#Aziraphale & Beethoven

[meanwhile-at-the-cottage]

Today Aziraphale and Crowley attended an orchestral performance of some of their favourite composers at the Royal Albert Hall, including Beethoven, Schubert, and all of the Bachs. Thankfully, there were no celestial harmonies.

[fuckyeahgoodomensfanfic]

Good Omens Fic Rec: Wild Hearts

In the idyllic English countryside, far from the hustle and bustle of the big city, two teachers at Willowbrook Hall set out to transform their students’ lives through the world of theatre. But for Mr. Crowley, the challenge of navigating his long hidden feelings and dear friendship with Mr. Fell may prove to be the greatest drama of all.

Length: 145,589 Words

AO3 Rating: Explicit/ Spice Level 🔥🔥🔥🔥

Best for: Mostly Safe in Public, Human AU, Romance, Slow Burn

Triggers: None

Read it here, fic by foolishlovers

*Minor Spoilers* Welcome to Willowbrook Hall, or as I like to call it, The Gay and Trans School for Gay and Trans Teens. Come meet professors Mr. Fell and Mr. Crowley, and their colorful cast of teens as they spend the school year getting ready for the performance of a lifetime in the school play. This place has it all: hijinks, dances, costumes, drama, and best of all a cat.

What I really loved about this story was how cinematic it felt. Sure, some scenes intentionally reference a movie (Wild Child, so fun and camp!), but that's not what I mean. The whole thing plays out like a movie or its own TV show. We get big dramatic moments of romance and heartbreak, plus fun ones like a mini makeover, the school dance, and the play. And there is tons of subtle foreshadowing along the way that will make you jump up and down when things come to fruition. It's thrilling and engaging, and waiting for updates when this was a WIP was excruciating because I wanted to know what was going to happen next so badly!

The side characters especially are so much fun! I loved the kids and their side plots. Even though we don’t follow their story directly, we see enough to get hooked. Adam and Warlock are standouts, but they aren't the only ones I enjoyed! Honestly, I'd read a standalone from the kids perspective! The teachers are excellent too. I have a soft spot for Newt, who pops in now and then, always a sweetheart. Crowley could be in the depths of heartbreak and still manage a smile for Newt. All the teachers (plus Nina) don't feel like they're just there. I was interested in them, and you really get a sense of how much of a family they all are. It's a real skill to make side characters as interesting as the main duo.

Of course, the main attraction is Crowley and Aziraphale. They’ll make you fall in love with them all over again. They’re the perfect domestic couple well before they admit anything. So many lovely details about them, from note passing and bets, to their shared bond with Beethoven the cat (aka the best character ever). You'll experience everything with them: the highs of gender discovery and euphoria, and the lows of miscommunication and misunderstandings. What drama is complete without that? Yes, they’re a bit thick headed, and yes, a single conversation could have fixed everything. But where's the fun in that? I'm here for the drama! The pang of heartbreak and yearning makes the reunion so much sweeter! They are wonderfully characterized, and yet still have an air and life of their own. Unique to this story, but true to their characters.

You’ll be mostly safe reading this in public. There are a handful of explicit scenes but you should have enough notice to get away from prying eyes. The sex here is delicious and heart pounding! Plus the way that Crowley's gender fluidity plays into those scenes was very beautiful. There are so many reasons to love this story. It's engaging, cinematic, dramatic, funny, and romantic. This was an incredible achievement and I hope you have just as much fun and I did!

Read it here, fic by foolishlovers

[youryurigoddess]

Aziraphale’s wine

It is a truth universally acknowledged in the Good Omens fandom that an angel in need of a drink turns to his secret stash of Châteauneuf-du-Pape in the back room. He picked up a dozen cases in 1921, and a whole century later there's still some left… for special occasions.

Just to put things in perspective, a standard case contains 12 750ml bottles, for a total of 9 liters of wine. A dozen cases equals 144 bottles, or 108 liters of wine. That’s quite a lot for a single purchase, so Aziraphale — the established sherry and sweet drinks connoisseur — must have had a good reason for it.

One potential explanation is the aura of grandeur around this particular wine. The papal connection, rich history of the region, and recognition of high quality products give Châteauneuf-du-Pape wines a very luxurious status, considerably influencing their price tags. And Aziraphale is known to have standards.

Another one is the way in which their taste differs from Aziraphale’s usual choices: Châteauneuf-du-Pape reds are often described as earthy with gamey flavors that have hints of tar and leather. The wines are considered tough and tannic in their youth, but maintain their rich spiciness as they age.

Since everything in Good Omens has a meaning, it never hurts to run through a quick Strong’s Concordance search whenever a date pops up in a dialogue or, even more importantly, somewhere on screen. More often than not the result seems to match the researched topic, as it’s the case here:

1921: to know exactly, to recognize.

Provided examples: I come to know by directing my attention to him or it, I perceive, discern, recognize; I found out. The general usage of the word usually refers to knowing someone aptly, properly, thoroughly, even biblically. Which might be either a wishful thinking on Aziraphale’s part or just another layer of subtext in this already romantically charged scene. The table dressing, multiple candles, and focus on the lamps with Auguste Moreau’s Young Lovers statues in the background seem to successfully communicate what the angel left unsaid.

Too bad that Crowley remained so adorably oblivious for the next eighty years. At least when he finally came to the realization, he responded with an attempted temptation to another vintage red wine @vidavalor already analyzed.

But back to Aziraphale’s wine. To be exact, it’s a 1921 Châteauneuf-du-Pape from the domaine de Baban. An actual French vineyard from the Rhône region that still exists to this day, even though a few decades ago it got merged with another estate into what is now known as domaine Riché-Baban. According to the local guides, the 11 hectares on the estate are located in the Châteauneuf-du-Pape designation area in the Bois Lauzon and Mourre de Baud districts. At the moment 90% of the wines produced there are sent to wine dealers.

1920s were quite an interesting time for this region, but not because of the flapper cabarets or drag shows usually associated with the era on the Old Continent. To the horror of European oenophiles, right after World War I the whole of France found itself awash with fake wine. One of the worst outrages was the use of lead that magically transformed cheap, acid wine into something deceptively rich and sweet on the outside and one of the most powerful neurotoxins on the inside. People were already well aware of its effects — the poisoning from drinking sweetened wine probably made Handel go blind and Beethoven go deaf, but it shows how desperate for sweetness they were before sugar became available to the masses.

Admittably, it wasn’t a new practice. Far from it — the Romans liked it so much that they even advised to pack lead pans on travels to boil local wine in them to make it sweeter, especially in colder provinces like Britannia. But Aziraphale didn’t buy twelve cases of counterfeit wine for the sake of some good memories of Rome and its many health hazards. No, the fussy angel made sure to get the actually good stuff from the other side of the English Channel.

Henry Tacussel, whose name is mentioned on his wine label, was a French viticulturalist and a close friend of Baron Pierre Le Roy of the Chateau Fortia nearby, a trained lawyer and fellow winegrower from Châteauneuf-du-Pape who established the Winegrowers' Union of the Rhône Valley. Together with the Baron he became one of the founders of Appellation d'origine contrôlée (AOC), a labeling system intended to protect regional products and technologies that is still in use in France and serves as an inspiration to similar solutions worldwide. Their efforts were deliberately centred on Châteauneuf-du-Pape because with such a beguiling name even in comparison to other labels it seemed to attract an undue share of fraudsters at the time.

Soon after Aziraphale’s shopping spree, the local wine producers led by Le Roy and Tacussel began a very long campaign to establish legal protection for the wine from their commune. The delimited area and the method of wine production were finally awarded legal recognition after a decade, in 1933, but it wasn’t the end of the criminal activities on this front. An undercover investigation by The Sunday Times discovered that most of the “Châteauneuf” in the 1960s Britain was actually blended and bottled in Ipswich.

One question remains: was it a purely human affair, or maybe one requiring a demonic or angelic intervention?

[paperclipninja]

All the Little Moments-Ch 3 (a Regency AU)

Ahh yes, the exchange fic one shot for @cheeseplants that turned into 3 chapters that has now become 4 (I promise chapter 4 will be the last chapter!).

Rated: E

Fic summary: It was the talk of the ton. Notorious scoundrel and most eligible bachelor, Anthony Crowley, had returned from abroad to assume his rightful place as head of the Crowley household following the sudden and unfortunate death of his father, Right Honourable Luke Crowley, Earl of Whickex.

Chapter excerpt:

Once Gabriel had left the library, Aziraphale let out a tired sigh and rested his head against the back of the armchair. Was this how he was to spend the rest of his days? Avoiding his brother as best he could and having no choice but to play his part in any scheme the Viscount deemed him useful? Aziraphale glanced towards the window, then over at the desk, where the Byron anthology sat, and felt a familiar tug at his heart.

He longed for nothing more than to see the Earl hovering near the shelves, handling one of the precious volumes and responding with an amused bite of his lip at Aziraphale’s certain reprimand. He longed for the man’s lean frame to be resting against the arm of the couch, legs outstretched, as they bickered over who was the most compelling of the Georgian artists, or discussed the merits and shortcomings of the symphonies of Liszt versus Beethoven versus Mendelssohn. And oh, how he longed for the way Crowley’s face would soften as they found themselves inevitably drawn closer, the stillness that would cradle them in such a moment, and the way it took Aziraphale’s breath away.

Continue reading on AO3

Immense thanks, as always, to glorious @harlotofupdog for the patience, brilliance, horse knowledge and fab betaing and to wonderful @zin-lynn-c for being the most excellent Regency brain and support.

And of course, @goodomensafterdark :)

[dalliancekay]

AFTER pt. 2

I posted yesterday's thoughts on Twitter too which resulted in thinking about what might happen after after, to humans and Heaven and Hell.... so in addition to After pt. 1: I don't think Aziraphale and Crowley will become humans or that they will change who they are (Aziraphale Falling or Crowley not being a demon anymore). They will stay the same but the definitions of who angels and demons are might change somewhat. We don't know what dead humans do in Heaven currently but I bet they are not exactly having fun. At a best guess they are incredibly bored. At worst... I'm not sure. They are mostly isolated like the angels are? And most humans in Hell don’t really belong there either. I mean, like why all the Bachs? Beethoven was a drunk curmudgeon who mismanaged his family affairs badly, but does that deserve eternal punishment? The man was beaten as a kid and kept losing his hearing most of his adulthood - and still is the best composer ever (fight me). So what if that changed. The places got connected. Humans cooperated to make it all better. We ... can be good at that. And you know what Hell needs? Angels. Angels like Muriel. What if angels went to Hell to speak to and/or heal those who did bad things. Why did they do that? Biology? Brain tumour? Terrible childhood? Wrong neighbourhood? And what if humans from Heaven had chats with demons. How did they cope with awful times? How to find joy when the world keeps throwing tragedies at you. What gave them hope. Etc. And the Husbands would help set this up and then they’d semi-retire but still get plenty visits from friends on both sides and regularly help out as they know so much about Earth. And its humans.

[ezomind-the-other-one]

Hey @leviosally I liked Play For Me The Music Of Your Heart so much that I combed over the text for every single one of the musical references and made you a mixtape playlist.

A teacher goes over the semester's program? -> it's in the playlist

Aziraphale plays a hauntingly beautiful piece? -> it's in the playlist

A 19th century symphony gets a mention? -> ok just the most famous part because the duration had to stay under control

Someone's car radio blasts a pop song? -> it's in the playlist

Crowley wears a band t-shirt? -> the group's most popular song is in the playlist

etc.

@ everyone else: go read the fic and I really, really encourage you to press play on the appropriate music when you see it mentioned!

@goodomensafterdark the fic is hawt plz blast that truth like Beethoven's 5th

cw: Pachelbel, Mariah Carey, some explicit lyrics

[goodomensafterdark]

Writers Guild Cock Fight - Give Ourselves One More Chance by niknak90 on Reddit

Summary:

Written by niknak90; find them on Reddit and AO3!

Pressed against the wall by a very not-nice demon three days before the world is scheduled to end, Aziraphale makes a bold move.

Word count: 4283 words

Content: angst and smut, unresolved romantic tension, pining while fucking, porn with some plot, porn with feelings, anal sex, first time, top Crowley/bottom Aziraphale, wall slam, mandatory Queen lyrics, food porn mentioned

Excerpt:

The Apocalypse was scheduled in three short days, and if they didn’t locate the Antichrist in time, they would be separated forever, fighting on opposite sides. Heaven would win, and he’d lose something more dear to him than sushi and Beethoven and even Wilde first editions. How could he endure an eternity of celestial harmonies and The Sound of Music knowing he’d thrown away his last chance to be with the one he’d loved for almost eighty years, probably far longer? This was their last dance, figuratively speaking, and now Crowley’s hips were pressed against his, their noses touching. If not now, when?

Aziraphale leaned into Crowley’s lips, interrupting the rant he hadn’t been listening to. Calling it a kiss seemed generous—it was more a clumsy collision of lips and teeth and noses. It might have even appeared accidental, a natural consequence of startling an angel and knocking him off balance. Crowley stepped back in shock, letting go of his lapels. Aziraphale grabbed his necktie and pulled him back in, making it clear this was no accident. This second attempt felt more like a real kiss, simple and chaste but with years of unspoken desire beneath the surface.

“Angel…” Crowley gasped as he pressed him back against the wall, deepening the kiss. One hand went behind Aziraphale’s head, protecting it from the wall, while the other went to his waist, pressing their hips back together. As Crowley’s tongue slid into his mouth, Aziraphale was briefly startled by the intrusion, but his lips acted of their own accord, letting him in further. Soon enough, his own tongue joined the desperate dance. He had never done this before, but his body seemed to be running on instinct, filled with a desire to draw Crowley closer and feel this electric rush through his whole body. He ran his fingers through Crowley’s fire-red hair with one hand, the other tracing down his back until it reached the arse he had spent more time than was angelically prudent admiring over the centuries. The part of him that said he was moving far too fast was drowned out by more urgent voices reminding him there was no time for propriety.

Read more on AO3!

[evilasiangenius]

“...well, I never knew him personally, but I am very fond of his music, my lord.” Flustered, Aziraphale flipped through the program once again, his gaze skittering over biographies, ads, lists of donors... “Beethoven was a genius, after all. His ninth symphony is sublime though let me just say that there are many sublime moments in all of his work and I think you will find the pastoral quality of this sixth symphony quite agreeable. It’s a programmatic work which starts off as if one were arriving in the countryside, a joyous welcome that begins a narrative of experiences in nature including a thunderstorm-”

“And you didn’t step in to heal his deafness?”

“No, Lord Asmodeus, it was not allowed,” Aziraphale sighed with the aggrieved dismay of well over two centuries of frustration. “If it were up to me, I would have healed him before it ever got to that point! But for some time now Heaven has developed some very strict rules about who could or could not receive miraculous healing. It was best to stay away so as not to be tempted into breaking the rules, but I must say that Beethoven stands for all that is wonderful about humanity. Unlike Mozart, neither of our sides were anywhere near him for the duration of his life and here he created such beauty, such exquisite-”

“And how many rules could you be tempted into breaking? Now that Heaven is not looking.” Asmodeus’ commanding left hand cupped Aziraphale’s jaw, turning him gently toward the Prince of Hell.

“N-none, of course!” Aziraphale stammered, as he did his best not to flinch away. “That was absolutely a rhetorical flourish and not meant to be taken literally, Lord Asmodeus-”

“Is it?” Asmodeus leaned in for a kiss, and Aziraphale froze, feeling Asmodeus’ mouth upon his, the touch of his own cold crown against his jaw as the lights dimmed all around him and the bright cacophony of the orchestra warming up began to settle in to the familiar strains of tuning.

Unlike the sharp geometry of the silvery exterior tiled in bird-shaped metal and concrete, the inside of the concert hall had been built with swooping modern gestures that suggested an organic flow, walls set with glittering golden tiles scattered haphazard amongst pure white ones. They sat on the point of a white pod of a balcony overlooking the violin section, floating above a black sea of seats. Asmodeus sat on his left, where Crowley would have sat.

As Asmodeus released him, Aziraphale looked around, surreptitiously wiping his mouth as if he could erase the memory of Asmodeus’ lips, the heat of his tongue. While there were six seats in this first row, the entire balcony was empty but for the two angels, fallen and otherwise, and Aziraphale wondered how that had worked out exactly to give them some modicum of privacy.

Eventually he managed to force himself to set the program down on his lap so that he did not twist it or tear it to shreds with the amount of nervous energy that flowed through him. He took a breath and tried to settle down to enjoy the music.

A dark and brooding Prokofiev overture. It stirred old memories of walking through the dusty streets of a bustling shtetl (Though where? And when was this memory? And why was Crowley trying to find pieces of his red-lined coat?).

Aziraphale found himself with his head resting against his right hand, the farthest he could be from Asmodeus without actually getting away.

Of course the Shostakovich would be grim as well, Aziraphale sighed as the double concerto began. If he could just power through this and an intermission, he could spend the rest of the evening enjoying that lovely Beethoven. Perhaps he could talk the Prince of Hell into going up onto the rooftop walk during intermission away from the crowds to see the snowy Paris night, the graceful sinuous curves of the black-shining Seine as it snaked through the city, and perhaps he could, just for a few moments, not have to worry about the effects of this powerful demon who seemed to like nothing more than to attend all that was human and interesting.

Mid-way through the allegro moderato (And really was this what these modern composers called moderato these days? The music felt as if it were going so fast that it was making Aziraphale as tense as a tight-wound string being tuned ever higher), as a dizzying contrast between the clear notes of the piano twisting up through a macabre, dissonant dance and the basses and cellos descending swiftly downwards in a spiraling storm of ever lower notes, Aziraphale felt the Prince of Hell’s hand upon his.

The gooseflesh rose prickling upon his skin and he did not know if it was because of the music or because of Asmodeus.

The Principality made an effort to relax that strained, tense appendage.

The tip of a finger stroked across the back of his hand, the back of his wrist, lightly exploring the topography that tendons and veins delineated and Aziraphale shivered.

But then Asmodeus twined his fingers with Aziraphale’s as easily as a serpent slithering, bringing the angel’s hand up to his lips and oh God, his hand felt almost like Crowley’s hand for just a moment but for how cold it was and startled, Aziraphale glanced over to make certain that no, this was not Crowley, not at all.

more

[ezra-fell-and-co]

Aziraphale & Shostakovich

The moment in the record shop when Aziraphale said he was picking up a Shostakovich record I had So Many Thoughts.

The symphony he's listening to is Symphony No.5 in D Minor, Op. 47, composed in 1937 and premiered in Leningrad to a thirty+ minute long standing ovation. Prior to this piece, Dimitri S. spent many nights sleeping in the hallway outside of his apartment so that his family wouldn't see if the government police in charge of enforcing Stalin's brutal rule came for him in the middle of the night. His last pieces had been received harshly by critics and called unpatriotic, which was just about the worst thing a composer living during The Great Terror (1936-1938) could do. Those who were not loyal to the regime and explicitly portrayed it in their art were branded as traitors and sent to gulags or were straight up executed.

The San Francisco Symphony describes the 5th symphony as "the story of a fall from grace and redemption.". Shostakovitch has gone from being a golden example to being eyed as a traitor almost overnight, the 5th Symphony becoming his redemption back into good graces.

So basically Dimitri S. was a man with contrasting ideologies to the powers that be, so to say, who was living under the threat of death, torture, or excommunication from his homeland. Haha, so weird that Aziraphale would want to listen to his music specifically.

(If you've never listened to Symphony No. 5, I highly encourage you to go listen!)

To set the scene-

From The Houston Symphony's 2018 Fighting the Barbarian Artist article on Symph. 5:

"In January 1934, Dmitri Shostakovich scored one of the biggest triumphs of his career with the premiere of Lady Macbeth of the Mtsensk District, a work official critics hailed as the first great Soviet opera. Based on a nineteenth-century novella by Leskov, it follows the misadventures of Katerina, the illiterate wife of a well-to-do country merchant who is driven to murder in order to be with her handsome but unworthy lover, the laborer Sergei. By turns satirical and tragic, Lady Macbeth explored themes of oppression with a potent combination of sex, violence and some truly beautiful music that played to full houses for two years. Then on January 26, 1936, Stalin went to see it. Two days later, on page 3 of Pravda (“Truth”—the newspaper that continues to serve as the official mouthpiece of the Russian Communist Party to this day), Shostakovich found an anonymous review of Lady Macbeth headlined “Muddle Instead of Music.” One representative quote declared that the opera “tickles the perverted tastes of the bourgeoisie with its fidgety, screaming, neurotic music…”" ...

There is debate about if Stalin himself wrote the review to make a point, or if he just signed off on it being printed. It's also unclear if Shostakovitch was being targeted specifically, or just because of his notoriety to prove that no matter how big a name you are you're not safe if you don't fall in line, or if he was just being used as a pawn in the ongoing power struggles of the day.

Either way, he was very aware that he was in danger. A friend of Stalin's was vanished when he wrote to Stalin in defense of Shostakovitch's work after the fateful review.

The 5th was a result of Dimitri knowing he needed to get back into good graces, so he had to give them something that they wanted. Or at least something that sounded like what they wanted.

Symphony No. 5 is very sneaky in how it subverts the expectations and requirements of Stalin's Russia.

For one, it's form- a symphony is a very structured form and very Western, popularized by Beethoven and co. It's also instrumental, which allowed Shostakovitch to hide a lot of references, subversions, and musical sarcasm/critiques without the untrained critics and government officials being any the wiser.

D minor, the main tonality of the symphony, has been described by various music theorists about what kind of emotional experience it portrays. John Mattheson in 1713 described it as "Serious, Pious, Ruminating. Melancholy, feminine, brooding worries, contemplation of negativity."

However, for our purposes, Aziraphale is listening to the fourth movement, which is also the most political. (More excellent write ups about the entire work can be read here, here, here, and here. There is a PBS documentary about it here.) ((It also shifts to an ironic D Major as one point, which Mattheson describes as "Triumphant, Victorious War-Cries. Screaming hallelujah’s, rejoicing in conquering obstacles. War marches, holiday songs, invitations to join the winning team."))

The fourth movement is bombastic, letting the brass section loose right at the start. The main theme in this section is from an unpublished song that Shostakovitch had written as a setting for a Pushkin poem. The piece as a whole and specifically this movement is a direct critique of Stalin himself.

The poem?

With sleepy brush the barbarian artist The master’s painting blackens; And thoughtlessly his wicked drawing Over it he is daubing. But in years the foreign colors Peal off, an aged layer: The work of genius is ‘gain before us, With former beauty out it comes. Thus my failings vanish too From my wearied soul, And again within it visions rise, Of my early purer days.

Which I think speaks for itself in what kind of mentality Aziraphale might have listening to the symphony.

I'm not sure which recording he listens to, but in the record shop we are shown that it's a record with a blue label on the disk. There are several recordings that have blue labels including the 1972 Moscow Philharmonic with Kiril Kondrashin and the 1989 Scottish National Orchestra with Neeme Jarvi. Leonard Bernstein and the NY Philharmonic have a very famous recording as well.

But I think the most likely is the 1962 Vienna Philharmonic with Constantin Silvestri. Why? Well, here's the record:

[maidenimage]

Ineffable May 2024: 16/31 → Day 16: "1827"

Summary: In 1827, Crowley and Aziraphale go to Edinburgh and encounter grave-digger Elspeth McKinnon. But a few months before this, they spend an evening honoring the life, legacy, and recent passing of Ludwig van Beethoven.

Rated: G

Word count: 321

[potatowithahat]

The theater

An Aziracrow fic and day one of Fictober!

“Hey Crowley?” Aziraphale called from where he was lounging on the couch in there apartment above the bookshop 

“Yes Angel?” Crowley looked up lazily from where he was beside the record player , currently playing one of Aziraphale’s ‘new age’ vinyls 

It was a recording of beethoven's 5th

“Do you remember that little man we helped out back in London? That playwright?” Aziraphale asked as he set down his book 

“Hmm.. yes, yes right. The Shakespeare guy. Tell you what, his plays were awfully boring but the man certainly knew how to Wright insults. That was good work,  I'll tell you, writing insults like that” His husband nodded 

“Well” Aziraphale starts as he sits up “that theater troupe my ‘grandfather’ helped set up” He gave him a suspiciously cheeky wink “is holding some sort of festival for him”

“Ahh” Crowley could see where this was going,  and already had his phone out to buy the tickets “When?”

“This weekend” Aziraphale sets his book down on the end table “I thought you and i might-”

“Look at that. There performing Romeo and Juliet too” Crowley cuts him off “a modern twist on the classic tale” He reads off his phone “Featuring songs by Queen”

Of course, Aziraphale already knew that. It had been his idea to have the event in the first place. All he had to do was plant a few seeds in a directors brain and bing- Anniversary date planned.

“I suppose it doesn't sound too bad” Crowley says, trying to sound as if he wasn’t all that interested, though he had already bought the tickets and was currently picking out his outfit in his head

“It’s a date then” Aziraphale said, giggling inside at the thought, despite the two of them having been married for years now

“It's just not where i thought it would be, that's all” crowley muttered as he opened the car door for his better half.

When Aziraphale had mentioned helping found a theater troupe some time ago he had imagined a little hole in the wall place with charm and a dedicated few members. What Crowley was not expecting was the elegant theater that stood before them. The Building was grandiose, at least two floors with a faux-Marble exterior and large steps leading up to the ticket boxes.

There were crowds of people lined up at the doors, their conversation buzzing quietly from the queue.

“They have done quite well, Haven’t they?” Aziraphale Practically beams as they walk across the street towards the theater. “The building is new, of course. When i was directing we were still performing in parks and outdoor stages”

Crowley knew that, of course. Though he’d never admit it when asked, he had gone to every one of those early shows. He just Adored the look on Aziraphale’s face when he saw all his hard work pay off. 

He just didn’t expect them to doThis well 

“Course, Angel” He nods, placing a hand gently on his husbands back as he guides him to the box office, reaching to pull his phone out of his pocket to show the man 

“Oh we don't need that dear” Aziraphale waved his hand away “I have a box”

“Oh” Crowley shuffles behind him awkwardly as the two pass through the doors, the Box office attendant smiling and nodding as Aziraphale passes “I thought you hadn’t been here recently”

Aziraphale smiles sheepishly as he leads Crowley up the stairs “Well, yes, but I like to support the place. Half the time i just send my people out to attend for me”

It was true. Shadwell had been to quite a few plays now with Tracy on their ‘date nights’. It was one of the perks of working for that Southern Pansy.

“Ahh” Crowley nods “I suppose that's nice. Good thing, supporting the locals” He gives Aziraphale a smile as the two of them start up a curtained staircase to a small private box with four seats

“Yes well I try” Aziraphale smiles as he sits down, looking down at the stage happily “Oh doesn’t the set look lovely? Much better then anything i’ve put together 

“Yes yes” Crowley nodded, more focused on his angel then the stage “It is lovely”

He slid into the seat beside Aziraphale, taking his hand in his gently

“It’s quite romantic” Aziraphale smiles and looked over at the Demon

“Thank you for coming” Aziraphale says softly

“Anything for you Angel” crowley mutters, the faintest hint of a smile on his lips.

Thank you for reading!!!!

I hope you enjoyed

If you'd like to read more of my stories, feel free to visit my Ao3, or check out my masterlist here on tumblr!!!

As always I'm a little gremlin when it comes to writing so if you have any fic ideas please feel free to drop an ask!!!!

[prettysquishygirl]

Chapter 4 of Murder at Gallows Hall is now up. And I have gone for the smut because it was both necessary to the plot and funny and made me grin. I can't think of a better reason. Anyway, my favourite bits are below the cut. If it interests you, it's over on AO3:

"When it's happened before, I've been alone," said Aziraphale and wondered if any of this would be considered oversharing. He wasn't quite sure about the etiquette in these situations and felt he was navigating it blindly. It didn't hurt that Crowley's fingers were still stroking the skin just below his waistband and Aziraphale decided that they were very much venturing to what could definitely be considered to be his buttocks. One cheek anyway.

"And what did you do, when you were all alone?" asked Crowley. He kissed the angel and drew back slowly, his teeth catching briefly in Aziraphale's bottom lip before he released it. "What terrible sins did you get up to?"

"I don't sin," said Aziraphale, who wasn't quite sure if this counted and didn't really care if it did. "I took care of it."

"Uh, interesting," said Crowley as his fingers spread wider under the close fabric of Aziraphale's trousers. "What did this taking care of entail?"

"You know what it entails," said Aziraphale.

"I'm interested to know what that means for you," said Crowley. "For instance, do you find a good book and use your free hand?"

"I don't read books while I'm dealing with that," said Aziraphale.

"Films?" said Crowley and tilted his head as he seemed to seriously consider it. "You listen to music. Chopin? Beethoven? Glenn Miller?"

"Gershwin," said Aziraphale and Crowley laughed. "What now?"

"You've got rhythm," said Crowley and squeezed his fingers. "That's amazing, angel. I'm impressed."

[cloud-angel-chaser]

y'know that genre of crowley where he tricks aziraphale into thinking he's listening to classical music but in reality, he was listening to queen?

Tchaikovsky's "Another One Bites the Dust"

William Byrd's "We Are the Champions"

Beethoven's "I Want To Break Free"

Vaughan William's "Fat Bottomed Girls"

J. S. Bach's Mass in B Minor, vocals by F. Mercury

(they really said fat bottomed girls supremacy #exactly)

edit: so, i was made aware that crowley doesn't zimzalabim vavoom his way into making aziraphale into listening to queen but it's still fun to see.

[gallifreyshawkeye]

Chapter 8 of Reclaimed. I actually wrote an almost 11K chapter in a week, y'all! Boom! 😄

Summary:

Aziraphale accidentally discovers inconsistencies with the A(a)rchangel rosters and that there are potentially multiple archangels that have simply vanished. He also gets a message from Furfur who wants to meet, and the message is brought by an unknown angel who reminds Aziraphale so much of a certain red-haired angel that it can't be coincidence. Meanwhile, Crowley is pushed beyond his limits to the absolute brink by Satan and remembers a secret experiment he had worked on shortly after the Fall and that he had kept hidden in case he ever needed it. He hadn't for so long he had completely forgotten about it. Until now. And it might save his life.

Excerpt:

“Supreme Archangel! Sir!” 

Aziraphale turned around to see a breathless angel dressed in… khaki trousers with a black belt, a button-up sea-foam green shirt with rolled up shirt sleeves, a black tie, and dark grey shoes?! waving his hand to get Aziraphale’s attention while finishing jogging up to him from the opposite end of the long corridor. The angel leaned over as he reached Azirapale and rested his hands on his knees, catching his breath before standing back up and arching his shoulders back while taking a deep breath and finally settling into a normal posture.

“Whoo I should probably run more,” the angel said, “Hate running though. Frightfully boring. And so awful . I do not understand the humans and angels who do it on purpose. I mean, the idea sounds nice, especially the endurance running stuff. You know what I’m talking about? It’s where humans go for, like, 50, 100, 200 miles on purpose through, like, deserts and wilderness? Now that would be an accomplishment and super cool. But the training for that?! No. Couldn’t do it. Not in a million years. I bet demons don’t run on purpose. Ever. Or maybe they do because it’s awful. No, wait! I bet it’s, like, something they’d wager for the loser in a bet like, ‘I bet you 50 laps around the Infernal Pit that….’ uh, I’m not sure what demons would bet on. Maybe that one of them didn’t know that Beethoven actually did write a 10th symphony? He did, you know. Did you know that? But you get the idea. That’s how terrible running is.” The angel grimaced and took another deep breath like he needed to fill the very bottom of his lungs. “Whooo, that’s better!”

Aziraphale was staring in utter, boggled astonishment. Never in his existence had he met another angel like this one. Well, aside from Crowley-ish. When the demon was devoid of carrying the fate of the universe, this was not remarkably dissimilar to how Crowley could get on those rare occasions when he felt safe and uninhibited and got going on a subject he was passionate about whether it was passionately negative or positive. Who was this angel?! 

“Can I help you?” Aziraphale asked at last when the unknown angel in front of him didn’t say anything further and simply stood there, rocking back and forth from the balls of his feet to his heels while absent mindedly swinging his arms and… humming? something under his breath.

“What? OH! Right! Yes!” The angel’s eyes jumped back from wandering around the large corridor to focused on Aziraphale’s vicinity like he’d completely forgotten that he’d been the one to grab Aziraphale’s attention in the first place.

[phantomram-b00]

So I’m planning a To hell with you sequel, (or maybe a comic version-). But I wanted to write a filler like episode in between. It could be read by itself, but I thought it be a filler. Hope you enjoy!

Just memories

“No way angel, you still have that Walkman I gave you?” Crowley snorted when he put his glasses on Aziraphale’s desk as he reads listening to his Walkman. “They stop making them back in two-thousand ten.”

“Well it ah more convenient” Aziraphale said shrugging. “I mean, I can listen to my musics while I’m on the go, can you imagine me carrying my Gramophone everywhere where just to hear my favorites down SoHo or by St. James park? Truly Crowley that would be terrible troublesome” Aziraphale chortled even thinking of such bizarre imagination.

“I’m just saying, you should invest in a mobile. That twice as convenient as a Walkman angel.” Crowley said picking it up a little. “What song are you even playing on this anyway?”

“Well. I change time to time. From Nina Simone, Elton John, ABBA, and more.”

“Elton John? You surprise me Angel. Would’ve thought you listen to instrumentals or snooze-fest all your life.”

“You Wily Serpent!” Aziraphale snickered as he’d lightly nudged Crowley. “You don’t hear me talking down about your uh bebops now do I?”

“Bastard” Crowley snickered. “But, I’m happy my uh gift from that day hold up.” He smiles putting the Walkman down. “Would’ve thought you stop using it.”

“Why would I? It was a gracious gifts. Also, it remind me of that night you know.” Aziraphale smiled looking at the Walkman. “I mean granted everything you have ever given me is delightful no matter how much you have how much I dote on it. I just, happy to have something to remind me of that wonderful night.”

They couldn’t have prevented their face from turning any redder. That night at the concert was indeed a night to remember even if it was back in the eighties. That night was filled with surprises, starting with aziraphale actually wanting to go with him to a rock concert all the way to when they kissed each other on the cheeks. Even more surprising is Aziraphale actually liking music that wasn’t from Mozart or Beethoven. Now, Aziraphale doesn’t go to all due to how loud they are and the setting can be overstimulating for him even with his Walkman; and Crowley would never ask him to go out of his comfort zone. Then again he wouldn’t dare to put him in a situation that would leave him in distress. So to him, it made him appreciate Aziraphale holding onto treasure memories.

“F-funny, I got you something.” Crowley said pulling something out of his pocket. It was wrapped in yellow wrapping. “Thought you might like them. Some are similar or some you might wanna try.”

“I thought you said-“

“Just a demonic miracle, angel” Crowley smirked as he (Aziraphale) opens up the gift. “I-if you don’t like it, I can uh always make them disappear.”

Aziraphale look at some of them. One of them called “I’ll follow you into the dark” by Death Cab for Cutie. Aziraphale tilted his head and softly snicker at the name. He then flip one over to the other small cassette this one called, “Just the two of us” by Grover Washington Jr. Aziraphale technically does have a record disc for his gramophone, would play it whenever he read his romances novels just picturing him and Crowley. Just the two of them. He smiled longingly. He then flip again to another cassette, “Your Song” by Elton John. He own two other cassette, one was “don’t go breaking my heart” and “goodbye yellow-brick road”. But your song he never exactly heart.

“Oh Crowley, thank you. Thank you.” Aziraphale said smiling. “However I’m not familiar with Death Cab for Cuties or even your song by Elton John.”

“Well, I try to pick songs that might be similar to songs you usually pick. But since you that picky I just choose these three to be safe.” Crowley said rubbing his head as his glasses was suddenly back on.

“Silly, why didn’t you just ask me” Aziraphale chuckled. “It could’ve help out-“

“Well maybe I wanted to surprise you. You usually like surprises.” Crowley said as he rolled his eyes behind his shades.

“Oh come on now, you don’t need to hide yourself” aziraphale scoffed as he toke off his glasses to see his favorite sunny eyes. “Thank you Anthony. I greatly appreciate it.” He then leaned over to press a soft kiss in the cheek. How crowley didn’t melt was a mystery even for himself.

“S-shush you!” Crowley said trying to turn away.

“Never” Aziraphale said as he giggled. Crowley couldn’t help but join in on his laughing. Hearing this contagious laughter was always his highlight of his day; his joyfulness was what he look forward too whenever they met again amongst other things. Then again, seeing him smile overall was what brighten his day.

“Well then” Crowley said as he wiped his tears. “Why don’t we head over to that restaurant you wanted to try, heard a table of two is miraculously opened for us.”

“Oh that’s delightful. Imma start bringing my Walkman! Maybe I can listen to the new songs! Come on.” Azirpahale said as he grabbed on some cassette and his Walkman as they head out the door. Laughter still filled the memories.

Right. Only just memories now.

how he wished he can relive that moment. Right now, he’s laying his head on his desk looking at his Walkman, tears streamed down his face yet no wails can be heard. Aziraphale can’t muster anything. He just feel numbed.

He look to his right and saw one cassette he never got to play. “I’ll follow you into the dark” by death cab for cutie.

“Right.” He said as he wiped his golden tears. “Never got to tell him I….” He gulped to push down more that’s coming up. “Well.. it wouldn’t matter regardless I suppose. But a listen won’t hurt right?”

So he proceeds to open up the Walkman and remove the song “don’t go breaking my heart” by Elton John and Kiki Dee. He scoffs as he hide the cassette inside his cluttered desk and place inside the new cassette. He put on his headphones and pressed play, and this time he couldn’t hold back as the song plays.

Reference to where the Walkman came from.

[roxannepolice]

A little bit of GOS2 criticism crossed my dash, mostly of the not like the book variety (not plot-wise, obviously, only in the sense that it went away from the spirit of the book). Leaving aside the fact as a Stanley Kubrick* fan I don't find this a compelling argument at all, I'm really not raging against the fact that there are people who dislike the things I like, not even blocking anyone, that's for politics, filtering serves just perfectly. But I think I see a pattern in the criticisms original/classic material fans levy against adaptations/continuations in Good Omens (that sometimes includes the first season too), Doctor Who and Sherlock Holmes fandoms. If you bite your way through the overgrow of whatever social policy is on the menu it boils down to overfocusing on characters, and in the case of GO overfocusing on characters that aren't even strictly protagonists. And if you've followed me for a while you may have noticed that this sometimes annoys me, too. Sometimes I dress it in fancy wording of precession of simulacrae, sometimes I just bitch about TTC. So I started thinking about why it doesn't bother me, and in fact is a thing that fills me with insane feuertrunkenness** when done right - by which I mostly mean 2nd season of Sherlock, RTD/early Moffat era of Doctor Who, and the 2nd season of Good Omens. So, obviously, I started thinking of Francisco de Goya y Lucientes.

Say hello to my icon and one of most favourite works of visual arts. The simple truth about Goya is that he was an absolute genius in realistic painting. He was flexing away his way across the Spanish court with his compositions, and fabrics, and wrinkles, and light work. He was straight up academically and technically brilliant. He was a product of the European fashion of the time. And yet he could also, especially as his own health and political situation in the country deteriorated, he could also do so. much. drama. So much vision, so much phantasmagoric nightmares. So much introspection. Without even for a moment falling down the chute of sentimentalist navel gazing that the romantic era so often went down.

I don't really like periodization, good art is good art, but paradigmatic shifts are definitely a thing. And there are those amazing artists who bring the older, more established, more as Jung would put it, externalized paradigm to perfection and push it further without losing the sight of it. This is Goya, this is Botticelli, this is Goethe, this is very late Mozart, this is Beethoven. Wagner is a great example because there's this definite moment around the Flying Dutchman and Lohengrin when he finds his style without overpompousing it. And this is an extremely difficult rope to walk! Falling down the rabbit hole of overthinking your own work, and especially overthinking pop cultural phenomena is way way wayyyy too easy for anyone to walk it. The temptation to overpower them is way too strong for mere mortals to resist it.

But it is possible. RTD showed it is possible to do so for over 50 hours of material. The point be that the drama, the sturm und drung and lebenschmertz and whatnot emerge naturally from the story, rather than fitting the story specifically to make it dramatic and navel gazy. It'll be a bit mean now, but it's the difference between the self made tragedy of the last of the time lords and a literal species ready to change reality to find out the Doctor's true name, which matters, but not, but does.

And I think Neilman did hit that sweet spot in the second season. Yes, people are complaining about Aziraphale and Crowley coming off as "too important", especially Crowley***, which is completely contrary to the book, but this remains elegantly within the realms of interpretation. It's introspective and dramatic without navel gazing and tragedy for tragedy's sake. And knowing his other works I feel fairly confident he won't be falling off that rope.

And I wouldn't be a McLuhanist if I didn't mention that television is a medium naturally more likely to focus on characters because of its episodic character (stories end, banter is forever) and the fact it was the first medium where characters were literally at people's homes.

* Don't inform me that he wasn't the nicest person but was a veritable nightmare to work with, I mean his FILMS.

** Sorry for the German vocab, but what can I say, they really made a point when they started splashing words together.

*** My three cents on pre-fall Crowley's archangelic status is that I still like the inversion and irony, but I liked it better when the theory was getting excommunicated as *checks notes* too classist, rather than sth you vagued Neilman about on Tumblr.