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Today is a dark day for tatennants, Catherine Tate Fans, David Tennant Fans, Shakespeare lovers and bisexuals in general because we lost the full recording of Much ado about nothing on Youtube

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Michael and David in season 3 of Good Omens:

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aziraphale | everybody loves me

i completely forgot to upload this here, have an aziraphale edit

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The shopkeepers of Whickber Street always looked forward to AZ Fell's bookshop Christmas decorations. Not because Azi opened up the shop for a longer period of time, but because it brought in more trade for the rest of them.

They didn't know how he did it. Each year the decorations were more awe-inspiring than the last, and for those who had been around for a while could spot little nods to years previous. Easter eggs, as some would call them.

Mr Fell also seemed to get everything done with no help at all, from what they could tell. He must have helped from his friend, the darkly dressed Mr Crowley, but he hadn't been around for a while this year, and Mr Fell certainly seemed less cheerful when he didn't think anyone was watching.

As Christmas rapidly approached, the Whickber Street traders all steadily and silently went about trying to find the perfect gift for Mr Fell to cheer him up. After all, he'd been generous to them over the years, and seemed to have an image understanding of what each of them loved.

Aziraphale had just got comfortable in his reading chair when there was a knock at the door. Sighing heavily in annoyance, he got up to open it.

There, on the steps in front of him, were a pile of presents, and noone in sight.

He looked around before picking one up and inspecting the tag.

Dear Mr Fell, merry Christmas. From Maggie.

He read a few more before bringing them all inside. It was Christmas Eve now, so where better to put them than to place them all under the tree that stood proudly in the middle of the shop?

Aziraphale admired his work. The tree looked handsome, and he felt a warm rush of love and appreciation for everyone who had left a present for him. If he wasn't mistaken, there was a new rug from Mr Brown, and Maggie most certainly would have found some delightful new records for him to listen to, based on the shape of her wrapped presents. But he wouldn't look now, oh no.

Well... Maybe just one present now?

He looked at them all, and settled on the wrapped pile of what was clearly going to be books (and a little miracle tingle suggested that it was indeed books).

There was no tag, however. Maybe it had come off while moving them all? But Aziraphale couldn't see anything, and he couldn't be arsed to check outside, not now that there were hooks to enjoy.

He unwrapped the ribbon keeping the pile together, then chose the top book to unwrap.

He gasped quietly. It was a rare collection of letters, and only one person knew he had been looking for it.

A soft "hello angel" came from the corner of the room

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I want to have a spa day with aziraphale.

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The day Crowley realised who was guarding the Eastern gate…….

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AND MICHAEL. BLONDE. AZIRAPHALE.

we know david. he's going to want his other half in this.

GUYS IT WAS JUST CONFIRMED THAT DAVID IS HOSTING BAFTAS AGAIN.

FEBRUARY BAFTAS.

G03 STARTS FILMING JANUARY 6

HE'LL BE HOSTING IN FULL CROWLEY.

HAIR DYED. RED.

GIVEN HIS RECENT SUIT INSPO.... FULL. BLOODY. ANTHONY. J. CROWLEY.

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GUYS IT WAS JUST CONFIRMED THAT DAVID IS HOSTING BAFTAS AGAIN.

FEBRUARY BAFTAS.

G03 STARTS FILMING JANUARY 6

HE'LL BE HOSTING IN FULL CROWLEY.

HAIR DYED. RED.

GIVEN HIS RECENT SUIT INSPO.... FULL. BLOODY. ANTHONY. J. CROWLEY.

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im sad can I please see your cat she's so pretty 🥹

Here comes the beauty 🫴✨️

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if she was a worm I'd make her a little worm house and give her little bits of lettuce and play her worm music and play little worm games with her and tell her all about my day and

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ohh I need him either forcefully put together to his usual standards to prove to himself that he doesn't need azi or fully long hair/kind of falling apart at the seams because there's no point maintaining those standards bc azi isn't there, but at the same time, it's still crowley, so it'd be effortlessly gorgeous either way.

Good Omens season 3/finale thought of the day:

Crowley’s hair. What length does everyone think it will be? What length does everyone hope it will be?

Personal thoughts, I think it’ll stay the same length as season 2. But I hope it be will long. Long tresses framing his face, slight curl or wave, breaking everyone’s hearts as he stalks the streets.

I will swoon so hard if my hopes come true!

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Why on God is Aziraphale such a giggly little angel??! He is absolutely precious and adorable and poisoning my mangled, cynical heart with his cuteness.

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how do you just wake up and write literally one of the most stunning things ever

reading that was like laying on a damn cloud surrounded by harp music and feathers

HOW

the good omens lockdown video has a shot of a letter addressed to one Anthony J. Crowley on Aziraphale's desk.

There are also portraits of Aziraphale and Crowley, a passage on Oxfordshire, and quite a few books about demons and the occult.

I'm not sure where I heard it, but I recall Aziraphale's favorite being Persuasion by everyone's favorite brandy smuggler and master spy, Jane Austen. Persuasion involves a very beautiful letter written to confess love, which reads as follows:

Now picture Aziraphale writing a letter to Crowley in May 2020, confessing everything he's felt and his longing for a future of continued love with Crowley by his side. Maybe this involves Oxfordshire, and a cottage.

This letter is never mentioned at all in go2, so I can imagine the letter is either incredibly unlike what I think... or Crowley never received it.

Now imagine in season't 3, there's a classic and wonderful "what letter" trope. Muriel finds it somewhere, and casually mentions it to Crowley, how odd it is that Aziraphale and Crowley are separated when clearly all Aziraphale wanted was a peaceful future with Crowley.

I think I'd practically die on the spot.

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op I love you.

Wildest dreams wishes for Good Omens Season 3 which will probably not come true but I can still hope hey!

Number 39

This one is dedicated to @hikarry who posted a couple weeks ago about Crowley reacting to finding out the walls in the bookshop’s back room were painted the same colour as his eyes. It made me remember I had this wildest dream idea sitting in my drafts and inspired me to finish writing it.

I therefore present to you yet another scene in the Adventures of Crowley and Muriel. What happens when Crowley finds portraits drawn of himself by Aziraphale, and works out just why Aziraphale thinks the colour yellow is pretty. Starts out as fluff, but ends in heartbreak and angst. Enjoy!

It had been eight months since Crowley last took off his sunglasses. He only did so now in order to press his finger tips into his eyes in frustration. Confused and exhausted at what he was seeing, he pushed the glasses securely back on his face, took a long annoyed breath in, and called out for the angel.

“Muriel! Get out here!”

Muriel popped their head out from the kitchenette.

“Something the matter Mr Crowley?”

“Is something the-? You bloody well know what the matter is, now come over here!”

Muriel bounded over to Crowley, currently with his back turned to them, staring intently as the bookshelves.

“Where are they?!” He gruffly demanded.

“Where are what?” Muriel innocently replied.

“The books! What have you done with the books, where are they?!” Crowley gestured around wildly at the filled bookshelves. Muriel looked confused.

“They’re right there Mr Crowley.”

Crowley advanced on Muriel, in a slightly but not really menacing way, “Yes, I can see that. But you know what I mean.”

“I haven’t been selling them again if that’s what you mean.” The first time Crowley returned to the bookshop after Aziraphale had left he was horrified to see a stream of customers coming and going. He had personally ran down (“Ran after Muriel, ran after! There’s a difference!”) 17 different people before they returned home just to retrieve the precious possessions before they could be dogeared, spines bent, or worst of all, read on the toilet by careless humans. Afterwards he updated the opening hours sign to include an additional layer of confusion, then spent two and a half hours lecturing Muriel on the evils of capitalism and how to take care of the books properly. Muriel wouldn’t be making that mistake twice.

“Obviously. What I mean is, where are they. They’re all out of order. There’s cookbooks next to Tolstoy, and Pratchett next to Sun Tzu! Where is everything?!”

“Oh, I arranged everything by colour!” Muriel replied proudly, a shining smile spreading across their face.

“You…what?!”

“It’s much prettier this way don’t you think?”

Crowley took a step back and viewed the colours splashed across the shelves. The effect was like staring at a magic eye painting when it suddenly comes into focus. Before him was a kaleidoscope of colour, books positioned in such a way that their outward facing spines when pushed together formed a massive rainbow.

“No it’s not, change it back!” He demanded.

Muriel’s smile dropped and suddenly their eyes went as wide as a puppy’s as they implored him to reconsider.

Crowley was a demon. He was not nice. He didn’t have feelings (certainly not now!), and his one hundred percent NOT broken heart was most definitely not going to be guilted into changing his mind by some sappy eyed angel, especially one that sometimes reminded him of a certain other silver haired cream puff who’s gorgeous pouty lips would make even the coldest of glaciers melt on the spot DEFINITELY NOT!

Crowley rolled his hidden eyes, hissed and then growled a deep low sigh before caving into their pleadings. “Fffffine!”

Muriel gleefully clapped their hands in a completely not adorable or endearing way.

“At least tell me where you hid the first editions?” Crowley moaned.

“Oh that’s easy, they’re over in the brown section.”

“Brown section?”

“Yes unfortunately there’s quite a lot of those.” Muriel pointed behind him.

Crowley turned and startled at crammed shelf after shelf of “brown section”. It took up a majority of the bookshop. The different shades of browns were almost a rainbow in itself. Typical he thought to himself. S’what you get when you only collect books from a hundred years ago.

He thought he’d start with some Dickens, but when he found Dostoyevsky next to Marlow he knew he was in trouble.

“Muriel, how exactly are these books sorted?”

“Easy! First by height then by length!”

Crowley fought the urge to once again slip off his glasses and rub his hands across his face. “Naturally.” He instead murmured.

Muriel by this point had produced the yellow feather duster he remembered Ji- Gabri- Jimbriel had managed to get his hands on, and was vigorously dusting the spotless gramophone.

Pulling his gaze away from the swishing of the bright feathers he turned his attention back to the shelves. Something caught his eye. “Huh, so she did write novels” he remarked as he thumbed his fingers over a copy of Persuasion. As he pulled the book from the shelf he noticed it was wedged in particularly tight next to a rather bulky looking tome, which promptly clatter to the floor scattering delicate pages everywhere.

“Bugger!” Crowley exclaimed as he bent down to pick them up. As he collected them, his hand froze over one page as he suddenly recognised the neat and flourished handwriting.

“Muriel,” Crowley half whispered as he began carefully lifting the pages from the floor, “where did this book come from?”

Muriel turned and looked at the front cover, “Oh that was on Mr Aziraphale’s desk. It was the perfect size for that section of the shelf so I thought I’d pack it away.” Muriel was already approaching the mess, bending down to assist when Crowley shot out a hand to stop them. He turned some more pages over and was greeted with careful hand drawn images of himself. Striking and candid portraits, spread across the years of his existence. One detailed a silhouette sitting at what looked like a bar table, a silver circle of leaves upon his head. Another a simple elegant hand grasping a wine glass. Pensive, brooding, and silent profiles adorned many of he pages. But others showed the demon smiling or grinning, and in one vivid rendition with his head thrown back in laughter.

Heat spread across his cheeks as he hungrily dove into more of the scattered pages. Sketches from Scotland, Golgotha, 1941, even one of his Bildad the Shuite persona, an arrow pointing at his beard and a simple scrawled “No” next to it. A laugh escaped his throat.

Then one particular portrait stopped him in his tracks. He stared at himself as the picture seemed to stare back. Aziraphale had drawn this one without sunglasses, his face was naked, his eyes uncovered. His eyes shone back at him from the page. Aziraphale had coloured his eyes a deep golden yellow. Something about the colour struck him, and before he realised he was on his feet striding for the back room.

Hand shaking, he lifted the portrait up to the wall. The eye colour matched the walls exactly. In fact he wouldn’t have been surprised if Aziraphale had used the same paint on the walls as he did to colour the portrait. Something coiled in the pit of his stomach and radiated out up his spine.

“Mr Crowley are you alright” Muriel asked quietly behind him. He turned and stared at them, when the feather duster they still held came into focus. The yellow feather duster. A conjured memory, only a few short months ago struck him like a train. “My car is not yellow, change it back” “but it’s pretty!” echoed across his mind. Other images surfaced, a yellow band wrapped around a fuzzy top hat, the splash of yellow through a tartan bow tie, a bunch of daffodils displayed on a work desk, and image after image of Aziraphale’s radiant smile. A smile morphing into quiet and confused distress as glasses were placed firmly back in place hiding his eyes away when last they spoke.

Everything came crashing down on him like a tonne of bricks. A dawning realisation rolled over his skin making him shiver. The failed confession. The agony of watching his angel get in that elevator. He was sure he’d gotten it wrong, all those months ago. But he hadn’t. He was right! So why did that make him feel all the more worse? He dropped the pages and silently made his way to the door.

“Wait! Mr Crowley, where are going?!” Muriel fretted, as Crowley reached the entrance.

He paused and with one hand on the handle, half turned back towards Muriel. His throat felt constricted, and drew in a shaky breath as he answered thickly, “I just…need some time…I’ll be back in a little while.”

If Muriel made any further protest he didn’t hear them. He found himself in the Bentley, hands gripping the wheel. He glanced at the back seat half expecting to see the yellow tulips he had once prepared to give to an angel. Long discarded in a local garden. A hesitant hand touched his sunglasses, trembled there a moment, then dropped. Swallowing heavily, he resolutely put the Bentley into gear and drove off. He wasn’t sure where to. But for now the open road seemed the best place to be.

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ahslJdoaleisiao portraitssss

one of my fav fics has crowley reading some of az's diaries and there were pages just filled with drawings of crowley's eyes, hands, and it was so amazing that if s3 doesn't work out that's my canon.

david is getting that damn BAFTA this time or so help me satan

the good omens lockdown video has a shot of a letter addressed to one Anthony J. Crowley on Aziraphale's desk.

There are also portraits of Aziraphale and Crowley, a passage on Oxfordshire, and quite a few books about demons and the occult.

I'm not sure where I heard it, but I recall Aziraphale's favorite being Persuasion by everyone's favorite brandy smuggler and master spy, Jane Austen. Persuasion involves a very beautiful letter written to confess love, which reads as follows:

Now picture Aziraphale writing a letter to Crowley in May 2020, confessing everything he's felt and his longing for a future of continued love with Crowley by his side. Maybe this involves Oxfordshire, and a cottage.

This letter is never mentioned at all in go2, so I can imagine the letter is either incredibly unlike what I think... or Crowley never received it.

Now imagine in season't 3, there's a classic and wonderful "what letter" trope. Muriel finds it somewhere, and casually mentions it to Crowley, how odd it is that Aziraphale and Crowley are separated when clearly all Aziraphale wanted was a peaceful future with Crowley.

I think I'd practically die on the spot.

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Sooooo....I did a little thingie because, *cough* last weekend I was in London to see a certain play 👀

What can I say, the play itself was astonishing, probably the most engaging performance I have ever attended, David is even more gorgeous live and watching him perform on stage was mesmerizing ❤️

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