#the last one is mean to aziraphale but unfortunately it is funny

[grumelot123]

"I'm trying so hard to hate you." Good Omens, Crowley x Aziraphale (1/?)

Tw: Angst, foul language

(Angst at first then a happy ending) I am so sorry that this is so long.

This is all set, let's say 3 months after Season 2 Episode 6

Starting out with AZIRAPHALES POV!

Today has been one of the...longest days I've had being Archangel. and that's saying something seeing battling with not picking up that phone to call Crowley is an everyday battle that occurs.

Maybe today is the day I lost that battle.

Even if I wanted to call him, what would I say?

"Hey know I rejected you but want to forget all of that and just come to Heaven with me?" I'm pathetic. Can't even keep my own friend. Not even my friend but my best friend. Someone who I even could have called my boyfriend. Mine. But I threw it all away. To protect him. But he'll never know that. He wouldn't even give me the time of day. Which I'd understand, if I were him I'd do the same.

I just wish there was some way to fix this, to fix us.

CROWLEY POV AHAHAH WAHOO

It's been 3 months since...the thing.

He hasn't even called. Even if he doesn't like me, wouldn't he still want to be friends? Maybe he never wanted to be friends in the first place. He did kind of get stuck with me all these years.

I want to call him. But what would I tell him?

"Hey even though I told you I wanted it to be us and you come with me somewhere to get away from everything, and even though you rejected me, still wanna be best friends?" Maybe he's moved on. Actually made more friends up there. Forgot about me. I miss him so much it hurts.

I wish we could go back to normal. Our normal. Us.

AZIRAPHALE POV

Paperwork is officially the most boring thing to do anywhere and everywhere. I'd rather be fixing Armageddon all over again.

*alarm goes off throughout Heaven*

"What's going on?" I stand up and run out to see what's going on.

"Aziraphale! Something's going on down on Earth with the Antichrist child! He's becoming evil again! You stopped Armageddon once before? Can you go try to fix it again?"

I was J-O-K-I-N-G about the Armageddon thing.

"W-well I mean I'll have to try won't I? How much time do we have till, you know?" I know I'm stuttering and sounding breathless but first of all..the worlds gonna end. Second of all there is a chance that this could be an excuse for me to see Crowley.

"I'd say 5-7 days? We aren't sure what's going on, or what's got him mad this time. But when you go down it would probably be good you had some company with you."

"Thanks for the advice but I think I have someone in mind that'll be of some assistance" I practically ran out because 1. Saving the world. and 2. Crowley is going to need a lot of convincing.

Hope he still has my number?

CROWLEY POV!

I check up on Angels bookshop twice a week, for a few reasons. Hope, that he will return to me and understand. Worry, that something will go wrong and Muriel will sell a book. And Anger, that he left me. He left us.

Unfortunately for me I would go to hell and back for him literally and physically. Because I love him. I love Aziraphale.

*ring CALLER ID Angel*

"Speak of the fucking Angel?"

Uh do I answer? I mean I shouldn't but, I have to. for him. I'd do anything. Even if this is false hope.

"What do ya want? sUprEme aRchAngEl AziRaph-"

He cut me off. "Yea yea I know really funny and all but there's a problem. Like world ending Armageddon 2 problem? I need your help, where are you?" He sounded frantic and almost rushed. He's not lying about something being wrong but why is he asking me for help? Just because he knows I will?

"Oh. So that's the only reason you called me? Just because there's a problem and you know I'll do it? So that's all I am to you? A last resort?" There was a hint of hurt in my voice. Which is good because I was. I knew we ended on bad terms, but i didn't think..

I was interrupted out of my thoughts with an opening of a bookshop door, along with something almost like a strangled sob. It was Aziraphale.

"No..no Crowley I didn't call you because I knew you'd do it. I called you because you are the only one who can do it. Well do it with me. I can't work with anyone the way I work with you. You will never be a last resort to me my dear because you are the first person I'd go to."

He steps closer. My glasses start to fog up and I realize that I must have started crying as soon as he even called.

"You are my first choice Crowley. I've made wrong ones with you the last time we spoke. And even though these last 3 months have felt like indeed literal hell. It was worth it. Not because I didn't want to see you, but because I did it to protect you" He was still crying but he had mostly calmed down, his voiced had pretty much steadied. But as I thought more of myself I was sobbing, uncontrollably.

Protect me? That was the only problem? He was worried about my safety?

"S-so you like me?" Shit. shit. I just fucked it up, of course he doesn't. Why would he? I'm just a fallen ang-

"Crowley you're overthinking. I can tell by the look on your face. Nothing but the worst is going through your head. Look at me" He was worried. But he still hadn't answered my question. But still I looked at him. Looked into those beautiful eyes of his that I've tried so hard to forget. I swear I got lost for a moment.

He reached his hand up. At first it was to wipe off a tear. Then he went for the glasses. At first, as reflex I grabbed his wrist. But softly let go, waiting for his next move. He took my glasses off and slowly set them in his pocket, and he just looked at me, with a crooked like smile.

"How are you Crowley?" It was a simple question really, he said it so soft, so calm it was almost like a whisper.

"W-well you left me Aziraphale. If I'm going to be honest with you I am not okay. I'm tired, sad, and nervous. Tired, of restless nights not once getting a call from you. I'm sad because you have not reached out to me even once. But most of all I'm nervous, nervous that you've found someone else and will soon want nothing to do with me." At this point I was out of breath, I haven't talked to Aziraphale in months but here I was opening up.

"There's another feeling you have. Don't ask me how I know but I can tell, what else are you feeling my dear?"

And that's what did it.

"Hatred. I love you so much Aziraphale it hurts. Hurts so much I hate it. You leave my life so I try to forget you, tell myself it'll be a memory in the past but then you show up, months later, because everything and anything I've ever wanted and it just hurts. I'm trying so hard to hate you. But GOD AZIRAPHALE I just can't!" This time I let my anger be heard and even slammed my hands down on the table at the end for good measure. At first Aziraphale was shocked. But after not even five seconds...

He laughed at me. I had just poured my heart out to this Angel. My Angel. And he had the audacity to laugh at me?!? But what he said next..could have thrown my hatred away never to be felt again.

"Did you know that my favorite color is yellow Crowley?"

What the actual fuck?

"Well, yeah but why the fuck is this relevant to what I was saying?"

I was genuinely confused.

Silence.

Then he came over to me, lips almost touching, and he whispered.

"What color are your eyes Crowley?"

My eyes? Ther- Oh my, I'm a dumb ass hoe.

"Y-yellow?" I said breathing heavily, with Aziraphale being near me it was intoxicating. In the best way possible.

"Yea they are. Do you want to know why, even if you never stop trying to hate me, the reason I could never hate you?" He replied getting a little bit closer..I could feel the heat between our lips, just there..waiting for one of us to close the space.

"Why, no, what is the reason you could never hate me Aziraphale?"

I asked this question with the same amount of uncertainty as there was determination.

"That is because, my dear Crowley. I love you so much, that no matter what you did, said, or felt. I could never hate you."

Thats when he finally closed the gap between our lips.

At first, it was only a small kiss, to test the waters, but as soon as he figured out where I stood in this, he went in for as much as he could, refusing to come up for air. I don't think I have ever been kissed like this before, it was soft but comforting. But also at the same time hard and filled with love. It was like we were 2 teenagers that had no idea when to stop.

After what felt like hours, I was the first one to let up for air.

"We need to talk about this" As soon as I pulled away I already missed his warmth and wanted more but, we may have bigger problems.

"Yes of course, we have all but 5-7 days to talk all we want, but how about we talk just at the hotel?"

Hotel? Since when?

Armageddon. I was so caught with- nevermind that. We have a whole god damn world to save then we can worry about ourselves.

"Yes, yea the hotel. I'll get the car"

There was no way I was letting Aziraphale do this alone is there? Nah.

"Wait you're actually coming with?" Azi replied sounding genuinely confused with the whole situation.

"Well of course. You'd have to kill me to get away from you darling"

We may only have 5-7 days to live. Trying to stop Armageddon is not at all what I'd like to be doing. But if I'm spending it with my Angel?

Last days well spent.

PART 1 IS FINISHED!

Thoughts?

#good omens #crowly x aziraphale #aziraphale #crowley #aziracrow #angst with a happy ending #its going to be okay #good omens spoilers #part 1 #innefable husbands

[invisibleicewands]

Hello! You are so good at writing review, I really like it! What is your opinion about Good Omens S2? To be honest, I hadn't have any expectations, so I wasn't upset by the plot. But, to my mind, unfortunately, there was a lot of bad writing, unnecessary characters and primitive dialogues compare to the first season.

Hi, Anon!

Thank you for your trust, even if mine are more random thoughts. I have to tell you, I’m not a binge watcher (I prefer to taste the episodes one by one, slowly) but this time I chose to make an exception watching it all in three days, with the last ten final minutes seen immediatly the first day, just to avoid the spoilers online (like “away the tooth away the pain“). So, my view could be affected by this.

Over the last few months I've been making a certain idea about the 2nd series and now I can say it wasn’t completely wrong, even though the result is maybe a bit better than my first expectations.

I find GO2 being like a colorful circus, with a parade of artists doing their best numbers and where MS and DT were the best attraction, the trapeze artists.

The plot is a pretext, 100% fans service: to monetize again the success of the first season, following the dreams’ fans, using their fanfictions as inspiration for the script, then putting all together in a glossy package with a bow on top: some fireworks, a bit of special effects and the effort of two titans, MS and DT, who took the 80% of the weight of this mission on their shoulders.

As very 'serious' and professional actors, with a background of theatre, tv and cinema, they did a wonderful job, transforming with their talent every line in something precious, every scene unforgettable, with skilful expressions or little gestures, even during the boring moments. They put on the table all the tricks of their playbooks to play their characters. Sometimes I saw some of Bill Masters’ glances, sometimes there were Kenneth Williams or Aro or Castor’s vibes. And the episodes were rich of references to their previous works too (Bright Young Things, Dr.Who, etc.), like a showcase of their careers.

I particularly liked Crowley’s clever lines, his dry humour, his pragmatism, also his soft side. A bit less, I must say, Aziraphale character, who was sometimes too much unnecessarily stubborn or dull if compared with the first season, too much 'Wesley Snipes'. But the actors, as I said, were both excellent and a wonder for the eyes. A mention for Jon Hamm too: I thought the nice reviews for his performance were exaggerated, but his scenes were really funny (his hug to Aziraphale xD), maybe because of the contrast between the absurdity of the moments combined with his mono-expression-marble-face. Pity for his story, which had to be the core of the mistery but was revealed and explained in a superficial and hurried way just in the last few minutes.

And here we are, the story. I've found the first two episodes well written, with comic scenes and smart lines, good timing, but then something suddendly changed: the plot became plain, childish, predictable. IMHO a lot of time has been wasted to tell useless or not so interesting stories. The barely hinted relationship between Nina and Meggie, the mere rethoric of their speech to Crowley, all the chaos of the demons battle for nothing, the travel to the cemetary in Scotland and all the resurrectionist thing. Plus, a lot of stereotypical characters: the ridiculous zombies, the boring angels of the Paradise, all like clowns, dolls to fill the void. And Jane Austen. There was nothing really important about her, just her name to justify a ball in regency dresses. Not enough for me. Also, the la-la land love story between Gabriel and Beelzebub to give a meaning to the mistery (really?), was cold and too quick to be interesting.

The turning point at the end of the 6th episode and it was like suddendly watching Barbra Streisand and Robert Redford in The Way We Were. MS and DT were simply amazing in giving to that scene such a depth and drama (nervous breakdown Aziraphale?), but the effect I felt was a bit alienating compared to what I'd seen just before. Like a leap too big, like watching two completely different and separate shows.

The final. Moving, exciting, wonderfully acted but... of course was not a final (like MoS ending in season 3). They should have called this Good Omens vol.2, like Kill Bill, since it’s obvious that was not a real end. Everything has been written for a third part since the beginning and you can see it, even if they tried to hide it somehow. Honestly I don't know if I wish to see another chapter, 'cause I'm worried about Michael's hair at this point... (I'm evil, I know)

Jokes apart, I think it was surely an entertaining, light, funny, moving, show with some brilliant moments and others less, and two great actors who covered the flaws with their skills. But I struggle to see it like a masterpiece or something worthing of an award (the special effects and the make up too, were a bit cheap). It needed of something more in the writing, for example, to reach The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel league, just saying.

But for sure it was a gold mine for fans and gif makers. ;)

A music video, to heal the heart of a demon:

#Good Omens #Good Omens 2 #Michael Sheen #David Tennant #Aziraphale #Anonymous #Crowley #I hope it will help audience to discover all the other amazing Michael's works

[goodomenslady]

Good Omens Fic Rec List 18

An edition of AUs, mostly human AUs, along with a canon-divergent fic, and one in which they're both vampires. As always, E-rated fics are top Crowley. Enjoy!

1. More Lonely Than Distrust by @aziraphalelookedwretched Link:  https://archiveofourown.org/works/22441153 Rating:  T Word Count:  92,080 (34/? chapters, WIP)

Canon-divergent AU. This is an absolute masterpiece of a fic. The author's depiction of the characters is vibrant and intriguing, putting the reader right in their heads. Be warned that this fic is a true enemies-to-friends-to-something-more story, they become actual enemies more than once over the centuries, and Crawly isn't always very nice. It starts off with this premise: Crawly doesn't meet Aziraphale on the wall of Eden, but instead runs into another angel, who isn't friendly in the slightest and kills Crawly immediately. From then on, Crawly knows only one thing about living on Earth, and that's kill or be killed. Meanwhile, Aziraphale is enduring an appalling, isolating imprisonment in Heaven as punishment for having given away his flaming sword. His return to Earth having been delayed by several hundred years, it makes his first meeting with Crawly rather tumultuous, ie, Crawly tries to kill him. Aziraphale is amazingly difficult to discorporate, however, and the more time goes on, as Aziraphale continues to cheerfully interact with Crawly, the more the demon is intrigued by the angel's relentlessly friendly attitude, his intelligence, and the underlying trauma that looms under Aziraphale's cheerful facade. Please mind the tags, though, as this fic deals with body horror, insanity, and gore related to Aziraphale's time in solitary confinement, not to mention some very interesting confrontations with Crawly, as the demon makes it his mission to discorporate this exasperating angel in ways both funny and gruesome.

2. This Way for Up by brutumfulmen Link:  https://archiveofourown.org/works/34080328 Rating:  M Word Count:  45,386 (3/3 chapters, complete)

Human AU. Crowley is a seasoned spelunker who specializes in cave rescues, and the night he's called in to try to save a boy scout trapped deep in a hazardous cave in an impossibly difficult position, the last thing he expects is to make a connection with the worried yet attractive scout leader he meets on the surface. But time is running out for Warlock. As the hours drag on and efforts to save him fail, Crowley and the rest of the crew begin to be filled with a growing dread that soon it'll be an extraction instead of a rescue. A tense, exciting story, featuring the demons from canon reimagined as spelunkers. During the long hours when Crowley is compelled to return to the surface to rest and recharge in preparation for the next rescue attempt, he gets to do so in the company of Aziraphale, discovering an unexpected source of encouragement which ultimately means the difference between life and death.

3. Villainous by @ineffablepenguin Link:  https://archiveofourown.org/works/30248922 Rating:  E Word Count:  216,580 (21/21 chapters, complete)

Human/Fantasy AU, in which Crow is an irritable wizard who just wants to tend to his plants and keep those bone-headed heroes out of his tower who keep trying to murder him, and Azra is a sunny, cheerful, but reluctant prince of the northern kingdom. Neither of them is happy with the roles that their respective sides insist they play. When they run into one another at some isolated ruins on the border of their countries, there's some initial awkwardness in which they half-heartedly try to fight each other, but they get to talking and become friends instead. They begin meeting there regularly, and their friendship blossoms, becoming a source of comfort and acceptance for them both, and slowly their relationship grows into love. Unfortunately they aren't allowed to live in peace, as Azra's family keeps pushing him to accept an arranged marriage, and then things really heat up when the dark wizards decide it's high time to reclaim their glory days and conquer the hated northern kingdom, dragging Crow and Azra into the entire mess. A wonderful, rollicking, slow-burn, friends-to-lovers adventure full of humor, magic, and fondness, as Crow and Azra grow closer together, and struggle to free themselves from their quarrelsome sides.

4. In the Blood by @entanglednow Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33468589 Rating:  E Word Count:  6,095 (one-shot)

Vampire AU. Aziraphale and Crowley are vampires of rival houses, and currently hostilities are officially restricted to sneering at one another as none of the nine houses want outright war. Still, they tread carefully to maintain their friendship, meeting secretly to avoid the notice of their superiors. On the eve of a grand celebration in which Aziraphale will be expected to partake in a public feeding, Crowley discovers that, shockingly, Aziraphale has never bitten a human victim in his entire vampiric existence. Wanting to help out his friend, Crowley offers himself up as a practice victim, leading to unexpected, yet sexy, results.

5. Give Me Hell! (It's a Merrier Place) by @angeletombee Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/37365055 Rating:  E Word Count:  69,322 (33/33 chapters, complete)

Human AU. Aziraphale is a cook aboard a merchant ship when pirates attack, and he becomes the prisoner of the fearsome Captain Crowley. But he soon makes it clear that Aziraphale isn't really a prisoner. In fact, he means to court Aziraphale properly, in hopes that the pretty, fussy cook will accept a dastardly pirate as a lover. Aziraphale has long had to hide his sexual identity and never before has he been able to be as free as he is with the handsome captain. Crowley is dashing, courteous, and makes no secret of his attraction, and it's a potent combination enough to sweep Aziraphale off his feet. A perfectly fantastic whirlwind romance, featuring a merry crew that becomes like family to Aziraphale, great action, and of course hot sex.

6. The Book Clerk and the Sugar Daddy by @holycatsandrabbits and @wargoddess9

Link:  https://archiveofourown.org/works/39096657

Rating:  E

Word Count:  4,052 (one-shot)

Human AU. When Crowley ducks into a bookshop to grab a last-minute gift for his mother, he spots something that he wants for himself:  the lovely plush young clerk who happens to be working there. He makes Aziraphale an offer that the blushing clerk certainly can refuse if he wants, but oh how Crowley hopes he'll accept. With a few set rules in place, Aziraphale begins to come out of his shell, bravely accompanying Crowley to one party after another, and to Crowley's delight, Aziraphale is bright, charming, and polite, as attractive on the inside as he is on the outside. Crowley does his utmost to shower him with gifts, to drive home the point to his angel that he can have whatever he desires. Super sexy and fun one-shot, accompanied by glorious fanart.

7. All My Heart is Yours by @feraltuxedo Link:  https://archiveofourown.org/works/38043694 Rating:  E Word Count:  63,809 (21/21 chapters, complete)

A human AU set in Victorian times, inspired by Jane Eyre (although the author assures that no wives were locked up in this story). Aziraphale is a disgraced teacher in desperate need of a job, and when he's hired to tutor the heir of Eden Hall he seizes the chance, despite the loneliness and isolation of the area. There are some compensations, however. His pupil Adam is a bright young man, Mrs. Shadwell the housekeeper is warm and welcoming, and despite having to learn the appalling art of horseback riding, Aziraphale's workload isn't too onerous. In fact, he manages to acquire an additional unofficial student in the form of Pepper, a parlormaid who wants to learn to read. What's more, at Eden Hall he's far away from anyone who knows the reason why he lost his last teaching position. But perhaps most importantly of all, the eccentric head of the household, Mr. Crowley, while initially brusque and rude, warms up to him quickly and they become friends despite their differences in class. He's also distractingly attractive, and Aziraphale must remind himself daily why falling in love with him is an incredibly bad idea. Please be aware that the fic deals with period-typical homophobia. An excellent fic, fine storytelling that also explores the issues of class and rank.

#fic recs #fanfiction #bottom aziraphale #top crowley #good omens fanfiction #good omens fic recs

[lady-divine-writes]

Good Omens - A Historic Blunder (Rated NC17)

Summary: Crowley shows up in the Bastille to rescue Aziraphale, but for some reason, when he snaps his fingers, it doesn't only release Aziraphale from his chains, it switches their places. Miffed at all of Crowley's mean comments about his beautiful suit, Aziraphale doesn't just opt to free Crowley, but forces him to earn his way out of his chains by putting his smart mouth and sharp tongue to better use. (1999 words)

Notes: Written for the @coldomenszine - nsfw digital-only edition. Warning for bondage and oral.

Read on AO3.

“What in the …?" Crowley glares at the shackles clamped around his wrists and Aziraphale's gold brocade suit miraculously tailored to his body. His eyes dart over to Aziraphale, clothed in the burgundy coat he arrived in. "Why am I wearing your clothes? And your chains? How the Heaven did this happen?"

"I don't know," Aziraphale says, massaging his wrists, rubbed raw by the shackles he'd been locked in. Indeed, how did this happen? Just moments ago, between pleasant banter and derisive remarks in regard to Aziraphale's unfortunate clothing choices, Crowley had snapped his fingers, performing a demonic miracle to set Aziraphale free. Which he did, so, of course, well done him. But now Crowley is the one in chains ...

... while Aziraphale is dressed like a peasant. 

"Are you losing your touch?"

"Very funny.” Crowley snaps his fingers again. And again. And again. But no matter what he does, he can’t break free. 

Most of what he'd intended when he snapped his fingers happened. Aziraphale is unbound, and the guard who had been sent to fetch him standing paralyzed in the corner. Other than that, nothing else worked the way it was supposed to. 

It's almost as if his spell backfired.

"Could this be a punishment from Hell for you rescuing me?" Aziraphale asks with genuine confusion. "You said your lot don't send rude notes. Could they have taken away your power instead?"

“Don’t know," Crowley says, examining his hands for answers. "Does seem like something they'd do.”

Aziraphale gasps. "Maybe they know you're here, and this was a test! Or maybe this isn't Hell's doing at all! Maybe this is Heaven's!" He looks up and around, trying to sense any Holy influence in their midst. If he finds any, he's going to be very put off, seeing as they made no move whatsoever to aid him.

"All interesting theories," Crowley agrees, giving the shackles a tug, checking their strength. "Theories I would love to discuss with you at length somewhere other than here. So why don't you get me out of this mess?"

Aziraphale tuts at Crowley's tone. He's every inch a demon of Hell, with demon manners, too. "What's the magic word?"

Crowley rolls his eyes. He considers not saying it out of spite, but what other option has he? "Please."

"Could you possibly say it nicer?"

Crowley fixes Aziraphale with the fire of his fierce, yellow eyes. "No."

"Fine." Aziraphale raises a hand to snap his fingers, but he hesitates. 

"Wot?" Crowley shakes the chains to remind Aziraphale what he should be doing. "Wot's the matter?"

“I don't know."

"Wot do you mean you don't know?"

"It was nice of you to sweep in here and help me, but you're being mean to me."

"I'm being mean to you?"

"You made fun of my clothes!”

Crowley sputters like a car struggling to start. “You’re ... you're ... you're going to let me get discorporated because I made a comment about your outfit?”

“It was rude! I'll have you know that suit was a gift from Marie Antoinette herself!”

"Pfft. Fitting you'd be wearing it here then."

Aziraphale tsks in disgust. "Was that really necessary?"

Footsteps overhead, coupled with the sounds of cells opening and shrill cries for mercy, draw Crowley's attention away, make him swallow hard. "Okay, look, none of that matters right now! I got you out of your chains, yes? Tit for tat, angel. Bust me out!"

"Quite right, quite right. I could do that. Bust you out, as you say. But what’s in it for me?”

"Aside from you not losing your head?"

"Yes. Obviously. Aside from that."

“I’ll take you to lunch," Crowley offers.

Aziraphale shrugs. “Alas, I’ve already eaten.”

Crowley pulls a face. “That’s never mattered before!”

“Yes ..." Aziraphale grins "... but today it does.” 

"Wot else could you possibly want?"

"What are you willing to give me?"

Crowley crosses his arms over his chest, fumbling with the cumbersome metal links so he can manage it. "I know you've got something on your mind, angel. So could you help me out? Give me a hint?"

"Well ..." Aziraphale rolls his eyes to the ceiling, stalling in the hopes Crowley might figure it out "... it's been terribly stressful here, locked up by myself, waiting to be executed ..." He busies himself picking nonexistent lint from Crowley's jacket, feigning nonchalance. He has no intention of letting Crowley lose his head. He's having a bit of fun with him. 

But maybe he can finagle a little something more. 

"So you're wanting something to relieve your stress, is that it?"

"Perhaps ..."

Crowley smirks. "The stress of being locked up or the stress of being an arsehole?"

Aziraphale huffs. “Remember, my dear, I can’t stop time the way you can so we don’t have a lot to play around with.”

“How much time are we talking about exactly?” Crowley asks, dropping to his knees. Aziraphale hides his triumphant grin behind a scowl when he sees the immaculate hem of his pants and the toes of his satin shoes come in contact with the grimy floor.

“There are guards strolling the halls, checking on prisoners several floors above us. There’s one a few floors down doing the same, coming up this way. So I’d say you have roughly twenty minutes.”

"Twenty minutes!?”

“Nineteen now.”

“Knowing the response time of your cock when faced with my tongue, I’d say that’s more time than I need.”

Aziraphale glowers. "Eighteen ..." 

"Alright, alright! Help me out! Undo your trousers!"

"You're already down there. I'd say you're in a better position to undo them, don't you?"

"Bastard!" Crowley growls. He snaps his fingers, quadruple checking that it won't work. Wouldn't it be the dog's bollocks if his magic came back in time to shove Aziraphale's snarky attitude right back in his face? 

But it doesn't.

Crowley unfastens the fall-front of Aziraphale's trousers, the rough metal of the shackles doing no favors for his wrists in this position, but that barely fazes him, focused on this particular task.

It's been ages since he's seen angel's cock.

He removes it from the confines of angel's trousers, holds it in his hand, and wonders - has it gotten bigger since? Has Aziraphale been putting extra effort into this part of his anatomy since the last time they were together?

Or is he doing this now for Crowley's benefit?

To make Crowley desire him?

Crowley opens wide, takes him in his mouth, but slowly. More slowly than usual. They might be pressed for time, but Crowley feels a need for vengeance. He's going to drag this out, use all of the eighteen - no, seventeen - minutes they have to frustrate the Hell out of Aziraphale.

Teach him a lesson he won't forget anytime soon.

Crowley's lips around Aziraphale's cock nearly discorporate Aziraphale in an instant. It's been too long since he's sampled this demon's pleasures - his warm mouth, his quick wit.

His exquisite company.

"That's is," Aziraphale moans as Crowley wraps his serpent tongue around him, then drags it down his length. "That definitely hits the spot."

Crowley pulls away. "I'm glad you're enjoying yourself. My knees are aching like Christ on the cross."

"Too soon, my dear," Aziraphale mutters, eyelids fluttering shut to block out sounds of clattering chains, guards coming ever closer, screams of prisoners dragged to their deaths, the ominous drop of the guillotine. "Too soon."

This is the way things have been between them for as long as Crowley can remember. These small indiscretions, stolen taboos, are all they're allowed. They never know when they will have time together, so they relish it whenever it comes along. As fun as it is riling angel up, Crowley can't help wishing he could do things up proper: in the quiet of his flat, on a bed of rose petals, with a bottle of champagne, a bowl of fresh cream, and all the time in the world to enjoy it.

“Crowley!" Aziraphale whines, hips bucking, desperation saturating every breath. "They're coming!"

"Are you?"

"This isn't the time for humor!"

"How much time do we have left?"

"We don't have any left!”

As if on cue, the guards Aziraphale has been sensing arrive, going on loudly about what could have happened to their companion (Marcel - the man stuck in the corner). They stop, do a double-take, then go bug-eyed when they spot Crowley, dressed like a member of the haut monde, on his knees in front of Aziraphale.

At first, they don't know what to make of it. They would chalk it up as a victory if not for the fact that, even dressed like one of them, they have no idea who Aziraphale is. And though they recognize the fancy suit Crowley is sporting, they have no clue how the man inside went from plump and pale to thin with flaming red hair and dark glasses.

They try to think up a practical explanation, but as former men of faith, they come to the conclusion that what's going on inside the cell is the work of the Devil. They hurry off, presumably to summon back-up, screaming about witchcraft and perversion. Aziraphale doesn't know for sure. They could be yelling about the weather. His grasp of conversational French isn't as good as it should be. He could ask Crowley to translate, but he wouldn't remove his mouth from his cock for anything.

Tragically, Crowley does so himself. "I think we've been spotted." 

"How did you guess?" 

"Are you even close?"

"Yes! Yes, I am! I ... oh, let me! May I?" Aziraphale grabs Crowley's head but waits for a consenting nod before he holds him still and fucks his mouth to the finish. And Crowley lets him. He may as well have some fun with his mouth before he and his head become strangers. Not that he thinks Aziraphale would leave him there to be beheaded.

But would he? 

"Oh! Oh, dear! Oh for Heaven's ...!" Aziraphale comes down Crowley's throat in a wash of Holy light enough to burn straight through to his stomach, but that's part of what he enjoys about letting angel use him.

That taste of Heaven that accompanies his orgasm.

"Oh my goodness!" Aziraphale pants. "That was exceptional, my dear. Bravo. You really know how to rise to a challenge."

"I'm glad you're satisfied." Crowley wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, then licks up every last drop. "But there's still the matter of you breaking me out."

"Yes ..." Aziraphale awkwardly clears his throat "... that."

"You are going to free me, right?"

Aziraphale shoots Crowley an offended look. "Of course, I am! I'm an angel of my word!"

"A-ha. And how do you intend on doing that when you didn't want to use a miracle to free yourself?" Crowley asks, kicking himself for not considering that at the beginning of all this.

"Oh! Well, you see, I nicked the key from that chap over there ..." Aziraphale pats down the pockets of Crowley's coat, then the pockets of his own, chirping a tiny, "A-ha!" when he finds it.

"Why didn't you tell me!?"

"You didn't ask!"

"How did you get it off him without his noticing?"

"Nu-uh." Aziraphale sticks the key in the lock and gives it a twist. "A magician never reveals his secrets." 

"Wait! That means you could have gotten yourself ... and me ... out of those chains this entire time!?" Crowley hisses, shaking out the throbbing in his wrists as the chains fall to the ground. But Aziraphale sidesteps Crowley's question and helps him to his feet.

"Come come now! Let's get moving!" With a snap of Aziraphale's fingers, Crowley is re-dressed in his original clothes while Aziraphale reluctantly switches outfits with the still frozen guard. "We mustn't hang about!"

When the guards return, there's only one prisoner in the cell. 

The aristocrat on his knees and the revolutionary he was servicing are gone.

#good omens #good omens fanfiction #ineffable husbands #ineffable idiots #crowley x aziraphale #aziraphale x crowley #aziraphale #Crowley

[ingravinoveritas]

I'm the twitter anon. You're absolutely right. I became a fan of Michael last year, during GO press. He was so happy and funny, especially around David and I totally fell in love with him and David. Now he makes me sad and I'm worried about him. As you said, he looks depressed and tired, his smile doesn't reach his eyes anymore. I don't know what's going on in his private life, but it must be something serious.

Hello Twitter Anon. I’m glad to hear from you again.

I have to tell you that I struggled with writing a response to your query from yesterday, wanting to provide a balanced perspective while trying to make sense of this entire situation (as I think many folks are). I do have some more thoughts that I’d like to offer about everything, but with the following clarification:

My intention with all of this is not, nor ever was, to bash Michael. I became a fan of his for the same reasons many of us did: His passion, his humor, his kindness, his dedication to playing Aziraphale and to supporting the fandom and especially fan works, and his commitment to countless social causes. I am still a fan of Michael’s, and I am not ashamed of being one. I believe he has a big heart and truly does care about people and has tried to make a difference in the lives of others in whatever way he can.

But I also believe that you can be a fan of someone and still criticize them.

Again, to clarify: There is very much a line between criticizing someone and attacking them, and I know there was a whole heck of a lot of the latter happening on Twitter. I think that what Michael reacted to was comments attacking him and his family--in particular his daughter Lily, as I did see one very disgusting specific comment about her on the petition post.  I think that made him start swinging, and that he only read the first half of that BLM person’s tweet before hitting the block button. I think it really was an unfortunate misunderstanding that has been blown wildly out of proportion ever since.

I also think that canceling or blindly praising him is not the solution to this.

On the surface, it may seem like canceling and blindly praising someone are two completely different concepts, but there is one thing that they have in common: They both stop discussion from happening. When you say that someone is perfect and a “king” and can do nothing wrong, there’s no way to have a discussion. When you say someone is an asshole and horrible and bad, it also shuts down discussion, and makes people afraid to say what they feel.

What I said yesterday about nuance applies as much to the fans as it does to Michael. It means looking at him without rose-colored glasses on, acknowledging that he has done many wonderful things but also made some mistakes, and that all of the good he’s done doesn’t make him immune to the consequences of those mistakes. It means knowing that he is a human being who deserves grace, but without absolution.

To touch on the last sentence of your ask (”I don’t know what’s going on in his private life”), that is perhaps the most important thing to bear in mind: That none of us actually, truly know what Michael’s life is like. We only know the very small piece, the sliver he shares with us on Twitter. But I agree with you that it seems to be serious, because he is so sensitive and impulsive at the moment, and it is spilling over into Twitter and having serious consequences. I’ve seen people tweet that they want to joke with him but are afraid to do so, because of not knowing what will set Michael off. And no matter how you look at it, that is an unhealthy emotional dynamic to be part of--both for the fans, and for him.

Anyway, I’ve probably rambled on enough about all this, and my heart is still feeling a bit heavy with it, so I think I’ll try to just reblog some lovely gifs and clips from the GO press tour, to remember happier times. Thanks for writing in, Anon, and I hope you’re doing okay. x

#anonymous #reply post #michael sheen #welsh seduction machine #i am still a fan of Michael's and I still adore him #but recent events have been A Lot #trying to provide a balanced perspective #because going to extremes on either side is not the answer #the petition was one thing but yesterday was something else entirely #fandom woes #thoughts #discourse

[crowlex23]

Important Question!

So, because I want to start writing a fanfiction which would connect (not directly) all the couples from Good Omens (which I mentioned in the previous post), I thought that a good place to post my story would be AO3 (maybe Wattpad too but definitely AO3). Of course, I will update you about every new chapter on Tumblr.

What do you think?

And since you don't really know the plot I'd like to tell you something about it...

‘Shit,’ said Doctor, trying to fix loose cables in Tardis. He’d been struggling with the ship for the last hour.

After last landing in London when Rose had wanted to visit her mother, Tardis started to act weird. The Doctor decided to go to the 18th century to eat crêpes, but unfortunately, the ship seemed stuck in London and nothing seemed like it would go anywhere else soon.

‘Is it ever going to work?!’ growled the man and hit the cockpit. Suddenly, all the lights started to flicker. The blonde looked around himself and managed to cursed before Tardis teleported itself to an unknown place.

***

An angel and a demon were sitting on a bench in St. James Park. They enjoyed each other presence. People around didn't really pay attention to the two of them. Unaware of passing by two supernatural entities.

‘Have you ever contemplated about the world?’

‘What do you mean, Crowley?’ asked Aziraphale, turning his face to look directly at the demon. He laughed with confusion.

‘You know, do you really think that there is only us?’ Crowley stared at the sky like he was daydreaming.

In fact, he was looking in Aziraphale’s eyes, but fortunately the angel couldn’t see that because of the ginger sunglasses.

‘Crowley, you were the one who wanted to go to Alpha Centauri, so...’

‘No, no, no, that’s not my point, angel,’ interrupted the demon. ‘I thought about dimensions.’

It took Aziraphale a while to get what Crowley was talking about. Suddenly, his cuffs started to be very interesting.

‘I didn’t really think about it.’

Crowley exhaled loudly and turned sideways and carried on:

‘Really? You’ve never ever thought that maybe in a different dimension you are somebody else?’

‘I like my life here... with you’ Aziraphale said, but his last words were told so quiet that Crowley didn’t hear it. Thank God.

The demon threw his hand in the air and gasped. He leaned on the bench and crossed his arms on his chest. His sunglasses almost fell down, so the demon fixed them and started to talk again:

‘You’re boring, angel.’ Aziraphale wanted to argue with that statement, but he didn’t manage to do that because Crowley quickly continued. ‘Maybe in a different world you are a doctor or a rock star or...’ he thought for a second. ‘A vampire!’

‘Vampires don’t exist, Crowley.’

‘Oh, come on, angel. Let your imagination run wild! I’m sure you can come up with something.’

There was a short silent and the demon started to grow impatient with the angel. Suddenly, Aziraphale giggled and Crowley had to admit that it was one of the most beautiful sound he’d ever heard. However, he really wanted to know, what was so funny.

‘Well, Crowley, don’t be offended, but I thought about you being a grumpy detective,’ the blonde laughed again and covered his mouth.

‘Very funny, angel. Me? Grumpy? Never.’ Crowley turned away from Aziraphale and crossed his arms on his chest.

After a couple of seconds the angel stopped laughing and noticed the ginger sulking. He came closer to him and put his arm around Crowley’s waist.

‘Crowley, dear, please, stop sulking,’ said the blonde with a slightly worried smile and remains of laugh. The demon turned his head ever further from Aziraphale but didn’t brush off his arm. Instead, he nestled in the angle’s shoulder.

‘Even grumpy, you would be very handsome,’ whispered the angle and kissed Crowley on his cheek.

‘I’m not grumpy!’

***

So now you have a brief view on my idea. Please tell me what do you think about it ❤️

#ineffable husbands #Crowley #Michael Sheen #David Tennant #aziraphale #Doctor who #tenth Doctor #Tardis #good omens extended universe #good omens #di hardy #Alec hardy

[anti-cyclone]

Wrong Turn

Aziraphale/Crowley, rated T. Chapter 1 posted to AO3 this Sunday, July 12. Writing by me, art by @d20owlbear​

As part of the Good Omens Mini Bang - @do-it-with-style-events​ (or visit the AO3 collection)

Summary: Lots and lots of somethings are wrong. First, Crowley's nearly hit by a car. Then he almost brains himself tripping over new and excessive piles of books at the bookshop. To add insult to near-injury, Aziraphale starts throwing knives at him. Safe to say his day could be going better.

The thing that's the most wrong of all is the universe, of course. In this one there was never an Arrangement. Aziraphale and Anthony (they can't both be 'Crowley') aren't friends and they certainly never agreed to prep for Armageddon. Unfortunately, the end of the world is two days away.

So that's something Crowley really has to fix before they can figure out how to get him home.

Excerpt (we join Crowley in the - well, in a bookshop, anyway):

Everything - Every single thing - here was wrong. The traffic wasn't right. The bookshop wasn't right. Aziraphale was definitely, absolutely, not right.

Crowley's miracles were still working, though.

"You devil," Aziraphale snapped, uncreatively, when all the lights in the shop went out in the same instant.

Crowley didn't reply. Crowley was busy skittering away from the back of the shop, around the spiral staircase, and through some cobwebs up into a particularly black corner of protective shadow. He could hear Aziraphale snapping his fingers. The lights did not come back on. Crowley had sunk enough power into that miracle to give him time to flatten himself up against the ceiling.

The next thing he heard was absolutely-not-Aziraphale fumbling around in the dark. A quick rush of air heralded the flare of a candle in his hand. He raised it and peered out into the shadows of the shop.

The yellow light made his hair look blond instead of white. At least until the candle flickered, and shadow crawled briefly over definitely-not-Aziraphale's face.

Lots and lots of somethings were wrong.

Most immediately, an angel prowled the shop with a wicked (blessed?) dagger and said things like, "I didn't expect to see you again after our last discussion," which as far as Crowley remembered had been about what pastries he, Crowley, was supposed to pick up at the restaurant. Incredibly-not-Aziraphale went on, "I don't know how I could have communicated more stringently that if you trespassed in my territory again, it would be a painful mistake."

Crowley concentrated on not breathing. If he breathed, he made noise. If he breathed, it made the panic slosh around in his gut and he hadn't figured out what to do with that yet.

The other thing that was immediately wrong were the cobwebs on the ceiling. They stuck to his hand and there was one close enough to his face that Crowley had to actively concentrate on not sneezing. That should have been a clue. His Aziraphale, the right Aziraphale, used poor cataloging and abrasive customer service like a pearl-handled dagger. The shop was a maze all on its own. He didn't have to resort to piles of books and ephemera on the floor. There certainly weren't any cobwebs - at least not up on the ceiling where no customer could even see.

The wrong Aziraphale passed under him and continued walking through the aisles.

"If you aren't going to come out and face me, you could at least tell me what in Heaven's name you're doing here."

"You invited me, you blasted idiot," Crowley snapped, doing something funny in his throat to project his voice.

It was the suit. That's what Crowley should've noticed earlier. The suit, it looked - It looked just like Aziraphale's, but new. That should've tipped him off to this being the wrong Aziraphale, like all the mess and dust should've tipped him off to this being the wrong shop. And yes, he knew that knowing this is the wrong shop meant his comeback didn't work, but he was preoccupied with huddling in a dark corner and not getting repeatedly stabbed.

A demon could only think of so many things at once.

Several aisles over, the wrong Aziraphale stopped. He turned in the opposite direction from Crowley - great, that means throwing his voice worked - and tilted his head. Candlelight caught the extremely sharp edge of the dagger.

"Please," he said, sharp. But there was also a tiny hint of something else. Doubt? That's what actual Aziraphale's voice sounded like when he suspected he might have missed something. "The only way I'd ever invite you anywhere would be - Why, it'd be a sign of the end times."

"Funny thing," Crowley muttered. "That was six months ago."

The wrong Aziraphale kept staring into the opposite part of the shop. He lowered his dagger but did not put it away. "Perhaps you should tell me a little more, Crawly."

"It's Crowley."

Aziraphale turned, and now his face was wrinkled in confusion. He almost looked like the real Aziraphale. "Since when?"

#good omens #aziraphale/crowley #good omens fic #alternate universes #literally #featuring appearances from: #anathema device #hastur #uriel #the bentley

[freezin4books]

Even More Good Omens fic recs

Part 1 here and part 2 here.

This took a while because I kept getting distracted re-reading these. They’re pretty good, so enjoy.

- Just Hold On Tight by EmAndFandems

(2218 words) Rating: General Audiences

How could any words possibly contain all of this, everything they are? (In which love languages are A Thing.)

- Wine Fraud and Other Worthy Pursuits by ImprobableDreams900

(14093 words) Rating: General Audiences

When Aziraphale, rare book dealer and part-time wine collector, encounters a bottle of 1844 Château Lafite-Rothschild he suspects isn't all that it claims, he becomes determined to track down the truth.

Unfortunately, the finger of suspicion seems to point at fellow wine collector Anthony J. Crowley, whom Aziraphale is already well on his way to befriending.

- This Soul Outstreaming by Rend_Herring

(22118 words) Rating: Explicit

“Why did you come here?” Aziraphale interrupts. “Why do you keep doing this?” All the saving, he means, all the chasing after Aziraphale he does. It can’t only be that he’s not keen to endure a replacement. That can’t be it, not anymore. He’s going to get himself in trouble, and then it’ll be Aziraphale’s fault.

Crowley’s mouth shuts with a click. He shifts uncomfortably in his seat, reaches for the handle of the fork and taps his fingertips against it before setting his hands in his lap.

When he speaks, it’s very soft. “Don’t you know?” he asks.

Aziraphale, unnaccustomed to his heart refusing to translate why it throbs with such haste, shakes his head.

- Where Thou Art by Mottlemoth

(7518 words) Rating: Mature

A late-night bus to London, a few human comforts, and a long overdue confession... nothing will ever be the same for an angel and his demon.

- You Might Think I'm Crazy (All I Want is You) by soft_october

(23807 words) Rating: Mature

'“Look I understand, you’ve got to check up on the new occupants, make sure I’m a proper ‘fit’ for the neighborhood or whatever euphemism you’re going to use this time, 'the greater good,' I saw the film, I get it. But I peeked in at the place next door the agent mentioned and if you aren’t bothering him I really don't think you should be-”

“I’m your neighbor,” Aziraphale interrupted. “I own that place next door?”

“Oh.”'

Since the next shop over closed down, Aziraphale's had a peaceful few months, barring those unpleasant interactions with the men in cheap suits who keep trying to persuade him to sell his shop. But now a (handsome) new owner has taken up residence beside him and, horror of horrors, he wants to open up a coffee shop.

- The Original Bar Joke by deathbycoldopen

(10550 words) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

The way Crowley saw things, it was all one big joke, with him as the punchline.

OR

An angel and a demon walk into the Garden…

- A Better Idea by copperbadge

(6339 words) Rating: Explicit

Crowley sleeps for five days, eats pancakes, and is brave enough for both of them.

- Parsley, Thyme, Sage, Daffodils by MostWeakHamlets

(3676 words) 

Aziraphale has a cooking show on the internet. It started out with three viewers, but now he's known as the happy grandfather that blew up overnight. Crowley occasionally makes cameos, has dedicated his garden to giving Aziraphale fresh herbs and vegetables, and struggles with living after the apocalypse. ___ “Taste this, my dear,” Aziraphale said.

He held a spoonful of jam to Crowley’s lips with his free hand cautiously under it, ready to catch any dripping.

Crowley leaned forward to wrap his lips around the spoon.

Most likely his shyness came from the small tender moments Aziraphale was not afraid of showing the world. It had been the topic of many long conversations after Aziraphale took Crowley’s hand in St. James Park, causing Crowley to freeze and break out in a cold sweat. Being discreet had always been their top priority. For 6,000 years, someone would have surely seen them if they embraced in the middle of London. But now, Aziraphale had assured Crowley, things were different. They no longer needed to hide, but Aziraphale would go as slow as Crowley needed him to.

It was almost funny how their roles had switched after the apocalypse.

- So You Need To Get Into A.Z. Fell & Co.; Now What? (A Guide For Unfortunate Bookworms) by arkhamcycle

(1838 words) Rating: General Audiences

London’s antique enthusiasts and rare lit nerds alike know that if you’re looking for a specific vintage or antique book, you have a good chance of ending up in A.Z. Fell & Co. as a last resort. And if you’ve ever been in (or are currently in) this predicament, you know how much of an absolute nightmare it is trying to even get in the door. Luckily, this handy guide, the fruit of a months-long collaborative effort to create the perfect formula for gaming the A.Z. Fell system, will tell you everything you need to know, complete with a comprehensive breakdown of what, exactly, the opening hours are. Compiled by pageknight and inky of the Rare Antique Forums.

- The Angel Line by FancyTrinkets

(2084 words) Rating: Explicit

The one in which Aziraphale purchases and listens to a pornographic audiobook that just so happens to be narrated by Crowley.

Aziraphale cringed and covered his face. This was going to be awful, and also thrilling, and he wasn't sure what he ought to be feeling about it, but there was a definite sense of vicarious shame.

#good omens #ineffable husbands #fic recs

[ourownsideimagines]

Turning Page (Aziraphale x Angel!Reader)

Characters: Aziraphale, Angel!Reader. Crowley is mentioned a couple times, I think.

Requested: Yes 

Requested by: @throw-some-music-my-way

Point of View: Second person, Aziraphale

Summary: Aziraphale has known (name) for a long time, and now he’s finally getting to know her, and truly falling in love.

Warnings: None this is pure fluff my god I needed to write this

Words: 1438

A/N: Fluffy fluff is very fluff. Enjoy. Also, reader is gender neutral (with the exception of a single instance, in which it is claimed that they presented as masculine for a while), so if I messed up please let me know.

---

God could not have created a more perfect Angel than you, in Aziraphale’s opinion.

You were the definition of ethereal. If given the chance, Aziraphale would have watched you all day.

Like him, you lived on Earth. The other Angels disapproved since they “already had a man on the ground”, but you insisted that you could be of help. Aziraphale knew better, though - he knew how much you loved humanity, and all it had to offer. Animals, nature, food. You were curious like him, albeit a bit more up-to-date on the modern technological advances.

He’d only met you on a handful of occasions, usually when you popped in for a visit at Gabriel or Michael’s request. You were kind to him, unlike the others. You treated him as an equal, rather than above or below.

He was overjoyed when you agreed to meet with him for some lunch. Nothing work related, he’d told you. Just a couple of friends having lunch. You’d looked ecstatic at the offer.

During your outing, Aziraphale learned quite a lot about you. He learned that you’d taken on a more masculine persona for a few hundred years to study several different sciences, along with multiple different languages and what they considered ‘history’ (he vaguely remembered seeing you in this form, though it hadn’t stuck very well in his memory).

“It’s all a bit different from the way I remember it,” You’d told him with a sigh. “Then again, I lived through most of it. There was bound to be some miscommunication and some lying mixed in there.”

These get togethers began happening more often. So often, in fact, that Crowley had begun noticing changes in his friend. Good changes, that is. He seemed happier, and a bit busier.

Aziraphale hadn’t mentioned you two Crowley, nor had he mentioned Crowley to you. He wasn’t sure how you would react if he told you he’d been consorting with a demon since the beginning of time. A part of him imagined you wouldn’t mind - the other feared for the worst.

Over time, the two of you became very close friends. You were visiting his shop almost every day for tea or lunch, and you’d frequently go on walks around St. James Park. It was nice, he thought, having someone other than Crowley to talk about other-worldly things with. Over the near hundred years you’d spend talking with Aziraphale, the conversations never dulled. They almost seemed to get better the longer you two knew each other.

He wondered if he asked you on a ‘date’, as the humans called it, if you would accept. He wasn’t sure if you were interested in him in that way - but there was no denying the way he felt about you. He was enamored, and had been since he first laid eyes on you.

He admired you wholly, from the way you laughed, to the way your cheeks would flush when you got even the tiniest bit embarrassed. He was absolutely, completely in love with you and he didn’t have the faintest idea what he should do about it.

Aziraphale sat in the back room of his shop, sorting through his choices in his head when he heard someone enter the shop. He got up, preparing himself to greet them when he heard you voice.

“Aziraphale?” You called out. “Where are you?”

“In the back, my dear.” He called back, taking a seat once more. After a few moments, you emerged with a gentle smile on your face. “Hello, (name).” He greeted you with a smile.

“Hello, Aziraphale.” You set down your bag, and began to dig through it. “I’ve got something for you, I saw it in this in a shop window a few doors down and thought you might like it.” After a few moments you finally pulled out a small, crystal angel with white wings and a golden halo. “I thought it was really pretty, especially with all the details.” You handed it over to him.

“Oh, thank you so much my dear. I absolutely adore it.” He said. Aziraphale glanced over his desk, and made room for it in a space where he’d be able to see it. He turned back to you, the biggest smile on his face. “It’s perfect.”

“I’m glad.” You said, smiling back. “So, are we still on for lunch?”

“Oh, yes,” Aziraphale began making his way to the front room, and you followed after. “Just need to grab my coat.” He told you. Once he put that on, Aziraphale flipped the sign to ‘closed’ and you headed out.

The small diner the two of you had chosen for that day was less than a ten minute walk from the shop, but the sidewalk was packed. You were shoved around a bit, and Aziraphale let out a small huff. You turned to him, then took his hand in your own and pulled him to the edge of the sidewalk, where you helped him to weave in and out of the crowd with ease.

By the time you’d made it to the diner, the crowd had passed, but you were still holding his hand. Not that he minded. He’d let you hold his hand for the rest of eternity, if that’s what you wanted to do. It was comfortable.

You were seated almost as soon as you walked in, and unfortunately had to release his hand as you sat down.

Through the meal the two of you chatted about the recent miracle you’d gone to Paris to perform, and the various ways Aziraphale had dogged people trying to purchase books from his shop. It was an easy, flowing conversation that lasted through the meal.

“You should see Paris this time of year,” You sighed. “It’s absolutely buzzing.”

“I haven’t been to Paris in a few years.” Aziraphale said as the two of you exited the diner. “Perhaps I shall pop over there, when the time allows it.”

The walk back to the shop was much clearer, and Aziraphale was surprised when you once again took his hand. There was a light blush dusting your face, and Aziraphale wondered for a moment if perhaps you enjoyed it as much as he did. You must, he decided, since you’d been the one to take his hand.

As you approached the shop, Aziraphale suddenly stopped walking.

“Aziraphale, everything alright?” You asked as you turned to face him. He was nervous, and it showed. “Is something wrong?”

“Wrong? Oh, dear, no, nothing’s wrong.” He looked down at your intertwined hands, then back up at your face. You looked confused.

Say something, idiot, he told himself.

“I was just,” He coughed. “Well, I was, um, just thinking.”

“About?”

“About, a, um, a... a thing.” You huffed out a laugh at this response. Aziraphale continued anyway. “I was just wondering if you, uh, maybe like to go out on, uh, a date. With me.” By the time he’d finished, Aziraphale’s face was beginning to turn red with nervousness. This turned into shock when you began laughing.

“Oh, you’re funny, Aziraphale.” You snickered, and his heart sank further. When you finally noticed the heartbroken look on his face, you stopped. “Oh, you’re being serious!” You said suddenly.

“You know, maybe it’s better to forget that I asked,” He said and he began pulling his hand away but you held on tight.

“No, no!” You shook your head. “Oh, goodness, no Aziraphale! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be so rude.” She began glancing around, as if looking to see who might be watching. But there was no one. No one ever paid them any mind. “I, actually.. Well, I thought this, uh, was a date.” She admitted. “I thought these were lunch dates.” You reiterated, and the realization hit Aziraphale like a frying pan.

“Oh god lord.” He flushed even worse than before. How did he not realize before?

Dates.

You’d already been on dates.

Of course they were dates, what else would they be.

“Aziraphale,” You began playfully. “Have you just now realized that we’ve been going on dates for almost a hundred years?”

“I never thought of it like that.” He rushed out. “I, uh, I didn’t know you saw me in that way, before now.” You let out another laugh, your nose crinkling as you closed your eyes. If his wings were out, they would have fluttered.

“You’re adorable.” You said casually, bringing your gaze up to meet his own again. “But, if it makes you feel any better, my answer is yes.” You leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to his reddened cheek. “It’s always a yes.”

#good omens #good omens x reader #aziraphale x reader #aziraphale x angel!reader #aziraphale #x reader #x angel!reader #reader insert #good omens reader insert #my writing #reese writes #the ineffable queue

[mikaa-mina]

At Garden’s Edge- Chapter 5: In which bad days are had, assumptions are made, and sweets always taste better with good company

This is a very sweet and silly chapter, and also my longest chapter for this fic yet clocking in at just over 5k!

A small content warning, there are some descriptions of depression/feeling down and apathetic in this chapter. They are primarily right at the beginning and I promise there's a bunch of silly fun in this chapter and it ends on a happy note. (No seriously, these characters can be so silly sometimes!)

Nevertheless! Even though there is nothing heavy in this chapter, if you for any reason feel uncomfortable reading a chapter (any chapter in this fic) please don't hesitate to reach out to me. I will try to summarize the chapter without going into whatever the subject is that is an issue. <3

As always, this was beta'd by the lovely lovely Tarek_giverofcookies who has helped me multiple times when I was banging my head against writer's block.

At Garden’s Edge

Chapter 5- In which bad days are had, assumptions are made, and sweets always taste better with good company.

It had been a bad day. In fact, there had been rather more than seven of them so far. He hadn’t opened the shop in three of them and couldn’t honestly recall the last time he’d stepped out of the building at all. Living above the shop, or rather more in the antique armchair in the back room of the shop, tended to have it’s own perks and disadvantages. The perks being that he didn’t really have to leave home to work, was constantly surrounded by books, and he never had to leave the building unless he was out acquiring new books. Unfortunately, these same perks were also the disadvantages.

It made the days when the fog grew thick and oppressive that much more harder. It was difficult to convince oneself to leave the building when instead he could just stay in working on commissions. And what if he missed a customer while out and about?

When his head felt full of cotton, and fatigue lingered in all his limbs, the quiet thoughts would slip inside. What harm would it really do to close the shop early? For the day? Why move from this armchair at all, he deserved a day off. He’s in the middle of a chapter and it’s raining out, no sensible fool would bring an old antique book to be authenticated or repaired in the pouring rain.

Three days into this he realized he couldn’t recall what the last book he just finished reading had even been about at all. It was as if he was eating food and yet tasting none of it. Stale and unappealing. The horror that books had become that for him.

It was temporary, he knew. He had figured out with help how to help manage this, but knowing how to do so didn’t make the actual doing of it any easier. It took another day of bargaining with himself before he managed to call up a friend. Unfortunately she was out of town, but talking to her still helped. She stayed on the phone as long as she could and before ending the call she gently suggested taking a walk through town, just to be around other people without having to talk to anyone if he wasn’t up to that just yet.

“Or maybe dearie, you should go see that florist friend of yours,” Madame Tracey suggested with what was surely a twinkle in her eye.

Aziraphale himself didn’t really feel one way or the other about it, instead of insisting Crowley was just his florist and not his friend he just hummed non-noncommittally. (Who would want to be friends with a stuffy boring older man like him? He knew what he was like and was content with it but others hardly liked it.)

Failing to get the reaction she was hoping for made her stress again him getting out. Maybe visit that bakery he liked so much.

Instead he found himself wandering the city, and not too unsurprisingly, wandering into the flower shop and plant nursery, Garden’s Edge.

There was some sort of bee-bop playing in the shop, quietly at first and then increasing in volume as he wandered towards the back.

And then he heard it. Someone… singing. Not particularly badly but not especially well either. Though that may have been helped by the fact that the song they were singing to seemed to be more of a spoken song than the newer bee-bop Aziraphale’d heard in the shops downtown.

It got louder as he followed it all the way to the very back of the shop. When he reached the check out counter he could see the door to the back propped open as someone sang about… French novels and the absurd?

Aziraphale glanced around, but no one else was in the shop, so slowly he edged around the corner of the door to peek into the back room because surely the only person it could be was Crowley. As far as he was aware, Crowley was the only person who worked here. So it had to be him. But singing?

A quick glance in and all he saw was a flash of black and red. A pity he didn’t carry any mirrors on his person any more.

Steadying his breathing again he looked around the corner again through the door way. He had meant it to be a quick glance again but he found himself stopping at the sight he had caught. It was indeed Crowley. Crowley in his black leather jacket and absurd snake skin boots, eyes closed as he sang into the end of the broom in his hand. His hips were… doing something? Moving in some way, perhaps this was a new fangled form of dancing, and his arms were gesturing grandly as he sang and moved about the room.

“-And some kinds of love The possibilities are endless And for me to miss one Would seem to be groundle-EH?! Ah-AZIRAPHALE?!?”

Aziraphale startled, nearly fell from his precariously balanced position, but Crowley was worse, his eyes having opened as he turned about the back room mid spin, he faltered, eyes landing on Aziraphale and broom flinging from his hand. It crashed into a large iron shelving unit that rattled dangerously and sent Crowley lunging in that direction to catch some of the pots that had rattled right off the edge.

“Oh dear,” he rushed forward to give Crowley a hand, “terribly sorry to frighten you. What can I do to help?”

“Wah-gah- huh??”

Aziraphale bit back a smile, he was rather adorable when flustered. His face was turning red, his eyebrows high on his face in confusion and disbelief, his arms fluttering around in nervousness and nearly dropping the pots he had managed to catch.

“Here,” he dipped down and picked up some of the pots scattered on the ground. Thankfully most of the ones that fell seemed to be the cheaper plastic ones. Temporary pots for young plants or plastic pots made to look like stone.

Straightening back up, arms full of (thankfully clean) pots (just think of what would have happened to his coat) he smiled at Crowley. It was a bit more customer service polite smile than the genuine one he’d felt earlier as the fog settled back in, but he didn’t want Crowley to feel as if it was his fault. “Where shall I put them?”

After a string of unintelligible sounds, Crowley gestured towards a table slightly helplessly. He croaked out a thanks, plopped his own load down and stared at the table for a moment.

Just as Aziraphale was starting to sink back into that state where he felt rather detached from everything Crowley’s head snapped towards his.

“Uh… how.. how much of that did you hear?”

“I couldn’t really make it out until I got to the back somewhere around something to do with filthy french novels and the absurd?”

Crowley’s blush renewed itself, darkening in color and then spreading down his chest and up to his ears. It was adorable.

“Y-you can’t tell anyone!”

Aziraphale cocked a brow, slightly amused but mostly confused. Perhaps that was the fog again- maybe it had obscured something that would make this make sense.

“About what dear? You singing?”

“No! I mean yes, that too, but no the-uh...” Crowley gestured in an extremely un-illuminating way.

“...I’m afraid I don’t follow.”

The strange half starts to words and sentences falling apart in Crowley’s throat sounded off again before he finally settled from his wild gesticulating to stare rather firmly at something on the other side of the room from him. “Can’t tell anyone I like that kind of stuff.”

Aziraphale was hopelessly lost. “...Singing?”

Crowley’s mouth twisted. “No-yes, well, I don’t care so much about that. It’s the...”

“...the?”

“thesingingaboutlovegunk.”

He blinked. “I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch that.”

“…. it’s the, whole, uh...” every word seemed to take effort, though for what reason Aziaphale had no idea, “it’s the love thing, okay?! I just- it doesn’t fit my image and people don’t need to know that I- that- people don’t need to know that!”

Oh.

A smile twitched at the edges of his lips again, not enough to force the smile through the fog, but enough to make him feel a bit warmer. He took in Crowley’s defensive posture, the hot blush upon his face and chest, his burning ears, and the steadfast way he wouldn’t look at Aziraphale.

A bit softer and sweeter than Aziraphale had originally pegged him as.

He turned the smile begging at his lips from something too soft and fond into something more benignly friendly. “Of course.”

A beat of silence and then Crowley finally turned his head back towards Aziraphale’s, shoulders hunched up by his red ears. “Yeah?”

“Of course.”

There was a beat of silence before Aziraphale found his mouth speaking quite without his permission. “So. A secret romantic then?”

Crowley just groaned in dismay.

“Did you come here just to mock me?”

The smile slid off his face. He’d meant to reply with something funny, or a bit teasing, but now that he was reminded of the real reason he’d stumbled across this scene, things didn’t seem as funny as they were a moment ago. Still, he knew wallowing in it wouldn’t help matters, so he tried to marshal himself back up to that trusty customer service smile and said, “oh, I was just out.”

He didn’t even realize he was avoiding eye contact with Crowley until the man side stepped back into his vision, leaning down a bit to try and catch his eyes.

Crowley hummed, rocked back on his heels, bit his lip, seemed to cast around for some words and finally offered up a, “wanna talk about it or not talk about it?”

Aziraphale’s eyes rose to meet his. He hesitated.

Crowley gave him a wry sort of smile, dusted his hands on his jeans, then clapped them together to make a loud sound that startled Aziraphale. “Right! Let’s go then.”

Aziraphale blinked, watching Crowley sway right out the door and into the main shop. Following him a bit bewilderingly he echoed, “go?”

“Yup. Going!”

Crowley stopped by the front door, pulled Aziraphale’s still wet umbrella out of the stand, handed it to him, then fished out another umbrella from the stand for himself. It was still raining outside.

Crowley opened the door with a flourish, keys jangling from his pinky finger as he popped open the umbrella with his free hand and gestured to outside. “Out.”

Well. Alight then. ‘Out’ it was.

Aziraphale slid open his umbrella, stepped out, and watched in a sort of detached curiosity as Crowley flipped the sign to closed and locked up the shop. Then he turned with a grin and said, “not too far.”

Well. That explained one thing and nothing else. Still. Aziraphale followed him, noting distractedly that Crowley’s umbrella seemed to have ducks faintly patterned on it. The slick shine of rain highlighting the faded ink as the textures ran different than the rest of the unmarked umbrella.

A few blocks, some turns down some alleys, and they arrived at the shop front of a lovely little cafe bakery. Aziraphale stared at it before Crowley marched right up, ducks swimming in the rain above his head, and opened the door. He made a dramatic sweeping ‘after you’ gesture and Aziraphale was surprised by his own quiet snort of laughter.

Walking in, the air hit warm and dry against his face, and the light was brighter than outside’s overcast weather, but dimmer than some of the more mainstream restaurants liked to have. He shook off his umbrella and left it in the umbrella stand by the door and took his first good look around the place.

The best way to describe it was that it was charming.

It had the standard bakery wide windows in the front of the establishment but instead of just slatted blinds, there were also soft gauzy curtains pulled to the sides and secured with a soft tasseled rope. Aziraphale’s eyes gravitated to the back corner of the cafe where there were two bookcases set against each other creating a corner, filled with mismatched books, and sat in front of it was a squishy looking couch, armchair set, and low coffee table.

The shop had a few other tables set with soft seating of the like, while the rest scattered about the shop were the more standard fair cafe chairs and tables. There was music playing quietly in the background, the colors of the cafe were soft and easy on his eyes, and there was the biggest set of two bakery display cases he’d ever seen in a shop so small. He could hear Crowley’s quiet chuckle as he gravitated towards the counter.

How he’d missed this place he’d never know. (Spoiler: it’s because he never leaves his shop unless it’s to go to Crowley’s shop or to go buy new books)

He was looking down at the most scrumptious looking assortment of pastries when a young woman popped up from behind a strange chrome contraption that Aziraphale could only assume was used to make fancy coffees.

“Oh! Hi, welcome to Knead to Know, how can I- Oh AJ!”

Her eyes flickered between the two of them before a smile began to spread across her face wide enough to cause some alarm to Aziraphale. She propped an elbow up on the counter, set her chin in her hand, and grinned properly at Crowley. She had pink bangs.

“I assume you’re not here for your usual? Or are you and you just brought him with you today?”

Crowley, completely oblivious it seemed to the teasing just shook his head and said, “Nah, I’ll come tomorrow for the usual. Today’s different.”

“I’ll say,” she agreed, raised her eyebrows and flicked her eyes towards Aziraphale who was finally starting to feel a bit of nervousness or embarrassment filter through the fog. It was hard to tell which was which.

“Yup,” Completely Clueless said, “so I just want my usual drink but get whatever he wants.” He gestured to Aziraphale with a tilt of his head before turning to look at him proper. “From what I’ve heard, the Brittney things are good and anything chocolate’s pretty popular.”

Behind Crowley’s head the young cashier rolled her eyes dramatically, mouthed ‘totally clueless’, winked at Aziraphale and then said, “chocolate’s only the most popular because of who you bring them to.” She faced Aziraphale again, smiled, and said “The Cheese Brittney is good, and our baker has recently got on a kick of sponge cakes so personally I’d recommend the Tres Leche Cake.”

She pointed to each in turn. Both looked scrumptious but which would taste better right now? The moistness of the Tres Leche might be what he needed to chase his dry and crumbly feelings away but at the same time a Cheese Brittney with it’s flakey and crunchy pillow might be just the soft landing place he needs.

As he debated internally, he tried to shove away any distressing thoughts of if it would be as bland as his books have been, while Crowley chatted with the barista.

“Find anything your heart settled on? Or your taste-buds?”

At the barista’s question Aziraphale startled, he’d lost track of time while dawdling and had probably spent far too long trying to decide. “Oh! I, well, you see they both seem so scrumptious that it’s just so difficult to choose.”

Crowley hummed for a second then tipped his head to the side and asked, “why don’t you just get them both then?”

“Oh, oh wouldn’t that be too much?” Too greedy, too gluttonous, too excessive. How often had he been taught that pleasure had to be earned? What had he done to earn either of them, let alone two pastries? He’s only been stuck in his head, shop not even open, for days and-

Crowley shrugged, completely unbothered, and said “eh, one of life’s pleasures, issn’t?”

Aziraphale stared at him, derailed from his negative self-talk suddenly and jarred by it.

Crowley must have mistook it as an objection to what he had said because then he defended it with a “Wut? Don’t give me that look. Life’s about living for the good stuff, yeah? So get ‘em both. Enjoy them.”

A moment to process that and then Aziraphale gave a quiet acquiesce, “alright.”

“Yeah?”

Aziraphale mustered a small smile in return for Crowley’s crooked grin, “yes.” Turning to the barista, who suspiciously looked like she was trying to smother a too wide grin, he said “I’ll take them both, please.”

She let the grin out in full force, “yes sir, right away sir!”

“Ah... thank you. Er, how much will they be?”

“Oh, AJ already covered it,” she winked at him but he was too busy turning to Crowley and protesting to see it.

“You didn’t have to do that.”

Crowley shoved his hands into his pockets and gave a sort of shrug with his shoulders, “eh, we’re friends, ‘s what friends do.”

There was a growing warmness in Aziraphale’s chest heating up, something fond and soft, starting to glow like a lighthouse in the sea fog. Friends. “Oh.”

Crowley flashed a small smile, a smile unlike the flashy smirks and cocky grins, before turning away towards the back of the shop. “C’mon, I know that book nook’s practically singing your name you big ol’ bookie.” And then he sauntered off, ears a bit pink at the vulnerability maybe, and Aziraphale was left, for just a moment, alone with that warm feeling. At being announced a friend where anyone could hear. Proudly, unashamed.

The warm feeling tentatively spread.

“I’ll bring y’all’s food and drinks in moment, go ahead and sit down.”

He startled a little, glanced at the barista to find her smiling and said, “thank you dear girl.”

She grinned a little then teased, “go on, he’s an impatient man if I’ve ever seen one though he doesn’t seem to mind waiting on you.”

Not quite sure what to make of that he made his way over to the table where Crowley seemed to have made lounging an art form. He was spilled all over the arm chair head turned to frown at the books on the shelves to his left.

Normally Aziraphale would be all over those books. Carefully going through the titles, trying to see what the people here liked. You could tell a lot about a person from the books they chose to keep. Though the rules tended to vary when it came to shops, you weren’t catering to just one person’s taste after all, but many. But even then, he found it an enjoyable little game to see if there were any hidden gems in restaurants like this. Sometimes places you didn’t expect to, would have a valuable or rare book without even realizing it. Even rarer still, they might have a book Aziraphale wanted to get his hands on.

But his stomach rolled a little when he glanced at the books, remembering the morning and his apathy for reading. He did not want to try again so soon. He didn’t want to pick up a book, expecting to enjoy it, or even hoping to enjoy it, and find it as bland and unenjoyable as before. No, it was simply best to wait. He didn’t want to be turned off of books for any longer than he probably already was going to be.

So he sat in the surprisingly comfy armchair, looked up at Crowley, and realized he had no idea what to say.

Thankfully, Crowley seemed quite reluctant to let an uncomfortable silence descend and instead jerked his head towards the bookcase and said, “would’ve thought you’d be all over these.”

Well. Not the conversation he wanted but, beggars and all that.

“Ah, perhaps later.” A thought hit him, “do you have a favorite?” even if he couldn’t get enjoyment from reading right now, perhaps he could still get some enjoyment from talking book tastes and just getting to learn more about Crowley. Crowley who abruptly closed up shop without warning in the middle of the work day and brought him here.

“Oh dear, was it really alright to close up shop? I hadn’t realized earlier...”

“Yeah. ‘S fine. Wanted to take you here.”

“But...”

“Eh, it’s raining. Had only one customer all day, so who cares if I take a long lunch break? Hell I could probably take the rest of the day off what with the downpour scheduled for all day. Was only cleaning when you came by.”

The warm feeling spread a bit. Heated up a bit more.

“Ah, I don’t think that’s quite true, dear.”

“What? No, you saw-”

A small smile bloomed on his lips, “I saw you dancing and-”

“Nrk- nuh, yuh- you said you wouldn’t!-”

Aziraphale chuckled lightly, feeling a bit lighter, a bit less bogged down, “and I shan’t. Alright, tell me about what you like to read.”

The barista came by, delivering a tall drink to Crowley, the pastries and a plastic cup of water to Aziraphale. She bid them a good meal and left, turning to reveal a pony tail that ended with pink tips to match her bangs.

Crowley took a long sip of his drink, leaned back, and announced, “don’t read.”

Aziraphale, about to take a bite of the Tres Leche Cake paused, fork hovering mid-air, and stared horrified at Crowley.

“Pardon, can you repeat that?”

“I don’t read.”

“Wh-How- How can you not read? No, that’s not true- I’ve seen you read the labels of the plants and soil bags!”

Crowley’s head tipped back with a loud guffaw.

“Crowley! Don’t laugh at me, you were the one trying to pass off that you’re illiterate.”

A grin spread like wildfire across Crowley’s face as he tilted it back towards Aziraphale. He shifted in the chair, flinging one leg over the arm of it in a truly improper way, and dangling the other off the side. Honestly it was like the man couldn’t sit proper in any chair. “Saying I don’t read doesn’t mean I’m illiterate Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale huffed. “Well, you sure took great pleasure in making me jump to that conclusion.”

“Naaah, honestly didn’t think you’d jump there. Just wanted to see what you’d do when I said I don’t read. And I don’t. Read, that is. I listen to audiobooks though.”

“Audiobooks?”

“Yeah. Letters can’t jump in front of each other in audiobooks.”

Ah. “Well, that’s still reading.”

“Is it? Could never tell. Everyone’s got a different answer.”

“Well, I consider it still reading. What’s your favorite book?”

Without hesitation, “the James Bond series.”

Aziraphale blinked, then a soft chuckle bloomed. “Yes, I can see that. Rather does fit you, doesn’t it? Flash, action packed, crafty, and full of gadgets.”

Crowley flashed him a grin, “you say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“Oh, not at all.”

“Alright. Your turn. What’s your favorite book?”

“Oh... Well... Hm...”

A few moments of thinking apparently gave Crowley his answer.

“Too many to choose from?”

“Rather. It’s like trying to pick a favorite food.” Aziraphale left enough time for Crowley to interrupt before saying, “I admit, I was expecting you to jump right in and announce your favorite food just to contradict me.”

A hand wave and a sip of his drink, “ehh, not so much a food person, me.”

“No?”

“Nah. Do you have a favorite?”

“Oh dear, well, if we’re talking desserts then it’s... hm, well, no, if we’re talking pastries then it’s- but wait, no... drat. Is it still considered a favorite if you have five favorites?”

Crowley chuckled. “Same problem as with your books.”

Aziraphale hummed an agreement, finally biting into his nearly forgotten Tres Leche Cake. The cake was as moist as he had hoped, melting almost against his tongue, softly sweet.

He hadn’t realized he’d closed his eyes until Crowley inquired about how it was.

“It’s good. Very good.”

And Crowley had smiled at that.

They talked quietly for a while after that. About light things, small things, interests and hobbies. Aziraphale found that Crowley liked to play online games with a friend called Anathema, that he enjoyed star gazing late at night (“gotta be out of the city though- too much light pollution here.”), and that as fond as he was of cats, that he was allergic to them.

“Been thinkin’ about getting a snake though.” He’d added as if that wasn’t one of the most unusual pet choices Aziraphale had ever heard of.

“A snake?”

“Yeah. They’re great animals really. Strong, elegant, some of them have the most brilliant color patterns too. I dunno, there’s just something about them that I really like.”

And after some thought on it, Aziraphale had smiled. “I think I might be able to see that. Perhaps if you do get one, you can introduce me.”

Crowley blinked at him, surprised as if he wasn’t expecting that and as if, maybe, he was a bit flattered and flustered by it. “Uh- okay.”

They talked about Aziraphale’s favorite plays, how he collects the playbills from them as his own sort of scrapbooking (“When I go back later and look at them, I can recall the play better, remember how it made me feel, reminisce... I’m sorry, that must sound terribly boring.” “No, not at all.”), and how he’s been searching to find another hobby to enjoy other than reading.

“Not that I’ll give it up at all! It’s just, I’d like another enjoyable activity to participate in, I think.”

“Makes sense to me. I’ve got plants and star gazing and video games.”

“It’s just, I haven’t been able to find one. I’ve tried pottery, which was far more messy than I anticipated, cooking, knitting, and bowling.”

“Bowling, really?”

At Crowley’s surprise he admitted, “a friend talked me into it. I wasn’t bad at it, it just wasn’t as... enjoyable as I had hoped. I’d have rather sat at home reading than gone bowling.”

“How long did you do it for?”

It was strange in a way, having someone be as curious about him and his hobbies as Crowley was. It was strange having what seemed to be a genuine friend. One who cared and was interested in him, one that had silly conversations over plays and quiet conversations in the back of a cafe over everything and anything.

“A season. She’d signed me up for the team and neglected to tell me until the first match. I didn’t want to leave them a person short so I finished the season with them while making sure they knew to find a replacement for the following season.”

Crowley tilted his head back with a thoughtful hum, the man was reclined the wrong way across the armchair. Head falling off of one arm, both his legs thrown over the other, cup held at a precarious angle.

“Maybe you could teach me some tricks for it.”

“For bowling?”

“Yeah.” Crowley scowled up at the ceiling, “don’t tell anyone but just about every damn time I go I land on my arse at least once.”

And now Aziraphale couldn’t help but picture it. And he was probably picturing it perfectly. Crowley was so tall and gangly and he didn’t seem to know how to use his hips or legs like everyone else so he could only see him going up to the line, trying to throw the ball while sweeping one leg behind the other like you always see the professionals or people in films do. And sweet Crowley with his swaying hips and long limbs, would probably overshoot and go sliding.

Aziraphale rose a hand to cover his grin. Yes, he could see how he’d go down.

“Oi. I can hear that.”

“Hear what dear boy? I haven’t said a word.”

“I can hear you grinning. Stoppit.”

Aziraphale nearly laughed. “You’re staring at the ceiling, and how would you ‘hear’ a grin anyhow?”

Crowley turned his head towards Aziraphale’s and brandished a bright grin. “Y’learn.”

The barista chose that moment to return with a refill for Aziraphale’s water and to ask if they needed anything else. After they declined she turned to go before stopping and turning back to Crowley.

“Are you still coming to pick up your order tomorrow?”

“It’s the 3rd Monday, ain’t it?”

“Just checking.”

Crowley pursed his lips, suspicious but unsure of why, “sure.”

After she had bounced off Aziraphale turned back to him and, because he was ever so lovely when flustered, teased “coming back tomorrow without me?”

Crowley blinked at him before spluttering, incoherent for a few moments before Aziraphale gave a small chuckle. “Relax, I’m just teasing.”

“Nuh-no, it’s- uh, guh...” He raked a hand through his hair, which was apparently a bad idea because he got it stuck in a knot halfway through and he started quietly cursing while trying to free his hand. Hand free and cheeks pink he crossed his arms with a huff and, not looking at Aziraphale, asked, “you doing anything tomorrow?”

Probably not. The fog was receding but he wasn’t sure he was up to customers just yet. “No, I don’t think so, why?”

“Uh, it’s, hm, easier to show you? Would you meet me here at 11 tomorrow?”

“Sure, but are we eating here for lunch or-”

“No. I mean, not that I’d say no to having lunch with you- just that- that’s not the purpose. Of tomorrow I mean. I- I get an order from here and take it to somewhere else.”

“Alright. And this somewhere else is...?”

Crowley had his head hanging off one arm of the chair and both legs slung over the other but just for this he twisted himself up, bracing his weight on one forearm planted in the seat to look straight at Aziraphale from behind those dark shades. And then he exaggerated the most dramatic wink Aziraphale had ever seen so that it was obvious even behind those dark sunglasses that he was winking. “It’s a secret.”

Aziraphale chuckled, “you wily thing. Alright, have it your way. We’ll meet here tomorrow at 11.”

Crowley smiled back. “Great.”

#Aziraphale #Crowley #Good Omens #Just Ineffable #Ineffable Husbands #Good Omens fanfiction #Gomens fic #Good Omens fic #fluff #comfort #silliness #singing #and not spectacularly well #embarassment #depression #cw depression #but nothing too heavy #humor #my writing #Multi Chapter Story #Multi Chapter Fic #At Garden's Edge #Hurt/Comfort #emotional hurt/comfort

[ladyoutlier]

Here Today Gone Tomorrow

In which Crowley and Aziraphale inherit the Earth.

[Read on AO3] | [Chapter 2]

Chapter 3: The Moon and I Love You’s

Aziraphale and Crowley’s after-lunch relaxation on the outdoor patio was interrupted before it even began by a sapling which had sprouted right outside the front door. The tree didn’t fit at all in with the surrounding ones. Instead it looked rather demented, taking on a more black tinge than green. Crowley snapped his fingers, and the plant was sucked down into the earth.

“What was that?” Aziraphale asked, following Crowley outside.

“An apple tree sapling.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, he’s getting less and less subtle with each try. It’s actually really funny to watch him struggle.”

“I almost feel bad for him. If, of course, it wasn’t such a despicable thing he’s trying to do.”

“Exactly. If you want to be despicable, you better at least be good at it. It’s just sad otherwise.”

They took a seat at the nice metal table in their front garden. Really it was all one big garden and the need to specify whether it was the front one or the back one was unneeded, but for simplicity’s sake, the table was located in front of the cottage.

“So what’s Plan B on this human making scheme?” Crowley asked, stretching out in the sun.

“Actually, I’m not sure that making a human is what God intended for us.” Aziraphale fiddled with his hands.

“What do you mean by that?”

“It’s just that it is impossible for us to create a living being. Our experiment at the riverbank proved that much.”

“Yeah, but we already knew that before we tried. You still wanted to give it a go anyway. Why the change of heart?”

“I might of had a small conversation with the Almighty when you left.”

“Rather one sided I’d imagine.”

“Less so than usual actually.”

“Oh?” Crowley raised an eyebrow.

“There was some specific signs in the surroundings that suggested that I, uh, was being heard.”

“Uh, huh.”

“I’m serious.”

“Then, what’s God say? What are we supposed to do?”

“She, well, showed a bit of interest when I discussed our, um, desire to return to our lives.” Aziraphale looked to Crowley to read his reaction, but the demon’s face was stoic. “She lightened up when I expressed interest in spending it with you.”

“So what? God’s playing matchmaker?” Crowley’s face flicked through a series of emotions from embarrassment to spite.

“I, um, don’t know if it’s that far. Rather, I think She just wants us to enjoy each other’s company while here.”

“So just bloody well do what we have been doing?”

“That’s our purpose anyway. Everyone else I’m sure has their own.”

God bit Her lip and looked away. Yeah, everyone else had a purpose too… This wasn’t at all just a drunken impulse that was going rather well considering.

“Well, fine. If we’re just supposed to have a good time, let’s do that. Treat it like an extended holiday.” Crowley stood up. “Let’s go anywhere. World’s our oyster. See the sights. Where you want to go?”

“That’s a very open ended question. We’re already at the nicest place on Earth.”

“Debatable.”

“This might be a bit sooner than I expected, but I’d like to follow up that to the moon and back comment you made last night.”

Crowley smiled. “Coming right out with the big guns, eh? To the moon then.”

*

While the empty expanses of space would most definitely bring a swift end to any unfortunate humans that found themselves within it, the same can not be said about ethereal and occult beings. As such, Aziraphale and Crowley could find themselves stargazing within the craters of the moon with absolutely no repercussions. It was only mid-evening, but in the universe beyond the planet, it looked as late as midnight.

“In all my time on Earth,” Aziraphale began, staring at the grand blue orb in front of them. “I never took the time to see what the planet looked like from a larger perspective. There is, of course, the miniature in Heaven, but it hardly looks as fantastical as this.”

Of course, to mere mortals, there is no sound in space. If one was able to attempt a conversation on the moon, the other participating party would not be able to hear any of it. However, the rules of reality bend around the will of immortals.

“Haven’t seen it in a while myself.” Crowley stretched an arm out to the stars. “Spent enough time out there in the pre-Earth days.”

“Pre-Earth days?”

“What? Never told you, did I? Helped make some of those. Was a long time ago though.”

Aziraphale took his eyes off the constellations to look at Crowley. “Back when—”

“Yeah, back then. Like I said, long time ago.”

The angel looked back out to the stars. They shone with a bit more of a mischievous glow now that he knew Crowley had played a part in their creation. He had always appreciated the celestial bodies of the universe just as he appreciated every plant, animal, and human on Earth, but now, with this added information, the stars suddenly gained quite a bit of value.

“They’re stunning, dear,” Aziraphale said. “There is a reason after all why humanity has spent the ages staring at them. Do you remember which ones you did?”

“Eh, so so. That blob of ‘em over there. Those speckled ones up there. Just the sporadic oddballs.”

Aziraphale suspected that the demon most definitely knew which ones he had made as well as every name humans had given them. If he didn’t want to go into the specifics, that was fine. Perhaps, it was just that company is what he valued more than conversation right at this moment. Just the two of them off in the stars. Exactly as he had wanted to do during Armageddon. 

This was a strange realization for Aziraphale to come to in this happy moment. It disrupted the mood greatly, but he had thought it and now he couldn’t forget it. When Crowley had wanted him to run away to Alpha Centauri together, he had invited Aziraphale to the one thing he still had left from his angel days. All that he had left in regards to faith. Well, it hadn’t worked out then, but now, here they were.

“I’m really glad you took me here, Crowley.”

“Yeah, well the fly up here is Hell in itself, but other than that, it’s no big deal.”

A shooting star darted across the sky and off to somewhere behind the Earth. Instead of a wish, Aziraphale decided on an action. He slid closer to Crowley, and laid his head down on the demon’s shoulder.

“Maybe not to you, but it’s a big deal to me.”

Crowley stiffened as he looked back to Aziraphale. As far as skin on skin was concerned, the angel’s hands were the only thing he was familiar with in the slightest. Their body swap of a couple days ago hardly counted. When they traded bodies, their physical forms merely resembled the other but without the familiar characteristics. That was completely controlled by their ability to act as one another.

Aziraphale putting his head on his shoulder was completely different entirely. With the context and the words he was saying and— It left Crowley more than a bit flustered. He tried to relax. Let his muscles loosen. Allow a smile to fall on his face. He carefully draped his arm around the angel.

“You’re right. I guess it is kind of a big deal.”

Outer space is a frozen wasteland. Without an atmosphere, the sun doesn’t heat anything up. If one was to find themselves cast out of the airlock of a rocket and somehow had the ability to no longer require oxygen, one would quickly freeze to death. However, in this one particular spot on the moon’s surface, the temperature matched that of a glorious summer day. By all known laws of physics, this didn’t make any sense, but God was fine with making an exception just this once.

Elsewhere, an agreement between two parties that very much didn’t agree on anything had been reached. 3,444,684 angels would be returned to Heaven upon the release of 3,713,598 demons back to Hell. It was a messy deal that had caused quite a bit of strain to both sides, and more than a handful of fist fights had spawned from it, but it had been completed and both Above and Below were back on track for normalcy. Although, there was a lot of paperwork that still needed to be done to account for everyone’s new jobs. 

It used to be rather simple. Those that worked for Heaven stayed in Heaven and those for Hell in Hell. Now, an angel couldn’t know whether their cubicle neighbor was on the same side as them or not. Still, as strange as times were, loyalties were hard to kill. A demon working for Heaven still had Hell’s goals at heart. It was very hard for everyone to understand, but that was the thing with God. She was rather impossible to understand. Ineffable even.

Not that any of this currently affected the angel and demon stargazing on the moon. No, as far as they were concerned, everything was going perfectly fine.

*

When Aziraphale and Crowley returned to their cottage in Eden, the sun was just beginning to rise although it still couldn’t be seen above the Wall. They had been out all night, and although they were thousands of years old, they rather felt like giddy teenagers returning home. To tie this whole comparison together, when they opened their front door, Hastur was sat in their living room much like a strict parent would when their child missed curfew. The Duke of Hell rolled an apple about in his hands.

“This is the last time I’m going to tell you to eat this,” he said, standing.

“C’mon Hastur! This is really pathetic. Giving up this easily,” Crowley replied, striding in.

“Hardly giving up. This is just the last chance I’ll have before I’m given my old job back.”

“What do you mean by that?” Aziraphale asked, joining them inside.

“Deal went through. Heaven and Hell is all sorted, and everyone’s taking their old jobs back. I will be too. Everyone has stopped caring what God intended with these reassignments. Everyone in Hell anyway.”

“Wait. So who’s taking up my job then?” Crowley asked.

“No one. Without humans here, Earth has been designated as a waste of time. I wouldn’t expect to see much of Upstairs down here either.”

“So Above and Below are just leaving us here?”

“Consider it your exile. Have fun, Crowley.” With that, Hastur tossed Crowley the apple and proceeded to sink into the ground back to Hell.

Silence filled the cottage as Hastur’s black smoke dissipated. The sounds of Eden leaked through the walls. The wind hadn’t died down from yesterday, and the rustling flora could easily be heard inside. Crowley threw the apple into the kitchen’s trash bin. He missed, and seeing the demon had no plans to go pick it up, Aziraphale went to properly dispose of the fruit.

“I guess we really got the whole world to ourselves then, angel,” Crowley said as Aziraphale returned.

“You would think they would see more value for the Earth than just the potential to persuade humans to either side.”

“No, I wouldn’t think that at all. It’s all a competition. Remember both Heaven and Hell were dead set on destroying this place for their war.”

“Fair point. It really is a shame. Earth has many grand marvels besides humans.”

“Well, we’ve got all the time in the world to see them.”

The day went on, and many conversations filled the hours. Talks about the past, reminiscing on memories. The first World’s Fair in 1851. Oh, that was a magical day. The many evenings of setting up camp on the Silk Road. It was a tiresome trip even for celestial beings like themselves. The fall of the Roman Empire. A rather sad day for the both of them. Just story upon story upon story. 

Somewhere in the mix of things, Aziraphale and Crowley found themselves up on the Wall. The Eastern Gate was privy to the company of an angel and a demon yet again, and this time, it was the correct ones. The intimacy of the night before had not disappeared.

“I am going to miss having humans down here with us,” Aziraphale said, swinging his legs over the edge. “Most of our stories involve them in one way or another. The joy or the sadness at what they’ve done.”

“Yeah, hard to cause michieve when you’re the only one here with me. Can glue all the coins I want to the ground. You’ll hardly fall for it more than once.”

“Well, now that you’ve told me, I’m inclined to believe that I’ll never fall for it.”

“I have my ways,” the demon smirked.

The sun was setting behind them. They swapped sides of the gate to watch it. Eden below glowed under the warm orange light. Their cottage was little more than a speck in the sea of green. It was much more quiet up on the Wall than it had been in Eden. Peaceful in its own way.

“As lonely as the world may be with just the two of us in it,” Aziraphale began. “I’m rather glad you’re the one accompanying me here. As much as I love the Earth, I don’t think I would last long on my own. It would become a dreadfully miserable experience fast.”

“Have to agree with you on that one. Painfully boring. And you’re not bad company yourself.”

Aziraphale smiled and laid down. Crowley joined him. It was beginning to get dark and a few shimmering stars began to make their presence known. It wasn’t the same as seeing them from space, but it was still special in its own right. Aziraphale grabbed Crowley’s hand. The demon pretended not to notice.

“Crowley?”

“Mmhmm?”

“We’re kind of on our own now, aren’t we?”

“Figured it was that way for a while.” Crowley looked at the moon which was only a thin sliver. “But really became that way for good with the whole End of the World thing.”

“Yes, that’s true I suppose. However, now we’re alone alone. There’s not even mankind to ally ourselves with.”

“Guess so. Thing with humanity was more a figmental alliance anyway though.”

“It was still a comforting thought. That we were a more powerful number than two.”

“You wanted an army, angel?”

“No! Of course not. I—” Aziraphale caught Crowley’s eyes and instantly rolled his. “If you keep kidding me like this, I might stop loving you.”

God about spat out the water She had been drinking to fight Her hangover. Crowley had a very similar reaction, minus the drink.

“Sorry? Wha—what was that?”

“I love you.” Aziraphale smiled. He lifted up their joined hands. “What did you think this was about?”

“I dunno. I guess— I mean—just that, well, I thought—I dunno.” Crowley rather frantically ran his free hand through his hair.

“I’m taking the fact that you haven’t removed your hand from mine to mean that the feeling is reciprocated?”

“Yes! Lord—Hell—whatever, yes! Course I love you! Have been since we were here on the first go around.”

“Very glad to hear it.” Aziraphale moved in closer to Crowley, removing all empty space between them. “Would make it difficult to go on for 6000 years without knowing that.”

“Yeah, would be difficult, wouldn’t it? Couldn’t imagine that.”

“Sorry, dear. Hope I can make it up to you.”

“You already have, angel. You really already have.”

The angel and the demon began to feel drowsy although such a thing was not possible. God had gotten Her wish. There was no tap-dancing their way out of this one. Ineffable Husbands was most definitely canon. They had exchanged I-love-you’s. There was no undoing that. As big of a mess as this whole plan had been, somehow it had worked out. And of course it had, She was God after all. Even Her drunk decisions were the right ones. At least that’s how She justified it.

As Aziraphale and Crowley fell asleep in one another’s arms at the very spot the two of them had met, God decided that it was time to restore the world to the way it was. And with that, She flipped the world reset lever back up, and the morning two days after the Apocalypse finally came.

Humans returned to the planet along with the 6 millennia worth of history they had created. A certain Adam Young was fast asleep in bed with his canine friend at his side. A Madame Tracy and a Sergeant Shadwell slept, leaned against one another on a couch with the tele still playing in the background. An Anathema Device and a Newton Pulsifer clung to one another in the bed of a certain Jasmine Cottage. Heaven and Hell, having already sorted out their problems, didn’t notice the restoration of the world. Eventually they would, but for now, they had stacks of paperwork left to attend to.

And Aziraphale and Crowley, had they also not been asleep, would’ve found themselves in a certain Soho bookshop’s back room with a series of empty liquor bottles around them. 

When they would wake the next morning, the first thing Crowley would do, after celebrating the return of the world, was miracle a crisp, red apple and take a massive munch out of it, and Aziraphale would be quick to tell him off for letting all that juice run down his face onto his nice carpet. Of course, he wouldn’t actually be mad. In fact, quite the opposite, but they had a banter to keep up.

They would spend the rest of the day wandering. Re-experiencing everything they had grown to take for granted. And their journey would take them to a nice piece of property for sale in South Downs that looked quite similar to the place they had spent the past few days that no longer existed. Of course they would buy it, and it would only be after they did, that they noticed a rather familiar looking statue in the back garden. Now, however, its eyes would be open, and instead of them taking on the grey/brown color the rest of it had, they would be two different colors: one blue and one gold.

[Read My Other Fics]

#Good Omens #Gomens #Ineffable Husbands #Good Omens fic #my writing

[legobiwan]

Whumptober #4 (human shield)

TW: child death, somewhat grisly descriptors, hurt/no comfort, I’M SORRY

Fandom: Good Omens (Crowley, Aziraphale, Hastur)

Notes: uhhhh, I’m totally intimidated to try out writing in the Gomens fandom but here we are. Angst, as always. Lightly edited because I’m trying to let go and I don’t got no time for that. Yes, I’m a day behind on these and that will likely be the case until next weekend SORRY GUYS.

-----

“So let me get this straight. Hell - “ Crowley peered over the rim of his sunglasses. “And we are talking about the same Hell, right? Bad plumbing, worse health plan, bunch of ugly faces - “

Hastur scowled in Crowley’s direction, the frog perched on his head mirroring the expression.

“Present company excluded, of course,” Crowley swallowed, smothering the lie with a wide, toothy smile. Wouldn’t do to piss off Hastur this early in the morning. “But, I mean, it’s a bit odd, don’t you think? Hell wants me to tempt some tin-pot dictator into releasing a bunch of kids from imprisonment?”

Not that Crowley would mind. (And not that he would ever admit that to anyone, except maybe the angel.) The kids didn’t deserve it, were being used as pawns (or worse) by the latest in an ever-revolving door of loathsome excuses of humanity looking to get their kicks. So no, he’d be more than happy to let the kids go.

But it was weird and Hell didn’t do weird.

It was a trap, it had to be, the way Hastur was doing that thing where he curved his lips upward just enough to be creepy. The man in question, Crowley didn’t bother with his name, already had one-way ticket stamped to downstairs, so why throw this wrench into things?

Crowley shrugged, trying to exude indifference. In another thirty minutes, the sun would rise, speeding to its overhead post where it broiled every living thing in this dusty, sand-ridden part of the world.

“Seems like a waste of effort, if you ask me.”

“Well then it’s a good I didn’t,” Hastur growled, surly as ever. “Unless you’re not demon enough for the job.”

Nice one, Hastur. Crowley rolled his eyes behind his glasses. Not.

“I’m more than demon, enough, Duke Hastur. Come on!” Crowley spread his arms wide in dramatic fashion, something he know Hastur hated. “I am damn well - damn bad - ugh, you know what I mean. Ask Dagon, they’ve got my personnel file. Long list of commendations.”

Crowley, against all instinct and good taste, leaned towards Hastur, waggling his eyebrows. “Bet mine’s bigger than yours. Wanna compare?”

A sharp shove sent Crowley hurtling away from Hastur’s none-too-aromatic personal space.

“Just get it done, Crawly.”

——-

There had been no way to finesse this one, no loophole Crowley could find to finagle his way out actually doing what he was told. But what was the harm, really? He was freeing kids from the grasp of some power-hungry asshole with a vendetta and laundry list of psychological issues. It was probably the best assignment Hell had given him in centuries, one he might not even mind taking credit for.  

With little else to do, he traveled to the makeshift headquarters of the revolutionary leader. Sidled up to him, whispered in his ear. Told him the kids had a better purpose. (They did. To be kids. Alive kids.) Told him to let them go, that they would prosper under a far better sun, that the ruler would reap benefits he couldn’t possibly imagine if he just let them go. The squat man thought about it, brushing his beard with his hand, legs splayed out from his would-be throne. And then he smiled, blade-like, a kind of look that made Crowley uneasy, even though he was a demon.

“I think I will take your advice, young man.”

Crowley bid a hasty retreat from the compound.

The seed had been planted. He did what he was supposed to, Hell would be placated, and the children would be safe.

Almost too easy…

So easy, in fact, it shouldn’t have surprised him when Hastur showed up at tavern. Four wines in, Crowley’s features had softened, his head spinning with thoughts of a certain blonde-haired angel back in London.

Hastur clapped him on the shoulder, taking a seat on the wooden bench.

“Didn’t think you had it in you, Crawly.”

Crowley recoiled, picking Hastur’s hand off his shoulder as he would a soggy, used tissue.

“What, tempting a stupid dictator?” The wine allowed him to be brave, to ignore the fact that demons don’t touch, unless it’s to inflict pain. “Could do it in my sleep, Hastur.”

Of course, Hastur did that thing with his mouth again, the same aborted attempt of a smile from the other day. Worse yet, the Duke of Hell brought his hand back Crowley’s shoulder, this time digging his torn fingernails past fabric, into his actual muscle in a way that would leave a mortal without an arm.

“Demons don’t sleep.”

Crowley didn’t yelp when Hastur tightened his fingers further, but it was a near thing.

“Figure of speech,” he hissed.

Hastur, for his part, regarded Crowley as he would an animal in a lab experiment, coal-black eyes trained on the other demon’s expression as he used no small amount of his powers to all but press his fingers past skin, into the actual sinews of Crowley’s shoulder.

And then, all at once, he let go, crossing his arms over his chest.

Fucker, Crowley spat.

“You haven’t read the papers, then?”

And there it was, the other shoe dropping, plummeting, really, Crowley’s gut along with it. It was a rhetorical question - not that Hastur would know what that even meant - filled with gleeful, malicious anticipation.

Crowley managed to squeak out a somewhat breathless “no.”

“I mean,” he added, willing himself not to stutter, “I had…other thingsss to do.”

Hasted shoved a crumpled newspaper in his face.

Crowley’s eyes were sulfur-colored, a permanent mark of Hell’s claim on his soul. It was often assumed Crowley’s eyes belied his original serpent form, a testament to his role in the creation of Original Sin.

This assumption would be correct.

Partially.

Sulfur is a funny thing, though. Normally found as a solid, when burned at a high enough temperature, it melts to a blood-red liquid emitting a blue flame.

Crowley’s eyes are weeping crimson, glowing with a pure azure matched only by the Angels above.

In a single, furious movement, Crowley stormed from the tavern, Hastur cackling in his wake.

——

(Soho, London)

“…had reported the use of children as human shields in the latest violence between the two sides. Investigators say the children, ranging in age from 6 to 15, had been taken as prisoners during last week’s attack on the capital city. This had been seen by experts as the first step in a widening strategy to destabilize the region, courting further retaliation with no end in sight.

With the surprise execution of the leader and his closest circle of advisors, the fate of the region seems to be in question. NATO soldiers reported a gruesome scene in the capital city, bodies cleaved partially in two, eviscerated corpses hanging from their feet in the public square.

To date, no group has come forward to claim responsibility for the sudden execution of the splinter group leadership…”

Aziraphale’s brow furrowed with each paragraph, every new description of the horrors of the article punctuated by a sharp intake of breath, a small “oh my.”

A terrible picture, one he knew had been sanitized for publication.

Humming absently, Aziraphale set the newspaper on his lap and closed his eyes, casting his metaphysical sight - hundred of eyes watching just beyond the threshold of this world and other-world, peering past the walls of his shop, pupils, cornea, irises (as much as Aziraphale’s true form had eyes that resembled the human eye.)

Aziraphale’s real eyes were golden, solid, yet malleable, able to travel through the smallest pinholes between dimensions. His gaze, his true gaze flew, from England to France, burrowing through middle Europe, sprinting through Turkey, landing on a dusty plain in a forgotten part of the world.

He steps into the dusty amphitheater, bodies still hanging from their toes, sawed partially in half from their…oh dear. Most of the corpses have had their inner organs ripped from their body cavity, seemingly by hand, red staining the sand beneath their lifeless bodies. As for the organs, it’s…it’s, well a right mess, parts where they shouldn’t be, used as rope, stuffed into pockets, or in the case of one,  shoved into his mouth.

While Aziraphale can’t quite make himself feel sorry for the men - they had set their own fate far before this unfortunate event - the presence of demonic rage, the pure, unfettered evil of the other side is undeniable, even with Aziraphale projecting himself from thousands of kilometers away. While oft times humans needed little provocation from Below to commit the most heinous of acts, this one had certainly been helped along by some foul agent of Hell, one so corrupted they would desecrate human lives - even these humans, in such a way.

There’s a knock on the door. It’s muffled and Aziraphale feels it more as a metaphor than reality, but he draws inwards, leaving behind the dusty, bloodshed streets, soaring above continental Europe, a comet, a shooting star. He feels the wishes of the humans, the ones who wake late, who watch the cosmos, yearning for the undefinable, for the ineffable, for a bit of hope to be found in an old mythology. He blesses them on his return to Soho, needing this small bit of Grace, this bolster, before confronting the presence he now realizes is committed to tearing down his antique front door.

A presence that was entirely demonic, and entirely familiar.

“AAAAAAANGEEEEEELL!”

Oh good lord.

The knocking escalated, a series of thick, violent thuds as the entire room shuddered with Crowley’s exertion. It seemed the demon had forgotten he could overcome the simple hurdle of a door with a simple snap of fingers.

Knowing he would be in for a long night, Aziraphale polished off the glass of wine sitting on his table in a single gulp, steeling himself for an armful of drunken, distraught demon.

(If he was lucky, it wouldn’t be as bad as the 14th century. To date, nothing had been quite as bad as the epic bender of 1378.)

“A-zi-ra-PHAAAAALE!”

Pulling one last time at his waistcoat, straightening his bowtie, Aziraphale headed to the front door. (And if that was not an act of faith, nothing else was. He knew full well his meticulous clothing would be rumpled, pulled at and thrown askew within minutes of allowing the demon inside.)

“ZIIIRRRAAAAAA!”

He should leave Crowley out there, as a lesson. The caterwauling really was getting to be a bit too much, and Aziraphale could’t imagine what had gotten Crowley into this state to begin with.

“Come on out, Angel! Smite the Evil One! Or have you grown soft?”

Perhaps this would be as bad as 1378.

Casting a glance upwards for strength (or something. He wasn’t certain Heaven would be all that thrilled to be called on in aid of a demon), Aziraphale huffed out the last of his annoyance, opening the front door with a singular flourish, plastering on his best angelic look of Unending Patience.

“It’s about damn time, Angel. Let me in, gotta do this prop - prop - the right way.”

Crowley was - there was no other word - a disaster, black shirt halfway unbuttoned, vest hanging off one arm, bottle held between his long fingers. The red stains under his fingernails didn’t go unnoticed by the angel, nor did the brown, viscous smudge of something he’d rather not identify smeared across his right cheek.

“Crowley, what happened? What the Hell is going on?” Aziraphale snapped.

So much for Unending Patience. The demon stared at him, uncomprehending, before tilting his head back with a maniacal, desperate cackle.

“That’s a good one, angel. In fact, Hell is exactly what is going on. Right here, in your bookshop.” Crowley popped the p, weaving inside the front room. “A real demon? Can you believe it?”

The door shut with a wave of Aziraphale’s hand.

“Yes, you are a demon,” Aziraphale began carefully, knowing the topic was dangerous ground even during the best of times. “I believe we ascertained that fact quite some time ago.”

Crowley leered at the books piled haphazardly on the front table. After a moment of contemplation, Crowley pushed at the stack with a single finger, sending the masterworks toppling to the ground.

“Crowley!”

The demon responded with a withering look from above the rims of his sunglasses.

“A real demon, angel. Come on, I know you lost that sword at the start, but you’ve got to have something else, right?” Crowley threw his hands out to the side, sending the bottle crashing to the floor, breaking into a million pieces. He eyed Aziraphale expectantly.

The angel gaped, twisting his hands together in front of his stomach. “What, you come crashing in here at who-knows-what time of the night, destroying my property, making a mess, demanding that I - that I - “

Aziraphale stomped his foot. Not what one would call appropriate behavior for one of the Heavenly Host, but they had never had to deal with a drunk, self-destructive demon on their doorstep at three in the morning.

“Crowley…no! Sober up and sit the fu - just sit down.”

“Nah, don’t feel like it.” Crowley swayed towards the red leather armchair Aziraphale had so peacefully been occupying not minutes before.

“Really, I must insist.” Aziraphale went to take the demon by the shoulders, stopping halfway. It would only escalate matters, Aziraphale making any kind of physical contact with the demon, the way he was itching for a fight, trying to provoke Aziraphale.

Crowley’s gaze flitted about the room, perhaps calculating where he could cause the most amount of chaos, before landing on the newspaper Aziraphale had left open on the table. Crowley lurched, grabbing the periodical, waving it like a revolutionary on the front lines.

“Did you read about this one, angel?”

“Dreadful, I know.” Aziraphale shuffled closer to the demon, skeptical as to where the conversation was going.

“That’s the work of a real demon. Pure Evil, capital E.”

“Yes, I imagine so. And I’m glad you were nowhere near that scene, Crowley."

Crowley laughed. It was a terrible empty sound, a nothing that somehow echoed throughout the bookshop, a heavy void, as if the gates of Pandemonium itself had opened on Earth. In that moment, something truly demonic, truly evil had invaded Aziraphale’s Earthly sanctum.

Instinct kicked in, the air crackling around Aziraphale’s form, which had begun to shed its corporeal skin, the tell-tale tang of ozone a warning, much in the way a a snake rears upwards, or a canine bares its teeth.

“That’s the stuff, Angel, come on!” Crowley taunted, shouting above the growing din of righteousness.

Aziaphale froze, aghast. Crowley was square to him, having pulled his shirt open, bare chest exposed, long scars criss-crossing his abdomen and where had those even come from?

Aziraphale backed away, shaking.

“Crowley, I’m sor - I didn’t - I mean - “

But the demon advanced, shedding a bit of his own corporeality, red scales manifesting down his arms, broken halo rising from his red hair. The room darkened, turning oppressive, clautroophoic and sweat beaded on Aziraphale’s forehead despite it being the middle of February in London.

“Come. On. Angel.” Crowley took a menacing step forward, his arms open to the side, head thrown back, neck exposed, chest thrust forward. The demon was panting, bony chest flush, heaving.

“Crowley.” Aziraphale’s voice cracked. He swallowed over the lump of anxiety in his throat, mustering his inner strength. “Crowley, please stop this at once. I am not going to smite you.”

Crowley met his gaze, mask slipping, eyes round and red-rimmed.

And then Aziraphale was slammed against a bookcase, long, sharp fingers gripping at the lapels of his jacket. Crowley’s sharp teeth snapped near his lips, yellow eyes boring into Aziraphale.

Never had his friend looked so…demonic.

“You sssshould, Principality Aziraphale, Angel of the Eassstern Gate,” Crowley growled like a wild creature.

Never before had Aziraphale actually feared Crowley.

“I think you should go.”

Crowley glared, rearing at the polite, reserved request. Something shifted in his face. Azirphale felt the grip loosening on his jacket, cool air whisking into the space between angel and demon. Crowley made a dissatisfied grunt, lightly shoving Aziraphle back for good measure, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

“You should have done it, Angel. It’s what I deserve.” Crowley nodded towards the paper. Aziraphale felt the sudden urge to vomit.

There was no - he couldn’t have, not Crowley. He must have been coerced, or blackmailed, or -

“No mistake, angel. All me.”

And Crowley stared at the ground, silently begging for his punishment, for what he’s due and Aziraphale just couldn’t wrap his head around that fact that Crowley, of all beings -

“Please leave, Crowley.”

The demon jerked his head up, just long enough for the flash of hurt to illuminate all over his face.

“Yeah. Good. I’ll just, uh. Right. See you in a couple hundred years.”

Crowley stepped out the door, barely making a sound.

Azirpahale slithered to the floor, back still to the bookcase. He summoned a bottle of wine, not bothering with a glass, not even bothering to look at the vintage. The dreadful photo of the execution site stared back at him. With a snarl, Aziraphale waved the paper away, sending the offending item into the ether, where it was ripped into atoms.

He drank late into the night, until the rose-colored fingers of dawn peeked above the horizon, thinking of nothing at all.

legobiwan does whumptober

#writing #whumptober #whumptober 4 #good omens #good omens spam #aziraphale #crowley #hastur #WHAT IS THIS #oh lord #i #look i just want to explore crowley's relationship to hell and just how demonic he gets #because angst #YA KNOW #anyway #I'M GOING TO BE GOOD NIGHT TUMBLR I'LL SEND YOU MORE HIKING PICS LATER TOMORROW #(can't wait for the gomens merch to be available so crowley can join the hiking gang)

[ineffably-good]

London Calling (2/4)

Read on AO3

Summary: Crowley and Frederick ride the underground, Frederick tries to learn about girls, and Crowley makes a misstep.

Part 8 of the Serpent and the Seagull series, which you can find here. 

___

For the first outing, Crowley decided to keep it simple; he took Frederick out in his carrier to ride the Tube and people watch. Crowley wasn’t the biggest fan of the London Underground, but it seemed like a good way to begin getting Frederick used to being around large quantities of people.

Frederick, to his credit, seemed quite excited about the outing, and agreed to be on his best behavior. He kept quiet and well-behaved as Crowley walked with him down to the nearest  station, where they purchased a fare and caught the train towards the center of town.

“Ok, Freddy,” Crowley said quietly as they settled into a seat with the carrier on his lap. “Have a good look around. This is probably more people than you’ve ever seen in your life.”

WHERE ARE THEY ALL GOING, SNAKEBIRD?

“It’s Crowley,” Crowley reminded him. “And they’re all going different places. Work. Home. Off to do fun things. Off to do boring things.”

“Is that a snake?” asked a girl who was two seats over from them. Crowley looked up and noted her exaggerated eyeliner, long dark hair, and heavy bangs. “Oh my gosh, can I see? I just love snakes!”

Crowley smiled and made an inviting gesture. She scooted towards them and leaned down to peek in at his companion.

WHY HELLO THERE, GORGEOUS, Frederick shouted. ARE YOU PART SNAKE TOO?

Crowley stifled a laugh.

“He’s so handsome!” the girl said. “Can I hold him?”

YOU CAN DO MORE THAN THAT, SWEET LIPS! Frederick said, scenting out with his tongue and filing away the variety of interesting things this human smelled like. Mostly herbs.

“Best not,” Crowley said, apologetically. “It’s his first time out in public.”

The girl continued to talk to and coo over Frederick, asking the occasional question of Crowley about his breed and how to care for him. Crowley, feeling a bit like a proud father, happily talked snake care with her until the next stop, where she reluctantly left them.

WHY DIDN’T YOU LET THE PRETTY GIRL HOLD ME, YOU BIG POINTY JERK? Frederick shrieked as soon as she was gone.  

Crowley rolled his eyes. “Trust me. You don’t want to be handled by random strangers. It just gets weird, fast.”

Frederick sulked but settled down. Perhaps next time. He’d never personally met a girl before, although he saw them now and then in the shop. He had… questions. Like what was actually different about them, and did they come in the pointy and soft varieties like his friends did, and above all, were they as annoying as the male folks he lived with? He suspected not, for some reason. He thought he’d like to find out.

A few stops later, an enormous bald man with a goatee got on and sat down across from them. He was wearing a long trench coat, had a variety of interesting piercings on his face and ears, and on his shoulder was perched a large, live parrot.

Frederick began excitedly tapping on the front door of his case with his forehead.

THAT ONE HAS A BIRD! LET ME OUT! I WANT TO SEE THE BIRD! WHY IS IT GREEN? I DIDN’T KNOW BIRDS COULD BE GREEN!

“Yes, I know,” Crowley said quietly. “Calm down. You can’t eat him, he’s too big.”

The large man across the way looked at him strangely. “Did you say something to me?”

Oh, good grief, Crowley thought, I’m going to get beat up on the Tube because of a talking snake who no one else can hear. Aziraphale is going to kill me.  

“Sorry,” Crowley said, smiling tightly and gesturing at the box in his lap. “My snake is all worked up because he’s never seen a parrot before.”

The man eyed him warily and then pointedly got up to move to another car.

“Enough from you,” Crowley hissed. “Settle down before you get us in trouble.”

They rode for a while longer, switching lines occasionally and visiting various stations. Frederick seemed to enjoy some of the musicians playing at various stops, and had quite a lot to say about various people they encountered.

Crowley, in turn, found that carrying a pet snake around on the Tube was an excellent way to meet new potential dating partners, something he had literally zero interest in but which he filed away to tell Adam about when he got to be a little older. He had, in a single afternoon, received three numbers scrawled on slips of paper, one number written on the back of his hand in ink, and an oddly explicit photograph that someone had somehow dropped onto his phone with a caption that would make even a demon blush. He quickly deleted it before Aziraphale had a chance to see it.

It was enough to make a demon glad he was off the market, so to speak.

++

“How did it go?” Aziraphale asked with a smile when they arrived back at the shop later in the day. He carefully closed the book he had been staring at for the last two hours. He wasn’t sure he’d succeeded in reading a single page due to his low-level worry and building anxiety about what his two loves were up to out in the wider world.

“Not bad!” Crowley said, putting an exhausted Frederick into his basket. “He met a parrot, heard some music, met a girl – you know, your average day out.”

“Met a girl?” The angel peered over the tops of his glasses. “What on earth?”

Crowley grinned. “Yes, our Freddy is proving quite popular with the ladies.”

He slipped over behind Aziraphale’s desk chair and gave him a hug from behind, placing his chin on his shoulder and wrapping his arms around him tightly.

“Mmmmm,” Aziraphale murmured, enjoying the touch. “I’m so glad you had a nice –”

He suddenly lost his train of thought, looking intently at the demon’s hand over his. “Why is there a phone number with a heart around it written on your hand?”

If Crowley had been in touch with his more sensitive side, he would have known instinctively that this was not a good time to laugh and make light of things. Unfortunately, though, Crowley’s sensitive side was something he had spent most of the last six thousand years doing his best to stay far, far away from, as it caused him no end of embarrassment on most occasions. He had not yet fully adjusted to needing it as often as one did in a relationship.

Therefore, he plowed ahead.

“Oh, angel,” Crowley laughed. “it’s nothing to worry about! Apparently, traveling around with a snake is like catnip to certain types of humans!” He dug into his pockets and dumped several balled-up slips of paper into Aziraphale’s lap with a grin. “Look, I got three phone numbers and a naughty picture! Which I deleted.”

Aziraphale stiffened and peeled himself away from Crowley, who wandered over to the couch and sat down. The angel stared down at the papers in his lap and then blinked a few times at the unconcerned demon before finally finding his voice.

“I beg your pardon?” Aziraphale asked, one eyebrow sliding up and his voice moving into that impeccable politeness which always signaled trouble.

“I’m just saying a few people tried to pick me up, today,” the demon said, uncomfortably aware that his partner didn’t seem to be finding this amusing. “You know. As they sometimes do.”

“And were you encouraging it?” Aziraphale asked, moving from stiff to positively glowering.

“No!” Crowley said. “Honestly, I wasn’t. It’s just – carrying around a snake apparently makes you very attractive to a certain crowd! People kept noticing that I had a snake and coming over to see him, then trying to get friendly with me. Honestly, I didn’t encourage any of them!”

“Anthony J. Crowley,” Aziraphale said sternly.  “I know you and I know you are an incorrigible flirt. And for heaven’s sake, I realize you’re quite attractive and that everywhere we go people notice you. But if you think coming home with people’s phone numbers written all over you –”

“It’s just one! One phone number! That’s hardly –”

“—and then dumping a pile of love notes in my lap is any way to behave, then you, my dear, have clearly lost your mind.”

Crowley fidgeted under Aziraphale’s withering glare. Aziraphale looked, he thought, like he was about to start manifesting some extra eyes.  

“I’m sorry,” he said forlornly. “I honestly thought you’d think it was funny.”

“Funny?”

“Well, because it’s ridiculous,” Crowley said. “Like I could ever be interested in anyone else but you.”

Aziraphale softened a little, but hrmphed noncommittally.

Crowley patted the couch next to him. “Come over here, please?”

“Not until you remove that phone number from your hand!” Aziraphale insisted.

Crowley licked his thumb and scrubbed the number off, quickly. “Look, it’s gone, okay?” he said, waving his now clean hand. “Promise.”

Aziraphale snapped and the balled up pieces of paper exploded into dust. The dust made him sneeze, which made him look even more cross, but he did relent enough to thump down into the seat next to his love, arms crossed over his chest.  

Crowley leaned in and ran a hand through Aziraphale’s curly gold hair. “You’re handsome when you’re jealous, angel,” he said softly. “Kind of does things to me, seeing you like this.”

“Oh you,” Aziraphale muttered. “You’re impossible.”

Crowley leaned in and planted a soft kiss on the angel’s temple, then his earlobe. “I am,” he agreed, continuing to plant little kisses and run a finger down the angel’s neck. “And I’m all yours. Promise.”

The tension tipped out of Aziraphale’s shoulders, and he pulled Crowley in to kiss him quite forcefully.

“Quite right, serpent,” he said. “Try to keep that in mind, would you?”

Nothing further was said for quite some time.

++

“No more picking up girls, Frederick,” Crowley told him the next day. “You got me in big trouble with Aziraphale yesterday.”

Frederick flicked a tongue at him. He hardly saw how this could be considered his fault. He was just too attractive. It was a terrible burden. He was secretly sure that all those people passing Crowley their phone numbers were just using the pointy one to get to him.

HOW ABOUT WE GO MEET SOME ANIMALS, THEN? Frederick thought. I MEAN, IF YOU CAN AVOID TRYING TO MATE WITH ANY OF THEM.

Crowley wagged a finger at him. “Rude little snakes don’t get taken anywhere,” he scolded. “I think we will just stay home today while you work on your manners.”

++

“Frederick,” Aziraphale said later that afternoon. Crowley was out doing heaven knows what, and he and Frederick were taking a little break to curl up together by the window. “You need to keep Crowley out of trouble when you’re out.”

Frederick craned a neck up to look at the fluffy one from his position coiled on the front of his waist coat. He couldn’t be serious, could he?

“He’s very susceptible to trouble, you know,” the angel continued, stroking a hand down the snake’s scales. “Comes with the territory. You need to keep an eye on him.”

This was, Frederick thought, truly the most ridiculous suggestion anyone had ever made to a snake in possibly the whole history of the world. He, all twenty-four inches of him, was supposed to keep Crowley out of trouble? But then again, it was Aziraphale asking it of him, so he tried to wrap his brain around it. He nuzzled lovingly against the angel’s stomach and tried to look up to the task.

“Also, we need to talk about politeness,” the angel said mildly. “Let’s start with how you address people when you want something.”

Frederick let out a reptilian sigh and set about trying to appear like he was listening while really going to sleep. Sometimes the lack of eyelids was a huge blessing in disguise.

#good omens #good omens fic #ineffable husbands #jealous aziraphale #Aziraphale x crowley #idiots in love #established relationship #snake fiction #snek fiction

[lady-divine-writes]

Serendipity (Rated PG13)

Summary: Aziraphale’s best friend Tracy sets him up on a blind date, but the man who shows up isn’t what he expects. (4351 words)

Notes: Written for the @ineffable-valentines prompt ‘perfect date’ and inspired by a post I saw @miraworos reblog on tumblr, which happened to be the exact premise of a story I had written a long time ago for another fandom. So I brushed it off, re-sculpted it, and voila. I hope y'all like it

Read on AO3.

“So … how’re the crepes treating you? Are they everything you dreamed they’d be?”

“Oh my yes! They’re absolute Heaven!”

“They should be. This place is famous for them.”

“Good, because they’re my favorite.”

“I know. That’s why I brought you here. More wine?”

“That depends … are you trying to get me drunk?” Playful blue eyes, twinkling above cheeks darkening from baby pink to dusty rose, meet seductive liquid gold.

Lush lips split into a devilish grin. “Maybe.”

Those blue eyes dip down to those inviting lips and linger there, lost in a daydream of mouths meeting, tongues sweeping, kisses traveling, caressing pale skin … “Well, at least you’re honest about it.”

Wine pours. Glasses clink and the robust red sipped. Fingers snap, and like magic, another bottle of wine appears.

“Now,” the devilish lips ask, “where was I?”

“You heard something in your walls?”

“Oh yes. For days I’m hearing scritch-scritch-scritch, and the pattering of tiny feet on my marble floors morning and night, like little ghosts wearing tap shoes puttering about my flat.”

“Ooo! That’s spooky!”

Subtle shrug. “Don’t bother me. I like spooky. Big spooky fan me. So I look and look. but I can’t find where it’s coming from. And I mean, I look everywhere …”

Aziraphale covers his mouth and giggles, blown away by how drawn in he’s become to this story. Reuben is such a dynamic storyteller. Aziraphale feels like he’s there with him, searching his house for the mysterious scratching that’s plagued him day and night, shivers as his description of them runs its nails delightfully up his spine. For good or bad, Aziraphale is invested now, even though the events of this tale are over and resolved. Reuben pauses his story; chuckles shyly, too; while Aziraphale waits patiently to hear the rest of the saga.

“To make a long story short, I take apart the entire wall unit, and finally I find the culprit – the cutest family of white rats I have ever seen! Momma had made a nest in the insulation and had babies! Five of them! I couldn’t believe it!”

“Oh no!” The tips of a mouth turn down as those shivers make a return trip. “I don’t personally fancy rats. What did you do?”

“The only thing I could do.” Reuben takes a sip of his wine – a 2014 Bogle Petite Sirah. It sounded so scrummy when Reuben ordered it, Aziraphale couldn’t help himself. He had to have a glass, too. And Reuben was not wrong. Its dense blueberry and blackberry flavors compliment the crepes exquisitely. The alcohol doesn’t overwhelm the palette, but it’s racy enough to bring color to Aziraphale’s cheeks. “I adopted her. Named her Rogue.”

“You adopted wild rats!?”

“Turns out - not wild. After a little investigating, I found out that momma rat had belonged to a neighbor who moved out a week ago. They couldn’t bring the rat with them, or they didn’t want to, so they set her loose in the garden downstairs. She ended up getting back in somehow.” Reuben runs his index finger around the rim of his glass. “It may sound bonkers but I admire Rogue. I really do. Abandoned by the family she thought would love and take care of her, she fights and struggles to find a safe place to have her brood, which ends up being the place she was cast out from. I couldn’t just put her on the street.” He sighs, a fond but sad smile crossing his lips. “Reminds me a bit of my mum, to tell you the truth - the unforgiving life she had raising me and my sisters after our father left …”

Aziraphale gasps, that confession wrapping around his heart and giving it a solid tug. He could listen to Reuben talk all night. But he’s not just a great storyteller. He happens to be sweet, funny, attractive (God is he attractive! But, of course, Aziraphale has always been a sucker for hazel eyes like his, with flecks of gold that brighten the irises when the alcohol flows or the lighting is right). And as if that wasn’t enough, he works at one of the most successful (and philanthropic) firms in the city. But he doesn’t wear his wealth on his sleeve, doesn’t flaunt it like a selling point. His shirt is vintage, the wine he ordered costs $20 a bottle, and he came here on the tube. Personality, modesty, good looks, environmentally conscious, a stable career … Aziraphale sighs. In his opinion, Reuben is close to the perfect guy, and this blind date is going swimmingly!

Too bad it isn’t his.

“Oh Reuben …” Lorelei – Reuben’s date – blots her eyes with her napkin. She reaches across the table to touch his hand. Reuben’s eyes flick towards the touch and he smiles brighter.

Oh yeah, Aziraphale thinks, raising his glass and finishing the last of his Sirah. They’re having a fabulous night.

Aziraphale pulls out his pocket watch and checks the time. 

9:45.

He’s been sitting at the table next to theirs for over an hour, waiting for his own Reuben to appear. Aziraphale figured out thirty minutes ago that his blind date wasn’t coming. He’s gotten no texts, no calls, no apologies, no explanation why. Reuben and Lorelei might have a glowing future together, but his date for the evening is definitely a bust. The wait staff knows it, too. Every time the waitress stops by, offering to refill his water glass, it’s with a sympathetic smile. She’s long since stopped asking him if he wants to pack up what’s left of his crepes to go.

What’s left.

That’s a joke.

It’s pretty much the whole order.

He lost his appetite a long time ago.

Aziraphale reaches for his cell phone but stops with his hand on his pocket. He’s not going to be that guy. He’s not going to send another text. He’s not going to give this man an easy out, refuses to give him the benefit of the doubt and say, “Well, I guess you got caught up. Text me back and we can reschedule for another time.”

Aziraphale is done.

He just wishes he knew why.

Why doesn’t dating work out for him?

He’s not a bad guy, if he does say so himself. He’s reasonably attractive (at least, he’s always thought so). He owns his own small business, even if it doesn’t necessarily turn a profit, but money isn’t something he needs to worry about anyway. He’s doing what he loves, therefore he’s living the dream.

He’s not asking for much. He’s not looking for the perfect man, just a nice one. One who might share some of his interests like theater, food, music, wine, food, books … food. But on the whole, he wants to find a man who wants to spend time with him, get to know him, who maybe isn’t ashamed of doing cutesy, romantic things, like hold the door open for him, pull his chair out for him, offer him half his desert the way Reuben did with Lorelei.

Reuben.

Aziraphale peeks back over at the happy couple.

As Reuben stares into Lorelei’s eyes and signals for the check, Aziraphale knows that he needs to face facts and be done with this. His roommate Tracy has, yet again, succeeded in finding him a date that’s not interested in actually dating.

Where does she even find these guys?

More to the point, why hasn’t he learned to say no to her?

Unfortunately, he won’t get to gripe to her about it until Monday when she comes back from some spiritualist retreat she went on with their friend Anathema, so Aziraphale has a long, lonely weekend of reading Oscar Wilde and drinking (Irish) cocoa to look forward to until then.

Aziraphale takes one last sip of the lukewarm water in his overfilled glass and decides to ask for the check. He feels awful. He may have ordered a full meal but he’s barely touched it. Plus, even though he’s done his best to be as polite as possible, he has wasted over an hour of their time occupying a table that could have been made available to other paying customers on this busy Friday night.

He prays he has a forgettable face. On the off chance he ever comes in here again, he wouldn’t want them spitting in his food.

He looks around the dining room in search of his waitress – a lovely young red-head with freckles across the bridge of her nose and a permanent pout. He doesn’t see her, but spots a man rushing towards his table – a tall, remarkably handsome man dressed all in black and wearing designer sunglasses (indoors!); cheeks flushed as if he’s been running in the cold; a warm, inviting smile aimed his way.

“Hey there, handsome. Sorry I’m so late,” the man says, pulling out a chair, spinning it around, and straddling it across from Aziraphale in a move that makes Aziraphale’s breath catch. “I wish I could say I was stuck behind a seven car pile-up or something, but I really have no exciting excuse. Not that the M25 isn’t a bitch at this hour, but I didn’t take it so, again, no excuse.”

The man smiles at Aziraphale, waiting for him to laugh at his joke. Aziraphale looks suspiciously back, turning his head left and right, searching for an explanation.

“I … I’m sorry,” he says, addressing the man, mostly through side-eye glances. “Are you are you … looking for me?”

“Yes.” The man extends an arm across the table. “I’m your date for the evening. I’m Tracy’s friend Gabriel.”

“You?” Aziraphale raises an eyebrow. “You’re Gabriel?”

The man’s smile becomes wider in a tense sort of way. “Yes, I am.”

Aziraphale looks left and right again, obviously skeptical.

The man folds his hand on the table and sighs.

“Look, Aziraphale, I know I was supposed to be here at a quarter to nine, and I know you’ve probably called and texted a hundred times. I’m really, really sorry.” He looks down at his thumbs, fidgeting as he speaks. “I know this is going to sound lame, but I got caught up at work, and then my car ran empty. I wanted to call you, but I left my phone at the office.” The man sighs again, deeper, the air leaving his body causing him to flatten a bit. “This has been a pretty shite day, all things considered, and I was really looking forward to this date tonight. I would like the opportunity to make it up to you.” The man looks at Aziraphale from behind dark lenses, a sincere expression of regret on his face, eyes peeking over the frames pleading for a second chance.

Hazel eyes, with so many gold flecks crowding in they practically shine.

“Will you let me try?”

Aziraphale is stunned to silence. He doesn’t quite believe that Gabriel ever intended on showing up at all. But then, why is he here? Did some other plans he made fall through? Did he feel guilty about blowing Aziraphale off and turn around at the last minute? Aziraphale knows he has every right to leave - stand up, say goodbye, and go on his merry way. But Gabriel did show up – the first of three blind dates to even bother – so maybe Aziraphale should give him a chance.

He’s mulling it over when he catches sight of the man staring at him, a flirty smile on his lips that Aziraphale can’t help find alluring.

“Please?” the man mouths, the hands he’d folded on the table finding their way up to his chin to aid in his begging. “Please?”

Aziraphale rolls his eyes to pry his gaze away from the man’s mouth. “Alright. It sounds like you had a hard day. I can’t fault you for that.” The man looks relieved. His smile turns slightly impish, and Aziraphale finds himself giggling without meaning to. “Why don’t we have a nibble and get to know one another?”

Gabriel smacks his hand on the table in triumph. “Great!” he says, reclining back on the chair like a large snake relaxing in the sun. “Thank you! I promise, you won’t regret it!”

A hint of a smirk twists Aziraphale’s mouth at the corners as his waitress makes a sudden and unexpected appearance. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, my dear. You have a bit of time to make up for.”

***

“So my mate rings me up, and he’s screaming …” Gabriel gestures with his hands as he gets more into the story he’s telling, and Aziraphale watches, utterly captivated. If Aziraphale thought Reuben was a good storyteller, it’s only because he hadn’t met this man yet. “He’s straight yelling, “They’re everywhere! They’re everywhere! And it’s bloodcurdling, ya know? Like straight out of a horror movie. And I’m trying to pretend I have no idea what he’s talking about …” He pauses to catch his breath in the middle of a laugh while Aziraphale, already in tears, pictures Gabriel sitting at home, listening to his friend Ligur yelling while trying to make out like he has no idea what the man is on about. “And I’m just like, “Calm down, buddy.” But at home, I’m biting my fist trying not to blow my cover. And the next thing I know - bzzt.”

Aziraphale sobers slightly, his eyebrows shooting up. “Bzzt? What does that mean? Bzzt?”

“Bzzt as in the line goes dead. And on my end, the world might as well’ve stopped spinning because I knew what happened.”

“And what did happen?” Aziraphale asks, on the edge of his seat.

“They’d destroyed it! The rats! Those furry little buggers, they managed to knock out the phone system! And not just in my neck of the woods, but the whole of London!”

Aziraphale’s eyes go wide. “That was you!?”

Gabriel points to himself proudly. “That was me! All because …”

“All because you fed a rat!?”

“All because I fed a rat!” Gabriel guffaws so loudly, other diners turn their way to make sure he’s not choking.

“I remember that day!” Aziraphale says, but not too upset since he’s not all that fond of his cell phone. Necessary evil in his opinion. Tracy made him get it so he could field calls from potential suitors. But Tracy, who spends hours on the phone talking to her fiance, was livid!

It gives Aziraphale no small measure of satisfaction to say he now knows the man who inconvenienced her.

“I didn’t know its whole family lived in the building! Extendeds and all! I thought it was just one rat!”

“And what happened to them?”

“Exterminator, I guess,” Gabriel says with a hint of regret in his voice. “Rats are smart, though. Resilient, too. I’m hoping they got away.”

His story brings to Aziraphale’s mind Reuben’s story about the rat in his walls. He looks towards the table where he and his date were sitting, but a new couple has taken their place.

Huh, he thinks. Wonder when they left?

Aziraphale, having ordered a second glass of wine, takes a healthy sip, but the buzz he gets from the alcohol is nothing compared to the one he already has from this date with Gabriel.

“I have to say,” Aziraphale says as the laughter dies down, “I was a little wary about being set up. I mean, you hear so many stories. Best case scenario, you find your soulmate. Worst case, you wind up in the boot of someone’s car. But this is going so well!”

“Yeah. Yeah, it is,” Gabriel agrees, becoming suddenly quiet.

“I’ve never met a real live Pied Piper before!”

Gabriel laughs, but it’s not like before - not as effervescent and carefree. Aziraphale looks down at the empty plates on the table, at the stray pieces of crepes and deviled eggs they’d ended up splitting, not a single full bite left. As it turned out, they both ordered really well. Aziraphale didn’t think it was possible for two things to be so compatible.

He was wrong, pleasantly so.

“I know you had a rotten day but thank you for showing up. This was probably the most perfect blind date ever.” Aziraphale watches Gabriel, concerned that his attention seems to be slipping away.

Before he gets to comment, Gabriel beats him to it.

“Aziraphale, I have a confession to make.”

Aziraphale feels the butterflies that have been dancing in his stomach during dinner drop dead, as if hit by a sudden frost.

“Yes, Gabriel?”

“I …”

“Crowley! Hey! Fancy seeing you here, ya old bastard!”

Aziraphale’s attention pulls to the left, to a man with white hair and dark eyes heading their way. No, Aziraphale amends. He’s going to go past them, to a table on their right since neither of them are named Crowley. Aziraphale peeks at the handful of tables there, but no one seems to notice the man calling over their heads.

No one named Crowley is responding to his call.

He is sort of making a scene. Maybe this Crowley is trying to ignore him?

But the man coming their way seems completely focused on Gabriel.

Aziraphale looks to Gabriel, staring down at his plate and concentrating on it, as if praying this man, whoever he is, will pass them by.

Who could it be to him to elicit such a reaction, especially when it’s obvious he’s got the wrong man?

“Gabriel?” Aziraphale says, worried that perhaps something they ate soured his stomach. “Is there something the matter?”

Gabriel closes his eyes and shakes his head. “Aziraphale, I …”

“Crowley!” The man comes right up to their table and claps a hand on Gabriel’s shoulder, hard enough to make him flinch. “How long has it been, huh? Two months? Three?”

Gabriel sighs. He turns to the man looming over him and smiles the strained smile of a man about to commit a murder. “Hastur! Buddy! What a pleasant surprise!”

“Yeah.” The man chuckles. “You look like it is.”

“I thought you were vacationing down under.”

“Well, I’m back now. Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?” he asks, taking no time cutting to the chase.

“Aziraphale,” Gabriel … no, Crowley … says, doing everything in his power to avoid the full intensity of Aziraphale’s confused gaze, “I’d like to introduce you to Hastur. He’s … uh … an old friend of mine from school. Hastur, this is Aziraphale. He’s my … date for the evening.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” Hastur says, extending a hand. Aziraphale takes it and gives it a shake. It’s cold from the outdoors but not unpleasant. Hastur, on the whole, isn’t being impolite. He’s just oblivious.

As is Aziraphale.

“I’ve been tellin’ this asshat for years now he needs to get off his high horse and start dating again. Nice to see he finally took my advice.”

“Yeah, well, now that I have, why don’t you make yourself scarce so Aziraphale and I can continue?” Crowley grumbles, shooting Hastur several venom-filled glares.

“A’right, a’right,” he says, putting his hands up in defense, “don’t mind me. Just headin’ to the bar anyhow. Ring me up later, Crowley. We’ll go out for a few. Maybe your friend can come with us.”

“Will do.”

“You gentlemen have a nice night.” He bumps Crowley with his hip, winks at Aziraphale, then turns on his heel and heads for the bar.

The silence he leaves behind at Aziraphale and Crowley’s table is so thick, it could suffocate a wild boar.

Aziraphale clears his throat first. “So …”

Crowley follows, a bit softer. “So …”

“Tell me the truth,” Aziraphale says, too emotionally charged to keep frustration from cracking his voice.

“And if you don’t like what you hear?” Crowley looks at Aziraphale’s hands worrying his napkin, as if he’s longing to reach across the table and take one. “Are you going to leave?”

“I’m going to leave anyway. I just want to know who I’m calling the cops on when I get outside.”

“Don’t do that. I’m harmless. I promise.”

“Who are you?”

“Well … as you probably already know, my name isn’t Gabriel,” he says, finally removing his glasses and setting them aside. “It’s Crowley. Anthony Crowley. And I wasn’t your blind date. I’m not the man your friend set you up with.”

Aziraphale moves the napkin to his lap and smooths it, giving himself something other than Crowley to look at.

“To tell you the truth, I had a feeling,” he confesses. “I mean, you don’t seem like the type of man my friend would usually set me up with.”

“What kind of men does she usually set you up with?”

Aziraphale chuckles. “I don’t know. They don’t tend to show up.” Crowley growls, shakes his head in disgust. Aziraphale is flattered by his reaction. But he has to ask, “I don’t understand why? Why did you do this?”

“I stopped in for a drink and I saw you sitting at this table, waiting for your date.” Crowley grins. “I have to admit, I thought you were a looker, so I kept looking. I heard you talking to the waitress, making jokes. You sounded like a nice guy. You told her how your friend set you up, how excited you were. Then I heard you calling, saw you texting, and waiting and waiting and …"

“And you took pity on me,” Aziraphale says, embarrassment wearing a pit in his stomach.

“No, I was angry! I was angry that some dumb fuck got the chance to have a date with such a great seeming guy like you and he bailed. Opportunities like that don’t come by all the time and he threw his away. But I saw an opportunity and I took it. And no matter what you think about me now, I’m glad I did. Because you’re great. You’re really great. And I hope that you’ll forgive me and let me take you out on a real first date.”

The table becomes quiet again - Crowley watching Aziraphale, Aziraphale looking at his lap. The whole restaurant seems to have gone silent, as if everyone around them who has listened to them laugh and talk and watched them share their meal is waiting to see what Aziraphale is going to say. From somewhere off toward the kitchen door, Crowley thinks he sees a few of the waitresses peeking around a corner, watching their table a little too intensely.

“What else was a lie?” Aziraphale asks. “Everything you said over dinner, was any of that true?”

“All of it,” Crowley says. “Everything I said about living in Mayfair, owning a Bentley, taking a permanent gap year, working as a nanny for kicks, being an obnoxious trust fund baby, tormenting my friends with a rat army … here … wait …” Crowley opens his jacket and reaches into his pocket, pulling out his phone. He touches the screen, swipes it a few times, then hands it to Aziraphale. “Take a look. Granted I’ve only had this since the recent iPhone hit the bricks, but I’ve got a few pictures on it that should back me up. My Bentley, my flat, a few of my plants …” Crowley ticks photos off as Aziraphale flips through them. “There should even be one or two of the rats. Ligur sent them to me before he ran screaming.” Crowley snickers in such an off-handed way, Aziraphale can’t help believing him. And speak of the devil, next photo up is of a work station covered in black rats rooting through the works and apparently sending London skidding back to the dark ages.  

Maybe Aziraphale just wants to believe him, but as far as he’s concerned, Crowley is telling the truth.

“I … I don’t know,” Aziraphale says, handing the phone back.

“What?” Crowley asks, his expression of newly kindled hope falling off his face. “What don’t you know?”

“Yes, you’re telling the truth, but …”

“But …”

“I don’t know anything about you. Not really.”

“Fair enough,” Crowley says, slipping his phone back in his pocket. “But can I ask you a question?”

“I guess.”

“What did you know about Gabriel before you showed up here to meet him?”

“Well, I …” Aziraphale sits there with his mouth open, expecting words to come out that don’t exist, because he didn’t know anything about Gabriel. Not even what he looked like. Tracy told him that she showed Gabriel a picture of him, and that Gabriel would know him when he saw him. But other than that, all he had was Tracy’s assurance that they would work well together. In reality, Gabriel could have stopped by at some point, caught Aziraphale waiting for him, didn’t like what he saw, then turned around and left, and Aziraphale would have never known.

But Crowley on the other hand - Aziraphale has been talking to Crowley all through dinner. Provided he’s telling the truth, Aziraphale knows more about him than he does his best friend, and they used to room together.

“Okay,” he concedes. “You’ve got me. Alright, Crowley. Sure. I would love to go on a real first date with you.”

Crowley reaches his hand across the table and Aziraphale takes it, suddenly recalling the look in Reuben’s eye before he signaled for the check.

Crowley has a similar look.

He raises his hand for the check.

But after not seeing her for most of their meal, their waitress walks over and puts two glass flutes down. Then she pours each man a glass of champagne from a bottle Aziraphale is certain costs more than their meal.

“Uh, waitress?” Crowley calls to the woman before she can walk away.

“Yes, sir?”

“What’s this?” he asks, perplexed by the sudden appearance of alcohol.

“It’s champagne,” she says, as if that isn’t apparent. “The house special.”

“But we didn’t order champagne” Aziraphale points out.

“I know,” she says with a wink. “It’s on the house. Enjoy it. Take all the time you need …”

#good omens #good omens fanfiction #ineffable valentines #ineffable husbands #anthony j crowley #aziraphale #aziraphale x crowley #crowley x aziraphale

[prepare4trouble]

Good Omens Fanfic - Looking Like this (2)

So it looks like I am, after all, continuing this. The previous part is here, if you’re interested.

Food, it turned out, was just as enjoyable in Crowley’s body as it was in his own. Some of the flavours seemed a little… off. Not bad, in fact in some cases quite the opposite, just not exactly as he had expected them to be. He wasn’t sure whether that was a result of the body he was currently inhabiting, or a new chef at the Ritz. Either way, the meal was very enjoyable. This came as a huge relief to Aziraphale for two reasons.

The first was that until he had being able to sink into the familiar pleasure of a good meal — although admittedly the wine had probably helped a great deal too — he had been on the verge of a full-blown panic attack the likes of which he hadn’t experienced since the very early days on Earth, when he had given away a flaming sword and then convinced himself that he might have accidentally done the wrong thing.

The second reason had to do with a certain lie that Crowley had told him a couple of millennia after that.

Aziraphale realised, in a distracted kind of way, that Crowley was talking. In fact, he seemed to be halfway through talking about something, and Aziraphale had absolutely no idea what he might have missed. He blinked, then tried to concentrate.

“… don’t you think?” Crowley finished, then looked at him expectantly, waiting for a reply.

Oh dear.  Aziraphale cleared his throat to buy himself some time. There were only two ways to answer that; either yes, or no. Unfortunately, given the events of the past few days, as well as their current situation, subjects of conversation would be unpredictable.

He wished he had some idea what he would potentially be agreeing with…

“Are you okay?” Crowley was leaning forward slightly, across the table, peering at Aziraphale with obvious concern.

That, at least, was a question he knew the answer to. Aziraphale looked up from his lunch, into his own face, and then down at his plate again. It was disconcerting, seeing himself looking back at him. He wasn’t sure he liked it. Playing at being one another had been okay for a while, maybe even fun, but when faced with the potential of an eternity wearing the wrong face, things were starting to feel a little different.

He took another long sip of his wine. “I’m fine,” he lied.

Crowley peered a little harder, if such a thing was possible.

Aziraphale tried to look away, but it was difficult to ignore him. Wherever he looked, he could see the demon out of the corner of his eye, and almost feel the concern radiating from him. “Stop it!” he said. “Really, Crowley, that’s not helping.”

Crowley sat back a little and stopped with the peering. “Right, so you’re fine. Totally believable, that. So what were you thinking about just then? Don’t think I didn’t notice that look of panic when you realised you had no idea what I was talking about.”

So, he hadn’t been as subtle as he had thought. Well, that or Crowley knew him too well. Aziraphale stuffed a forkful of pasta into his mouth. “Nothing,” he insisted. “Well, other than this whole situation, of course.” He indicated his… or rather Crowley’s… body with a wave of his hand, just in case there was any confusion as to the situation he was referring to.

“Nuh-uh.” Crowley shook his head. “At one point you were smiling. I doubt you’d be smiling if you were thinking about our little problem.”

Aziraphale sighed. Crowley definitely knew him too well. Or maybe just the right amount… “Fine,” he said. “If you must know, I was feeling relieved. If you remember, sometime around 203 AD you told me that food rotted the moment it touched a demon’s lips. I’d always kind of assumed you were lying, you suggest going out for dinner far to often for it to be true, but it’s just a relief to know. I’d been worried about you, that you were being denied one of life’s simple pleasures.”

A grin spread slowly across Crowley’s face, one that looked so distinctly Crowley that it was instantly recognisable even in the wrong body. “Oh yeah, I did say that, didn’t I? Yeah, I was messing with you. In fact, I’m pretty sure I told you I’d been messing with you. Like right after.”

“Yes, but making two contradictory statements only confirmed that you were a liar. There was no real way for me to know which statement was the lie and which was the truth.”

“So you’ve been worrying about me?”

Aziraphale nodded.

“For two thousand years?”

“Give or take.”

“You’re ridiculous. You know that, right?”

Of course did knew that. He had known it for centuries. Longer, actually. There was something inherently ridiculous about an angel and a demon even talking civilly to one another, let alone being friends, going out to lunch together. Going up against the joint forces of Heaven and Hell and saving the world together.

For all he might have denied it in the past, Aziraphale really did consider Crowley a friend. A good friend. His only friend, even.  After all that time, it would have been impossible not to. Which was why he had been worrying about him.

“It wouldn’t make any difference, you know.” Crowley said.

“Hmm?”

“If I had been telling the truth back then, it wouldn’t make any difference to you right now. You’re not a demon, you just happen to look like one. If you were, you wouldn’t have survived that holy bubblebath you just took.”

Oh. Crowley was right, of course. That had been the essence of their whole plan. It wasn’t the body they were wearing that was angelic, or demonic, it was the being inside it. He was no more a demon now than he had been last week.

He nodded. “Just to check, you’re not trying to tell me that food really does…”

“No, of course not.” As though to prove a point, Crowley picked up his fork and finished the last of his lunch with a flourish. “I mean you’re not a demon, angel. Nothing more, nothing less.”

“Oh. Well, no. I did know that of course.” And he had. But certain things are inherent to the body, and others to the soul. He had wondered, before the swap, whether Crowley’s eyes might be linked to his demonic nature and might follow him into Aziraphale’s body. He had been relieved to find that they had not; it would have made their plan much more difficult to pull off.

Crowley smirked. He put down his knife and fork on the plate and sat back, waiting for Aziraphale to finish.  Aziraphale frowned, he was normally the one perusing the dessert menu while he waited for Crowley to slowly clear his plate.

“Well that’s definitely for the best,” he said as he pushed his own, unfinished, plate away. Crowley’s stomach just didn’t have the capacity that his own did. “I might not be a particularly good angel, but I’m quite certain I’d make a much worse demon. Even if I have picked up a few of the necessary skills thanks to our little Arrangement.”

“Ah you’d be fine,” Crowley told him. “Tell you what, if you ever fall, I’ll show you the ropes.”

Aziraphale supposed he should be insulted by that, but after the events of the past week, he couldn’t bring himself to care. He wasn’t going to fall. After everything that had happened, both Heaven and Hell were suitably freaked out about the two of them and he was quite sure that they were going to be left alone for some time. But if he did ever fall, Crowley was right; he would be fine. If they couldn’t swap back into the correct bodies he would be fine. Whatever happened to either of them from here on out was going to be okay, because they had each other.

He raised his wine glass to Crowley, who frowned, confused, but raised his own in response. Aziraphale was feeling oddly good right now. He had a feeling that was going to change when he needed to sober up, but that could wait until he got home.

He wondered which home that would be. He longed for the comfort of his books, but for the sake of keeping up appearances, he was probably going to have to go back to Crowley’s place.  Well, on the positive side, maybe he could do something to help the poor, terrified houseplants while he was there.

“What are you smiling about now?” Crowley asked.

“Oh, I’m just thinking about what to have for dessert,” he lied. “What do you think, can I tempt you?”

Crowley gave him a disapproving look. “You’re not funny,” he said. He shrugged, “But yeah, go on then.”

Aziraphale’s smile widened as he called the waiter over. “Last time I was here they did a meringue that was absolutely…”

“You’d better not,” Crowley said.

“Why?”

The demon shrugged. “I just can’t stand the stuff, the texture, the flavour, it’s just…bleh.” He shuddered theatrically.

“I love meringue,” Aziraphale said.

Crowley slung an arm over the back of his chair in a way that Aziraphale would never. How he managed to look so relaxed was a mystery. “You did,” he said, “and when we sort this out I’m sure you will again, but you’re in my body right now, so…”

“Bleh.”

“Bleh,” Crowley confirmed with a nod.

“Oh.” Aziraphale frowned.  He didn’t know whether it worked that way, but he didn’t want to take the risk. Not right now. He had achieved the correct level of intoxication to keep him from worrying about their… situation for the time being. Not enjoying something that he usually did, would remind him of the more uncomfortable implications of the situation, and he didn’t want to risk that. Not yet. There would be time for that later. “Well, that’s disappointing. Anything else I should know?”

Crowley smiled widely. “Oh, plenty. But sticking to the subject of desserts… I dunno. Custard’s pretty gross too.”

“Well, that’s something we can both agree on at least. As for you, very little is off limits when it comes to food, but given the circumstances I strongly suggest the meringue.”

“Bleh.” Crowley said again as he accepted the dessert menu from the waiter, who looked a little confused by the conversation that had been taking place as he had cleared their plates.

The chances of the information getting back to Heaven or Hell via their waiter was slim, but just in case, Aziraphale quickly performed a little miraculous memory alteration. It wasn’t strictly allowed; messing with memories dangerously skirted the edges of playing with free will, but it was such a minor change it wasn’t going to hurt. They would have to be more careful what they said in public in future.

In future… He was already thinking like this was going to last.

He took another sip of his wine and turned his attention to the desserts.

(part 3)

#good omens #good omens fanfic #azirapahle #crowley

[mylonelyangel]

Good Omens: A Study in Comedy

A couple years ago in my senior year of high school, my English teacher had told us for our last essay of the year, to pick any novel by any notable author, and write about it. I picked Good Omens cause i happened to be reading it at the time, but this essay was legit the most fun I’ve ever had writing an essay. I figured with the show coming out at @neil-gaiman being on tumblr, I might as well post it here were people might enjoy it.

Its about why Good Omens is successful as a comedy. It’s kinda long so it’s gonna go beneath a cut. But yeah here it is. (Also apologies for the formatting I cant figure out how to make this thing readable. rn it looks a lot better on desktop than mobile. Any suggestions on that are welcome)

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In the world of entertainment-- be that film, TV, literature, etc. -- comedy is hard. It’s hard to act, it’s hard to write, and it takes real talent to do comedy well. Often, comedy goes underappreciated in the professional world; however, Good Omens seems to be an exception. In writing the forward to their book, Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman describe the many well-read and deteriorating copies of Good Omens that they have had the pleasure of signing. From books dropped in bathtubs and puddles, to pages being held together by packing tape, clearly, the book is well loved by many. The unique quality of this novel is that rather than a “laugh-out-loud” humor, Pratchett and Gaiman aimed for a more subtle, ironic humor adding up to a satire that teaches a lesson on the importance of humanity and compassion. All in all, Good Omens is a delightfully witty and entertaining book that is sure to please any avid reader.

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Biography

It was the year 1989 when Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett decided to combine efforts in writing Good Omens. At the time, Gaiman was 29. He was born in Hampshire UK in 1960 and grew up frequently visiting his local library, developing a life-long love for reading. After briefly pursuing a career in journalism, he soon became interested in writing comic books. The Sandman is one of Gaiman’s most notable graphic novel works. It won several awards including three Harvey Awards, nine Will Eisner Comic Industry Awards, and the 1991 World Fantasy Award for Best Short Story, becoming the first comic to every receive a literary award.  After gaining this success, Gaiman has gone on to expand his resume by working in film and television. He’s written and directed two films: A Short Film About John Bolton (2002) and Statueque (2009). Most recently, Gaiman is writing for the television series adaption of his book, American Gods, set to premier on April 30, 2017 on Starz.

Gaiman’s writing companion, Terry Pratchett, was born in Beaconsfield, Buckinghamshire in 1948. He had a passion for writing from a young age, publishing his first story, “The Hades Business” in his school magazine at age thirteen. Four years later at age seventeen, Pratchett dropped out of school to pursue journalism. It was in this line of work that he came into contact with his first publisher, Colin Smythe, and through him published his first book in 1971, The Carpet People. Smythe remained a close friend of Pratchett and in 1983 published the first book of Pratchett’s phenomenally successful series: Discworld. At this time, Pratchett worked for the Central Electricity Generating Board as a press officer. Four books into his Discworld series, Pratchett decided to become a full time writer. After a long and successful career, unfortunately in 2007 Pratchett was diagnosed with a rare form of Alzheimer’s called Posterior Cortical Atrophy. He lived the last years of his life very well; in 2009, he was knighted by the Queen for his services to literature and in 2013 he presented a documentary discussing the controversial topic of assisted dying. Terry Pratchett: Choosing to Die won both an Emmy and a BAFTA. Despite campaigning for assisted dying, Terry did not choose to take his own life and died peacefully surrounded by family in March 2015.

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Extended Analysis

The comedy collaboration Good Omens has been deemed by many to be a great novel. Critics praise the unique blend of writing styles for making this novel a success, but to understand what makes the comedic genius of Good Omens, one must ask what precisely makes it funny. This novel is a satire; it comments on existentialist ideas surrounding humanity and the responsibility humans have over their own actions for better or for worse. In order to emphasize their novel as an unexpectedly witty and socially relevant satire, Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett use several literary devices such as repetition, mood, and irony. In a remarkable world belonging to angels and demons who wish to bring about the apocalypse, the air of abnormality must be maintained throughout the novel; comedy only follows naturally.  

In order to emphasize the absurdity of the events in Good Omens, the authors often used repetition in describing people or events. Given that this book revolves around the events of Armageddon, absurdity is not hard to come by; it is precisely what enforces the satire nature of the novel. For instance, the Antichrist is first described to the reader as “a golden haired male baby we will call the Adversary, Destroyer of Kings, Angel of the Bottomless Pit, Great Beast that is called Dragon, Prince of this World, Father of Lies, Spawn of Satan, and Lord of Darkness” (Gaiman 27). Not only does the baby have this long list of titles, but he is referred to as such several more times in the next few pages. This description is a means to bring attention to the oddness of the situation and the repetition serves to emphasize it. Another interesting use of repetition is a scene in which the events of the evening are being narrated by an irritable man named R. P. Tyler; a man who not only believes himself to be the sole decider of right and wrong in the world, but that it is his responsibility to pronounce his wisdom unto others via the letter column of the Tadfield Adviser. This man is the epitome of arrogant old men and on the afternoon of Armageddon, finds himself directing several parties of odd people to the same location. In the eyes of the reader, all of the characters introduced thus far are arriving to the small English town of Tadfield for the start of the apocalypse. The events are rumored to take place at the Lower Tadfield Air Base and in succession, R. P. Tyler encounters four groups of people going to the Airfield within a span of 30 minutes (Gaiman 325-336). The result is a comedic effect that brings all separate storylines back to the same page. The repetition of events is what brought to R. P. Tyler’s attention to the odd occurrences in Tadfield. As the man met group after group, he quickly becomes more flustered and his figurative bubble of normality is cracking until Crowley’s arrival: “There was a large once-black car on fire in the lane and a man in sunglasses was leaning out the window, saying through the smoke “I’m sorry, I’ve managed to get a little lost. Can you direct me to the Lower Tadfield Air Base? I know it’s around here somewhere”” (Gaiman 334). One can safely say that after this event, R. P. Tyler no longer has a figurative bubble of normality.

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One of the highlights of Good Omens is the comical language in which it is written, setting an air for the absurd to be normalized and the mundane to receive an exaggerated retelling. An ambiance of abnormality is maintained throughout the entire novel through methods of over-explaining minute details. For instance, as the first proceedings of Armageddon are set into motion, the scene is set with the following depiction:

“It wasn’t a dark and stormy night. It should have been, but that’s the weather for you. For every mad scientist who’s had a convenient thunderstorm just on the night his Great Work is finished and lying on the slab, there have been dozens who’s sat around aimlessly under the peaceful stars while Igor clocks up the overtime” (Gaiman 14).

This description of the setting contributes to a lighthearted mood despite the impending apocalypse. It feels as though the authors are making polite conversation as the story progresses, and this style of writing is used throughout the novel. Later on, a scene occurs in which a demon kills a room full of telemarketers and the aftermath is described as follows: “. . . a wave of low-grade goodness started to spread exponentially through the population and millions of people who ultimately would not have suffered minor bruises of the soul did not in fact do so” (Gaiman 308). The elegance in which that sentence is written gives the reader a sense of understanding in that the authors are not technically wrong in their description. The line is satirical and for many readers, felt on a personal level. The witty line does not fail in upholding the absurd and exceedingly nonchalant atmosphere. This style brings to light underlying truths of humanity that one may not acknowledge in a day to day basis, but are true nonetheless. Through this recognition of distinctly human emotions and struggles, Gaiman and Pratchett succeed in creating an engaging environment in which the reader is both reflective and entertained by their story.

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The irony in Good Omens lies within the ongoing discussion of humanity and the importance of free will. As Heaven and Hell prepare for Armageddon, the key to its commencement lies in the hands of the Antichrist. However, the Antichrist ends up being much more human than either side predicted. As usual, the demon Crowley and angel Aziraphale come to this conclusion long before their superiors:

““Because if I know anything,” said Crowley urgently, “it’s that the birth is just the start. It’s the upbringing that’s important. It’s the influences. Otherwise it will never learn to use its powers.” . . .

“You’re saying the child isn’t evil of itself?” [Aziraphale] said slowly.

“Potentially evil.  Potentially good, too, I suppose. Just this huge powerful potentiality, waiting to be shaped.” said Crowley” (Gaiman 58).  

Given that Adam the Antichrist grew up in the absence of any supernatural influence, he naturally became a very pure and innocent child who only wanted save the environment and read conspiracy theory magazines. In fact, unaware of his power and heritage, he was involuntarily at fault for the rise of Atlantis and the visitations of aliens. His deep love for the planet also allowed for his subconscious to grow rain forests in the thick of cities and to turn 500 tons of Uranium into a lemon drop. In a book that satirizes the meanings of good and evil, it is very ironic that the Antichrist has the greatest amount of love to give. As observed by local witch, Anathema: “Something or someone loves this place. Loves every inch of it so powerfully that it shields and protects it. A deep-down, huge, fierce love. How can anything bad start here?” (Gaiman 229). It is reiterated several times throughout the book that humans are their own worst enemy. They are the ones who have free will, therefore they choose whether to act good or evil. Demons and angels have no choice in this respect. Gaiman and Pratchett make clear to their audience that humans must value their free will, spread love and live life to its fullest. If the Antichrist can do it, so can you.

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When reflecting on the comedic success of Good Omens, one can conclude that Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett are masters at their craft. This wonderfully composed work of fiction succeeds in satirizing the inner workings of human nature in that the supernatural can do no worse to humans than humans already do to themselves. Stylistically, Gaiman and Pratchett create a casual environment that highlights the absurd events by using techniques such as irony, mood, and repetition. The result is a clever and profound lesson on the importance of love in the human experience taught not by those who are human, but those who act with the most humanity.

#good omens #neil gaiman #terry pratchett #aziraphale #crowley