#I am a die hard aziraphale defender

[certifiablyinsanez]

Crowley: “We’ve known each other a long time. We’ve been on this planet a long time; you and me. I could always rely on you, you could always rely on me. We’re a team, a group; a group of the two of us. And we’ve spent our entire existence pretending that we aren’t. I mean the last few years not really…And I would like to spend (mmm). I mean, if Gabriel and Beezelbub can go off together, then we can. Just the two of us. We don’t need Heaven, we don’t need Hell, they’re toxic! We need to get away from them, just be an us. You and me, whadda say?”

Aziraphale:

[queer-reader-07]

few things bother me more than people saying that it’s “dumb” or “intentional ignoring” or “impossible” to have interpreted crowley and aziraphale’s relationship platonically.

and look i could go on about all the things that do point to romance but enough people have done that so i’m gonna defend myself here and explain why i read them as platonic for so long and why i think it’s perfectly reasonable to have read them platonically.

and a disclaimer that all of this is from my perspective and my opinion. so if i make a statement as though it’s matter of fact, know that i’m speaking from my perspective and just can’t be bothered to preface every sentence with “in my opinion…”

and it mostly boils down to one thing: their love reflected the love me and my friends have for each other.

so no shit i interpreted them platonically because they looked like my real life platonic relationships!!

i’ve talked at length about how i think there’s a specificity to the way queer people love. i think there’s something special about the way queer people show love, especially platonic love.

here’s the thing. i’ve been mistaken as my best friend of 16 years’ girlfriend more than once. i’ve been mistaken as one of my other best friend’s partner so many times her friends were genuinely shocked when she got a boyfriend because they thought she was dating me.

i understand the whole “being so platonically in love that people think you’re also fucking” situation. i unironically live that situation on the regular. so naturally i assumed that’s what was happening with aziraphale and crowley.

my thought process was basically this

1) they love like i love (specifically, crowley loves like i love). therefore, they’re platonically in love.

2) weird, everyone on the internet is convinced they’re dating. something something everyone values romantic love over platonic love

3) well whatever they’re still platonic in my heart

and it stayed like that quite literally until i watched episode 6 of season 2. and you can tell me i was being oblivious all you want, but that doesn’t change the fact that i genuinely believed they were platonic. queer platonic? sure. but definitely not romantic.

i saw all the witty quips and banter between the two of them and didn’t read any sexual or romantic tension, i read friendship. i saw aziraphale damsel in distress-ing himself on the regular so crowley could save him and thought “well it’s the only way he can spend time with crowley. checks out”. and i saw the bandstand breakup and the burning bookshop and “you told my only friend to shut his mouth and die and i did. not. care. for it.” and aziraphale so desperately trying to shield crowley from the horrors of the world and obviously i saw love. a love that is deep and profound, yes. it just never read romantic to me because i would do and say all of those things for and to my friends.

one of the few things i will never cease to find joy in is my friendships. i will ALWAYS love loving the people close to me, i will ALWAYS support them, and most importantly, i ALWAYS want to protect them. even when i know what is going to happen is inevitable, i don’t want to see them hurt. i want to shield them from the cataclysmic experience of the human condition and only have to experience in the moments of joy that await them. i don’t want to see the people i love hurt or in pain or jaded by how fucked up the world is.

because i already am those things. i am jaded by the world, i’m constant falling into the pit of cynical despair that the state of the world can manage to throw you down. and i know how fucking hard it is to pull yourself out of that place, to find hope and move forward and allow yourself to even enjoy the love and support you do have in life.

and the last thing i ever want is for the people i love dearly to experience those things.

so yeah. i related hard fucking core to crowley and the way he loves aziraphale SO. FUCKING. DEEPLY. and of course i read it platonically because it’s platonic for me. so deeply platonic in the best way.

and i could go on about how a lot of this stems from how much i value platonic love. how much i don’t adhere to social norms of love and how people express love. i will loudly proclaim my love for my friends, because i love them. i’m in love with them. but that doesn’t mean i want to date them or kiss them. and that makes perfect sense to me, and if it doesn’t make sense to you. well then, idk what to tell you.

this is longer than i intended but my point is that it hurts seeing people who act like those of us who did genuinely read aziracrow as platonic the first go around are stupid or that we chose to ignore the romance.

because, to me at least, it always felt like people were calling the way i love stupid or that i’m actually ignoring my “real” feelings

[lenaellsi]

K, T, X? 😊

K - What character has your favorite development arc/the best development arc?

For Good Omens since I think most people follow me for that at this point--I think once Aziraphale gets there he will have had incredible character arc, but as he's right in the middle of it and kind of in his flop era rn, I can't say for sure. In the absence of that--

ANYONE HERE PLAYED ACE ATTORNEY? Anyway Miles Edgeworth my beloved

T - Do you have any hard and fast headcanons that you will die defending? 

Interestingly enough, one of my ironclad headcanons before Good Omens season 2 was that Crowley was a pretty low-ranking angel before the Fall. I think it was probably influenced by my first interpretation of him from reading the book many many years ago, but my impression was always that Crowley's incredible abilities (stopping time, holding the Bentley together without discorporating, etc.) come from him having an imagination and being more creative with how he uses his powers rather than from being a higher ranked angel in the past. I had a whole backstory for him, too--scrungly little construction angel with big dreams of building his own star system who keeps trying to tell his superiors that the plans they're building are structurally flawed, blah blah blah. Now, of course, that's been pretty thoroughly disproved, and we're all throwing around theories about Seraphim and Thrones and Archangels. I love canon angel Crowley so I'm not mad about it, but I do miss my little guy.

Also this is how Kokabiel!Crowley can still win

X - A trope which you are almost certain to love in any fandom.

...Grumpy/angsty/snarky bastard with a sad backstory and a heart of gold?

I am embarrassing.

[dastardly-ethereal-love]

So friends. I am okay but have been so very not okay in the past. I’m reading more of this wonderful ‘Oh,Maker’ world - this time from Aziraphale’s perspective and it is hard hitting for an ex Christian like me.

Here is my looooong comment to the first bloody chapter!

But this is a flaw, a weakness in me. The LORD is righteous, and a jealous God, and I must find a way to be strong enough to witness Her wrath with the same equanimity I witness Her love. I will, one day. If I remain faithful, if I try hard enough. I will be granted that strength.

Those lines. Fuck. It’s so true. It’s how I used to think there must be something wrong with me because god is perfect so why am I not okay with his judgement of gay people or his treatment of women or his killing and punishment of anyone who doesn’t fit his exacting standards. As if Jesus’ sacrifice somehow can cover over whole societies who never knew Jesus or had a chance to accept his very limited opportunity for salvation? Who can accept those terms… who can look at themselves and be okay with being on the ‘winning team’ when so many are forced to ‘lose’. My dad was in a Christian cult that refined that saved number down to some crazy number in Revelation… 144,000? Like ever? It’s arrogance in the extreme. And Aziraphale was created within it. He’s a bloody angel and has no say in it but has to enact it. He watches it unfold.

No words for that level of trauma. How you have him watching the flood and Crowley takes him away and comforts him. How you have him watching 20,000 die in wars between England and France. So much senseless loss of life. You could lose your mind thinking about it. How does any of it make sense?

Anyway… I love your writing and how it shakes out these big questions and reminds you that we as humans have choices. I absolutely choose Crowley now and his way of questioning. I grieved losing my faith but now I’m grateful to have escaped that very limiting frame of thinking. It felt like losing something precious but you said in Oh Maker that it could be the start of something else that is joyful. Maybe not in those words… but I like the honesty and the genuineness that comes with stripping back the layers of indoctrination. I am finding so much more pleasure in simple everyday things now. I’m not forcing myself to do things because they are someone else’s will be it my church minister, a Benedictine monk or my idea of who God is. Haha I’m finding out what my will is. Who I am. It’s nice to connect with myself and find that I like who I am. I am embracing my emotions - sad and hurt as much as happy and joyful and giving them more room to be heard. Not having to paint a bloody happy face on horrible stuff. That’s a relief. Also, not feeling guilty about enjoying things for their own sake. I used to be told off for wasting my time and my labour on meaningless stuff - but life and joy and being alive is not useless! I’m going to art galleries, going to plays, going on holidays to walk under trees and be in nature and connect with who I am. It’s a kind of bliss. It’s a kind of joy. It’s a recognition that I was worth love even if I didn’t earn it. The whole love is given, not earned thing. Killed me. It hit me hard. I was told salvation doesn’t come from works by one side of my faith community and the other side was all ‘cover your head to pray’ and ‘take communion’ and if you don’t do it regularly then you will have no life in you. So it was do this or be cast out but then also, faith alone! But then faith without works is dead… such a horrible tug of war and where was I in any of it?! Like when did the person who I was get a chance to speak? When did I get to move without guilt or obligation pushing me one way or the other?

Gah. Religion is not my favourite. It may work for some but i think my brand of childhood trauma and religion created a bit of a monster. I was ripe for being taken advantage of. I didn’t know what boundaries were and I was just way too ready to sacrifice my whole entire self by becoming a bloody nun. A boy ended up tempting me away from that idea… haha but I was so ready to just give my life away to some other persons idea of the right thing to do. I just so wanted to be good. To be told I was good. Ugggghhh!

/no one was prepared for that level of trauma dumping. Apologies and thanks for sharing your words with the world!

[lady-divine-writes]

Good Omens - I Was Given Four Rules to Follow ... I Broke Every One: Chapter 1/3 (Rated PG13)

Summary: When Warlock Dowling is summoned to the old South Downs cottage of Aziraphale and Crowley to help clean out their attic, presumably after their deaths, he is given four rules to follow.

... He breaks every single one.

Notes: For @silver-colour

Written for the @tricketyboo2020 prompt "Creepypasta format story (like a found footage or witness statement kind of thing)" by silver-colour. It is a mild reworking of an older fanfic of mine, but that goes tongue in cheek with the ending of this story sort of. XD I would put this between Spooky Level 2 and 3, with 3 being "major and minor character death, disturbing images or concepts, major dark themes, major violence, etc." But there's only minor mentions of blood/body horror. But the whole undead thing is a trigger for some people and I lean into that imagery a bit. I wanted this to be a sort of leveled up Goosebumps tale. Tl;dr proceed with caution <3

Chapter 1

 I am going to die.

I’m going to die, I’m going to die, I’m going to die.

I have to keep repeating it because I have to come to grips with it.

I am going to die.

Not in sixty years.

More like sixty minutes.

Oh, Amanda. I am sorry.

If you ever hear this … I never meant for this to happen.

My name is Warlock Dowling and I am 34 years-old. Devoted son and husband, I’ve spent over a decade working towards achieving my dream of following in my father’s footsteps and entering politics one day.

It’s a dream I don’t think I’ll be seeing through to the end.

I am telling you this because after reading what I’ve just read … and hearing what I’ve just heard … I am not certain I’m going to make it through the night.

I broke the rules.

There were four. Only four. And I broke them.

I didn’t break them by accident. I absolutely did it on purpose. I’m not suicidal or anything, but you only live once - am I right?

For the record, I don’t regret a single thing.

…

That’s not entirely true.

I’ll regret dying before morning if that’s the way things play out.

Today happens to be October 31st - Halloween night. I’d been tasked with clearing out the attic above a cottage in The South Downs which once belonged to a pair of old family friends. Technically, they were ex-employees of my parents from back when I was young, but I thought of them as surrogates. They practically raised me, educated me, taught me everything I know about coping in this cruel, pathetic world.

I held them in the highest regard.

They were the only people in my life who treated me as if I could become more than what I had been born into, that fate had something else in store for me. Because of them, I met the best friends a boy could ever have.

I will forever be grateful for that.

Cleaning out this attic was the least I could do to repay them, but to be honest, I don’t know who summoned me here. I assumed it was the executor of their estate, but now I’m not so sure. Looking over the letter in my hands, there is no legible signature. And the gold embossed emblem at the top that I took for granted as belonging to some upscale legal firm is, on closer inspection, gibberish - a mess of fleur-de-lis underscored by Latin words that roughly translate to “the cows shall rise”.

Ludicrous, right?

How did I miss that?

But more ludicrous - and confusing - are the rules.

I had been given rules about cleaning this attic.

The first rule on the list was to touch only what I could see. Under no circumstances was I to open any of the boxes or chests.

So, naturally, I opened every single one.

The second rule was not to put anything on. Fine by me. The only clothes up here are old lady outfits and a pair of white satin shoes.

But …

There was an awesome vintage leather jacket hanging on a dressmaker’s dummy in the corner and … well … it had my name written all over it! I had to try it on, see if it fit.

And it does.

Rule number three - keep to my torch. Don’t light any candles.

Nuh-uh! It’s Halloween! And torches are lame. So on the candles went. Jeez, there are a lot of them. Enough to burn down the whole place if I’m not careful. It actually seems like they’ve multiplied since I’ve been up here.

I won’t lie - it’s unsettling.

But according to the list, rule number four is the most important:

Don’t read any books I find. And definitely not out loud.

The first thing I saw when I entered the attic was a stack of leather-bound books. I scoffed at the sight of them, piled up to my chin, right inside the entryway. Isn’t that a bit like putting a huge bowl of candy front and center on your dining room table in the middle of dinner with a huge sign saying, “Do not eat?” If the most important rule about going into the attic is, “Don’t read anything!” why not put all the books on a high shelf?

Or the moon?

I’m not a book lover. I read hundreds of pages a day for work. I definitely don’t do it for fun. So this shouldn’t have been a hard one for me to follow.

But they looked like diaries.

And diaries hold secrets.

That made them a different matter all together.

I couldn’t resist.

But once I opened the top one, I knew I’d made a mistake.

These weren’t just any diaries.

They were the diaries of my two friends - Aziraphale and Crowley.

There had always been something odd about those two. I didn’t believe for a second that they were a proper nanny or gardener, not even when I was a young, impressionable child. But they were funny - a distraction from the dull as dishwater life of an attache’s son.

Yes, I was a spoiled little rich kid with everything I could ever ask for handed to me and, on top of that, diplomatic immunity.

Woe was me.

I realize how much of a douche whining about that makes me sound.

My life was still dull.

I was still lonely.

I never knew for sure what happened to them after they left us. I made assumptions - erroneous assumptions. I thought they lived happily ever after at least.

Now I know … that wasn’t the case.

I’m recording this in the hopes that someone will find it, so that you might know the true story of what happened to them …

… and why you might not be hearing from me again.

***

The Diary of Aziraphale Fell - Reluctant Widower

January 14th-

“Please, sir,” the decrepit woman hissed, but not unkindly. She came about her speech impediment by a mixture of symptoms - her thick accent coupled with her indeterminable old age caused her to talk that way. “Please, reconsider this decision.”

I glared at her regardless. I knew my eyes were bloodshot; my hair a mass of tangled, wayward strands; my lips quivered from constant, unrelenting crying.

“You said you had it!” I screamed, bypassing her arguments. “You said you would sell it to me! Wh---why else would I come here!?”

“You need to understand,” the woman implored, opening her hands in a pleading gesture. She fixed me with one clear blue eye, the other eye clouded – a useless, milky white lump of tissue bulging inside its socket, “what you ask for … it is unnatural.”

“But your granddaughter said it was a done deal!” I persisted, shooting a steely glare at the simpering young woman who ducked behind her grandmother to hide from my volatile stare. I wasn’t about to leave without the item I came for. At this point, I was willing to tear the place apart and everything inside - including the two of them - to get it.

They must have sensed that.

Even as the woman continued to defy me, she looked slightly more afraid than she had a minute ago.

“My granddaughter is foolish!” The woman directed the comment over her shoulder to the girl cowering there. “But she means well. We need the money. She was thinking with her head and not her heart.”

“I can pay you twice what you’re asking!” I reached into my back pocket for my wallet. “Three times! I’ll give you whatever you want!”

The girl, intrigued by my proposal, peeked over her grandmother’s shoulder, but the woman turned and barked sharply at her in a language I could not understand.

That was when I began to think I might be in danger.

I’d spent my entire life studying languages, so hearing one I didn’t comprehend, not even an inch, sent a shiver down my spine.

“Mr. Fell …” The old woman reached out, I presumed to comfort me, and took my shaking hand in hers “… your husband is dead. And I am more sorry than I can ever express at your loss. You carry your love for him like a beacon. I see it in your eyes. It shines from every part of you. With him gone, it is up to you to carry it. It will never fade as long as you remember him.”

Those were, without a doubt, the kindest words anyone had said to me since my husband passed. I crumbled, new tears falling hot down my cheeks. But regardless of her sympathy, sincere though it might be, I refused to relent.

I refused!

“I don’t want to remember him!” I whimpered, my anger renewed at the sound of my voice fracturing. “I want him here with me! I need you to help me bring him back!”

The woman sighed in pity but shook her head.

“The effects of life are varied, Mr. Fell. Our fate … it changes every day, with every choice that we make. But the effects of death should remain permanent.”

I flinched at that word as if she’d struck me across the face.

Permanent.

Crowley dead … my husband gone … and nothing for me to look forward to in life but emptiness. We’d had every moment of our lives planned together.

One arsehole drunk driver later and now I was alone.

I literally had no one.

I had lost contact with my mum early in life, never knew my father, didn’t have children of my own. My boss and mentor was an abusive prick who tormented me throughout the span of my career until I found a way out from under his thumb.

Until Crowley helped me discover a life where I didn’t need the man’s guidance or control.

But now I was going to lose him!? The only one who had stuck by me, who defended me, loved me through thick and thin!?

No! That was beyond cruel! And I wasn’t going to roll over and accept it!

I let the sorrow within me curdle, turn sour as I yanked my hand out of the old woman’s grasp.

“Your granddaughter said there are other methods of getting what I want!” I snarled. “Dangerous methods. Methods that might require payment in sacrifice … even blood. And not necessarily my blood. Innocent blood, if you catch my meaning.”

Both women gasped.

Despite the conversation at hand, I smiled.

Good, I thought. We were finally all on the same page.

Up until a few days ago, I never considered violence to be the answer to anything. But I had since come to a crossroads where an exception had made itself clear.

I was prepared to annihilate my humanity to get my husband back.

The old woman snapped her head over her shoulder, scolding her granddaughter in a harsh, guttural voice. The girl, who had started to brave coming out of hiding, shrank down once again.

“Be reasonable,” the woman begged, “please, and think about what you are saying. What you are willing to do.”

“No,” I said, my calm more potent than my anger … or so my husband used to say. “The time for me being reasonable is over. I will get what I want, no matter what the cost. The question is whether or not you will be the one to give it to me.”

The woman looked down at her gnarled hands and sighed a long, exhausted sigh. “Alright, Mr. Fell. I will sell the potion to you at the promised price.”

I stared at her for a moment in shock. I was relieved, of course. I hadn’t thought I would get this far. It frightened me how much I had begun looking forward to throttling her with my bare hands, imagined her neck snapping within my grasp, effortlessly like a twig.

That couldn’t be me though. I wasn’t that kind of person. It was this place - this shop and all of its trinkets, their age and professed magical abilities amplifying my grief, turning every rational thought I had into rage.

I had to get out of here and fast before I did something I might regret.

I opened my wallet with the onset of happier tears and thumbed through the bills, pulling out extra for the joy of getting what I wanted. I handed the money over, but the woman refused to touch it. She waved it away, her granddaughter popping up long enough to grab the money and then scurry off again. The woman reached into the folds of her skirts and retrieved a leather pouch that hung from a thin belt around her waist. From it she fished out a tiny blue bottle with a cork stopper sealing the mouth. She gave it a long, troubled look, then handed it to me.

For the first time, her hand trembled.

“Pour the contents of this bottle into your husband’s mouth, Mr. Fell,” she instructed, “and your husband will return.”

I held the bottle up to the dim candlelight of the musty Soho shop. The blue glass glimmered, a thick liquid inside swaying back and forth, shimmering like sun-tossed sparkles across a dark, foreboding sea.

“There are some rules that go along with that potion,” the woman said, her voice weeding into my head, summoning me back from my momentary trance, “and a few warnings you must heed as well.”

I sighed. I had hoped it would be a simple matter of giving my husband the liquid and living happily ever after, but I knew in my heart that nothing was ever that simple.

“Okay,” I said, slipping the bottle carefully into my pocket and patting over it twice to ensure its safety. “Tell me. What are the rules?”

“First of all, you will give that to your husband, but what will come back …” she paused, swallowed hard “… will not entirely be your husband.”

I nodded. I had expected her to say something along those lines, like a scene straight from an old time-y horror movie.

The woman locked both eyes, one clear and one clouded, on my face as I waited for her to finish her speech, eager to go back home and get on with my life. She realized, with regret, that I had every intention of going through with this, and took on the heavy burden of allowing this to continue.

“Be there to look into his eyes when he wakes,” she said.

I hadn’t dreamed of leaving his side, but since the woman made such a point of it, I asked, “Why?”

“He is being reborn, in a sense. And like other simple-minded creatures, he will imprint on the first person he sees.” She took my hands and squeezed them. “That person needs to be you!”

My gulp was audible, the weight of her words and of my plan suddenly settling within me. They pressed in on me, like that moment when the police came to my door. Their words – “Mr. Fell? I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this, but … it’s about your husband …” had turned me inside out, left my heart out in the cold.

I felt that cold now.

“Once the potion absorbs into his tissues, it will restart his heart,” she continued. “Then the potion will replicate. It will begin to take the place of his blood. It will make him calm, easier for you to control.”

I nodded again. I wanted to say something, assure the woman that I understood, but she didn’t pause long enough for me to speak. It wouldn’t have mattered. I saw the trepidation in her one, clear eye. I had no clue what to say to make this better.

“It will be a slow process, and you must learn to be a patient man!” She raised her voice, letting go of one hand to waggle an emphatic finger in front of my face. “You will be teaching him, raising him as you would a child. Remember, even if only a small portion of his soul returns, that soul belongs to your husband, and you must love him or this will not work!”

The woman stepped back, out of breath from her outburst, and her granddaughter (whom I had forgotten about) returned, pushing forward an ornate but dusty antique chair to catch her in. I held the woman’s arms gently and helped her into it, feeling strangely protective. The woman sat and waved us both off, not wanting us to make a fuss when she still had more to say.

“But most importantly,” she labored on, barely missing a beat in her speech, “do not let him taste blood.” I knelt down so that she didn’t feel the need to yell for her words to reach me. “He cannot eat meat, but most of all, don’t let him bite you or lick your wounds. Or anyone else’s – human or animal.”

“Will … will I become a zombie? If he does bite me?”

I’m not quite sure why the word ‘zombie’ leapt to my mind. In every interaction I had had with the woman’s granddaughter before tonight, she had been so careful not to use that term. She used other, more romantic euphemisms such as ‘bring back to the land of the living’, ‘re-associate with life’, and the most used - ‘rebirth’. But that’s what he would be, right? When we moved past the flowery vernacular and got right down to it? This potion I had pocketed would turn my husband into the walking dead, - a simple-minded creature that was once deposed from this Earth.

And that meant ‘zombie’.

As if I had nothing more pressing at hand, I suddenly recalled the Walking Dead marathon Crowley had convinced me to watch (against my better judgement). Crowley thought the show was hilarious, but I could barely make it to the middle of the first season. I had started watching with my hands over my eyes, then with my arm locked around Crowley’s, anxiously smacking his shoulder, and finally with most of my body lying over his lap and my face buried in his shirt.

It wasn’t just the gore in the show that skewered me, made me nauseous, unable to breathe. It was the fear and the pain those characters felt, being chased by a relentless enemy that needed no rest, constantly running into people they couldn’t trust, people who were so out for themselves they no longer believed in the sanctity of life, with nowhere to hide, nowhere safe at all, even behind thick, concrete and metal walls.

Watching your loved ones get turned into soulless monsters - still there, but everything about them that you had once loved out of reach.

And this ‘illness’ or whatever these people had - it spared no one. Even children had become zombies. And in the game that was survival for the remaining uninfected, children had become pawns.

Everything about it seemed so horrendous.

And while I suffered through my existential crisis, Crowley laughed at my antics.

I fought not to smile at the sound of his teasing voice.

“Uh … a little squeamish there, are you, angel?”

Angel.

From the first day we met, that’s what he called me.

Oh, what I wouldn’t give to hear him call me that again!

The old woman chuckled, bringing me reluctantly back from my daydream. “No. Not in this case. That’s not the nature of this spell. No, blood will give him back his memories.”

I looked at the woman, bug-eyed, and shook my head. “I … I don’t …”

“It will ignite his brain. He will begin to feel. In many ways, he will become more the man you married than in any other.”

“Wha---?“ I stuttered, baffled as to how that could be a bad thing. If drinking blood could make Crowley more Crowley, I’d set up an IV drip the minute I got home! I would serve him cups of blood with every meal! I’d make donating blood a requirement for entrance into my bookshop! (That one would definitely kill two birds with one stone. In fact, I might consider doing that anyhow.) “And why wouldn’t I want that again?” I asked, trying not to sound like turning my husband into a blood-sipping fiend was the greatest idea in known history.

The old woman smiled, but it wasn’t fond. It was shrewd, as if she could read every one of my thoughts.

And she didn’t approve.

“Once he has his memories back, he will start to crave it. Soon, drinking blood won’t be enough for him. It won’t work as well. It won’t keep the memories as fresh. He will have to go further, do more. He will become a killer.”

My face must have gone as green as I felt because the woman laughed again, this time with a touch of wickedness. A killer? My Crowley? My sweet, kind, compassionate Crowley?

Okay, maybe I was going too far with the endearments. He’d been a bit of a bastard, after all. Which was why I could picture Crowley becoming a full-fledged bad boy. With that leather jacket he wore like a second skin and his gleaming classic car, he’d been well on his way.

But a killer? No.

Then again, I was willing to become one myself a second ago, so maybe I wasn’t in the best position to judge.

“You are playing with the laws of nature, Mr. Fell,” she said, patting me on the cheek. “You are responsible not only for your own life, but for the lives of those around you.” The woman leaned in close, those eyes – one alive, one dead - more menacing than when I had walked into the shop; her face no longer that of a frail old woman but of a powerful witch.

This time, it was my turn to feel afraid.

“So don’t fuck it up.”

[sharasays]

Fuck your agenda

So I think my favorite thing about Good Omens is how it enthusiastically attacks the way institutions try to force us into boxes where we don’t fit, using us as tools to serve their own agenda. Crowley and Aziraphale don’t fit In heaven or hell, they have been trapped for thousands of years in roles where they have to hide who they really are (on threat of literal destruction). They have had to sneak moments of being together so they could just be themselves in the company of someone who accepted them, and even though they have both tried hard to fill their respective roles they are still mistrusted and mocked by many from Their Different Sides for the ways they have asserted their individuality.

Cue the apocalypse, and them finally rejecting the boxes. Cue them standing next to Adam, the antichrist born to destroy the world, who is going through the same fucking thing. Heaven and hell are trying to use him as a tool for their own destructive bullshit agendas and there are our Angel and Demon on either side of him, over each shoulder. Doing what they’ve always been doing, influencing someone to make a choice, but it isn’t a choice between good and evil or heaven and hell because those dichotomies are bullshit. They tell him that all he has to do is be himself, that who he is is bigger and better than either box, that he isn’t anyone’s tool, that he controls his own fucking fate and they will stand beside him willing to die defending his right to just be himself. When the fate of the world hangs in the balance, the only way to break the stalemate of false dichotomies is to transcend all that. This, more than anything, was their ultimate act of rebellion and I am 100% here for it.

As someone who has never really fit anywhere, I love and appreciate that so much. And then there was the beautiful bonus of anathema deciding to forge her own fate at the end rather than being a Professional Descendant(TM) for the rest of her life and The Them destroying the horsemen just by speaking their own truths.

We are all more than what other people want to use us for.

[nofomogirl]

Yes! I'm so happy people are noticing it!

I've written about it some time ago in part 6 of my Metatron's manipulation step by step series.

I'm only mildly surprised so few people noticed it. It was a masterful manipulation after all. I didn't notice too untill I approached the scene purposefully searching for any foul play.

I am however baffled why so many people seem to think Aziraphale was wrong to not reject the offer right away.

My darlings, my beloveds, my fandom siblings, my soul companions, my sweetest folk!

In what universe would it be even remotely OK for Aziraphale to say either "yes" or "no" without asking Crowley?

I am one of the biggest Aziraphale defenders, ready to die for his honor. I constantly whine how hard people are on him.

But if he had said no to Metatron's offer, I don't think I would be able to forgive him. Nothing people accuse him of would be as horrible as him saying "no" on the spot.

This was about Crowley. About Crowley's status and identity and very being. THIS HAD TO BE CROWLEY'S DECISION. And yes, facing it was super hard, and Metetron was a dick, and I understand Crowley wished to never have to think about it. It would have been easier for him if the option was never there and if the subject was never breached. But it was and he had to decide himself.

It doesn't matter how much Aziraphale knows about Crowley's Fall and how well he understands Crowley's feelings about it and his wishes on the matter and what such transition from a demon to an angel would mean.

Taking that choice away from Crowley would be unacceptable under any circustances!

Please think about it next time you're angry at the angel.

Aziraphale never said yes

I’m not sure if anyone has pointed this out yet but i haven’t seen anything about it so here goes. Buckle up folks, cuz this is gonna be a long one.

After Metatron’s and Aziraphale’s conversation, Metatron told him to “take all the time he needs” to think on his offer. Aziraphale says he’s not sure how to respond, and the Metatron encourages him to inform Crowley.

Following this, Aziraphale immediately runs to Crowley (obviously—Crowley’s his best friend, not to mention Metatron suggesting it) and tells him all about the deal. His offer. At this point he has not given Metatron a definitive answer.

He goes to Crowley, and he tells him about the offer with such excitement. Crowley (obviously) does not mirror his excitement. Misunderstandings and miscommunications follow, the finale of which is the final break up.

Aziraphale is emotional, to say the least. He is distraught and incredibly vulnerable in this moment. And who comes waltzing in directly after?

The Metatron.

He comes strutting in conveniently as soon as Crowley is gone, almost as if he was waiting for that—waiting for it all to go tits up. And what does he do? He asks if Aziraphale is “ready to start”. As if he hadn’t told him 10 minutes ago to take all the time he needs for the decision.

Aziraphale tries to avoid; he distances himself from the Metatron and uses a flimsy excuse about how the bookshop needs running, to which the Metatron already has a response: he’s given it to Muriel. Even tho Aziraphale still hasn’t ACTUALLY said yes.

Aziraphale tries to make a rebuttal, get a word in edgewise—but the Metatron doesn’t let him. He cuts him off with “anything you need to take with you?” Aziraphale responds automatically with no, and then pauses to think as Metatron walks away. Just then he reasses his answer and tries to take it back, chasing after the Metatron with “I think I—“ and then stopping again.

He keeps stopping to look at something outside, or perhaps for someone. Is he looking at Muriel, presumably still outside the bookshop? Is he looking for Crowley, hoping he might still be there and that he can, in fact, run off with him?

I think it might be both. He sees Muriel and how happy they are to be getting the bookshop, and would feel terrible if he had to disappoint them. He sees no Crowley, which means no final excuse or last-ditch way to escape what he has gotten himself into.

And so, he follows the Metatron out. He asks about the Great Plan, and Metatron answers that it is “the second coming”. Not even a second after that the music swells dramatically, and there’s another sound mixed in with it—a sound we as the audience have become familiar with, because it is the sound that accompanies miracles.

Aziraphale looks at the Metatron, who is now in the elevator to heaven and gives him an “are you coming or not?” look. He looks back at Crowley who is standing by the Bentley, stone-faced.

And Aziraphale walks into the elevator with Metatron, who gives a relieved sigh, as if he wasn’t actually sure Aziraphale would come.

He’s relieved because he knows that he manipulated Aziraphale into the Supreme Archangel position. He knows Aziraphale never actually formally or verbally agreed to it.

Whether or not he actually did the miracle that we heard in front of the elevator, he still manipulated Aziraphale beforehand. He was manipulating him from the moment he stepped into his bookshop, and he’s just relieved that it actually worked.

[futureofthemasses]

D, M & T for the fandom asks 😘

An unknown amount of time later, I am answering 😂

D - A pairing you wish you liked but just can’t.

Hartwin. I think that is the first time I went into a movie and thought I would ship something and ended up not.

M - Name a character that you’d like to have for a friend.

Hagrid, I wanna chill with my birthday twin and talk dragons and other creatures

T - Do you have any hard and fast headcanons that you will die defending?

I’m sure I have many, but the ones that are really coming to mind is that Harry Potter is part Indian and Crowley has only ever banged Aziraphale because he can’t ever imagine being with anyone else

Fandom asks

[thisbitchinthecorner]

Roughly 7 minutes after the End of the World that wasn’t part 2

“We’re fucked!”

Aziraphale turns to look back at the group of children clustered together, Pepper, Brian and Wensleydale watch, eyes wide with fear, as the Archangel and Prince of Hell transform into their celestial forms. Adam Young, The Antichrist, stands right behind him and Crowley, the young boy quietly absorbing all that is unfolding around him, but his only concern seems to the be supposed Hell Hound trembling at his feet. Do something Crowley! He thinks to himself. He closes his eyes and as he opens them, he feels an intense light shining down from Heaven, one he has not felt for 6000 years.

“Aziraphale, Guardian of the Eastern Gate, I see you found the sword I gave you.” God’s voice broke upon him like the crescendo of a symphony; leaving him shaking with both joy and despair.

“Oh! Well, yes.” He stumbled over his words. “But that’s not important. You got my message! Thank the Lor...I mean, thank you!”

“Aziraphale, what is it that you want me to do?” God asked plainly.

“What I want you to do? Right! What I want you do is to stop this! The world doesn’t need to end!” He waved his arms erratically. “That boy is The Antichrist, and by some miracle, he refuses to start the apocalypse. But Gabriel is convinced that this war must happen, and now he and Beelzebub will stop at nothing to see that Heaven and Hell have their way. But you can stop this, all of it!” He pleads with desperation coursing through his voice.

“Aziraphale, what if this is the Great Plan, the Ineffable Plan, and all of this is meant to happen?” God asked calmly.

“I cannot believe that you would destroy humanity just to settle a proverbial score.” He argued, his voice shaking. “They do not deserve to die. Humans are inherently good and filled with wonder. They have created so many beautiful things; music, art, language, food and books, so many wonderful stories they have told over the centuries! They are curious and constantly seeking understanding and knowledge, and that has given them grace and their lives meaning. How can you destroy so many miracles made from their own hands?”

“Aziraphale, you, more than anyone, must know how much the human mean to me.” God’s voice offered him some measure of comfort.

“So...you will stop all of this then?” He asked hopefully.

“Yes, Aziraphale. I will stop this and set things right.” God soothed.

He let out a shriek of joy; his hands clasped together and a brilliant smile flashed across his face. “Oh thank you my Lord! You truly are merciful!”

“I will return the world to the way it was yesterday. What has been done will be undone. I will return the angels to Heaven, with the exception one exception, and banish the demons back to Hell.” God declared triumphantly.

He paused for a moment. “All...all the demons will be sent back to Hell?”

“Yes,” God replied. “All of them.”

“But what about Crowley? Surely you do not intend to banish him to Hell.” The very thought made him ill.

“He is a demon, he belongs in Hell, Aziraphale.” God stated coolly.

“Crowley doesn’t belong in Hell! I mean, he is a demon, but he’s not...he’s not like the rest of them.” He protested.

“Aziraphale, are you saying that he belongs in Heaven?” God’s voice raised in tone ever so slightly.

“Oh goodness no!” He nearly laughed at the idea of Crowley strolling into Heaven with his ridiculously tight pants, low cut shirt and flashy watch, asking Michael for a high-five and languishing seductively over a plush chaise he miracles into existence. “No, he belongs on earth, he’s been living among humans for well, for as long as I have.”

“He has,” God began. “And he’s been corrupting them for as long as he’s been on earth. You remember it was Crowley who tempted Eve to eat the apple. It was him who set all of this into motion. So, in reality, everything that is happening now is directly his doing.”

“In his defense, you did put the forbidden tree in the very center of Eden. Seems to me they would have succumbed to temptation even without Crowley’s influence.” He daringly argued.

“Aziraphale, Crowley is a demon, he is Fallen, and despite what you believe, he deserves to be in Hell.” God reasoned.

“But Hell is angry with him over this business over the mixup with The Antichrist. They will not be pleased with the canceling of the apocalypse.” A shudder went down his spine as he considered what Hell would do to Crowley as a result of his betrayal.

“Aziraphale, I fail to see how that is a concern to you.” God remarked. “What Hell chooses to do with one of their own shouldn’t concern you.”

“Except it does, in fact, concern me. Greatly.” He could hardly conceal his growing anger. “They will destroy him for what he has done for humanity. For what he has done for me.”

“And what has he done for you?” God asked.

“Crowley has been there every time I needed help. He’s saved me more times that I can even count.” His memories go back to the little village decimated by the Black Plague where he nearly discooporated due to illness, to The Bastille where he was nearly beheaded, to Nazi occupied London where he was nearly shot, to a dark alley in the late 1980’s where he was nearly beaten to death; every single one of those moments could have been his last, had it not been for the miraculous appearance of a certain demon. “He’s been there for me. He’s always been there for me.” The words kept coming, and he could scarcely stop himself from speaking. “It was Crowley who came to my rescue time and time again. Crowley who convinced me to try to stop the apocalypse. Crowley who was there for me when Heaven turned their backs on me.”

“Aziraphale, it sounds as if you have affection for him.” God questioned, and he could feel God’s judgement upon him. But he would not be diminished, not anymore.

“If it sounds that way, it’s because I do.” He snapped. “I have more affection for a demon than I do for my own kind. When was the last time an angel offered me any kindness? Heaven treats me like a joke; they belittle and mock me.”

“I am not altering my decision on this, Aziraphale. If you want to save the earth, then Crowley must be sent to Hell. With demon influence, this same scenario will continue to occur, time and time again.”

“You’re asking me to sacrifice Crowley, to damn him to utter destruction at the hands of Hell to save the world?” He clenched his fists and nearly drew blood from biting his lip so hard.

“I am. But for that sacrifice, you will have the earth and all its splendors. You will have it’s music, art, language, food and books. You will be free from Heaven’s scorn and free to enjoy yourself. Be thankful that I am giving you this opportunity, thankful that I have not cast you out for your indiscretions. I am giving you this reward for your many years of loyal service to making humanity inherently good. Choose carefully, Aziraphale.”

“Then my answer is no. I won’t sacrifice Crowley. I won’t abandon him! You might not care what happens to him, but I most certainly do.” He is filled with defiance now, filled with an anger that he had never experienced before, but now that he had unleashed it, there was no stopping him.

“Not even to save all of mankind? How can one demon be worth all of this?” God’s voice roared back.

“Look at him right now! Just look! Crowley is going to fight Gabriel and Beelzebub with nothing more than some busted car part, and you have the nerve to say he is the cause of humanity’s downfall? He is their savior and protector! He and I, we are the only ones fighting for the earth. We’re the only ones fighting for what is right!” He gestured to the frozen scene playing out before him: Gabriel about to unfurl his final wings, The Prince of Hell raising his cursed bow and Crowley, still in human form, brandishing a bent piece of metal with as much menace as he could muster.

“Surely you know you cannot win against them. But if you somehow make it out of this alive, Gabriel will see you punished for siding with a demon, and he will not show mercy.” God said with a knowing arrogance.

“I would rather face Heaven’s judgement and die a traitor’s death than betray Crowley!” He spat bitterly.

“Why would you choose to die for this demon?” God roared angrily.

“Because I love him!” He screamed as loudly as he could, and he immediately gasped at the boldness of his own words. He repeated them quietly to himself. “Because I love him.” He looked at Crowley, frozen in time, standing beside him in triumphant glory; poised to defend him and everything he holds dear. He studied the sharp angles of his face, the cascade of fiery red hair that seemed almost ablaze in the evening sunlight, the intensity in his eyes visible even under his dark sunglasses, the trail of freckles that formed over centuries of sunshine that traced along his cheek, spilling onto his neck and down his clavicle. He sighed, drew in a breath and steadied himself before continuing. “I know who I am and I know where I belong. I was afraid before, afraid of what Heaven would think, about what you would think, but I’m not afraid anymore. I love Crowley, and I have loved him for so long that I cannot remember a time when he did not hold my heart. Where he is is where I belong. For you see, I am not only the Guardian of the Eastern Gate, I am the Principality Aziraphale, and along with Demon Anthony J. Crowley, we are the Protectors of humanity, and we will stand together to defend the earth against anyone or anything that threatens our home. Because that is who we are, and earth is where we belong, and we belong together. Me and him. I would rather die fighting by his side, than live in a world without him. For we are together; we are on our own side. I don’t care what Gabriel thinks, he can lick my ass if he doesn’t like it!” He thought for a moment, or was it kiss?

“That is your decision then, Aziraphale?” God asked flatly.

“Yes. That is my decision.” He stood proudly, chest heaving as his hand still firmly gripped the sword. “Furthermore, if you’re going to damn me and cast me out, could you kindly wait until all of this is finished, because I’m in the middle of something important. I cannot simply die without telling Crowley that I love him.”

“Very well.” God’s voice softened. “And Aziraphale, it’s about time, don’t you think?”

“Oh?” He fumbled for words, unsure how to respond. Just as he attempted to process God’s final words, he felt a wave of intense love wash upon him; sending him reeling and filling his eyes with tears. “Thank you, my Lord.” He whispers quietly and as soon as it began, the bright light radiating from the clouds dimmed, and time began again.

He turns his attention away from the terrors before him, and shifted his gaze towards the slender figure beside him.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley began. “There is something I must tell you.”

“I know.” He says, as he lowers his sword while turning towards the demon. “There is something I must tell you too. And I’m afraid it cannot wait.” He swallows hard before continuing. “I’m sorry, my dear, I’m sorry for being a complete fool and for making you wait. I love you. More specifically, I am in love with you, and I have been for a very long time. I was afraid of what Hell would do to you and what Heaven would do to me. But none of that matters anymore. All that matters to me right now is you.”

Crowley smiles as he removes his sunglasses, revealing his golden eyes. “Took you long enough.” Crowley laughs while reaching out his hand toward him. “Angel, you are, and always have been, the love of my life.”

He reaches towards the demon-his demon and gently threads his fingers between Crowley’s, giving his hand a gentle squeeze.

“Time to finish this?” He asks with a smile.

“I believe it is, my angel.” Crowley says as he raises his tire iron and points it towards the wrathful creatures in front of them. “Ready to die?”

“I am now.” He nods as he grips Crowley’s hand tighter. “By your side.”

......

[amrefevr]

╰ ✧  𝙹 𝙴 𝙽 𝙺 𝙸 𝙽 𝚂  ( @orneryknight | continued from [ x ] )

“It’s only temporary.” Jenkins took hold of the nearest bookshelf, leaning hard against it to keep from fainting. “I don’t need to eat, I don’t sleep, I don’t get tired. It’s math. If my ‘battery’ is infinite, it makes sense for me to power the Library until the others can figure out what’s going wrong.”

He let out as gasp as the annex lights dimmed, then flickered back to full brightness, letting out a shower of sparks as the desk lamp burst nearby.

“It’s taking a minute to catch up with me, is all. I assume the Grail takes some time to- to refill, so to speak.” He winced as he straightened up again, one hand against his breast pocket where a page of the first book in the Library was kept. For now, it served as a lifeline, connecting him to the heart of the Library. He’d have to replace that bulb later.

“I couldn’t ask anyone else to do it. With Flynn and Eve tethered to the Library, if it goes, it takes them too. The others are all mortal, they’d die. I couldn’t even ask you if I wanted to, you’d discorporate. It’s-” Finding a seat on the stairs, Galahad let out a sigh of exhaustion. Looking up at Aziraphale, his eyes were rimmed in red. “Is this what it’s like to be tired?”

       ARMS ROSE UP , A jarring motion with how swift them came up , reaching out towards the other in heightened concern at jenkins’ faltering. halted in their advance , however , at seeing him catch himself. aziraphale’s fingers folded inward toward his palm , gripping their a moment before he pulled them back entirely. remaining nearer still to ensure he’d be present & ready in case jenkins wasn’t alert enough to right himself should he stumble again. 

       WORRY REIGNING PARAMOUNT UPON the angel’s features now , the dip of his brow lay heavy over narrowed eyes creased at their edges & mirrored the pull of a frown upon his mouth. the usually rosy coloured lips pressed colourless , or to an irritated red when he bit at the bottom of the two. he walked alongside the aged immortal , keeping pace & vigilant to the other’s state. ready to assist if needed. even as his right hand taking his left to grip plump flesh between his forefinger & thumb in release of the building distress over watching jenkins’ duress.

       HATING TO WITNESS SUFFERING in any capacity , although the principality was no stranger to it with his six millennia spent upon this earth , & even more so of those he considered dear to his heart. he’d been fond of this knight ever since their meeting all those centuries ago , regretting his part in the other’s ascension , but the association bred from it. thus to bear the sight of the strain & sacrifice pained aziraphale. despite its good cause & temporary standing. he wished to do more to help. if not solve it , then to ease the hurts until it was. 

                    ❝ So I’ve been told.                          But do take it easy until they can return.                          Everything has a limit of sorts.                          I’d rather not have you reach yours. ❞

       FLINCHING IN INNATE REACTION to the explosive noise & flash of light , the briefest notion of foolishness sparked within his chest but quick was it squashed by greater disquiet. his attention returned towards jenkins. solely & wholeheartedly. aziraphale’s hands now out from his sides , fingers marginally splayed outwards , not so hovering but near to. a tuned ear towards the other’s spoken words & sight trained upon jenkins’ posture , scrutinising & protective in the angel’s gaze. inherent was the desire , the need to defend & safeguard , born he was for the duty. whether it be being , place or item. his position of principality an assigned one , not so the given one that the almighty had wanted for her angel aziraphale. 

       THUS HE FOUND NO fault in his fretting , unable to at the moment. once the trail passed then perhaps he may see , but not now. follow diligently & presently. listening to the reasoning of why jenkins was the sole choice to bear this weight upon his shoulders. truth lay with his assumption on aziraphale’s corporation unable to withstand the load , already it contended with his angelic essence packed into a mortal frame created to operate as the humans it mirrored. if exiting his corporation wouldn’t too discorporate his physical body , he would take the burden from galahad. 

                                       ✧ ╯✧╰ ✧

                    ❝ All right , all right , but is there anything I can do ?                          My corporation may have human traits that leave me unfit for taking the burden , but I am not merely what is shown , as you know.                          I have access to a set of powers that could help , or if anything , dear boy , I can make a nice cup of cocoa.                          Very fortifying I find , even when it’s not physically needed. ❞