#a hundred years and what does crowley do the first time he sees aziraphale after??? fucking save him

[p4nishers]

"when aziraphale asks for help in s3 crowley will refuse him" have you SEEN the show?? have you ever in your life watched good omens?? that mf will JUMP on any opportunity even the smallest one to be close to aziraphale again he would drink gallons of holy water if aziraphale asked him to!! that bitch will be up there in heaven THE MILLISECOND he even thinks something is wrong don't be ridiculous

[tivstiv]

And if a good omens bus

Crashes into uuuus

[actual-changeling]

hiiiiii @nightgoodomens i read this post and then immediately started typing and this is the result. either sorry or you're welcome. or both. :)

-

Crowley's first instinct is to wrench his arm from Aziraphale's grasp, but his hold on him tightens ever so slightly as if sensing his intentions, so he stays put—for now.

Still, anger rises in his chest like a tidal wave, hot and desperate and tainted by nothing lasts forever and i forgive you. They haven't talked about it yet, and he refuses to when the outcome of that argument could very well mean extinction, not just for the two of them but for the world. He built walls in his mind, keeping out shimmering purple eyes and familiar lips, and stopped breathing so he could pretend Aziraphale didn't smell all wrong.

The reason stretching throughout their foundations turns into vines, forcing them apart stone by stone when he meets his gaze.

"How about we come up with a plan where you don't risk destruction, please?"

Crowley's smile is a mask of bitter disappointment; the slant of his mouth is sharp, almost cruel.

"What do you care?"

"Of course I care," Aziraphale shoots back immediately, his fingers digging into his arm forcefully enough that he can practically taste the bruises forming beneath them.

"You were more than happy to deliver me to heaven all tied up and with a bow on my head, Arseangel Aziraphale. You would have had to find someone to scrape my sorry fucking remains off their pristine floors five minutes later."

A tingling numbness spreads up to his shoulder, pins and needles reminding him that this corporation is starting to get tired of being restrained, but Crowley is too focused on the insulted rage distorting the angel's face. He steps closer, forcing him to look up at him, and he takes minute satisfaction in the heavy swallow running down his throat.

"They wouldn't-"

"Oh, they wouldn't, really? They have already done it once, and now they're planning on ending us all. None of them would know mercy if it hit them in their perfect bloody faces."

Uncaring for the increase in his volume, Crowley mockingly raises an eyebrow, challenging him to disagree, to defend heaven like he has done time and time again, to finally let go of him and let him stomp off to his destruction; this time, he is either going to win or go out on his own terms.

When Aziraphale doesn't respond, his lashes fluttering and his mouth opening and closing several times without expelling a single sound or breath, he channels six thousand years of suppressed frustration and angry humiliation and rips his arm out of his grasp.

"There is no 'we', Aziraphale. There is your side, there is earth, and then there's me."

He remembers the hundred times Aziraphale denied knowing him, called him a demon, his adversary, denounced their friendship and arrangement, and ground their partnership to dust under his heels like a dried-out bug on the verge of death.

Friends, we're not friends.

For a moment, Crowley wants to ask if any of it had been real, but he knows it was—that's why it hurts.

That's why he can't let it go.

The pain as the blood in his arm begins to flow unhindered again is nothing compared to the gaping wound scratching itself open in his chest, forcing him to swallow salted iron and sickly sweet love. He has been wearing his shades every single second they spent together after his return, but he takes them off now, biting back a taunting sneer, biting back tears.

Purple meets gold, the summer-sky blue is long gone, and it helps him deliver the last blow without flinching.

"Nothing lasts forever, right? Good luck with your armageddon."

Crowley does not wait to see the hurt spreading across his face and pretends he doesn't hear the punched-out gasp or the beginnings of a sob.

Instead, he slides his glasses back into place and walks away; the universe will finally grant him rest one way or another.

-

tag list under the cut (tell me if you want to be added/removed)

@ineffabledeathtoallmetatrons @ineffablymanic @violet-prism-creativelycreatively @wraithee @underlined-in-spirit @acheemient @queer4cryptids @aroaceblackhole @six-of-snakes @im-the-son-of-rage-and-lov3 @adverbian @oboextra @demonic-mnemonic @eybefioro

[rosystardust]

I don't know what to write, so here's all my current Good omens ideas. Please suggest which one I should write in the comments. You guys can take the summaries and write a fic based on my ideas, I don't mind. Just please share it with me, I would love to read it.

I've started writing most of these, I just can't decide what I want to write first. If you want me to write more than one, please put them in the order of what you want me to write first.

Title: My favorite Starman

Summary: Aziraphale realizes that Crowley can't see the stars, as a special punishment when he fell. So Aziraphale visits Anathema and asks her to help because she's a witch. They eventually make a magic pair of glasses that allow Crowley to see normally. Aziraphale is excited to give it to him, and Crowley tells Aziraphale all about the stars he made.

Title: You're human, more than anything

Summary: When the Gabriel amnesia thing was over, and in this au Aziraphale stays, Heaven and Hell decide on what Crowley and Aziraphale's punishment will be. They eventually decide to take both their memories and keep them from leaving Earth, with only a vague idea that they know each other (cause that's part of their subconscious and they can't find out how to remove it). Unfortunately it backfires and they get together and rebel even more. Gabriel and Beelzebub end up going to Earth, and have to take care of the situation that heaven and hell made before the two gain their memories back and get pissed off and probably start a war.

Or: Aziraphale and Crowley have always been human more than anything else. Now they have to live as humans as punishment for what they did with Armageddon after killing them didn't work. Like everything Heaven and Hell do with the two of them, it backfires.

Title: God actually does play dice with the universe, just not in the way you'd think

Summary: God finally decides to talk to Aziraphale and Crowley and invites them to a game night, to play her Ineffable game of her own design, with Her, Mary, and Jesus. Aziraphale agrees automatically, but Crowley agrees on the condition that he can ask however many questions he wants. God agrees and they play. Turns out the game god plays with the universe is DND. And Crowley gets an apology and Aziraphale gets to hear that he made his mom proud. Aziraphale and Crowley learn that God ships them, and then they play DND. Chaos ensues and family bonding time happens. And the Ineffable husbands get married with God officiating the wedding.

Title: The angel fucking Gabriel

(This is very much a crack fic)

Summary: Every few hundred years, Gabriel asks Aziraphale to fuck him. The first time was him questioning why humans like sex so much, and going to Aziraphale because Aziraphale knew more about humans, and, presumably, about sex. And Aziraphale told Gabriel “If you want to know about sex, why not just have it with me? We're both Angels so it's not like it'd be a sin.” (Because Gabriel was annoying him and if he agreed he could hold it over could hold it over his head, but he never thought he'd agree) Gabriel, surprisingly, took him up on it, and ended up finding it extremely enjoyable, and since Gabriel had no idea what to do, he was the bottom. Aziraphale obviously told Crowley afterwards and he thought it was hilarious. Gabriel, embarrassed about it, asked Aziraphale to do it a few more times, till they just went into a routine, where whenever Gabriel is extremely stressed out, Aziraphale would fuck him senseless. Aziraphale and Gabriel have an agreement of no romance or romantic feelings, and Aziraphale has made it clear to Gabriel that he's in love with and dating Crowley. Gabriel doesn't care. And occasionally Crowley asks Aziraphale to fuck him as hard as he fucks Gabriel.

Or: Aziraphale fucks the morality into Gabriel. And occasionally, Crowley.

Title: Ineffable divorce gone wrong

Notes: Based on this Tumblr post:

Summary: So what if this was true and the bookshop was semi sentient and didn't want Aziraphale to leave, so it ends up locking the two in, and shuts all the curtains (for privacy). Eventually the Metatron gets annoyed enough from waiting and just goes to his plan B, and ends up leaving the two in the bookshop, thinking Aziraphale is staying there willingly. However, inside, the two have been busy arguing and fighting, and eventually they feel that the Metatron’s presence has left, so Aziraphale breaks down in tears but still won't admit to Crowley what happened in fear of retaliation (even though at this point the Metatron gave up on the two of them, but they don't know that yet) They keep fighting, and eventually end up stop talking to each other, as they're both angry. It stays like that for a few days, till the bookshop decides that just locking them in the entire shop isn't enough, and waits till they're in the upstairs flat’s bedroom together, and locks them there. They end up still refusing to talk for a while but then end up hate fucking and confessing their love before fucking again with both times having enthusiastic consent while not being safe or sane in the slightest. After they wake up the next day, everything is unlocked again, and they go out on a date. Both Bentley and Bookshop are extremely happy that their parents are finally together. Bookshop’s nickname is Az and Bentley's nickname is Bee.

Name: Aziraphale's diary

Summary: What Aziraphale would write in his diary, specifically about the times he spent with Crowley. This is an au where Aziraphale is just slightly less oblivious and pays attention to his love sensitivity thing to know that Crowley loves him. He loves Crowley back but he's scared of heaven's reaction so he doesn't say anything outright and they're both terrible at giving and picking up on social cues. Beginning will be either when Crowley comes back to the bookshop post season 2, and remembers Aziraphale has a diary and reads it, or just Aziraphale's diary entries throughout the years. Not going to be all journal entries, but most of it will be. If I choose the Crowley angst side, Aziraphale will have agreed to let Crowley read his diary only if he went to heaven for a prolonged period of time and he missed him. I will write interactions not from the show in the diary of what I think would have happened in those eras or just things I want to include.

Title: Crowley's dream about what he likes best (Aziraphale)

Summary: After Aziraphale leaves, Crowley decides to sleep for a while, and Aziraphale notices and does the whole thing of “You will wake having had a lovely dream about whatever you like best”, and has a very long dream about if Aziraphale was actually in a relationship with him. When Aziraphale wakes him up, all he wants to do is go back to sleep and go back to his dream world. He knows it's not real, but he doesn't care because he knows damn well that it's the closest thing he'll get to actually having Aziraphale. Or so he thinks.

Title: I'm telling mom

Summary: After the failed Armageddon, Gabriel (or another archangel) reports directly to God and tells her that it was Aziraphale and Crowley's fault and that they're both traitors. So God decides to check in on them and sees Aziraphale having a PTSD esc panicked attack caused by a nightmare of memories of him being hurt by heaven. Crowley is doing his best to comfort Aziraphale, and lets him sob about it before he gently fucks Aziraphale and gives him a shit ton of praise, affirmations, and shows him just how much he matters to him. He tells Aziraphale how he deserves to be happy and how he'll protect him from heaven and make sure they never so much as touch him again. After that, and Crowley's magnificent aftercare, Aziraphale is calmer, and since it's like five in the morning now, Crowley makes Aziraphale breakfast. God sees all of this and visits them after their breakfast to talk. Aziraphale is terrified, Crowley is protective, and God sees how much they truly love each other and the Earth and thinks it's adorable, so she gives them a pass. She also officially marries them out of nowhere, and offers to make Crowley an angel again, but he declines, and God leaves. Aziraphale and Crowley, having no idea what to do now, spend the day finding wedding rings and going on a date, and at night Crowley fucks him again, much rougher, but just as loving and with just as much praise. Aziraphale, in his blissful post orgasmic state, tells Crowley he can't wait to be his husband (they're engaged), and Crowley's heart melts, and then they go to sleep in each other's arms.

Title: It's time for the show

Summary: Based on this post I made: https://www.tumblr.com/rosystardust/764188315220049920/why-can-i-imagine-an-au-where-terry-pratchett-just?source=share

Aziraphale finds the good omens show, watches it, then finds the fandom, and sees that everyone ships ineffable husbands and starts flirting with Crowley. Crowley is going insane, thinking he's reading too much into it, and Aziraphale is laughing in the background, waiting for him to find out. This could be the other way around or both do it at the same time. (I think I'm gonna go with Aziraphale finding it, because Crowley is already head over heels in love with Aziraphale and knows it in this story, he's just waiting for a sign from Aziraphale that he feels the same.)

Title: Lessons on love

Summary: When Gabriel and Beelzebub start dating, Gabriel suggests that they ask Aziraphale and Crowley to help them figure stuff out. And then they promptly realize that Aziraphale and Crowley fucking hate them, but they realize it when they get to Aziraphale's shop. And since it's too late to back out now, they just stalk them. After a few months, the catch them and Aziraphale bitches at Gabriel while Crowley looks on with hearts in his eyes. They do eventually agree. Or, they see that Aziraphale and Crowley aren't dating and are idiots so now they plot to get the two together and then ask for relationship advice.

[myfairstarlight]

Empty Spaces

AO3 Link.

Rated: G Length: 2k

Canon compliant, if you only count s1, that is. Summary:

“It… looks like Heaven,” whispers Aziraphale. Crowley pauses at the doorstep, tilts his head back. “Huh, funny that,” says he, refusing to look the angel in the eyes. Refusing to acknowledge what that would even mean. Or. The first time Aziraphale sees Crowley's flat, and the complicated feelings confined in the large, empty space.

⋆ ✩₊˚ ʚ♡ɞ ˚₊✩⋆

In the two hundred or so odd years since he's forced Hell to rent him a flat — he could have miracled enough money to buy it himself, but what's the fun in that if he can't send the bills right to Beelzebub’s office doors every month? He had to prove inventing rent was truly devilish after all — Crowley has never invited Aziraphale inside of it.

After all, when they do meet up for a drink, they do so within the safe walls of the bookshop and never once has Aziraphale suggested going somewhere else. Crowley also never quite considered the flat as a home of some sort, just a base of operation, near where head offices decided, for some reason, to reside, and where he could lie down and do nothing for months without anyone badgering him about it.

However, in the aftermath of a failed Armageddon and a bookshop burned to a crisp, there is no other option.

“You could stay at my place,” says the demon, voice turned into a mere whisper, in a tone one would consider soft, not that he would ever admit it.

His eyes meet Aziraphale who ponders quietly at the suggestion. There is a glimmer in that familiar gaze, a mix of sorrow and curiosity shining ever so brightly in the darkness of the night. Crowley almost looks away at the rawness of the emotions displayed on the angel's face, he who usually keeps his feelings tightly guarded.

The agreement is unspoken, and when the angel’s hand slides oh so naturally into Crowley’s as they board the bus, something settles within him.

If this must be the end, then… he will not cross the gates with empty hands.

As they reach his apartment building, however, a new kind of worry starts to bloom within his soul. He remembers, with a start, the remains of what once was a demon, now a pile of goo still stinking the entryway. Aziraphale slows his pace, turning around to look at him quizzingly as Crowley hovers a foot outside the bus.

“Well?” asks the angel. “Do you need me to hold your hand again?”

“I killed Ligur,” comes the unexpected answer, and yet, the hand does not falter.

“It was you or him,” points out Aziraphale. “Do you regret it?”

Crowley ponders over the question but does not utter an answer. Slowly, he lowers his foot and takes hold of the soft hand offered to him. The bus drives away quietly as an angel pulls a demon towards a slick Mayfair building.

On the elevator, Crowley gets antsy once more, clinging to his angel as if at any moment, the elevator could plummet into Hell. He feels the weight of Aziraphale’s gaze on the side although the angel does not say anything. He simply leans back and brings their joined hands to his chest. Crowley inhales softly, fingers twitching against his angel’s old waistcoat, seeking his warmth and the gentle rhythm of an ethereal heart.

On a whim, Crowley finds himself reaching with his free hand for the angel’s cheek, whose breath finally falters, the demon feels his heart skip a beat under his fingertips. A bit abruptly perhaps, he pushes Aziraphale against the back of the elevator, breathes in the sweet tint of his cologne and finally tips forward, breaching the invisible gap they have always kept between them.

The kiss barely lasts for a second, a gentle peck contrasted with the violence of the day they just had and Crowley’s lips tingle as he pulls away. He almost gives in to further temptation and leans in for another taste when he catches Aziraphale’s gaze instead. The angel’s baby blues have completely vanished, whole galaxies now swirling in those eyes.

“Alright, angel?”

There is a quiet buzzing in the air that Crowley can’t quite place. Aziraphale doesn’t answer and simply stares at him with wide eyes and parted lips, glowing ever so slightly, overshadowing the elevator’s stale lighting.

“Aziraphale,” calls Crowley, in an unbearably soft voice he would never think of using with anyone else. “Still with me?”

Eventually, the galaxies fade away to make way for the angel’s usual irises, just as bright nonetheless. Crowley smiles.

“C’mon, we’re hogging the elevator.”

Aziraphale nods mutely and they make their way towards Crowley’s apartment. The angel recoils as the scent of still-burning sulphur hits him, the demon only grimaces, too used to the smell of it.

“Reckon there’s still Holy Water in that?” he asks, nodding at the pile of goo blocking their way that seems to want to become a permanent fixture.

“I can take care of it, just in case,” Aziraphale answers and with one quick flourish of his hand, Ligur’s remains disappear.

Then, the angel gently pushes the door open all the way, Crowley closely behind. One, two, three steps. Crowley watches. Curiosity surrounds Aziraphale as he looks around, wide eyes, then sorrow and worry taint his sweet aura. The demon wants to reach out, wondering if the reality of their situation is finally sinking in and he is about to witness a meltdown of some sort but then the angel turns around.

Vibrant blue eyes, enhanced by the setting sun shining behind them, look at him, a carefully neutral expression on his face.

“It… looks like Heaven,” whispers Aziraphale.

Crowley pauses at the doorstep, tilts his head back.

“Huh, funny that,” says he, refusing to look the angel in the eyes. Refusing to acknowledge what that would even mean.

“Crowley…”

“I know, can’t rival your bookshop, can it?” Crowley straightens up, feigning nonchalance. “Pretty empty, save for…”

“A few pieces of art. Like Heaven.”

“Right, no need to say it like that. And no, I don't want to talk about it.”

A few beats of silence. Aziraphale nods.

“Alright.”

Somehow, Crowley isn't satisfied with that response but he swallows his groan and starts walking towards the kitchen. The similarly very empty kitchen, he remembers, when he slings the door of the refrigerator open to stare at a bleak, white light. He checks the cabinets next only to get dust thrown into his face at the sudden motion the furniture is not used to.

“It’s alright, I do not feel hungry,” Aziraphale says behind him.

“Doesn’t sound like you.”

“It has been a peculiar day.”

Crowley grunts in response. Aziraphale keeps looking around, that small frown on his eyes until he catches a glimpse of something green around a corner and immediately makes his way to it.

“Ah,” whispers the demon as he follows promptly to find the angel already marvelling at his plants. He seems to positively glow, a warm source of light in the middle of the luxuriant yet sombre plants whose leaves seem to reach out towards the angel.

“Your own Eden?” ventures Aziraphale with a sheepish smile.

Crowley stares for a couple of moments, takes the words and scenery in. Then.

“Now that you're here, perhaps.”

The angel grins wide, almost blindingly so. Crowley looks away behind his shades but a smile still tugs at his lips.

Then, the smile dims. Aziraphale brings a gentle hand to the leaf of one of his plants and caresses it as if it were one of his precious books.

“Do you miss it?” asks the angel, although he doesn’t look in his direction.

“Eden?”

“Heaven.”

Crowley sighs. “Angel—”

“It’s just— I have a plan, but I do not wish to make you uncomfortable.”

That intrigues the demon, all his discomfort about Heaven gone as he gazes upon Aziraphale’s determined and yet concerned look.

“We need a drink, then.”

⋆ ✩₊˚ ʚ♡ɞ ˚₊✩⋆

Aziraphale explains as they lounge on Crowley’s ridiculously long sofa, bottles of wine discarded by their feet. The angel slips the prophecy into his hand, fingers lingering for longer than necessary, but Crowley doesn’t call him out on it.

Choose thy faces wisely.

“You reckon she’s in Hell right now? Agnes, I mean,” Crowley wonders.

“Heaven doesn’t like witches.”

“Heaven doesn’t like a lot of things.”

Aziraphale grimaces but doesn’t refute the statement.

“So do you? Miss Heaven? It is eerie how alike your flat is to it.”

“Not a conscious choice on my part, let me tell you that much,” Crowley sighs. “Spent more time at your bookshop anyway.”

“Mm. So will you be okay, seeing it again?” Aziraphale asks.

“Still on the fence about letting you go to Hell.”

“I should have Fallen long ago, it is about time I see that place,” the angel says nonchalantly as if the mere thought does not encapsulate Crowley's deepest fears.

“Angel.”

“Do not use that tone, you know it is true. You have been cast out for far less than I’ve done.”

“I questioned Her, disrespected Her basically to Her face.”

“And you remained good right to your core despite it all. You did not let bitterness take over your heart, that alone is a testament that you had no place in Hell.”

“You speak as if I managed that on my own. Angel, you’re the one who made me better. You’re the one who gave me hope.”

Frustratingly enough, Aziraphale seems unresponsive to the praise, a distant look in his eyes.

“Look, if it goes wrong, I want you to know—” Crowley starts, only to be interrupted by wine-tasting lips.

“I know,” Aziraphale whispers. “Don’t say it now, dear. Not when it feels forced by fear.”

Crowley has a rebuttal at the tip of his lips but they tingle, still reeling from the kiss. Aziraphale nonchalantly leans back and so he will remain none the wiser of the way Crowley wishes he could admit that the very few things in this Godforsaken flat he always kept were all pieces of art that reminded him of a fair-skinned and blonde-haired ethereal being.

“Why does it feel like our last confession before Judgement, though?” the angel asks, being the one to voice it for once. He swirls the wine in his glass, watching it create tiny waves. He laughs quietly. “Remember when humans started making such a fuss about it? Only for Her to not judge their souls when they die.”

Crowley lifts his eyes again. “I do.” Silly humans, always worrying about something grander than they can ever be rather than worry about the one life they are granted with. “And it is our Judgement. Except we know what the verdict will be.”

Drowned into Holy Water and burned in Hellfire.

Crowley downs the remaining wine from his glass and then lets it fall carelessly to the ground. It shatters into pieces but Aziraphale doesn’t react to the sound, merely looks at the mess then slowly finishes his own glass. Once he is done, Crowley takes it from him but gently lowers it on the coffee table.

“Well then,” the demon says, extending his hand. “Time to face Judgement.”

“Together,” Aziraphale adds as he slips his fingers into his.

“Together.”

And thus they choose their faces wisely.

[ineffablelunatics]

Aziraphale and Crowley’s love languages

What are the main love languages? Physical touch, quality time, acts of service, gifts, words of affirmations. I have always been under the assumption that each person has two love languages. The one that you receive that makes you feel loved. The one that you give to show love.

Crowley’s love language is considered to be acts of service. He loves doing things for Aziraphale and gifts are included. He takes him out to eat. He tidies up the bookshop after the Ball. That is how he shows love for Aziraphale.

But what does Crowley need to feel affection? There’s one thing that doing things for Aziraphale always gets him and that is quality time. He wants to spend time with Aziraphale as much time as he can before he gets pushed out of the bookshop door. When Aziraphale gives him the holy water, Crowley asks him if there’s anywhere he wants to go, anywhere at all, because if there is, Aziraphale will be with him for longer. They were a quick walk from the bookshop. Crowley wants to spend as much time as possible with Aziraphale.

Aziraphale’s love language is physical touch. He is always the one to reach out first. To show physical contact first. He felt the love from Adam and Gabriel/Beelzebub and he reaches out for Crowley. It seems like that is how he wants to show Crowley love, but physical touch is the most dangerous way to do it. So he tries to do the next best thing which is words of affirmation. He tells him that he’s good or kind, because that is what he values most. That is partially why it doesn’t land with Crowley very well. He doesn’t like being called those things and it doesn’t feel as genuine as when he just happens to grab his arm.

Now, what does Aziraphale need to feel affection? Well, that’s a bit more complicated. See, we know that he loves that Crowley takes him places and gives him gifts. But I think that Aziraphale would love for some physical touch. It was partially why the kiss hurt him so much. He finally gets what he wanted, but it was bitter, angry, and desperate.

The most heartbreaking part is that their the way they express and feel love is because of their former “homes.”

Hell is tightly packed with people. It is damp and gross. It is the perfect conditions to make you hate everyone around you and not want to do anything for anyone. So Crowley shows his love by doing things for Aziraphale. By doing what no other demon would do for another person without thinking of some reward or favor they could get in return. He feels love by spending time with Aziraphale. In Hell, they never got time alone. So spending time that he could be getting a break from people, he chooses to spend it with Aziraphale. His apartment reflects this sentiment as well. It looks cold and unloved, barely lived in. The opposite of the sardine tin of Hell.

Heaven is a ghost town. It is cold and hostile in nature. Muriel was in a room by themself only getting company every hundred years when someone needed something. Aziraphale shows his love by reaching out for Crowley. Getting closer than angels ever do. He tells Crowley words of affirmation, because that’s what he has always wanted to hear. He knows Crowley loves him. That all the things he does for him aren’t favors. But he likes holding hands. He manufactures a Ball so he could dance with him. When he didn’t get to see him, because Crowley was asleep, he decides to try dancing. Then chooses a dance that involves kissing your partners. Aziraphale fills the bookshop so it is the furthest from the white walls and blinding lights.

The point of this being Crowley just wants quality time with Aziraphale. Aziraphale just wants physical touch from Crowley. Crowley is showing his love the best way he can. Aziraphale is showing his love the safest way he can. They both need to communicate properly.

[pengychan]

[Good Omens] Come What May, Ch. 1

Summary: While completely improvised, Gabriel’s plan to transfer his memories in the container fly before erasure was rather solid. It came very close to working, too. But ‘close’ was not enough. [SPOILERS FOR SEASON 2] Characters: Gabriel, Beelzebub, Crowley, Aziraphale, Murien, Michael, Uriel, Saraquael Rating: T   All chapters will be tagged as ‘come what may’ on my blog.

A/N: Beelzebub is Concerned and about to make it everyone else's problem.

***

[Back to Prologue]

***

“So, after I’m done writing, I check this box…”

“Yep.”

“... roll the parchment up like this, seal it…”

“Yep.”

“... aaand place it here. Yes?”

“Yes! You’re doing brilliant, Jibreel - and in just three days!”

As the parchment faded in a gleam of light, safely filed away and archived for all eternity, Muriel couldn’t help but clap a little. It was a simple task, but Jibreel looked very happy to have accomplished it, and she was very happy to see him looking very happy. Or to see anyone happy. Or to see anyone, period. So honestly, the clapping felt warranted. 

He grinned back, widely. “Thanks! I think I did good. Felt good.”

“You’ll be up to 37th class in no time at all! Get your own office and all.”

“Oh, I hope not. I like it here,” he replied, and sat back. He looked around and their white surroundings, at the empty surface before him. “... What now?”

“Oh! Now’s the exciting part! We wait for more things to come through that we can sort, record, and add to the archive.”

“That’s great! When are they coming?”

“Ah, we… we don’t know that, actually. Sometimes it’s a lot in a day! And sometimes it’s very little in a year. We’re in a bit of a slump now. The record was fifty years of nothing, back in the fifth century. Never had such a long empty stretch since, though.”

“Oh.” Jibreel frowned a little, looking around again. “So, what do we do now?”

Muriel tried to smile, but it was… a little bit forced. “Now we wait.”

“Right! I can wait. I’m good at waiting, I think.”

“Great!”

A few minutes passed. Muriel was used to long periods of just sitting there in silence, but it seemed… odd to do that, now that she was not alone. She shifted a little before speaking again. “So, um. What did you do before?”

“Before?”

“Before you were assigned to this post. Were you part of the Earth observation team?”

Jibreel narrowed his eyes, thinking hard. “I… don’t think so?”

“Oh. Well, surely you had a duty before?”

“I guess I must have? Everyone does, right?”

“You mean-- you don’t remember?”

“I remember coming here.” A frown. “An elevator, I think? I was standing near an elevator. Then that nice angel… the one earlier…” the frown deepened, and he rubbed his head as though in pain. That was odd, Muriel thought. It wasn’t an angel thing, to be in any pain. 

“Saraqael?” she asked.

“No, another one. I… I can’t recall. She came over and gave me new clothes, then she told me my name and that other one - Saraqael - took me here.”

“And it’s the first thing you remember?”

Jibreel nodded, and Muriel couldn’t help but wonder what that was all about. It was unusual, to say the least. “Oh.”

“That’s… not normal?”

“Ah-- no, no, it’s… I mean, I never heard… but I don’t see a lot of angels, you know! So maybe it’s perfectly normal!” 

The confused frown disappeared, quickly as it had come, and Muriel quickly changed subject. “Oh, I know what we can do! I can help you practice what to say if someone comes in to ask for information! They do that sometimes. Last time was two hundred years ago.”

“Oh?” “Yes! So someone could need us anytime now!”

Another bright smile, and Jibreel stood. “On it! So, what do I do?”

“All right, so you’ll be the one asking, and I’ll reply, so you see how it’s done.”

“Great! What do I ask?”

“Oh, uh… say you need to double check directive C3483, paragraph 53, comma 89.”

“Perfect!”

As Jibreel stood to do as instructed neither of them noticed the fly buzzing quietly above them, one small dark dot in the endless whiteness.

***

“... Well. He does get to have a desk now, I suppose.”

“About half of one, but yes.”

“And he’s settled well?”

“He’s been learning his new duties with no incident. He seems rather content.”

“That’s good to know, Saraqael. I would not have wished him to be displeased with his new role. He has served Heaven well for thousands of years.”

“Of course. None of us would want that.”

A brief silence, and Michael moved her gaze from Saraqael to Uriel, who was staring out one of the windows, rigid and silent. Michael had to wonder whether it was all annoyance over the fact she had been right when she’d pointed out that Gabriel did not have, nor had ever had, a desk. He had indeed tried to make a run for it; Uriel had found him standing in front of the elevator, staring blankly at it, his jacket and shirt already off. 

Where he had tried to go was anybody’s guess. Perhaps he’d simply become scared they would cast him down to Hell after all. But his fear had been for nothing: he would remain in Heaven, where he belonged, getting his chance to start anew. 

“All’s well that ends well,” Michael said in the end. “Now we can focus on the preparation for Armageddon. I will re-establish diplomatic relations so we can agree on a time and--”

“Saraqael,” Uriel spoke, cutting her off like she hadn’t been speaking at all. “We have never attempted a complete memory wipe, let alone on someone as high ranking as a supreme archangel before. Are you certain it has worked as intended?”

A slightly offended scoff. “Of course it has. You saw him, didn’t you? Not a spark of recognition. I know what I’m doing.”

“I did not mean to offend,” Uriel replied, with the tone of someone whose concerns are not yet entirely eased. “I am not familiar with the procedure, and am asking you to confirm it has worked as intended.”

“It did. All his memories as the archangel Gabriel are gone from his mind.”

“From his mind.”

Ah. Michael could now see what it was that concerned Uriel. She frowned, and looked back at Saraqael. “I don’t suppose they could be destroyed from any plane of existence?”

A light scoff. “Nothing which belongs in Heaven can be downright destroyed. Unless we use hellfire, but it’s not an option with memories - not that it worked too well on an angel when you last tried, from what I heard,” Saraqael pointed out, very much aware of how little Michael and Uriel liked being reminded of that particular fiasco. “Destroying an angel’s memories like they have never been is beyond even the abilities of Metatron. God alone may wield such power.”

Michael and Uriel exchanged a quick glance. In the end, it was Uriel to speak. “... No need to bother God with any of this,” she said, as though God had answered to any of their messages in the past six thousand years. 

Saraqael nodded.

“Of course not. Besides, if destroying them is beyond anyone’s scope but God’s, so is retrieving them,” she pointed out. “Even if he knew he had memories to retrieve, which he does not, it would require a miracle whose power by far surpasses Gabriel’s own.”

“... There is no Gabriel, Saraqael.”

“Of course not,” she replied with a nod, and Michael nodded back. 

“Very well. We can consider the matter sorted. Now, as I was saying, if we’re to decide a new date for Armageddon, we should resume diplomatic contact with--”

The phone she’d left on the nearest surface lit up, and began to vibrate. She looked down at the name on the display, and raised an eyebrow. 

Well, she thought. Speak of the literal devil.

***

“Michael.”

“Lord Beelzebub, what a surprise. To what do I owe the displeasu--”

“I’m not speaking with you. Get me the moron in chief.”

“... I don’t believe we have such a title here,” Michael said, her already cold voice turning to frost. “Perhaps if you’d like to specify--”

“I demand to speak with Gabriel.”

“I am afraid that’s not possible.”

Beelzebub ground their teeth so hard that their jaw creaked. The grip on the phone became tight enough to crack the screen. They loathed making the call, but it had been three days since they first received that message upon trying to contact Gabriel, and they could no longer bear it. “Then make it possible, or I’ll give you plenty of excellent reasons to be afraid.”

“There’s no reason to be even more unpleasant than you usually are,” was the reply, without the slightest hint of intimidation. Not that Beelzebub had expected it to work. Michael was considered Heaven’s mightiest warrior for a reason. Her reputation for single-handedly throwing Satan himself down into the abyss was somewhat exaggerated, but not by much. “Whatever it is you wish to discuss with him, it can be discussed with me.”

“No, it cannot.”

“May I ask why not?”

Because you’re hiding something. Because this is all kinds of wrong. Where is he?

They wanted to say all that and more, scream and threaten, demand to know what was going on, but they did not. It would mean showing their hand early and that was something they could not afford. If Michael found out she had an edge on them, they’d never get answers. 

So, in the end, they said something else entirely. “You’re too far below me.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Beg all you wish, but I pardon nothing. I only discuss with my equals, or the closest to an equal to be found within your ranks. It’s the supreme archangel, or no one.”

“Then I fear I’ll need to disappoint you,” Michael replied, sounding all too pleased about it. “At the moment, the position is vacant.”

The gnawing worry that had been eating away at Beelzebub’s already rather rotted guts turned to something else, cold and dark and suffocating. Vacant? It couldn’t be vacant. It had never been vacant. It’s never a good sign for a position in Heaven or Hell to become vacant. 

Where is he? What happened to him? What have you done?

The urge to scream returned, bubbling and buzzing up their throat, but they held it back, gnashing their teeth. They had to keep calm. Show Michael a single weakness, and it is over.

“What the Heaven do you mean, vacant? Heaven has never been without its supreme archangel.”

“It is temporary. Until someone else is appointed.”

Did they know? Did they find out? It seemed the most logical explanation, but at the same time Michael was saying nothing. Surely, if she knew - if Heaven knew Gabriel had been fraternizing with them - she’d be rubbing it in their face, wouldn’t she? Gabriel himself, the absolute moron he was, had never been concerned by the possibility. 

“What’s the worst they could do? Throw me down to Hell for you to deal with? Oh, the horror.”

“Oh, not afraid I might make you regret it?”

“Not even if you try your worst.”

“Where is Gabriel?” Beelzebub snapped, unable to hold back. Thankfully they snapped a lot, and the barked order came across as annoyance rather than growing dread. They were not new to dread, running Hell and all, but this was different from any type of dread they’d ever encountered or felt before. It’s the kind of dread of someone who stands to lose something. 

“Gabriel has been called to a different task.”

“What task?”

“It is confidential,” was the response. “Now, what did you intend to discu--”

The call ended abruptly. Throwing a phone at the wall - or in this case, the thick glass screen overseeing Hell - will usually cause that.

The crash caused a couple of demons to wince and turn, and a single snarl from Beelzebub was enough to get them quickly back to work. They stepped away from the glass and began pacing, trying to clear their mind. At the moment, the only clear thing was that they had absolutely no future in the field of diplomatic relations; everything else was a maelstrom of confusion and fear unlike anything they had experienced before.

Gabriel had disappeared, that was a fact. And he had disappeared without a word to them, his phone disconnected, leaving the position of Supreme Archangel vacant. 

Gabriel was missing, and Heaven was hiding the reason why. Called to a different task, Michael had said, but something about her tone had told Beelzebub precisely what they needed to know, and had feared to hear. Gabriel had been removed from office, and yet he had not been cast down to Hell. 

So where was he? He had to be somewhere, it’s not like they could destroy an archangel. They had no means to do such a thing in Heaven, unless… unless…

Hellfire. The hellfire they had given them four years earlier, to deal with their own traitor. The one who had first worked to prevent Armageddon, just as Gabriel had done later.

We never took that fire back. What if they chose the same sentence, for the same crime?

Beelzebub stopped pacing as though struck. They saw it with the mind’s eye, Gabriel screaming in flames they had delivered to Heaven before being reduced to nothing, utterly destroyed. Gone. 

With no warning, the core itself of Hell shook and flames flared higher. Demons yelped in surprise and damned souls cried out in terror, but any sound they made was drowned out by a screeching cry blackest fury, deepest hatred, and utter pain. The glass screen cracked and shattered, and a swarm of flies burst forth, a black mass drowning out the cries of damned and demons alike even as the screeching scream faded in a low, guttural growl. 

They’ll pay for it. I’ll start the war here and now. Rules be damned. Agreements be damned. Warnings be damned. We’ll scorch Heaven and Earth with hellfire and I’ll see them scream and die, if it’s the last thing I do, I’ll-- I--

A soft buzzing sound, and a single fly landed on Beelzebub’s hand, which was balled into a tight fist. They looked at it, still growling and shaking, and suddenly they found themself thinking of another fly entirely. The container, their gift to Gabriel. The first gift he’d ever received, he had told them, with that oddly vulnerable expression they had never seen on him before. The first gift, and also the last.

… Or was it?

Beelzebub breathed in and then slowly out, staring at that single fly to keep themself grounded, to focus on the memory of Gabriel as they’d last seen him - whole and well, smiling at them before stepping in the elevator, rather than screaming in a column of hellfire.

Maybe they hadn’t destroyed him. Maybe there was another explanation; if other angels realized he was purposefully blocking Armageddon from taking place, he may very well have become a prisoner. If Beelzebub decided to lay waste on Heaven now, and he was there, he may be destroyed with all the rest. No, they could not act on impulse. They had to think he was still alive, and act accordingly. They had to find out what precisely had happened in Heaven, covertly. Sneakily. 

And they knew one demon with heavenly ties who was very, very good at sneaking around.

***

There are few places and moments in life, Crowley reasoned, when a swarm of flies manifesting out of thin air is convenient. Inside a Bentley which was currently speeding through an intersection while passing a school bus was neither one of those places, nor one of those moments.

“Been a long time, Crowley.”

“Oh, come o--!”

“Bus ahead.”

To his credit, Crowley managed to swerve around the bus in question despite the flies clouding his vision; by the time he shoved the Bentley in the first available empty space at the side of the road, cutting in front of three cars and a truck in the process, the flies had finished coming together and someone else sat in the car with him.

Someone Crowley had kind of hoped never to have to see again. “Lord Beelzebub. What do I owe the-- huh. New face?”

“New face,” was the response, in the tone of someone who’d really rather not waste another second talking about it. “I’m here to give you a new mission.”

Ah. “I’m fairly sure Shax said I’m still persona non grata in Hell.”

“You are. And you have the chance to change it. Actually, you have the chance to become a Duke of Hell.”

Crowley blinked, then slid the sunglasses down his nose for a better look at the Lord of the Flies. Maybe it was the new face, but they seemed animated in a way he had never seen before. They seemed worried, working their jaw and smoothing down their jacket in quick, nervous gestures before looking back at him. That in itself worried him in turn. If something was up causing such concern for Beelzebub of all demons, then everyone else probably would have good reason to be terrified. 

“That’s… flattering, but--”

“A full pardon. A place in the Dark Council. Whatever your nasty little heart desires, you shall have it.”

“Why turn to me--”

“To you, and your pet angel.”

There were several words Crowley may have used to describe Aziraphale, but pet was not about them. As he choked on his own spit, Beelzebub spoke again - louder, quicker, and more urgent. 

“Listen. You and the angel betrayed Hell and Heaven both solely to stop Armageddon. You don’t want to see your efforts go to waste, no? Because there is talk of starting it anew.”

“What-- without the Antichrist?”

“Without the Antichrist. Just plain war, no less devastating. Do you want to stop it or not?”

“I-- is that a trick question?”

“I don’t do trick questions. I want to enlist your help to find the archangel Gabriel, and keep Armageddon from coming to pass.”

As far as Crowley was concerned, Lord Beelzebub couldn’t have put together a more nonsensical string of words if they’d picked them at random from a dictionary and then put them through an online translator from English to Aramaic to Greek and then back to English. 

“... What?”

“You heard me.”

“You wanted to start the Armageddon--”

“My priorities have shifted, but I do believe yours have stayed the same. You want Earth to survive, I want to find Gabriel. Our goals conveniently coincide. What more do you need?”

“I am sorry. Are you actively trying to make as little sense as possible? Because--”

Beelzebub snarled, it was enough for him to fall silent. The Lord of the Flies took a moment to draw in a deep breath before they spoke again, with forced calm. “I will explain everything to you and the angel. Take me to him.”

“No.”

“... I’m going to pretend I have not heard and give you one more chance to--”

“No demon but me is crossing that bookshop’s threshold.”

Some furious buzzing, and Crowley gripped the wheel tighter, waiting for severe pain, but it never came. Instead, Beelzebub just ground their teeth. “I have no interest in harming him.”

“Given the precedents, you’ll forgive me for being cautious,” Crowley replied. He fully expected fury, truth be told, but was once again surprised. Lord Beelzebub seemed to hesitate a moment, and finally nodded.

“... Very well. I forgive nothing, but I understand. Tell him we’ll meet on neutral ground.”

“Riiiiight. Well, I’ll see when he’s free and ask him--”

“Call him now,” Beelzebub cut him off, and looked him in the eye. “If you want your precious Earth to survive, you’ll waste no further time.”

In the end, he didn’t waste any time. Honestly, it didn’t feel like he had that much of a choice.

***

There was something up there. 

Jibreel noticed it while leaning back on the chair, careful not to put his feet up on the desk because Muriel had said he shouldn’t do it. They weren't there now - they’d left saying they wanted to look at something in the archives, and reassuring him he was ready to handle any work that came through - but he wouldn’t do something they didn’t want him to. They had been really nice to him.

But he was bored, just sitting there on his own, so he’d slumped back and looked up - and there it was. A… well, he wasn’t sure. It was something that moved in quick circles above him, small and dark as everything else was white and vast. He frowned a little and, without thinking, held up a hand.

There was no real reason why the thing should come to him, but it did. It floated down to rest on the tip of his fingers, buzzing softly, and Jibreel brought it closer to his face to have a look. It was a… what was the name? A fly, right? Yes, he was almost sure that was it. Funny, that. He didn’t think there were any flies in Heaven. They usually were on Earth, or at least he guessed so. He had never been on Earth, as far as he could recall - which to be fair wasn’t long. But somehow, he knew flies were not supposed to be there. 

Hell, maybe - were there flies in Hell? Yes, somehow Jibreel was fairly sure that there were a lot of flies in Hell, too. He had definitely never been there himself, though.

The fly on his fingers buzzed, but didn’t fly off, and Jibreel found himself smiling at it. 

“What are you doing here?” he asked, but of course there was no response other than more soft buzzing. It was kind of cute, seen up close. Jibreel smiled again. “You’re not supposed to be here, you know. But I won’t tell. It will be our secret and all,” he added, feeling rather giddy at the idea of having something as forbidden as a secret. He winked at the fly, which didn’t bother to wink back before taking flight again. But it stayed right above him, and Jibreel was absurdly certain it was not going to leave. 

For some reason, it put an even wider smile on his face. He leaned back on the seat and kept following the fly with his gaze, unblinking and unthinking, until he found himself humming, tapping a foot on the floor. 

“Everyday, it’s-a getting closer…”

***

A good cup of tea, Aziraphale firmly believed, could smooth over just about any type of crisis. Or at least make it feel like less of a crisis. Failing that, hot chocolate would usually succeed. 

However, he recognized that there were few, particularly dire instances in which neither tea nor hot chocolate could help. In such cases, coffee would be needed - possibly with a good dollop of something sweet added to it. 

Only after sitting down next to Crowley at Nina’s coffee shop, the records Maggie had given him under his arm and Crowley as well as the literal Lord of the Flies sitting across them, did he wonder about the wisdom of giving Beelzebub caffeine. But as they never so much as touched the cup, he supposed he would never find out whether it was a mistake. That, and soon enough the theoretical effect of caffeine on hellish royalty was the least of his worries. 

“Heaven and Hell want to push ahead with Armageddon - again - and you and Gabriel wanted to stop it?”

“Yes,” Beelzebub replied, and silenced the question that followed with a gesture. “We changed our mind. The reason why is none of your concern, before you ask, but I do believe our goals align and--”

“And now he’s missing and his seat is vacant?” Aziraphale cut them off, bewildered. That gained him a markedly unimpressed look. 

“... Is there a specific reason why you’re repeating everything I have told you so far?”

“It’s a lot to wrap one’s mind around, I’m sure you can agree?” Crowley spoke, the casual leaning in his seat doing very little to hide how tense it was. “You and Gabriel both tried really hard to make Armageddon happen. When it didn’t, and decided it was our fault, you sort of tried just as hard to destroy us.”

Beelzebub had the good sense to look… if certainly not awkward, at least a little tense themself. Aziraphale set his jaw, not about to say anything to smooth things over now; he had never forgotten the casual order the Lord of the Flies had given to have a bystander demon destroyed in holy water solely to test it, nor the indifference when they had sentenced Crowley to die the same gruesome way. It was nothing he had not expected from Hell, truth be told, but it had been rather upsetting. 

On his end, Crowley had never quite told him the details of the attempt at carrying out the same sentence in Heaven; only that he had been told to step in hellfire and had surprised the archangels present by breathing a little bit of it in their direction, which had been a rather amusing mental image. 

“Well. You were not destroyed, and you don’t wish Earth to be either. It is in everyone’s best interest if we collaborate. And by everyone’s, I mean that of all sitting at this table.”

“Are we supposed to believe that you’ve grown a soft spot for Earth?”

A scoff. “Obviously not. This is not about Earth. It’s what you care about.”

“What is it about for you, then?”

For the first time since that odd meeting had started, Lord Beelzebub seemed to hesitate. They worked their jaw briefly, clearly debating whether or not they should be truthful. It was an odd inner conflict to see play out on a being Aziraphale had always known as a powerful but distant foe, but it did not last long. Beelzebub seemed to come to a decision and leaned forward, elbows on the table. 

“For me, it’s about Gabriel. They did something to him. I am sure they did.”

“Seems likely,” Crowley muttered, not really distraught. “Still don’t get what that’s to y--”

“I want him back,” Beelzebub cut him off. The last word of Crowley’s sentence - you - turned into a choked out ‘uuuh?’ before he fell silent, staring at the Lord of the Flies with his mouth hanging open. It gained him a raised eyebrow. “Close that mouth before flies get in it. That is a threat.”

Crowley closed his mouth so abruptly his teeth clicked together, then hurriedly took a sip from his coffee. As for Aziraphale, he found himself staring with wide eyes as realization dawned on him. Beelzebub had a soft spot all right, but not for Earth. It was for Gabriel.

That was not what he’d expected to hear, although to be fair he was not sure what he’d even thought this could be about. In retrospect, everything in Beelzebub’s behavior seemed to scream a connection to the missing archangel that went well beyond a professional relationship. In the end, he cleared his throat and took a sip from his coffee.

“Not to pry, but I seem to understand yourself and Gabriel have grown, um. Close?”

“In a way neither Heaven nor Hell would approve, hence why I had to turn to you.” A long look, their gaze shifting from his to Crowley and then back, and they cocked their head. “Certainly, I don’t need to explain more. It’s not something unfamiliar to the two of you.”

The coffee Crowley had been sipping was promptly sprayed back inside the mug. Aziraphale nearly spilled in own mug, stammering. 

“I, I mean-- we do go way back, so I suppose-- we have an understanding, but--”

Beelzebub silenced him with a gesture. “I don’t care to hear it. All I care about is finding out where Gabriel is and what was done to him, and taking him back. Help me, and I’ll hold off Armageddon until a more permanent solution to avoid it is found. Do we have a deal?”

A pause, a quick glance between the two of them. 

Do we have a choice?, Aziraphale’s look said.

Not really, Crowley’s replied, and that was that.

***

“Oh, I really shouldn't have even come here…”

No one was there to hear Muriel’s anxious whine, but they slapped both hands over their mouth anyway, just in case. Not that they were doing anything forbidden, per se - they were authorized to search the archive, after all - but it still seemed wrong, to have doubts over the word of an archangel. It wasn’t even real doubts, they just had… questions. 

One big question, really - why did Jibreel remember nothing from his existence before he’d been taken to work with them as a junior recording angel? It had been bothering them more than it probably should, and they had considered asking someone higher up, but… well. Surely they had better things to do than answering a silly question, no? It was probably nothing important, they’d thought. 

They could find out on their own, sate their curiosity and then be back. 

Except that things had taken an unexpected turn, because they had found a folder marked with his name - Jibreel - but it really wasn’t like they had expected. A junior recording angel’s folder is never very full, simply because… well, there is not a lot to record about those working on records, so to speak. It was a fairly uneventful job and it made for an uneventful eternity, overall. Muriel’s own folder had only about two pages to it. 

Jibreel’s folder was nothing like that. It didn’t look thicker than normal, but as they picked it up there was a weight to it that told them it was much, much fuller than their own. Much fuller than any other folder they’d handled, really - there had to be a lot in there.

And, they soon realized, they couldn’t open it. It was classified, and required a much higher clearance - like a throne or a dominion, or something even above that. 

They wouldn’t classify the folder of a simple junior recording angel, would they? Not with such high clearance. There is a lot more to Jibreel than even he knows.

It was a rather baffling development, and more than a little intimidating, really. Muriel didn’t know what it was all about and to be honest, they really wished she hadn’t wondered in the first place. It was much too above them. Surely, if Jibreel did not recall his past, there was a good reason for it. Who were they to question the decisions of archangels?

They would just walk out, go back to their station, and never utter a word of this to anyone - much less to Jibreel. After all, he’d never asked them to look anything up; he’d never asked a thing, and he was happy as a clam.

Muriel saw no reason to open their mouth and risk changing that.

***

[Back to Prologue]

[On to Chapter 2]

[life-o-n-m4rs]

An Analysis on the Finale and Aziraphale’s Inner Monologue (Michael Sheen is an Incredible Actor)

Like most Good Omens fans in these tragic, triyng times, I’ve spent hours scrolling through Twitter, Instagram, and Tumblr reading hundreds of people’s thoughts and opinions on the season, particularly the final scene of the season in which Aziraphale is offered to return to Heaven to be Supreme Archangel and Crowley confesses his love to Aziraphale after literal millennia of pining. After my most recent rewatch of the season, I spent a lot of time focussing on the final scene(s) and carefully eyeing every tiny detail. Not necessarily around the coffee, but around everything that came after it. I am somewhat on the fence about the coffee theory. Though I don’t think that Aziraphale decided to go back to Heaven entirely on his own fruition, I don’t think he was completely under the control of Heaven either. His ultimate decision was not entirely out of character.

Starting with the coffee and scene with Metatron itself: many people have theorized that The Metatron poisoned Aziraphale with cyanide, which I see the logic in. We saw earlier in the series in the second minisode that poison causes demons–and presumably angels–to act very strange, like they’re high or drunk. When he drank the laudnum, Crowley stops a girl from killing herself, while stating that it was not a kind thing to do as he was “Off [his] rocker on laudnum. Not responsible for [his] actions”. However, Crowley still drinks the laudnum to stop Elspeth from doing it herself, so obviously he was at least somewhat in his right mind. He still aimed to thwart her attempt, so his statement deflecting his actions due to his intoxication could just be another moment of Crowley denying any goodness in him, much like when he saves Aziraphale’s books and tells him not to thank him. So, coming back to the coffee, it is perhaps plausible that Aziraphale said yes to The Metatron because he was not entirely in his right mind. When we see Metatron order the coffee, he does ask for a “dash of almond syrup”, but when giving it to Aziraphale, says that there is a “hefty jigger” of it. That certainly doesn’t sound like a dash. Where the coffee theory starts to fall off, however, is immediately after Aziraphale drinks the coffee. When Crowley drank the laudnum, he immediately felt the effects of the poison, whereas with Aziraphale, we see that he is completely the same afterwards. Of course, cyanide is not laudnum, and it was also, theoretically, mixed in with coffee, so the effects could very well be different. Aziraphale returns to his shop with no coffee in hand, so it is safe to assume that he finished it, and we don’t see any changes in behavior until he starts talking to Crowley. That is when he starts to act off.

If we look at Aziraphale during his conversation with The Metatron, he immediately declines his offer. He flatout says that he does not want to go back to heaven. Not only that, but Metatron tells Aziraphale that he chose him to replace Gabriel as Supreme Archangel because he’s a great, natural leader. That he’s honest and doesn’t just tell people what they want to hear, which is just flatout not true. We see Aziraphale lie so many times in the show, probably more than Crowley, and he especially lies to Heaven on multiple occasions. That’s a huge focus of the minisode in episode 2, that Aziraphale lied to Heaven. He has never aligned with Heaven’s beliefs. He is notoriously insuboordinate. He is by far not the best choice to be Supreme Archangel, especially since he hasn’t properly aligned himself with Heaven, or even spoken to them, in years. This is the first piece of manipulation from The Metatron’s part. Not even necessarily some miracle or poisoning, but he was feeding Azirphale what he wants to hear. He’s praising him to get in his good graces, but that’s only the first half. Aziraphale still says no. It’s not until Metatron presents his second half of the offer that we see something start to crack in Aziraphale. If The Metatron did do something to Aziraphale, it still could not have worked without this vital piece. He offers to let Aziraphale, as Supreme Archangel, restore Crowley as an angel. Crowley can come with. Suddenly things are different, and we see it on Aziraphale’s face. Michael Sheen is an inredible actor and he manages to narrate a deep and painful inner monologue within Aziraphale with just his face. The second The Metatron starts to say that he could bring Crowley with him, his expression changes very subtly, but just enough for us to see that something made its way through to him.

We are deliberately not shown the rest of their conversation. There is clearly something there that we did not see. The only other part of their conversation we see is at the end of it. The Metatron says that Azirphale “[doesn’t] have to answer immediately. Take all the time you need”. All that Azirpahle says in response is that he doesn’t know what to say, to which The Metatron says, “Go tell your friend the good news”, as if he knows that, in the end, Aziraphale will come with him. We watch Aziraphale walk away, and he does not look like he has good news for Crowley. He looks scared.

Something inside of Aziraphale is battling itself in this moment. We see no change in his demeanor until we reenters his bookshop, and even then, it’s not until right before Crowley begins speaking. We see him looking at Crowley and something almost seems to waft over him. He’s no longer scared or nervous about this news. He suddenly wants to tell Crowley all about it.

When Aziraphale cuts Crowley off, he’s suddenly ecstatic about going back to Heaven, which does not at all match how he was feeling less than one minute ago on his way back to the bookshop. So, it might be entirely possible that The Metatron didn’t do anything to Aziraphale until after their conversation. That he performed some miracle on him just as he was walking away. As Aziraphale explains the ordeal to Crowley, he is filled more and more with joy and excitement about all of it. Aziraphale, who, just a few minutes ago, said that he didn’t want to go back to Heaven. I do believe that part of him here is thinking back on when he knew Crowley as an angel. We don’t know much about Crowley’s time as an angel, but we do know that he was an important angel. Important enough to be second to the Supreme Archangel as Aziraphale proposes. We saw a small moment of Crowley when he was an angel and how much he loved building the universe. Creating stars. Countless galaxies that were like his children. But we know very well why Crowley could never go back. So why doesn’t Aziraphale? Aziraphale doesn’t exactly have the best relationship with Heaven. They were the ones who tried to destroy him, to hurt Crowley, to destroy the world and humanity, which Azirphale stopped. Why should we believe that he’s even been forgiven for that? Crowley seems to share the same sentiment that the viewers do–why should Aziraphale go back after what they did to him?–because he immediately assumes that Aziraphale turned down the offer.

Crowley tells Aziraphale that they’re better than that. That they don’t need Heaven. That when Hell offered him a promotion, he said no, without hesitation. Aziraphale rebutes with “Obviously you said no to Hell, you’re the bad guys.” You’re. When has Aziraphale ever aligned Crowley with Hell like that? Especially in the last few years of their relationship. They have been completely cut off from both sides for years. This is the first instance of something slipping through that isn’t entirely Aziraphale. This is not something that he would say to Crowley. Aziraphale says, “...Heaven. It’s the side of light, of truth. Of good.” He has spent all of both seasons of the show whole-heartedly believing that Crowley was good. He has always seen him as such. So, for him to not only include Crowley in the Hell collective, but to imply that Crowley cannot be good without Heaven, is a clear sign that something is wrong. Crowley is begging, pleading that Azirphale said no to Metatron. If we look back, he never gave an answer. The Metatron told him that he could take all the time he needed to answer. But Aziraphale has his answer. He never had a choice in giving one, did he? Aziraphale did say no and The Metatron didn’t take it.

At this point, Crowley can feel Aziraphale slipping away, so he goes on with his confession anyway. It’s clear in his voice that he’s now desperately trying to hold onto Aziraphale. Throughout Crowley’s confession, he plays a tug-of-war with Heaven for Aziraphale. He brings up Gabriel and Beelzebub, saying that if they “can go off together, then we can”. He’s not just bringing them up as a point in his argument to say that it is possible for an angel and a demon to love each other. He’s bringing them up because Beelzebub says flatout that they “found something that mattered more than choosing sides”. Crowley is trying to present himself as that for Aziraphale in that moment. He’s looking him in the eye, allowing himself to be vulnerable, and begging him to forget about sides. What about shades of gray?

Crowley is presenting Aziraphale with an offer. An offer for the two of them to forget Heaven and Hell, to forget everything but each other. But Aziraphale has his mind set, either by himself or by someone else, but it is set nonetheless. Even as he fights whatever is inside of him, pulling him toward Heaven, he’ll be damned if he doesn’t do everything in his power to pull Crowley with him because he cannot bear to be apart from him. Crowley would burn Heaven to the ground for Aziraphale, but he’s afraid of fire.

The best comparison for Aziraphale’s willingness to go back to Heaven, which many people have used, is that of an abuse victim. He has suffered at the hands of Heaven for millennia, but when the expectation is that he must feel worthless, he holds on so tight to any speck of praise like it is high above the standard. When Crowley presents his offer to Aziraphale, he’s not turning it down. He is trying to fulfill it while also getting to enact his hopes for Heaven. He says to Crowley, “Come with me. To Heaven. I’ll run it, you can be my second in command”. This line always stuck out to me. Second in command. When has Crowley ever been a second to Aziraphale? Throughout the series, we see them walking together, always shoulder to shoulder. Neither ever walks behind or in front of the other. They have always been equals. Now, suddenly, Crowley is no longer worthy of being Aziraphale’s equal. Almost as though Heaven is looking at Crowley and saying that he doesn’t deserve to be on the same level as a measly principality. Someone who was once important enough to build galaxies can never be on the same level again because he has fallen. The Metatron is starting to flood into Aziraphale’s head, and Aziraphale is fighting to stay afloat, reaching out for Crowley to pull him out, but if Crowley takes his hand he’ll just get pulled under, too.

“You can’t leave this bookshop,” Crowley says. You can’t leave me. Is what he means. “Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale patronizingly coos at him. He thinks that Crowley is refusing because of foolish attachments to material objects, something that Heaven has no time or use for. Something Heaven has no patience for. “Nothing lasts forever.” We won’t last forever. Crowley is offering Aziraphale eternity, and Aziraphale is laughing at him for it. At least, from Crowley’s perspective. Through his heartbreak, he can’t see that Aziraphale so badly wants to go with him, but something is holding him down, so he asks Crowley to come to him. There is no halfway point. “No, I don’t suppose it does.” Crowley puts his glasses on while he’s alone with Aziraphale for the first time in years. He spent years carefully tearing down his walls for him, and it’s as if, in an instant, someone came along and pressed undo. All the bricks came magneting back together and built themselves back up. Crowley opened himself up, truly, for the first time ever, and he thinks he’s being rejected becaus Aziraphale doesn’t know how to tell him how beautiful he looks. As Crowley walks away, Aziraphale doesn’t know what he did wrong. Why is Crowley leaving? He’s offering him what is, in his mind, the best possible outcome. He wants to fix Heaven for Crowley. He wants him to be that sweet, happy, angel he was, but Aziraphale’s too naive to see that he never can be. He’s begging Crowley to come with him now. “We can be together,” he says, almost like it’s a compromise. He still doesn’t know how to let himself love Crowley, but he’s willing to let Crowley love him if that means he will stay. He says that they can be angels, doing good, again implying that Crowley cannot be good without Heaven. Crowley cannot be good with Aziraphale. But the fact of the matter is, he may be good without Aziraphale, but he isn’t Crowley. More and more of Aziraphale breaks through in this moment. In his moment of desperation not to lose Crowley, he’s forgetting about Heaven. All he needs is Crowley. He needs him. And when that plead doesn’t work, Heaven surfaces again. He turns to anger. “I don’t think you understand what I’m offering you.” He’s now bringing Crowley down. He’s using the same tactics that Heaven does. Make them feel worthless so that they love you when you give them anything more. But this is also Heaven trying to push Crowley away from Aziraphale. The intention never was for Crowley to be an angel. Metatron knew very well that Crowley would say no. He just needed that option to get in. To break into Aziraphale’s mind, tear the two apart with no hope of mending, and keep them as far away from each other as possible.

Aziraphale gives up trying to hold onto Crowley. Heaven is in his head and in his ear saying, “Give up. He’s not coming.” Heaven has built itself back up in Aziraphale’s head. He has closed himself from Crowley. It’s not until Crowley kisses him that the battle begins again between Aziraphale and whatever The Metatron placed in him, whether literally or emotionally. We see on Aziraphale’s face and in his body language a flicker between wanting and hating it. But he never pulls away. When Crowley let’s go, Aziraphale looks horrified. Like he can’t believe that Crowley just did that, or that he allowed it to continue as long as it did. Deep down, there’s nothing Aziraphale wanted more, but not like this. As he struggles to find his words, his face is first sad. Afraid. He mouths something through an exhale that appears to be what wants to be an “I love you”, but his face shifts. Heaven takes over again and all he can say is “I forgive you”. He goes from sad and lovelorn to a sort of anger with Crowley. We see him flash back and forth between these two many times throughout this sequence.

As Crowley walks away, Aziraphale comes through again, wanting to go after him. He even appears to mouth “No”. He wants him to stay. He wants to stay with him. But then he looks after him with a furrowed brow. He’d better walk away. It’s better for everyone.

He pushes Heaven back again when he presses his fingers to his lips. He wants to remember what that felt like. He wants to feel it again. Desperately. But he changes again and wipes the kiss away. It’s not what Heaven would want, and so neither shall he, for this love is a sin, and angels do not sin.

When the Metatron returns and Aziraphale tells him he didn’t take it well, The Metatron immediately puts Crowley down, saying that he was “always asking damn fool questions”. Now that Crowley was out of sight, he needed to be out of mind as well. He did not align with Heaven or its goals, so Aziraphale cannot think even remotely fondly of him. He must be an angel again, and angels do not look upon demons with an ounce of kindness. Crowley does not deserve Aziraphale’s kindness. He offered him something great, and he was too foolish to accept it. Right?

The Metatron asks Aziraphale if he’s ready to start. Aziraphale never gave him an answer, though, did he? Because there was no answer to give. Aziraphale never had a choice. Crowley had to be gone, and Aziraphale had to be the one to push him away, because how else would they regain control over the both of them? The reality of it has suddenly hit Aziraphale. He’s still fighting Heaven’s control. Suddenly, he can’t leave the bookshop. Suddenly, it must last forever, because this is Crowley’s shop, too. While The Metatron is trying to get Aziraphale out of the shop, he keeps looking at the chairs. The chairs in which he and Crowley sat and drank so many times. Where they laughed together. Where they decided to stop armageddon. The chairs where they decided that their side was the only one that mattered. Aziraphale is doubting. He almost tells The Metatron that he wants to stay. He almost tells him no. But he can’t, because The Metatron won’t let him. He can’t.

In the scene just before Aziraphale gets on the elevator, the music is a key factor. It tells the viewer exactly what’s going on in Aziraphale’s mind. He is still flipping between Heavn and Crowley. Every time Aziraphale leans toward Heaven, the music plays in a major key, with more emphasis on the flute. When his mind goes to Crowley, the strings take over with a melancholy melody. Strings that pull Aziraphale down, back to the world, to Crowley. And then he takes that final breath and steps onto the elevator. The flute takes over again and the music changes to a hopeful melody, but still sad enough sounding, especially when we cut back to Crowley getting into his car. We see one final look of doubt on Azirphale’s face as the elevator doors close. The weight of his choices are hitting him. But he doens’t dwell on them long because he’s finally let go of the ledge. He’s stopped trying to float. He’s sinking down into the black waters of Heaven and his mind has vanished. He’s under the Metatron’s control now. We see him struggling and fighting one final time during the credits until finally, just before both he and Crowley are completely gone, he cracks an unsettling grin. The last ties to Earth have been severed. His uncanny expressions throughout the entire credit sequence are meant to be unnerving. Something is deeply, deeply, wrong.

So, I don’t think I necessarily believe in the coffee theory exactly, though I do think that it is important. There was so much cinematic emphasis placed on the coffee, but whether that be because The Metatron meddled with it or just as a red herring to raise unease from the viewer with The Metatron is uncertain. The only person who knows is Neil Gaiman and we all know just how much we’d get out of him if we asked. Ultimately, if Crowley coming to Heaven was never presented as an option in the first place, Aziraphale would not have gone. But he leaves with blame placed on Crowley, and that’s exactly how The Metatron wanted it.

[rollforjackass]

okay so i reread the good omens script book trying to look up a quote i remembered and i kept writing down the things that i absolutely loved about it, so here's just a list of all the quotes and moments that rewired my brain chemistry

aziraphale sasses the hell out of crowley about his antichrist birth organization skills

aziraphale saying “oh sugar” instead of oh shit...

first appearance of everyday by buddy holly, we all know how that turned out

aziraphale doesn’t know how an ansaphone works. this was in the book too, but it’s still funny, especially considering how in radio omens he at least knows about caller id

aziraphale brought shortbread for the drive to the convent. did he think it was a date? please say yes

crowley asked aziraphale if heaven wouldn’t give him (crowley) asylum and aziraphale was going to ask him the same about hell

aziraphale says “what the hell” after pointedly not swearing earlier. hypocrite ass

aziraphale is fine with killing the antichrist himself but gets upset about the humans killing each other at tadfield manor....more tasty hypocrisy. he thinks he can only ever do the Right Thing but he knows it's Wrong when anyone else does it

“aziraphale is rather enjoying having the upper hand in the ideas department for once”

crowley says “dude. chill.”

“for a moment his noble better nature rejects the idea out of hand. THEN HE FALLS...”

“aziraphale is softening. they haven’t spoken in a hundred years: he’s realizing they are still friends.” gets me every time i look at it

why was shadwell in prison?? america explain

“i work in soho, i hear things” patron saint of soho confirmed

i still think that the neon halo blinking on and off above aziraphale’s head is the HARDEST that neil gaiman has ever gone and that we deserved to see it in the final cut

"michael: when your cause is just you do not hesitate to smite the foe, aziraphale." i'm thinking thoughts about the s2 finale under this lens; when your cause is just (saving the love of your life) you do not hesitate to suffer for pursuing it

“crowley looks back. he looks at aziraphale. above them, a beautiful starry sky. and crowley softens.”   jesus janthony christ.

“aziraphale is looking for someone. he spies a human statue dressed as an angel, with wings. it’s not him.”   GOD

gabriel about aziraphale: “i’m disappointed in him. not thinking like an angel.”

crowley “looks up, and talks to god, in the classical fashion.” see i really want a script book for s2 because i want to see aziraphale's expressions of faith plucked out a little bit more

crowley in the cinema: “he’s waiting for the end of the world. out of time. out of hope.”

the fact that crowley saw aziraphale walking down the street and left dagon on read is priceless

aziraphale looks hurt after crowley says he won’t even think about him

the music for the gavotte scene was recommended to be “i am a courtier grave and serious” from gilbert and sullivan’s the gondoliers which is PERFECT

“aziraphale is heading down the street, looking harried and as if he is carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. which he is.”

sandalphon says “you know how we treat traitors in wartime?” to aziraphale and there was meant to be blood on aziraphale’s lips after sandalphon punches him. death to sandalphon

“why would you do this? we’re the good guys.”

aziraphale (resolutely not swearing): you. you B…AD angels.

“seducing women to do your evil will!” “i think perhaps you’ve got the wrong shop.” still the campiest line delivery i've ever seen

we don't need to speculate about crowley being in tears in the burning bookshop because according to the script he is canonically right on the verge of it

“right. i’m done. i’ve had it. i don’t care about any bloody angels or humans or anyone. i hate you all. somebody killed my best friend, and i don’t even care who did it. bastards, all of you.”   😭

when aziraphale is discorporated, his heavenly appearance is all his normal clothes but gleaming white

aziraphale: i have no intention of fighting in any war. “all angels on the floor turn and look at the angel who has said the unsayable.”

aziraphale can’t actually see crowley in the bar scene…he has no idea how wrecked his best friend is

aziraphale doesn’t take sugar with his tea. bastard

aziraphale crosses his fingers under the table when answering shadwell’s nipple question

aziraphale is wearing madame tracy’s pink motorbike helmet in the mirror of her scooter

they describe crowley’s suit in the burning bentley as “interestingly ripped”...........we were robbed of a crowley boob window moment and i'll never forget

aziraphale introduces crowley to madame tracy as “he’s…well, we’re sort of business associates.” you know, like a liar

aziraphale was fully about to murder adam. i don’t think i can stress this enough

aziraphale pokes himself to make sure he’s solid once he’s separated from madame tracy

aziraphale isn’t threatening crowley with the sword, “just making his point that he can do dangerous out-of-character things if he needs to.”

crowley: what if the almighty planned it this way all along? from the very beginning aziraphale: takes a drink from the bottle of wine

aziraphale looks like he’s going to cry when crowley reminds him that the bookshop burnt down 😭

aziraphale-as-crowley looks depressed 😭 he still thinks his bookshop is gone

the angels kidnapping crowley-as-aziraphale zip-tied his hands those dickheads

aziraphale-as-crowley: my friend! they’re kidnapping my friend!

the hit hastur gives aziraphale-as-crowley would have killed a human 0/10 wahoos

“the van with [crowley-as-]aziraphale in it drives away, and [aziraphale-as-]crowley tries to crawl after it.”   HEY NEIL I JUST WANT TO TALK

crowley-as-aziraphale says “what fun. i love a barbecue.”

i am literally ENRAGED that sandalphon was like “hell yeah you can hit aziraphale” to the minor demon who brought the hellfire i WILL throw hands

uriel calls it a barbecue too those fuckers

in the script uriel and sandalphon have their flaming swords drawn, so it wasn't going to be as insidious as expecting aziraphale to walk into the flame of his own volition. but they didn’t end up including it in the show, so it is that insidious after all

aziraphale-as-crowley keeping his socks on for the bath was such a choice

“he doesn’t actually have a newspaper and a cigar, but damn, he’s enjoying himself in his bath” 

i've seen so little talk about how absolutely ice cold aziraphale is in the bath scene with the whole “so you’re probably thinking, ‘if he can do this, i wonder what else he can do’? and very, very soon, you’re all going to get the chance to find out.” BECAUSE THAT SHIT IS TERRIFYING

aziraphale-as-crowley: michael. duude.

crowley and aziraphale both get out of their own elevators and meet up to walk out together which is poetic cinema

PIGBOG AND THE OTHER MOTORCYCLE IDIOTS THAT HUNG OUT WITH DEATH WERE GOING TO BE INCLUDED i miss them

[hekate1308]

Do I Look Like I Knew That

Prompt: Do I Look Like I Knew That?

Fandom: Good Omens

Pairing: Ineffable Husbands

Crowley still can’t believe that they’ve made it here. After everything, after six thousand years, they have finally managed to set things straight and buy a cottage – although they are of course keeping the book shop because anything else would be unthinkable.

Still, here they are. He would thank God every day for that if the subject weren’t still a little touchy with him, and he has an idea that she wouldn’t answer anyway, because she never does.

Currently, Aziraphale is reading and Crowley is lying on the couch, being very content with just staring at his angel because he can.

Now and then, one of them will say something or other, but mostly they are happy to be silent together.

Until Aziraphale raises his head and says, “I have to say, dear, I am still surprised that you had no idea that Jane Austen wrote books.”

“Do I look like I knew that?” he asks lazily, not caring one bit. He and good old Jane had a lot of fun together back in the day, if she wanted to write books in her spare time, that’s fine by him.

“Still… next thing you’ll see you know nothing about Edith Wharton.”

“As if anyone would forget her” Crowley says immediately. “The good angel of Paris. The kind of charity she undertook in World War I was really something…” While he was technically supposed to delight in wars and the Inquisition and other things the humans came up with, Crowley has always held to having principles, and sometimes… To this day he can’t really visit Spain without shuddering.

Another moment of silence, but this was is startled and Crowley groans when he realizes what that means. “Oh don’t tell me. She wrote something too?”

“She was the first woman to win the Pulitzer Prize for Age of Innocence…”

Oh. Good for her. Remembering all she did, she most definitely deserved it, and if Aziraphale likes it, it must be rather good, too. “Glad to hear it” he therefore says.

Aziraphale looks at him with that fondness in his eyes he never bothers to hide anymore, and Crowley couldn’t be happier, no matter how many other people who wrote books are unknown to him.

They are taking a walk, holding hands because they can. The inhabitants of South Downs quickly grew used to them so nobody blinks an eye these days.

It’s a beautiful October day, the kind that makes not even Crowley sorry to be a snake, because the sun is out.

Aziraphale waves at Mrs. Folly, the kind old lady who is their closest neighbour and was the first to approach them with cookies and greetings, one of which his angel appreciated more than the other, although he would never openly show that, naturally.

“So where do you want to have lunch, dear?” Aziraphale asks and he shrugs because as long as they are together, it doesn’t matter to him one bit.

“Wherever you want, Angel.”

Aziraphale beams and Crowley thinks he’ll let him choose forever if this is the reaction he gets.

They are spending an evening home, and it feels so homely and wonderful that Crowley has actually curled up into a snake and slid unto Aziraphale’s lap. Now and then, he will pat him, causing him to hiss in contentment. It’s alright, Aziraphale knows the difference between that and his annoyed hisses when he gets woken up from his nap.

He eventually glances upwards because he really wants to know what Aziraphale is reading – he doesn’t have to know – and it’s –

Of course it would be the one they talked about. He doesn’t roll his eyes. Barely. He can’t imagine that Aziraphale hasn’t already read that particular work several hundred times, like so many other things…

His thoughts drift off as his angel continues to read, and he finds himself wondering if there are any other authors he doesn’t know about – no, that’s not what he means – if there are other people he knew and thought he knew well who wrote books. When it comes to Jane Austen, she’s apparently even primarily known for her novels, or that’s what the angel said, which he can’t help but feel she would have laughed at. A good sense of humour was one of her best characteristics, after all…

Edith Wharton wasn’t as quick to laugh, but she was always quick to help, and that counted for something, back then, Crowley actually spent quite a bit of time in France in World War I – and might have sometimes supported her charities while being very careful that Hell didn’t hear. They were always very touchy when it comes to this.

All of this is now behind them, though, and he relaxes into a comfortable nap as Aziraphale pats him once more.

[prepare4trouble]

And another thing on the subject of the Book of Life theory. Can anybody really imagine Aziraphale letting some woman have a record shop in the corner of his bookshop? Really? I mean, he doesn’t exactly go out of his way to encourage customers into his shop, does he? I know customers do occasionally go in there, (but never ever during season 2, which is strange in another way, considering how much of the series is set in and around the shop) but surely there being another shop inside his shop would only increase the work he will need to do to ensure that nobody buys anything from him.

Anyway, wouldn’t Aziraphale want his privacy? A bit of peace and quiet? Would someone hawking records in the corner of his shop be conducive to that? And what if he needed to, I don’t know, open the gateway and speak to heaven? Wouldn’t exactly be helpful to have another shopkeeper in there, would it? To have to time things like that around business hours? What if he wanted to talk to Crowley about demon and angel stuff? What if the eclectic opening times of the shop didn’t fit with the other - much more human and in need of money in order to survive - person trying to earn a living in there?

No, that doesn’t feel right to me. It doesn’t feel like something he would do. By all means he might help Maggie’s great grandmother somehow, but he wouldn’t give up any corner of his private domain to do it.

I can’t see him owning another property on the street and renting it out either for that matter. that felt wrong from the get-go. I know he has a tendency to do things the human way, but that seems like too much work. It also appears that at least up until recently, he has been popping over there and collecting the rent every month. I mean, you could say he did this purely to get the inconvenient human out of his shop, but again I would argue that they wouldn’t have men in his shop in the first place.

Plus, what was it Maggie said?

“Originally our shop was in a corner of Mr Fell’s bookshop. I think that’s why he lets me stay on; old time’s sake.”

Does this not sound just a teensy bit like she’s talking as though her Great Grandmother knew the same Mr Fell that she does? Like it’s been forgotten that the local humans don’t know Aziraphale is an immortal being? I know Nina clarifies, asking if that’s because his grandfather knew her Great Grandmother, but Maggie herself talks like Aziraphale has some kind of affection for the family, like they’re his pet humans that he’s been looking after for a hundred years or so.

And doesn’t this just sound a bit like a convenient way to shoehorn in a connection between her and Aziraphale that wasn’t there before?

[kotias]

Tagged by @she-makes-things !

How many works do you have on Ao3? I have 16 of them on there; however, I historically am not from AO3, but from fanfiction.net ; on there, I have 15 stories, 1 of them is also on AO3 so I won't count it.

It brings us to a total of 30 stories!

This is without counting some fics that were on fanfic-fr.net, but unfortunately the website was closed and I won't be able to access it :(

What's your total ao3 word count? Counting the gigantic CYOA I was part of, 186,095 words.

Without it, 68,879 words.

Now, if we add the fanfiction.net stats (without counting the one shared with AO3)... :D

Ff.net word count: 310,810 words

Grand total with the CYOA: 496,905 words

Grand total without it: 379,689 words

What fandoms do you write for? Good Omens currently. However, I have written plenty of fics for: Harry Potter, Sherlock, One Piece, Eyeshield 21 and Dragon Ball (Z, GT, Super)

Top five fics by kudos:

The first one is the CYOA, which is rigging everybody's stats. Here it is, but I will write 6 fics total, since this one really is an outlier xD

1. Coming Home - A Choose Your Own Adventure Story (E)- 466 kudos

Having thwarted yet another attempt at ending the world, Aziraphale and Crowley are, in fact, ready to have sex now. Just how successful their sex shall be depends on the discerning decision-making of you, dear reader… More than thirty authors combine to bring you over one hundred possible ways that the first night at the South Downs cottage might play out. Aziraphale and Crowley - and you - will embark on a thrilling voyage of self-discovery from which no one will emerge unchanged.

2. Dance our night away (G) - 284 kudos

1944, 29th of February - leap year. Crowley and Aziraphale are invited to a ballroom dance party, and will dance- but angels don't dance, do they? Based on Gleafer's 1940s swing dance drawing!

3. How like a winter has my absence been (T) - 191 kudos

1941, Crowley and Aziraphale just spent the evening in a bombed church and in West End performing a deadly magic trick in front of weary American soldiers and a set of four Nazi zombies. Tired, they end the evening in the angel's bookshop. Happy to see each other after eighty long years, they spend the rest of the night together, drinking, listening to the music on the radio. Maybe, maybe the longing was about to give them something more.

4. My Arum Lily (E) - 182 kudos

Hoowee, laudanum! Last time Crowley does that! Plot? What plot? Purely indulgent cemetery porn for gcaledonian, one of the mods of the Good Omens After Dark subreddit. Enormous thank you to Bean_art, LauraMoon1987, Zoinksart, GaHellHimself, DaneeCastle, Gleafer and Zoey Time for the artworks that you will find inside!

5. Your Grace is a Fire (E) - 176 kudos

Laudanum! Last time Crowley would do that... Hell infuses the demon with hellfire and sends him back on Earth, where Heaven hunts him down for three decades before Aziraphale gets his hands on him and brings him back to the bookshop. There, they work together to rid Crowley from this hellfire plaguing him... /!\ DEAD DOVE. READ THE TAGS BEFORE STARTING. TAKE THEM SERIOUSLY. Many thanks to Gleafer for her amazing prompt that rotted my brain for a whole ten days: “Hell infuses Crowley’s body with hellfire so he runs away and hides for years. Aziraphale finds him, and he thinks he knows how to put out the fire that burns his demon so!”

And He Fell (G) - 157 kudos

Taking place after the end of season 2. The Second Coming is raging, destroying all life on Earth in an epic battle between Angels and Demons. But for Crowley and Aziraphale, that means it is time to meet again and to save the world from dying entirely. Crowley's Fall is explored during that final fight; how his punishment took place, and what fomented his hatred of Heaven.

Do you respond to comments? I try, but I'm not very good at it. There might be days, weeks, months even before I give a response, and I'm very sorry for that. I read you all, I just... forget :|

What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? Absolutely is An Arrangement in Black. The entire piece is angsty (mind the tags! it's a dead dove!), and the end isn't much more positive honestly.

What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? Probably is Dance our night away, because the entire thing is fluffy fluff happily fluffying.

Thy Eternal Summer Shall Not Fade would be a solid contender however, as it is my collection of fluffs.

Do you get hate on fics? Not really, at least not anymore. I used to have some on ff.net, but that time is behind me :)

Do you write smut? *scoffs*

Y

E

S

Of course.

Craziest crossover: I don't really do crossovers :)

Have you ever had a fic stolen? Not to my knowledge, but I've started writing a long time ago, when common courtesy didn't really apply. So maybe, but I wouldn't be aware of that.

Have you ever had a fic translated? Not to my knowledge, but I would be very honoured if it happened :)

Have you ever co-written a fic before? Yes!!

The CYOA was a good example of that.

I co-wrote a crack collab fic with a fellow writer 10 years ago in the Harry Potter fandom, and another, angstier fic with another writer in the Sherlock fandom. Both are in French, be aware of that ;)

I have participated/am participating to several bangs, which are collaborations between a writer and an artist.

Jane Doe is the one published so far.

I am also currently in 3 collaborative fics that are in the making.

All time favorite ship? OOF difficult question. The one that gets me most feral is Hirumamo (Hiruma/Mamori) in the Eyeshield 21 fandom.

What's a wip you want to finish but doubt you ever will? Amber Lily, a DBZ fic under the premise "What if Planet Vegeta didn't explode" => it is a massive project of mine, but unfortunately I can't seem to get the juice for it, when I look at the sheer size of the endeavour. So I'm starting to repurpose it into other projects that could fit it.

What are your writing strengths? I am experienced, which means that I'm fast. I write very fast and I am precise, meaning that I don't need much re-reading after it's done to call it completed and ready to publish.

In terms of themes, my specialty is romance. I have a tendency for detailed descriptions, meaning that I excel in romantic angst specifically.

What are your writing weaknesses? I'm just not good at writing humour, and I consider that my weak link in prose is dialogue.

Thoughts on dialogue in another language? Very fun to do, however please be a native speaker of it or talk to a native speaker to help you with it. Google translation won't be your friend.

First fandom you wrote in? Dragon Ball.

Favorite fic you've written? It's a few months ago already, and I've grown quite a bit still, but How like a winter has my absence been still stands as my pride and joy.

An Arrangement in Black is right behind however, I'm very proud of the end result.

@adverbian @kneelbeforeyourdogbabylon @hakunahistata @theravenmuse

[yowlthinks]

Omg, this is heartbreaking...

For the past few days I have been re-watching and re-listening the trailers, and came to the following conclusion about how things appear to be. THESE ARE JUST MY IDEAS BASED ON THE TRAILERS, BUT SOME MIGHT THINK THESE ARE SPOILERS, SO READ ON AT YIUR OWN PERIL:

First, when Crowley says "I'm back', to me this is their first meeting after his long nap. Notice how he strides in, takes off his glasses, rings the bell and then STEPS BACK a few steps. He is willing to be vulnerable but at the same time not sure he will receive a warm welcome (which by the looks of it he doesn't).

Then they make up, Crowley coaxed Aziraphale out to lunch and they get back to a friendlier footing, but Crowley has not mentioned that he is living out of his car.

In the meantime, Crowley is going through a full-on identity crisis. And it is clear why: he is not a bad person, he saw being a demon as his job (see the book for a good description of that), so now he is questioning who he actually is: if his demonic employment ended, but he certainly does not define himself as an angel, he starts indeed questioning "the point of it all". I guess, he is going with self-defining as an occult force and seeing how that sits with him. In view of this crisis, his realisation that Aziraphale is not just his best friend, but his ONLY friend. He is the only person who will ever truly know and understand him, and accept him as he is. And if this is not the recipe for someone who you would always want to have in your life, I don't know what is. But herein also lies the snag: while Crowley is lonely and knows he wants Aziraphale to share his time with, Aziraphale, at least visibly, is doing just fine on his own, thank you very much. He is running his bookshop, being the landlord to half the soho properties and meddling into the love affairs of his neighbours, essentially doing the same thing he did during Crowley's hundred year sleep: he had his gentleman's club then, now he has another community. It doesn’t mean he doesn't miss Crowley, but he keeps himself busy.

Then amidst this existential crisis Crowley learns from Shax that something is going on, so je instantly gets Aziraphale into that pub and tells him what he knows. Aziraphale probably says he'll be vigilant.

Then Muriel shows up and Aziraphale is trying to be kind while Crowley is just toying around. Perhaps, at that time they decide that that is it.

Then Gabriel shows up and all hell sorta breaks loose (gradually). I am sure somewhere in the most dramatic and least opportune moment Aziraphale will find out that Crowley is essentially homeless.

- Well, why didn't you say anything, dear boy? You know I have a flat upstairs.

- I also happen to know it is currently occupied by Gabriel! I'm happy to flatshare with you, not with him!

- Flatshare... with me?

*Cries in dumbass*

I hope by the end they decide to move in together, fund a nice place and this is the ride to the tartan mountains we saw in the trailer.

Wait... when did Crowley start living in the car. Because in lockdown when he asks "I could slither over and watch you eat cake." He doesn't say it from car parked 5m from the bookshop, right? RIGHT?! :D

[space-pot8o]

Inspired by a post by @toedenandbackagain

The advertisements were how they found each other, every once in a while, when the world changed too quickly. The newspaper was the only form of media to remain consistent. There was just too many ways to communicate now, Crowley thought. He’d had a hand in creating the internet, and now the humans were so invested even he could barely keep up with it.

Of course, he had a cell phone, but Aziraphale didn’t. He’d already tried the bookshop’s landline to no avail. It was like the angel was allergic to any technology made after the mid-nineteenth century.

He paid the man at the newspaper stand, scooping up a paper and opening it to the personal adverts as he wound through the crowd. He barely needed to pay attention to where he was going; people just seemed to veer out of his way.

Halfway down the page, he found what he was looking for.

Angel will be feeding ducks at St. James’ Park on Monday at 10am. Company would be appreciated.

“Found you,” Crowley muttered. Or at least, he hoped. The last time he’d been wrong, it had been the most awkward of situations. It was… well, let’s just say there was a reason Crowley didn’t respond to adverts that fit his physical description anymore. Or those looking for an ‘evening companion’, as much as that sounded like a term Aziraphale would use. No, he only responded to ones that specifically said ‘Angel’ now. Less chancy.

Crowley glanced at his watch, the shimmery dark face reading quarter to ten.

“Perfect,” he murmured, snapping the newspaper shut and tucking it under his arm. Aziraphale might like to read it, he supposed. He also supposed that perhaps he should stop talking aloud to himself so much.

Thirteen minutes later, Crowley arrived at St. James’ Park. In the distance, on the bench where they usually met, sat a prim figure with a shock of light hair and a cream colored jacket. One side of his mouth drew back in a grin as he sauntered over, keeping his eyes on the ducks in the pond as he came up beside the bench.

“That one was a bit obvious, don’t you think, angel?”

“It’s Angela, actually.”

Crowley froze, turning to look at the person sitting on the bench, who was not in fact Aziraphale but instead an old lady with pinned up white curls and a glimmer of mischief in her eyes.

“Oh, I suppose I must have mistyped it when I was sending it into the newspaper. I just can’t get the hang of these computers.”

Crowley blinked, glancing around uncomfortably as the shock began to pass.

“I think I’ve answered the wrong advert,” he said, taking a step backwards.

“Oh,” the lady said, her face falling a bit. “Well you’re here, would you like to feed the ducks with me, anyway?”

Crowley hesitated. As disappointed as he was that it wasn’t his angel, there was something compelling about her.

“Well alright, I suppose,” he heard himself say as he sank down onto the bench beside her.

“Here you go, dear,” she said, handing him a chunk of bread from the bag beside her. He accepted it as she threw a handful of crumbs into the water.

“My best friend Peggy just passed away, you see, and feeding the ducks used to be a regular outing for us, especially as we got older. I only put the ad in the paper because I don’t have too many friends left and I’m just at such a loss without Peggy.”

She gave Crowley a sideways glance.

“It seems to me you feel the same way without whoever you meant to meet here, your angel, considering how disappointed you were to find me instead.”

Crowley gave a noncommittal shrug, shifting uncomfortably. She was right, of course, but he wasn’t going to admit that.

“The ducks seem to like you though, don’t they?” Angela continued. “Do you come here often dear? I swear they remember faces. They would certainly remember Peggy every time, though I think she was coming here to feed them long before we started coming together.”

She threw a bit more bread in the water.

“Oh, that reminds me.” She reached for her bag. “Would you like a sandwich, dear?” I brought an extra, it was always for Peggy, she was always running around and I swear she would never stop to eat unless I made her.”

She pulled out a paper-wrapped square, which Crowley accepted reluctantly. He would have refused, but there was something in the woman’s eyes that warned him against fighting too hard.

He unwrapped the paper, revealing a ham and cheese sandwich on good homemade bread. He took a bite to be polite, and Angela smiled.

“There’s a good boy. You’re quite a skinny one, aren’t you? You remind me of Peggy’s husband when he was young, only you’re much taller. Of course, that was before the war.” She trailed off, tossing another handful of bread to the eager ducks.

Crowley took another bite of the sandwich, surprising himself. Usually Aziraphale was the only one who could get him to eat.

“I just realized I never got your name, dear,” Angela said, turning back to look at him.

“Anthony,” he replied after a moment, deciding Crowley would be too hard to explain. “Though not many people call me that.”

“Oh yes,” Angela replied. “I know how that is. My given name is Angela, but I’ve never met someone who didn’t call me Angie instead.”

Crowley nodded. Nicknames were such a human thing, he thought. You have one name but everyone just calls you something else.

“Some people have called me Tony,” he said slowly, trying not to show his distaste. “You could call me that instead.”

Angie glanced over, her eyes shrewd.

“You don’t strike me as a Tony,” she replied. “Anthony suits you just fine, I think.”

Crowley relaxed a bit at her words.

“One of Peggy’s friends had a son named Anthony,” Angie continued. “Now he was someone better suited as a Tony. I always felt the name Tony was meant for a troublemaker, but that doesn’t seem like you at all. But young Tony, he can’t seem to stay out of trouble. I think he does it on purpose. No, you’re much too polite to be a Tony.”

Crowley’s eyes narrowed behind his glasses. Where had this woman been for the last six thousand years? Under a rock? Crowley, polite. What a concept. Though, he supposed, Aziraphale would likely agree with her.

“My angel keeps telling me I’m a good person,” he said, tossing some bread into the pond. “I’m not inclined to believe it, though.”

“Why ever not?” Angie replied. “You seem perfectly nice to me.”

Crowley did his best to ignore the uncomfortable prickle her words sent over his skin.

“My job… it requires me to do some things, that most people would agree, do not make me a nice person.”

Angie was silent for a moment.

“And it’s not like I hurt anyone, of course not,” Crowley continued. “I just… inconvenience them.”

“Does it bother you?”

“What?” He jerked his head up.

“Does it bother you,” Angie repeated, “That you do these things? That some people might think you’re bad?”

Crowley blinked, truly stumped for the first time in four hundred years.

“I mean, it’s my job,” he replied. “It’s who I am.”

“Oh, psh,” Angie replied, waving her hand. “I can’t even count anymore the number of times I’ve had this very conversation with Peggy. Her job always had her doing these questionable, dangerous things. I’m not sure her employers cared about the means as long as she got to their end. It wore on her, too. But you are not defined by your job, you are defined by what you care about. Now I’ll ask you again, does it bother you?”

“I suppose it bothers me that I don’t feel like I live up to my angel’s view of me,” he admitted. And it was true. He never felt as good on the inside as Aziraphale seemed to think he was.

“Well then, there you are. Bad people, truly bad people, don’t care about being better. So from what you’ve just told me, that proves you’re not a bad person.

Crowley froze again as her words washed over him. Never, in all his time on earth or in hell, had he ever considered that. He still wasn’t inclined to believe her, but she said it with such conviction that he couldn’t help but wonder if it was true.

Angie glanced at him again, her gaze shrewd but soft.

“Surely if that’s what I see, your angel sees it too.”

It was all Crowley could do to nod.

They sat together a while longer, Angie telling stories about the trouble she and Peggy got into after the war. Crowley nodded and made the appropriate remarks required for polite conversation, and he found himself actually enjoying her stories.

All these years, he’d never bothered to connect with a human. They seemed so dull, and their lives were over so quickly. He hadn’t thought it was worth it. Besides, he had Aziraphale and that friendship was plenty for him.

About an hour later, their stock of bread was finally depleted. The ducks, of whom a great number had congregated on the water before them, began to disperse once they realized the supply of treats had run dry.

Angie dusted off her coat, watching the ducks swim away with a sigh. Crowley glanced at her, but her gaze was fixed across the pond somewhere in her memories.

“I know I wasn’t who you were hoping to meet,” she told him. “But I am glad to have met you. You’ve made me feel a bit less lonely just when the world was starting to seem big and empty. Thank you, Anthony, truly.”

He shifted in his seat.

“Well I suppose… well, I could meet you here again. If you’d like.”

“I would,” Angie said, her blue eyes misty as she gave him an enormous smile. “Same time next Monday?”

Crowley gave her a nod, stretching out his legs as she stood.

“Goodbye, Anthony. See you then.”

He watched her totter off down the path until she was out of sight, then turned back towards the water. What an odd turn of events, he thought. What she’d said to him ran through his mind as he sat there, waiting to see if perhaps his angel would still show.

For the next seven Mondays, without fail, Crowley would meet Angie at the park to feed the ducks and listen to stories about her life. She enjoyed talking about her adventures with her friend Peggy more than anything, which Crowley was surprised to find sounded a lot like some of his adventures with Aziraphale; In particular, one dicey evening involving a church, some German spies, and a few rare books.

One morning, on the eighth Monday in fact, Crowley was early. He sat on their usual bench, waiting for Angie to appear around the corner, when he felt a presence beside him. He turned his head slightly to the right, just enough to see a flash of cream coat, and his mouth tugged into a grin.

“Hello, Angie,” he said, turning his eyes back to the pond.

“Hello, my dear Crowley.”

Crowley froze. He knew that voice, and it certainly wasn’t Angie.

“Trying out a new nickname, are we?”

He whipped his head around to see Aziraphale standing there, looking ethereal in the morning light.

“Er, no,” he replied. “What are you doing here?”

“I was walking by and I saw you sitting alone. Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, angel,” he replied, the words coming out a bit harsher than he intended. He wasn’t sure why, but he didn’t really want to tell Aziraphale about Angie.

“Alright,” Aziraphale replied, his face falling the tiniest bit. “I’ll leave you be. I’ll be at the bookshop later, if you feel like catching up. Perhaps we can get a bite to eat.”

“No wait, I’m sorry, you don’t have to go,” Crowley straightened abruptly, catching Aziraphale’s sleeve.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to disturb you.”

“Sit down, angel.”

Aziraphale took a seat beside him, settling in as he always did.

“Are you quite sure you’re alright?” He asked again, glancing at Crowley worriedly.

“I’m fine, I told you. I just come here sometimes to¬—”

“Anthony! There you are.

Crowley’s adrenaline spiked again as he turned to see Angie making her way up the path towards them.

“I see you’ve brought a friend today. I wish you would have warned me so I could have made an extra sandwich. Here’s yours, by the way— honestly, do you live on air, Anthony? You’re still so skinny.”

She paused for breath and handed him the paper wrapped sandwich.

“It’s nice to meet you, I’m Angie,” she said as she took her seat on his left, reaching out her hand to Aziraphale.

He shook it, his expression still dumbfounded as he glanced back and forth between the two of them.

“Angie, this is my friend, Aziraphale,” Crowley told her.

“A.Z. Fell? Oh, you own that lovely little bookshop in Soho, don’t you? I’ve been meaning to stop in there for ages, but it never seems to be open when I drop by.”

Crowley could sense Aziraphale relaxing at the mention of the bookshop, and he let out a quiet breath of relief.

“Here you go, Anthony dear, I daresay these ducks have waited long enough,” she said, handing him a chunk of bread.

He threw some in the water, handing a piece to Aziraphale as well.

“Oh, here comes that swan again,” she told him, throwing bread in the opposite direction from where the white monstrosity was silently gliding towards them.

Aziraphale tossed his crust of bread towards it, and the giant bird slowly began to sink. He jabbed Crowley in the side with his elbow, and the swan resumed bobbing on the surface.

“You know, two weeks ago that naughty bird came right up and stole my bread bag right out of my hand. Anthony jumped right up and tried to get it back, and the poor dear almost fell in the pond! It was quite a sight, though, to see him fighting a swan in the middle of St. James’ park.” She let out a laugh. “But he’s always doing such nice things like that, he chased my hat when it flew away and he’s always helping me around puddles and such.”

Crowley sank a bit lower in his seat, his ears reddening as he saw a small smile of amusement on Aziraphale’s face.

“Cr—Anthony is such a nice person, I tell him all the time but he doesn’t believe me,” Aziraphale replied, casting a kind look at Crowley, who was presently trying to sink through the bench and the ground and down to somewhere he could escape this embarrassment.

He shot an irritated look at Aziraphale, who simply smiled back.

“Oh that reminds me, Anthony, I brought this for you,” Angie said, reaching into her bag to pull out a long, cream colored scarf. “It’s getting colder every day and you’re all skin and bones, you must get dreadfully cold and I don’t want you getting sick.”

Crowley took the scarf, reluctantly looping it around his neck. Aziraphale’s amused smile returned as Crowley shot him a look— one he knew the angel would understand even if he couldn’t see his eyes, that dared him to say anything about it.

Of course he wouldn’t get sick, but he wasn’t going to tell Angie that, nor was he going to hurt her feelings. She continued telling stories and Crowley began to relax as Aziraphale joined in the conversation. He smiled, thankful that the worst of the awkwardness had passed. He threw a handful of bread to the ducks, only half paying attention to the conversation for a few minutes until Angie leaned forwards a bit towards Aziraphale, reaching over to pat his perfectly manicured hand.

“I’m so glad he finally brought you to meet me, my dear. Of course, he’s told me so much about his angel I feel as though I know you already.”

Crowley’s eyes widened behind his glasses. He didn’t dare look at Aziraphale, though he was sure the angel’s smile mirrored Angie’s.

“Ngh,” he said, crossing his arms and shifting uncomfortably, wishing very much in that moment that he was elsewhere.

“Oh, you’re just like Peggy,” Angie chastised. “She was always so easy to rile. Very well, I’ll leave it alone if only so you stop looking like you’re trying to hide inside yourself. Here, feed the ducks some more.” She handed him another piece of bread, which he accepted.

“But really, Mr. Fell, you’ll have to tell me more about this knitting club. I could always use more good friends like Anthony.”

Aziraphale obliged as Crowley sat and listened, nodding and replying every once in a while as would be polite in a conversation between friends. The three of them sat happily on that sunny Monday morning and fed the ducks, as they did on every Monday that came after.

[polymysteryinciscanon]

You guys I started rewatching Good Okens and I can not not stop thinking about Aziraphale falling in love with humanity before he falls in love with humans.

Humanity is a concept. Humanity is this great race of beings created by G*d herself to inhabit the earth. And from the moment we see Aziraphale we know he loves them. The first thing we see him do is admit to disobeying the order of Heaven for humanity. We see his love for humanity in his difficulty when facing the Great Flood. The other reason Aziraphale loves humanity is because of what they create. Crepes and sushi and Hamlet and books and so many other wonderful things that the Allmighty gives them that they then give to Aziraphale. And he loves them for it. But he does not love humans. He loves humanity, the Allmighty's creation.

And then he opens the bookshop. Purely self-indulgent at first. Driven by curiosity. But a shop brings customers.

Old Edna who always asks about mystery novels like the one she loved as girl.

That strange older fellow who always reads through french voumes with a wistful smile on his face.

But it's not just the regulars. Once a college student came running in and rushed out "i know it's getting late I just need a few minutes I'm working on my thesis and I just need one more book and I can't find it anywhere and this is my last hope" and Aziraphale asks for a title and lo and behold he has it and the young man thanks him so genuinely and profusely that Aziraphale just stands there smiling to himself for two full minutes before he moves.

The little family of three americans who stumbled in on vacation and studied the shelves with wide eyes and complimented him on his collection and left with a book each. He watched the little daughter open hers before their cab had even started.

That young couple, maybe fifteen. One had been a few times but the other was entirely new. They had held hands and blushed throughout the shop. After not hearing from them for a while he went to check on them and found them curled up in a corner. The regular was reading from (insert classic romance novel of your choice) in the softest voice while carding fingers through her partner's hair.

And so on and so forth. For hundreds of years. And gradually, Aziraphale realized that his love was no longer just for G*d's great creation but for each and every person who had come into his shop, or served him a meal at a resturant.

And when Crowley came to him requesting he help stop armageddon, while a part of him was there for the shops and plays and music and beauty, a part of him was there for the ever growing list of names of every single wonderful, unique, incredible individual he had ever had the pleasure of knowing on this beautiful, crazy, doomed planet.

[lady-divine-writes]

Good Omens - Taking the Cake (Rated G)

Summary: When Aziraphale decides to host Warlock and Adam's 12th birthday down at his shop, he tells Crowley they'll be doing it without magic. That's all well and good until Crowley is called upon to finish decorating the cake... (1551 words)

Read on AO3.

“Ho there! Mmph... angel? Ngk... ” Crowley grunts, stuffing himself through one door of Aziraphale’s bookshop, the other holding stubbornly to its frame. He barely makes it through, lugging copious bags bulging with party gear, his long fingers curled around handles strained thin by the weight.

"In here, dear," Aziraphale replies, giving no indication that he's coming to help. Crowley picks an aisle and starts walking, navigating the narrow expanse between late 18th century classics and Roman philosophy. 

“I got everything on your list," Crowley says when he spots his husband. "Goodie bags, balloons, streamers, poppers… “ He pauses inventorying when he comes up behind Aziraphale, deeply engaged in the creation of a buttercream rosette.

By hand, no less. 

Aziraphale insisted they throw together this entire party like natives, and that meant no magic whatsoever. Crowley couldn’t understand why. Miracling together a party is literally a snap. They'd done it hundreds of times over the years. It's how they hosted their wedding. 

With a snap.

That did, however, create a mountain of paperwork, which led to Gabriel and his henchmen finding out about their shindig and showing up uninvited. Surprisingly, they didn't cause much in the way of trouble. They snickered a little, made a few snide remarks, but they mostly spent their time "observing" from a table in a far corner, mingling with no one as if above it all. 

Crowley tensed when they arrived, but having a few party crashers didn't go too badly... until the karaoke began. 

“Is that the cake then?”

“Yes. I’m almost done.“ Aziraphale pinches his tongue between his teeth, steadying his hand as he adds a peony this time.

"It's gorgeous," Crowley says in awe. "Truly stunning."

"Thank you, my dear," Aziraphale says, glowing from his husband's praise.

"But... " 

Aziraphale's shoulders instantly go rigid. 

Crowley hates to do this to him. The cake really is a masterpiece of confectionary construction. But it needs to be said. "Warlock and Adam are turning twelve."

"And... ?" 

"Don't you think they might appreciate something a bit more... I don't know.... befitting of a pair of former antichrists? Like a zombie with bleeding eyes? Or a raven with sharp, pointy teeth?"

Aziraphale glares over his shoulder at Crowley as if insanity has finally set in. "Ravens don't have teeth!"

"I know! That's why it would be terrifying! Right up their alleys!"

Aziraphale shakes his head, going back to his peonies. "This is a birthday cake! Not a Halloween cake! Besides, I only know how to make flowers. Anything else would require magic, and you know how I feel about that. Besides, I'm certain they only care about the insides anyway, and it's crammed full of chocolate. I don't think they'll mind a crocus or two."

"Fair enough," Crowley concedes.

The clock in the corner chimes, and Aziraphale sighs. He looks over at it, then double-checks the time on his pocket watch. Crowley checks the time on his watch, too, although he doesn't know what for.

"Three o'clock," Aziraphale observes. "Damn."

"Wot's wrong?"

"I’m afraid I’m running a bit behind.”

“Anything I can do to help?” Crowley asks, piling his sacks on a nearby chair.

“As a matter of fact, I have to pop out for a few," Aziraphale says, handing Crowley the piping bag, "but this cake needs one final touch.”

“And that is?” Crowley holds the bag between his fingers the way he would a dead rat, wary that he might be called upon to construct the same delicate flowers Aziraphale has. Without his magic, Crowley doesn't have anything near Aziraphale's talent with icing. 

Warlock and Adam may just get a gruesome cake after all.  

“I just need it to say 'Happy Birthday Warlock and Adam'.” Aziraphale bustles about, grabbing his coat off the tree and throwing it on. “The handwriting doesn't need to be immaculate, just legible. Could you do that for me?”

“Pfft. No problem," Crowley says, secretly perceiving a problem. "Piece of… “ 

Aziraphale stops on his way out the door to give his husband an exasperated look. Crowley snickers. 

“Well, you know,” Crowley finishes, shooing Aziraphale out the door. "Ta-ta now. Mind how you go."

***

"Damned antique dealers and their damned negotiations! Ignorant bast---" Aziraphale stops short of cursing. It doesn't matter what happened, which was extremely upsetting. There is no need for bad language. He hurries down the crowded sidewalk, going over the details of the past hour-and-thirty in his head. "I was doing them a favor, and look how I'm repaid! I'm late to the party I'm hosting! There's a fine how-do-you-do! Ungrateful humans! See if I stop another Apocalypse for you, in your tacky grey suits and your cheap pointy shoes... "

Aziraphale stomps up to his door, keys in hand, but stops outside when he hears laughter on the other side. He peeks through the dusty glass, and his shoulders sag. 

The party is for the kids. He knows. But he was so looking forward to celebrating with everyone from start to finish. That and he didn't think he'd take this long, so he neglected to relocate his first editions somewhere secure. 

He fears for their safety.

Icing is notoriously difficult to get out of parchment and ligament, even through the use of miracles.

He should have never taken that stupid meeting to begin with. He had a feeling it wouldn't pan out.

Oh well. 

No need wasting any more time on that than already has, he thinks, bucking up and unlocking the door. Time to stop feeling sorry for myself and start celebrating while I still have the chance...

Aziraphale takes a step in, ready to announce his arrival, but stops dead when he hears jazzy scatting in a sonorous voice. 

A voice that doesn’t belong to anyone he knows.

Aziraphale walks in further, scanning those gathered, and makes a minor correction to his original assessment - doesn’t belong to any human that he knows. His eyes blow wide, his cheeks burn red, and his husband's name explodes off his tongue before he even opens his mouth.

"Anthony J. Crowley-Fell!"

Aziraphale doesn't say anything other than his name and Crowley starts apologizing. "I'm sorry, angel!" he says, running across the shop to greet him, but not looking the least bit sorry. 

"I gave you one task!" Aziraphale bellows, snapping his fingers and slamming the door shut, his no-magic edict flying out the window. "Just one little thing! And you couldn't do it!"

"I'm no good at writing!" Crowley defends with the shadows of an infuriating grin on his face. "My hand gets all wobbly! I didn't want to risk ruining any of your lovely flowers!"

Aziraphale, splotchy-faced and buggy-eyed, glowers. "You couldn't write a simple Happy Birthday, so you enchanted the entire cake!? That was your brilliant plan!?"

"I'm a demon! Of course, that was my plan!"

"Crowley!"

"They showed up right after you left! I had no time! I panicked!"

Aziraphale drops his head into his hands, shaking it slowly back and forth. Crowley reaches out to put a comforting hand on his husband's shoulder until he hears him counting backward from one hundred... in Akkadian. Then he creeps his hand to his side and quietly steps off. 

Aziraphale breathes in deep through his nose and out through his mouth, struggling to ground himself. He has no one to blame but himself. That's the painful part. In the back of his mind, he knew something like this might happen. 

He's impressed it isn't worse. 

He should have never left his husband alone.

Next time, he'll hire a sitter.

Aziraphale continues counting, continues breathing, and as he does, he pays more attention to the goings-on around him.

The cake singing is quite unsettling, but the children are gleeful, the adults joyful. Joking, teasing, and enthusiastic conversation fill the spaces in between. 

Much like their wedding reception, except there isn't an archangel in sight. 

And Crowley's magic was instrumental in making that day memorable.

Maybe Aziraphale overreacted with that 'no magic' rule. Crowley's face fell when Aziraphale told him they'd be hosting the boys' birthday at his bookshop sans magic, but he'd recovered quickly. The streamers and balloons Crowley managed to toss on the walls look plenty festive, but they don't compare to what could have been had Aziraphale allowed Crowley to tap into his imagination.

Their guests are having a grand time despite the modest decor, but it could have been so much more. They are an angel and a demon! Between the pair of them, they could have whipped up a true spectacle, if for no other reason than they still owe poor Warlock after last year's fiasco. 

What would have been the harm of calling upon a little divine intervention? 

An alarming thought pops into Aziraphale's brain, and his head snaps up. “They’re going to cut into that, you know. Is that when the enchantment ends?”

“Nope.” Crowley rubs his palms together. “That’s when the fun begins.”

"Uh... "Aziraphale's jaw drops. "Good Lord," he moans, Crowley cackling when Adam runs to fetch the cake cutter. Aziraphale's mind whirls with thoughts of what fun could imply, but there's no time to ask. While Crowley starts laying a drop cloth, Aziraphale puts his coat away and relocates his favorite books into his back room for safekeeping.