awakened). Very flirty and charming, can often be found sleazing around densely populated areas. Despite his less than noble hobby, he is very politically inclined and passionate about issues in Tyria - one of the reasons he joined the Pact. 

Lucent Vortex - Kodan Guardian. She/her. 53 years old. Very stoic, but caring. Lost her only cub when the Icebrood pushed further south; That’s when she knew that the Dragons were out of balance. Works alongside Amarie to restore the Shiverpeaks. 

#gw2 #guild wars 2 #gw2 ocs #original characters #icebrood saga #pof #gw2 hot #god i just wanna squish em all #akiryen is the only male.

[e350tb]

Red Alert - Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Thirteen: The Defector

Indianapolis, Indiana - Soviet Eastern Military District Day Thirty

The Red Army had marched into Indianapolis mostly unopposed.

They came in mechanised columns, led along by American jeeps hastily painted and decorated in Soviet colours. US staff officers guided them to all the centres of state government and had stood idly by as the Governor and state legislature were dragged out to the KGB trucks. Soviet flags and loudspeakers now adorned every building and lamppost, demanding obedience to General Vladimir and the Soviet ‘provisional government.’

It was lucky, then, that Vladimir’s occupation police left much to be desired.

These were second-line men, armed with older battle rifles (some dating to the last war). Most were either boys or middle-aged men, sent to the military police units to free up fitter men for frontline combat. Spending the entire campaign in relative safety behind the line had softened them, made them lazy, and it was therefore easy for Gunter to slip in unnoticed.

Not that he made it easy for them. He’d been set up by Jackson’s CIA spooks with a cheap suit and a reasonably convincing fake moustache. Today he was Saul White, a rural lawyer and an immigrant from Eastern Europe - his ‘real name’ was Caslav Kovac. He was, of course, an enthusiastic communist, and was driving into Indianapolis to convince a Soviet officer to help set up a revolutionary curriculum for elementary schools in the town of Springfield.

In actuality, he was to make contact with Major Vyacheslav Andrijovych Kyrylenko, a Ukrainian staff officer who had managed to contact one of Jackson’s spooks. He had information, and he wanted to defect.

“Where were we meeting this commie piece o’ shit?” Corporal McLean, newly promoted and dressed in a chequered shirt and jeans, was at the wheel of the old yellow Studebaker Champion. “And why’re we stuck in this thing? Ain’t you meant to be some kinda commie bigwig?”

“I’m a good communist,” said Gunter, smirking. “I don’t buy luxury cars. We’re looking for a bar called the Honest Abe.”

“Heh,” PFC Ferris, wearing a leather jacket and shades, “I read Stalin had a Packard.”

“Ah, but Stalin was not a good communist,” said Gunter.

“And what makes a bad communist?” asked Ferris.

“Ask me, they’re all bad communists,” grunted McLean.

“A bad communist, comrades,” said Gunter, “is very easy to find. He is a communist who disagrees with your personal definition of communism.”

“Seems pretty easy to be a bad commie, then,” Ferris chuckled.

“Ah, but the worst kind of communist, the kind the good Soviet party member truly hates, you can spot from a hundred miles away,” continued Gunter.

“Oh yeah? How d’ya spot him?”

“He’s the one who’s actually read the Communist Manifesto.”

McLean blinked.

“That don’t make sense.”

“Cool it, McLean, this is our stop,” said Ferris, pointing to the side of the road.

The Honest Abe was a rundown establishment in a back street, a smoky old dive that one might have seen in an old detective film. Beyond the filthy windows, the men could see off-duty Soviet soldiers drinking their leave away, with a few nervous civilians sprinkled in for good measure. McLean and Ferris shared glances.

“They really gonna believe a Soviet officer is going to have a political meeting here?” asked Ferris incredulously.

“These are occupation troops, Ferris,” replied Gunter. “The officers here aren’t exactly the cream of the crop. Besides, we’ll be long gone before they realise that we’ve gone to a… what’s the word?”

“A dive,” said Ferris. “Hell, makes the dives back in Brooklyn look like the Ritz.”

“Hell, I didn’t know they had dive bars in Indiana,” said McLean. “Didn’t know they had anything in Indiana.”

“Alright, settle down,” said Gunter. “Let me take the lead here, ja?”

“You’re the boss, Cap,” replied Ferris.

Gunter nodded, leading the men into the Honest Abe. The smell of cigarette smoke and cheap beer was overpowering, mixed with mysterious stenches that were somehow even less appealing. The soldiers were singing old folk songs - a few particularly drunken men in the corner were trying a decidedly unique take on Jailhouse Rock. Others talked - some loudly and some in hushed tones. A few men in dirty tanker uniforms quietly shared a table - one of them locked eyes with Gunter, and in his ice blue orbs he could see the echoes of battle.

The gentleman sitting at the bar, flanked on both sides by laughing, singing soldiers, some of whom were hitting on the barmaids, stood out like a sore thumb. He was slightly taller than average, his hair a greying red, and he wore a clean, pressed uniform that marked him out as a staff officer. He didn’t look up as Gunter sat down next to him, McLean and Ferris strategically taking a seat close by.

“Comrade Kyrylenko?”

“Comrade White.”

Kyrylenko got out of his stool and motioned for Gunter to follow.

The Ukrainian led Gunter into the men’s room, which had been blocked off by an ‘out of order’ sign written in English and Cyrillic. As he slipped in, Kyrylenko glanced back at the barman - for a moment, the old Hispanic man looked up and nodded, before returning to the glass he was cleaning.

Gunter shut the door behind him. The bathroom was, perhaps unsurprisingly, even dirtier than the bar outside. Discarded toilet paper lay on the floor, and the window was ajar, leaving the last stall alarmingly exposed to the alley beyond.

“Perhaps you could have chosen a place that smelt less of… piss?” he said flatly.

“Would you have preferred a boardroom?” Kyrylenko replied wryly. “I hear you capitalists like that.”

“I would have preferred somewhere where I didn’t have a chance of contracting VD, I suppose,” muttered Gunter. “Or at very least, I would have liked a drink first.”

“Very funny,” grunted Kyrylenko. “Listen, I want to make one thing very clear; I’m not doing this because I’ve ‘seen the light of the Western system.’ I don’t have time for the Americans or the British, and quite frankly I hate Germans.”

“Charming.”

“Yet Soviet strategy is changing, and… and I fear where it is leading.”

He reached into his jacket and produced an envelope.

“These are all the notes I could smuggle out,” he said. “I took them from General Cherdenko’s Headquarters - the airship Lazar Kaganovich. That is where they are keeping your President and your General Carville while they are interrogated. That envelope contains the deck plans and as much as I could write down about the ship’s security arrangements.”

He swallowed.

“It also contains two pages on the Chicago Project.”

“The Chicago Project?” Gunter tilted his head.

“It’s-”

“Sir, we got a problem.”

McLean and Ferris barged into the room.

“Couple of guys in green caps just walked in,” said McLean. “They got SMGs and they look mighty pissed.”

“Chekists,” snarled Kyrylenko.

He drew his pistol from his holster.

“Everything I know is in that folder,” he said. “Make sure it reaches your commanding officer. If the Chicago Project succeeds…” He shook his head. “Get out, through the window.”

“What about you?” asked Gunter.

“I’ll buy you time,” Kyrylenko replied, training his gun on the door. There was a gunshot outside and the sound of screaming.

“Good man,” said Gunter. “McLean, Ferris, with me! Los!”

“You’re gonna have to shoot your own countrymen, you know,” Ferris warned as he followed Gunter to the window.

Kyrylenko smiled wryly.

“They’re not my countrymen, Yankee,” he said. “They’re Russians.”

McLean climbed out the window first, Ferris swiftly following. Gunter half dove through the opening, and seconds later he could hear the door being kicked in.

“Major Kyrylenko, you are under arrest-”

“Slava Ukraini!”

Kyrylenko fired three times, and then there was the rattle of at least three submachine guns. Gunter winced; without another word, he raced off down the alley, leaving the Honest Abe far behind.

----

An hour later, a staff car pulled up outside the Honest Abe.

Lieutenant-General Khabarov climbed out before the driver could open the door. He frowned at the sight - the KGB had gathered the staff of the bar on the pavement outside. They had been forced to kneel, and one of the Chekists was inserting a magazine into his service pistol. General Cherdenko was standing to the side, hands tucked behind his back - he nodded to the Chekist, who walked up behind one of the barmaids and lifted his pistol to the back of her head.

Bang.

“Winning hearts and minds, General Cherdenko?” said Khabarov, watching the body drop with distaste.

“Dealing with partisans, General Khabarov,” replied Cherdenko. “These decadent imperialists only understand force.”

“Are these the same ‘decedent imperialists’ we’re meant to be converting to Marxism?”

He watched as another body dropped limply to the ground.

“Everywhere we don’t have a PsiCorps beacon, we are dealing with an intense insurgency,” he said. “We have had officers assassinated, convoys ambushed, the entire supply system disrupted. We can’t advance west because we keep having to put out brushfires in the rear. This does not help. It only makes them angrier.”

“Comrade Khabarov.” Cherdenko grinned. “Once the Chicago Project is online, it will not matter. We must simply hold on for two more weeks - then the war is won.”

“I could have sworn we said something like that in Pittsburgh,” muttered Khabarov.

He shook his head.

“I remember Kyrylenko,” he said. “One of your staff officers aboard the Lazar Kaganovich. Did he share anything with the Americans?”

“Even if he has,” said Cherdenko, “my security detail is impeccable. They’ll never get through to their President.”

“I would recommend taking your ship to the rear nonetheless,” replied Khabarov. “The last thing we need is for Dugan to be broken out.”

Cherdenko scoffed.

“You’re getting terribly soft, Leonov Viktor,” he said flippantly. “You need to drink more - and perhaps indulge in the more carnal pleasures. You’re too wound up!”

He laughed, walking towards the door of the bar.

“Colonel Chenkov! Have your men liberated any of that American ale?”

The Chekist had reached the end of the line of captives. He raised his gun to the back of the trembling barmaid’s head and pulled the trigger - there was a click, and the slide sailed backwards harmlessly. He fumbled for another clip, but Khabarov raised his hand.

“That will be all, Sergeant,” he said. “The point has been made.”

The Chekist nodded and walked away, leaving the terrified woman alone. Khabarov sighed and turned back to his staff car.

“Two weeks until peace,” he muttered. “I’ll believe that when I see it.”

#command and conquer #red alert 2 #writing #red alert

[shop-cailey]

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[laurainthemiddleeast]

Muscat

Today we spent the day in Muscat. The city is the capital of Oman, and home to 1.5 million people. It is stunningly beautiful for a number of reasons. All of the buildings are a pristine shade of white, and there are no buildings over 11 stories tall. There are the most beautiful, well-manicured gardens absolutely everywhere, and the city smells like fresh flowers. It is incredibly clean, and so quiet despite what a busy city it is. Muscat is gorgeous, clean, and luxurious. Even the fish market, souks, and ports we visited were spotless. All of the white clothing/buildings, cleanliness, and quiet makes Joelle and aware that this is not our natural habitat.

We went out for breakfast to a local shop. Our driver seemed confused and asked “how did you know about this place? It’s a normal shop?” I get the feeling tourists and business people generally stay on the resorts if they visit. Our tour guide for the morning, Jafaar, picked us up from there. We were supposed to head directly to the mosque, but despite our best efforts to cover our shoulders, knees, and hair, we weren’t properly dressed. We had to go back to the hotel to grab a jacket to cover our elbows. After that small detour, we were back on track and headed to the Sultan Qaboos Grand Mosque. It was built only 15-20 years ago, and named after the previous Sultan. It is easily the most beautiful and grand building I have ever been in. The courtyards are gorgeous and filled with flowers, and the outside is intricately carved white limestone. But the most beautiful part is inside the main mosque. The main mosque is for men, while the ladies have a separate, smaller, much less ornate building. The men and women pray separately to avoid “distraction”.

The mosque is filled with beautiful Swarovski crystal chandeliers. It’s hard to appreciate the scale in pictures, but the main one is 45 feet tall, 26 feet wide, and weighs 9 tonnes!! It sparkles so beautifully, and lights up all the intricate mosaics on the ceiling. The rest of the ceiling is carved and painted teal from Myanmar, and the pillars supporting it are marble from Italy. The materials to make this mosque came from all over the world. Muslims come to mosque (when possible) 5x per day to pray (sunrise, noontime, late afternoon, sunset, and nighttime). As Jafaar said, “each prayer is only about 7 minutes; if it was longer it would get boring”.

After leaving the mosque, we headed to Mutrah, the port area of town. We went to the fish market mentioned above, a fruit and vegetable market, and the souks (shops). We saw a little boy at the fish market who was playing with a little minnow type fish (dead, he just had it in his hand like a toy). I guess they give them to kids like the way Sobeys used to give kids a cookie in Canada! The souks are a network of small shops down cobblestone roads and alleyways, generally covered. It’s so easy to get turned around and lost in there. Like every market I’ve ever been to, they are always greeting tourists and trying to get you to buy their items. I am normally a huge sucker for this, and Joelle has to be the enforcer/fend them off. However, this was the most polite group of people. They all offered us perfum, scarves, etc, but as soon as I said “no, thank you” they immediately left me alone. It was pleasantly unexpected. The people here are flawlessly polite.

We also visited old Muscat. There was an interesting museum on traditional dress, frankincense (indigenous to Oman), rosewater, and various household items and traditions. We stopped for coffee (which comes with dates!), and then proceeded to the Al Alam palace. The Sultan and his family do not live there, it is a ceremonial palace only. It is right on the sea, and again, perfectly clean/maintained/groomed.

We took a brief rest poolside at the hotel (both managing to get sunburnt) and then headed back out for high tea at the Ritz. The Ritz looks every bit like a real palace. It has towering 4-5 story ceilings and also has extremely grand crystal chandeliers. We had sandwiches, tea, and pastries until we were literally stuffed. Omani’s make a special type of tea called Karak tea. It is strong black tea, spices, sugar, and evaporated milk. It tastes similar to a “chai latte” as North Americans know it. We had one with rosewater that might have been Joelle and my’s favourite thing we ate on this trip.

We were so full we felt ill, and spent the next two hours trying to walk off our high tea. We walked along the harbour promenade in Mutrah, and took in the sights and sunset. We could see what I thought was a cruise ship in the harbour that turned out to be the royal yacht 😂. There were also a few dhows, traditional wooden fishing boats, which looked fairly insignificant next to the massive multi-story yacht.

After sunset, Joelle and I managed to feel hungry enough for dinner. Dinner was delicious, but dessert was surprisingly terrible. We both kind of misinterpreted the description, and we ordered khabeesi, some sort of date and semolina “cake” served with ice cream. The “cake” was not at all sweet, and had roughly the same texture as wet sand. Honestly, the taste wasn’t far off either. We couldn’t even choke it all down with the ice cream. (We won’t be ordering that again.)