#bentley mobile phone

[vidavalor]

Lindsay isn't just Heaven. She's Lucifer.

Going to mention here that this has discussion of abuse, including sexual assault and PTSD and recovery, in case you do not wish to read further.

So, Maggie & Nina are blended parallels of Crowley & Aziraphale, right? They're each a bit of both of them. Story-wise, personality-wise, paralleling-wise, vibe-wise, etc., right? So then can we talk about how Lindsay isn't *just* representing Heaven's abusive relationship with Aziraphale but also then how a blended parallel means that Crowley has a Lindsay, too? And that the show seems to suggest pretty heavily that it's Lucifer/Satan?

S2: Crowley triggers a blackout in the area that brings down mobile phone networks in London, trapping Maggie & Nina in the coffee shop and keeping Lindsay from being able to reach Nina through an electronic device. When the connection is restored, Nina is overwhelmed by the torrent of abuse sent to her through that device and we get confirmation that Nina's partner is emotionally and verbally abusive. This mirrors...

S1: Crowley brings down every mobile phone network in London, which keeps him from reaching Aziraphale (his Maggie) for a time to tell him about the antichrist... but it *doesn't* keep his abusive partner from reaching him through an electronic device (his car radio) and then abusing him in a metaphorical-to-human-rape demonic assault. It's mind control. It's forcible and against Crowley's will. It's literally taking away his own sense of bodily autonomy and control of himself while he's driving (the epitome of navigating your own surroundings under your own power)-- and he's driving the car that is an extension of his consciousness, no less.

FWIW, this is *really* why Crowley has a complete meltdown over Aziraphale wanting to drive The Bentley in S2. It's a much more light-hearted group of scenes but the themes of a sense of autonomy for Crowley are still there. ("*We* don't have a car. The Bentley is *my* car.") Trusting Aziraphale to drive the car when Crowley can feel every bit of it and has no control over what Aziraphale is doing is analogous to a rape survivor with PTSD, who is now in a healthier relationship, having to learn how to trust that person enough to relinquish some control-- both in and out of bed-- to build a life with that someone. To be vulnerable around them and learn to trust that they can feel safe doing so and that everything will be okay. It takes time, no matter how much you trust your partner, and Crowley does trust Aziraphale.

See, Crowley? He's qualified.

[venusforfran]

RadioOmens (Good Omens Radio BBC Adaptation) Ep 1+2

The differences and little bits of information regarding Crowley and Aziraphale I got from it and how you all need to listen to it, it's SO good.

-Aziraphale already knows Crawley's name on the wall, and Crawley hates it even then, Aziraphale tells him that he chose to be a serpent.

-The animals in the garden of Eden all freak out as Adam and Eve walk through.

-Instead of God reading out the facts of the earth, its Aziraphale! He's somewhat of a narrator here.

-Crowley calls Hastur and Ligur while stuck in traffic as they're lurking with the anti-christ at the start, Crowley winds them up about the M25.

-He has a 1926 Bentley, not a 1933 one in this version.

-Neil and Terry voice two road control officers chasing Crowley on the M25!

-Crowley brought down the mobile phone exchange for ONLY 45 minutes. Which is both hilarious and embarrassing for him.

-The conversation between Mr Dowling and Crowley is so funny just saying.

-Demons DO buy books.

-Aziraphale has a tiny married couple fit about Crowley not telling him instantly about him with the baby, in this version, it isn't because the phone lines are down, it's because Crowley is "too busy".

-Crowley developed Manchester, Aziraphale Shropshire, Milton Keynes was dead heat (both equally done basically) which is hilarious if you know anything about Milton Keynes.

-Heaven has "the best choreographers". Crowley finds this funny.

-Aziraphale instantly dibs the gardener role, Crowley begrudgingly takes the nanny, mentioning "Have you seen me in a skirt?" Aziraphale tells him, "Culloden 1745". Which technically means that in Canon, Crowley has worn a kilt.

-AGNES NUTTER IS VOICED BY Josie Lawrence, the same actress in the show!!

-Adam actually wants a dog, he'd asked his dad for one for his birthday.

-Anathema comments of Crowley's eyes.

-Crowley quite likes the luggage rack Aziraphale forces on the Bentley.

-Anathema whispers a little "Angel?" After Crowley calls Aziraphale that, which is the best thing ever.

-Aziraphale puts like 40 policemen to sleep at the paintball, and mentions what Gabriel is going to think.

I'll do the other episodes soon lol.

also just got caught out by David Tennant popping up as an Ad at the end, with no idea he was going to be in the TV Adaptation in a couple years lmao.

[risingoflights]

still can't draw barret wallace without remembering the time john bentley called me on my actual mobile phone to ask about the australian bushfires that year it was particularly bad. phone display says the call is from california. barret's big warm voice going 'so CRIM, what's this i hear about people setting fires?' utterly surreal experience

[crowleysgirl56]

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

Number 30.

CRANK THAT RIDICULOUS DIAL TO ELEVEN! Yet another extreme silliness wish, this a part 2 to my wildest dream number 27. In with Crowley continues to be petulant, and Aziraphale gets to play the rescuer.

Sprawled on the footpath where the Bentley had so unceremoniously dumped him, Aziraphale looks up at Crowley, bemused as the demon continues to rant at the retreating sight of his car. He can’t help but smile fondly at the dramatic cascade of insults spewing forth, drawing the weary eyes of passers by.

“…and next time I see you I’m going to let down your tyres!!”

Aziraphale picks himself up and briskly brushes himself down. “You’d never do such a thing and you know it” he teases primly.

The sound of Aziraphale’s voice seems to startle Crowley slightly, who resolutely ignores the angel and hurriedly makes his way down the street. Aziraphale immediately gives chase.

“Crowley, please could we talk for a moment?” Crowley’s pace picks up speed as he manoeuvres around the larger than usual number of pedestrians ambling along Whickber Street.

“Only I feel like I need to explain-” Crowley snaps his fingers and suddenly Aziraphale is cut off mid sentence by some suddenly appearing council workers jackhammering in the middle of the road.

“If you could just listen for a mome-” another snap of fingers and suddenly a line of cars blaring their horns emerge from nowhere. Frustrated by the wall of sound, Aziraphale covers his ears and manages to lunge himself in front of Crowley blocking his path.

“Don’t you think you’re acting just a tad child-”.

Crowley smiles smugly as the cacophony of noise overwhelms Aziraphale, who purses his lips and attempts to yell over the car horns, jackhammers, tolling bells, and loud mobile conversations, “could we just go into the bookshop!-”

Crowley gestures to his ears and mouths something that looks along the lines of “I can’t hear you”. Aziraphale fed up with the game draws down a miracle, silencing the street. A number of pedestrians stop to wonder how everything suddenly became so quiet, the queue of cars and council workers miraculously gone.

“Please, just hear me out-”

Crowley growls and immediately jumps away, angrily shoving his fingers in his ears. “LALALA NOT LISSSSTENIIIINNGGGGG!” He steps out backwards into the street, just as a large lorry comes barrelling down the road towards him, blaring its horn.

“CROWLEY!” Aziraphale cries. Crowley turns but it’s evident he is too late to react in time. Panicked Aziraphale throws out a careless miracle, redirecting the driver, whilst lunging forward and grabs onto Crowley’s lapels pulling him back to safety.

Crowley slams into Aziraphale’s arms. They stand wrapped in each other’s embrace, breathing heavily as they recover from the sudden adrenaline. A creeping realisation dawns and they both slowly turn their heads to look out into the street at the gawping gathering crowd. Some have started taking videos with their phone. It’s evident that the lorry has somehow ended up on the roof of Mr Brown’s world of carpets emporium. They slowly turn back to look at each other once more.

Aziraphale speaks in a low and clipped tone, “Get. Inside. The bookshop. Now!” Crowley can only nod in response. They slowly peel themselves away from each and as casually as one can whilst a crowd is photographing you, make their way into the bookshop. For that long awaited chat.

NOW KISS!

[cobragardens]

A Meta on Crowley's Miracle Meltdown

gif by phaxxion via Tenor

What exactly is happening in this moment? Why is it happening? Why is it included in this story?

I don't mean "Why does Crowley have a frustration meltdown after a huge argument with his partner about helping their former abuser Jeff Bezos?" We've all been there. But not all of us discharge a huge bolt of red infernal energy when we lose our temper, and more to the point, Crowley doesn't usually do that either. What gives?

And, as ixi of Fuck Yeah Good Omens asks and illustrates, why does some of the infernal energy Crowley discharges travel sideways into Give Me Coffee?

Here's my proposal for answers to these questions.

Insofar as angels and demons were created expressly for the purpose of channeling miracle, maybe to angelic stock refraining from miracles is a bit like holding one's breath is to a human. Human bodies move air in and through and out of themselves as an automatic process. They can refrain from that process, but because breathing is the default, refraining takes a positive sustained effort.

And if you're holding your breath when someone punches you hard in the gut, you don't just lose track of holding your breath, you gasp, you make sounds, you breathe hard. You move a lot of air through your respiratory system for a few seconds until you regain your equilibrium.

Since coming to "a sort of generalised understanding" with Hell, Crowley hasn't been doing many miracles. Aziraphale says he thinks Heaven would notice if he "performed even a minor miracle," and Crowley agrees, "I don't want Hell taking an interest either"; this implies that they've both been trying to keep their miracle usage minimal. (From his continued abuse of London's traffic lights we can infer that Crowley, as usual, has somewhat more latitude in this regard than does Aziraphale.) But he's so freaked out by the appearance of Jeff Bezos Jimbriel and so angry about Aziraphale's line-in-the-sand insistence that the two of them help Jim instead of protecting themselves that Crowley feels approaching a loss of the ability to hold his breath, miraculously speaking.

So before he accidentally curses the bookshop, he goes out into the street away from everyone and tries to get control of himself. If he's not successful, then he's at least away from everyone and able to discharge miracle into the sky where it can dissipate, just like the spiritual smog of evil produced by the M25 dissipates without affecting any one person or thing.

Crowley channels the miracle into the form of lightning, but Crowley's lightning behaves like miracle, not like lightning. Lightning is a huge shock of static electricity, i.e., the sudden mass movement of positively and negatively charged ions toward each other; it does not come up through a person's body from Hell, and it doesn't damage mobile phones.

It takes a direct lightning strike to damage a mobile phone, and when that happens it doesn't just fry the phone, it burns it. An arc of circuit electricity strong enough to fry an unplugged mobile phone would be strong enough to shock and burn the person holding it as well. Nina and Maggie both have their phones on them when the lightning hits Give Me Coffee, but neither woman gets struck by lightning or electrocuted. Their phones get bricked because that is how Crowley thinks lightning works and therefore his lightning works that way.

And it is for this same reason that the "lightning" Crowley puts out hits Give Me Coffee: because it's not lightning, it's miracle. Miracle depends on the miracledoer's familiarity with the thing the miracle is acting upon.

When Crowley has his frustrationgasm, he doesn't have perfect control over where he's aiming miracle in that moment and/or he's concentrating on keeping it away from the bookshop and Aziraphale and the Bentley, so a tongue of miraculous "lightning" (which behaves the way Crowley thinks lightning behaves) slips sideways towards the next most familiar thing on the street to him: Nina's coffee shop. Crowley went there just a few minutes before this scene.

As far as I can tell, this moment serves two functions in the story. Firstly, as many others have pointed out, it establishes the color of Crowley's miracle to be red (continuing the motif of red as the color that represents him) in order to indicate the importance of the Supreme Archangel's purple and the purple of the miracle plume Crowley and Aziraphale's joint miracle produced.

But maybe it's also included because it explicitly establishes a mechanic we see repeated on a smaller scale in 1827: that an angel or a demon's control of the miraculous power they channel isn't always perfect. It can slip if they get really upset.

[ineffableaddiction]

Angels vs Demons

Aziraphale

-Goes to discreet gentleman’s club, learns to dance

-Owns a gun (and has a permit)

-Leans about new and promising restaurants in places he visits

-Understands more about romantic human emotions and affections (probably due to books)

-Learns magic and French “the hard way”

-Socializes with humans on a somewhat regular basis

- Owns and runs a bookshop

Crowley

-Has a human vehicle (Bentley)

-Drinks excessively on a semi-regular basis

-Has favorite TV shows (comedies, one with excessive alcohol consumption)

-Owns mobile phone

-Likes houseplants

-Likes humans, but doesn’t know what to do with them (see: conversation with Nina about rain and canopies)

-Likes to wait in the bookshop

-almost perpetually unemployed

It amuses me that Crowley’s dear angel is more worldly than his introverted self is.

Oh, and labels suck. See above for proof.

[hysterical-mess]

So we all know that Crowley's mischief doesn't always work in his favor, right? Like he will canonically glue coins to the sidewalk and then turn around and fall for it himself. He brought down London's mobile phone network and immediately regretted it when he couldn't call Aziraphale. He made the M25 as hellish as possible and then got stuck in it. And of course the popular headcanon that he's the one who made push doors that say pull and vice versa. ( @hikarry explained it well in this post)

So we've all been assuming that Crowley just loves Queen, but I think we've been sleeping on the much funnier possibility that his car likes Queen and he absolutely hates it. We know he gets music from other artists, like The Velvet Underground, but what if his car only plays Queen just to spite him. I know we all love the bentley, but it is Crowley's Bentley - of course it's a little shit.

[dailyunsolvedmysteries]

Mobility scooter thief who left man to die

Kimberley Ann Hawkins, 41, pleaded guilty to the manslaughter of Neil Shadwick, 63, in Gloucestershire, England, following the incident in January 2023. Mr Shadwick was found unresponsive in a Tesco car park on Stratford Road in Stroud on 22 January, when the Met Office had forecast temperatures as low as -6°C overnight. CCTV footage showed Hawkins and Mr Shadwick, who had severe Parkinson’s, arriving at the supermarket at about 02:30 GMT to use the cash machine. When Mr Shadwick appeared unable to withdraw money for Hawkins, she became "frustrated" and took his mobility scooter while he was still partially on it. She dragged him along the road for just under a minute before he eventually let go, then she rode away, leaving him on the ground. He was found by supermarket staff who arrived for work at about 05:45 GMT. Mr Shadwick had severe hypothermia, pneumonia and lung injuries. In the ambulance, all he was able to say was "robbed" and "Kim". He later died in hospital. In a statement, his daughter, Mrs Bentley, said it was "horrific" to identify her dad "under such terrible circumstances". "Kimberley Hawkins knew by leaving Dad in that car park, on a freezing cold night, that she was leaving an incredibly vulnerable man who had no way of communicating as he could barely talk," Mrs Bentley said. "He didn't have a phone and he had no way of getting any help. He must have been terrified realising that he'd been abandoned and not knowing when or if help would arrive." The court heard the pair had gone to the cashpoint after Hawkins provided "sexual services" for Mr Shadwick.

[wraithwitch]

Stuff no one has mentioned yet about Good Omens S2...

Crowley’s waistcoat is leather because he is a slutty snek. Crowley is not always on the left any more. The star map is written in Gallifrayan. Nina calls Maggie ‘angel’. The Bentley is all over black when in S1 it was  black and grey. Crowley calls Aziraphale Lady Bracknell - there is also an Oscar Wilde nod with the Metatron talking about casting out archangels in the same way Lady Bracknell talks about losing parents. ‘The awning of a new era’ is an under appreciated line. Why isn’t Maggie affected by Aziraphale’s miracles in the bookshop ball? Why is Nina the only one to realise the Wickber Street meeting is not normal? The Bentley tries to please Aziraphale in the same way the mobile phone does. Crowley puts CDs in the car sound system, Aziraphale just asks the Bentley to play things - possibly why it doesn’t melt to Queen. Crowley actually slaps Aziraphale’s hand away from the Bentley. The fly is in the box at the start. Ennon is so gay. Why can’t Maggie spell? Why is there a perfect statue of Gabriel in a Scottish graveyard? Why is there a witchfinder and a Scottish surgeon both called Dalrymple? Crowley pointing a paintball gun at Aziraphale and hating his magic tricks in S1 hits different after seeing S2. Technically there are three zombie nazis still shambling around London? The Metatron is dodgy as all get out. There are a lot of references to not knowing or remembering things that a character ought to know - it is very suspicious. When Crowley talks to Gabriel about not remembering he sounds horribly familiar with the process. Crowley wears his glasses during Job and Rome - when he's in a bad mood. I think Muriel saw the kiss from outside the window? Tale of Two Cities, Pride and Prejudice, and The Crow Road are books that come up in shot again and again. They can be said to have similar themes to S1, S2, and maybe S3?

[amarshmallownamedo]

SPOILERS FOR GOOD OMENS SEASON 2

Things we got in season 2 that I've definitely read in fanfics pt 3/6

Crowley bringing plants into the bookshop (okay this one is a stretch because in the fic it was because he was moving in)

Aziraphale being a really good sketch artist

Crowley and aziraphale sitting in the same chair

Specifically crowley sitting on the arm of aziraphale's chair and aziraphale being totally comfortable with it

Crowley saying (with emphasis) "I have a Plan"

Aziraphale having a diary

Backstory in which crowley and aziraphale both go to Edinburgh

Crowley and Aziraphale visiting a graveyard (this one was a modern au but still)

Aziraphale driving the Bentley

And treating it like a sentient being

The Bentley actually being a semi-sentient being

Crowley threatening to sell people books

Aziraphale Investigating a Mystery

Aziraphale just talking at at a mobile phone to make it do what he wants

Crowley affecting the weather

Crowley using extreme threatening to keep aziraphale safe

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6

[edosianorchids901]

Accommodations

@flashfictionfridayofficial prompt “on the edge”

This had not been in Crowley’s plans for the day. He was supposed to be enjoying the warm weather, ideally by causing some traffic congestion and irritating people into coming up with horrible ideas of their own. A little light entertainment on the job.

Unfortunately, that required being able to move. Right now, he was on the edge of screaming in pain. Any serious movement, the sort required to get to his Bentley, would push him right over the edge.

He ground his teeth, staring at his mobile. It taunted him from the coffee table. To get it, he would need to lean forward, reach out. And if he tried that…

Crowley wasn’t quite sure if people—or demons—ever passed out from neck pain, but he was definitely sure he didn’t wanna find out.

Plus, it wasn’t just his neck. That was the worst of it, a steady smolder that had morphed into a supernova last time he moved. It sprawled out from there, trails of fire running down into all his limbs. His whole body tingled and burned, actually, and he had no damn clue what to do about it.

Could get drunk. But that would be hard to do, even if he miracled a drink to himself. He’d need to move his arms, probably tilt his head back.

He tried it, raised his chin, and yelped at the explosion in his spine. Tears burned his eyes, and his stomach lurched.

Okay. Nope. Drinks were probably out. So were any sort of painkillers, although those were pretty ineffective at soothing his misbehaving corporation anyway. A heating pad might help, but he couldn’t put one on.

Which meant his only real option was asking for help.

Crowley sighed, glaring at his mobile as much as he could manage without moving his head. “Call Aziraphale,” he said, desperately hoping that none of his plans had interfered with the mobile network again this time. Right now, he was foggy enough from pain that he couldn’t remember.

The phone rang a few times, echoing through his empty flat, and then picked up. “I’m afraid we’re closed for the day, doing, um… inventory. Do call back another—”

“Don’t you fucking dare hang up on me.”

“Crowley? That’s awfully rude, even for you. Are you all right?”

He definitely was not, but asking for help still chafed at him. “Nnnh. Hey. Sorry. Er.”

“That’s not very informative, my dear.”

“Sorry,” he said again. “I… fucked up my neck. Dunno how. Maybe moved just wrong.” Even talking was making the pain worse, each movement of his jaw sending a fresh stab of pain. “Can’t, er…”

“Oh, you poor fellow. I’ll be right over, how’s that?”

Before Crowley could reply, Aziraphale materialized out of thin air in front of him. Crowley gritted his teeth hard, battling against the startle reflex. If he jumped right now, he’d definitely scream. “Hi.”

Aziraphale looked him over, eyes wide. “Oh dear. You look absolutely horrible.”

“Thanks.”

“It’s your neck?” Aziraphale moved behind him, gently settling his fingers against Crowley’s spine. “Does touch hurt?”

“Nuh.” Actually, Aziraphale’s warmth felt good. “Thought about… heating pad. Or alcohol. Or something. But I can’t move enough to get any of that.”

“Oh, how awful. Here, let’s see…” The plump fingers moved in slow, careful circles. “Would you like to try a spot of very light massage, just to see if we can get you to relax? You’re awfully tense.”

“M’ tense because my neck is on fire.” But that did sound amazing. “Can you? Sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize, my dear.” Aziraphale settled both hands on his shoulders, thumbs stroking in an even rhythm. “I don’t mind at all. In fact, you could even say I’m doing my job by helping.”

Crowley snorted. “Lucky. I was gonna do my job by cutting off lots of other drivers.”

“Well, perhaps later,” Aziraphale said kindly.

Probably not later. When the pain flared up like this, best thing to do was to stay in the flat, try to rest. Even if Aziraphale could get him mobile again, he wasn’t going anywhere today.

The massage did feel terrific, though. Slow and careful, Aziraphale’s strong hands achingly gentle. Working at the taut muscles with a delicacy that didn’t cause any pain at all. Crowley closed his eyes, drifting.

He could even breathe now, and the burning pain diminished a tiny bit. Finally, Aziraphale ran a light stroke across his hair. “How’s that, my dear? Better?”

“Yeah, thanks.” Bracing for it to explode again, Crowley rolled his shoulders just a little. Then he winced. “Ow. At least I can move now.”

“Yes, movement is certainly an improvement. Where do you keep your heating pad? And would you like tea?”

Crowley provided directions, said yes to tea and threw in a hopeful word for scotch, then shifted a little in his armchair. A fresh blaze seared down his spine, and he stopped moving again before it got too bad. But at least he’d managed to move enough that he wouldn’t fuck up his hips from staying in the same position for too long.

“Here we are, my dear.” Aziraphale settled the heating pad around his shoulders without plugging it in. It was already at the perfect temperature, enough that Crowley groaned with relief. “And your tea. And your scotch. What would you like first?”

“Scotch.”

Aziraphale pulled a small, square table right up against the armchair and set down the tea. Then he put a straw in Crowley’s scotch glass, beamed at him, and held it up. “Here, take a sip.”

Crowley glared. “Are you joking?”

“I highly suspect it’ll be less painful.”

It was definitely less painful, albeit embarrassing. Asking for help was embarrassing too, or so he’d thought. But honestly, letting Aziraphale fuss over him was turning out to be pretty great.

[enbysiriusblack]

why does my son look like his football coach? and crush!!!

why does my son look like his football coach:

jegulily fic but james and lily had hari as late teens after a one night stand and lily gave him up for adoption. only for regulus to end up adopting him. and after leaving london with hari, he puts hari in a kids football club and slowly starts falling for the coach and reporter whos doing a piece on the club.

snippet:

Regulus sighed, unpacking would take forever. But at least he wasn’t stuck in London any longer. He rolled Hari onto the sofa, and stretched his arms to get started. His phone pinned with an email, and he scrambled for his phone, a distraction from having to unpack. He frowned for a moment at the mobile phone, until managing to open up the small letter icon and clicked the new email he had gotten. From his therapist. Fuck’s sake. The email detailed a reminder for their first session he had foolishly booked for today. In just under two hours.  Regulus turned to Hari, and pulled up google. Searching for kid’s Sunday activities in Durham. He scrolled through various articles of playgrounds, a train museum, whatever a deer park was, and go ape. Before landing on something Hari would love and that Regulus didn’t need to be there for. Youth Football.

crush:

lilene au of the film 'crush'. lily has had a crush on james for years now, and after being blamed for vandalism on school property, she has a chance to spend more time with him. only to end up falling for someone else. (& wolfstar are constantly all over each other the entire fic)

snippet:

Lily Evans had a crush. A crush that was completely out of her league. A crush that drove to school in a Bentley convertible whilst blasting Little Mix, and strutted down the corridor, without a care in the world. Friendly, handsome, incredibly charming and extremely out of her league. But crushes didn't magically disappear, and as James Potter grinned, walking towards her, Lily couldn't help the butterflies in her stomach from flying around in a flurry.  "Hey, Evans. How was your weekend?"  The grin set on his face, his eyes seeming to sparkle, and Lily opened her mouth with no words coming to her brain.  An arm wrapped around her shoulders, "James." "Remus", James nodded, "You two excited for the party this week?" Marlene came out of the toilets before Lily could speak, grabbing James' sleeve, ignoring the other two as usual, and pulled him down the corridor. "I guess I'll see you both later!" He waved, that grin still there.  Remus patted Lily's head, sympathetically, "You really need to get over this crush."

[avocado-writing]

Less of a request, more just curious if you have any hcs of Aziraphale, Crowley, and Nightingale’s further married life? Would they consider children, after the Apocalisn’t? How do you think they would all three be as parents? 🥹Stuff like that? 🥹🥹

I love you for asking this anon

I was workshopping this idea with my friend M actually, a silly concept that because heaven and hell are so similar after s1 of GO they both coincidentally go “hmm I know what will really mess up aziraphale/Crowley: A CHILD” and BOOM that night nightingale gets pregnant with twins.

aziraphale gets a mobile phone JUST for taking baby pictures. Crowley sings the kids to sleep (and encourages them to swear when the other two aren’t around). Suddenly the Bentley has baby seats. Nightingale never realised they wanted to be a mother but can’t imagine life without her little family 💕

I was thinking about doing a little sequel fic about family life called “the up the down and the places in the middle” but that would be very self indulgent and I have requests in the inbox!

[thesherrinfordfacility]

✨ episode 3 - running commentary✨

- OKAY LETS FO

- "JIMS MUG" HHAHAHAH

- oooooh mrs sandwich love u already

- MURIEL MY BELOVED I LOVE U You ARE PERFECT KN EVERY CONCEIVABLE WAY

- as an expert™ on the matter Muriel's grasp on UK law has me creasing

- LOOK AT MINE FOR A WHILE HAHAHAH yesssssssss

- PLANTS PLANTS

- THEM CROSSED LEGGIESSSS✨✨ CROWLEY MY LOVE YOURE SO FRUITY

- the writing has completely escalated fuck YES this is what I'm TALKKNG ABOut

- crowley YOUR SIDEBURNS ARE SHORT AND GLASSES ARE GREY WHY IT'S ONLY BEEN A FEW DAYS

- "it's a bit of a hobby" DEAD 💀💀💀

- lmao aziraphale u need to calm down my boo chill tf out on that clutch Bentley is SENTIENT

- AHH DIARY DIARY DIARY

- they are so bitchy I love it hahahah my fruity boys taking the piss out of gabe I live for this

- ACCENT ACCENT ACCENT ACC-

- my god the writing has fucking amped tf UP I'm so HAPPY

- oh my god the girls are so cute???? Fuck me UP

- Crowley shut up now pls I'm beggin

- the music has really chilled out and I'm glad my emotions are not being slammed down my throat

- AZIRAPHALE Why ARE YOU ON HIS LEFT

- 'ineffable' 💀💀💀

- YELLOW BENTLEY LMAOOOOOOO SHES GORGEOUS IM WITH YOU AZIRAPHALE but iM DYING THEY ARE SO MARRIED FR FR

- ...Nessie???

- but seriously at 30mph Christ knows how long it took aziraphale to get to Scotland

- ok no seriously ep3 is Everything and I feel so much better

- LIBRARIAN DADDY CROWLEY IN A HENLEY FUCKING DAMNNNNNN 🥵🥵🥵🥵🥵

- FLY FLY FLY

- DALRYMPKE????????????? Also lmao forbidden soup

- aziraphale is such a bastard I love him so and Crowley is so OP i live for it

- oh aziraphale you really going through your morality adjustment era huh

- NOW KN YOUR GUMSHOE ERA HES BOY YOURE SO DUMB AND EXTRA

- oh no he's a REPORTER fuck hahahha

- OOOP YOU REMEMBER GABE MR LANDLORD HUH

- well i didn't have the freemasons on my bingo card

- Crowley you need to stop being so Real

- the journey aziraphale is going through is giving me Feelings but he needs to stop fucking up fr now you've gone and maimed someone you fool

- AZIRAPHALE STOP BRWAKING MY HEART NOWWWW you need to make a decision quicker my dude

- lmao she's efficient ill give her that

- POISON WHAt NOOOOO

- Crowley stop. Stop singing. Stop.

- uh

- UH

- what am I watching

- aziraphale pls explain how you fell in love with this idiot I'm sorry I need it explaining

- TOUCH TOUCH TOUCH KIND KIND KKND

- DAAAAAAAAAAAANCE??????

- oop statue lmao

- MOBILE PHONE AND KTS NOT CROWLEYS he just asks it god I wish AI worked like that

- THE BOOK ABUSE IM CALLKNG RHE POLICE CROWLEY OH ok suicide ref there ok

- crowley as a cherub????? I LOVE IT???? like he Knows how to fall in love what a baby

- yeah I'm sorry I'm not vibin with Maggie and nina

- crowley you are so dumb and I love you

- GABRIEL GABRIEL GABRIEL PURPLE EYED WANKER ALERT🚨🚨🚨

- AHHHH SHAX NO go away crowley throw garlic at her

- okay I'm still confused over the glasses and haircut

- no don't have a go at goob he's INNOCENT✨✨✨

- "if any harm comes to aziraphale" FUCKING JUST KILL ME WE KNKW YOU LOVE HIM BITCH STOP

I am so not ready for the 40s minisode I don't want ITTTTTTT

[ao3feed-ineffablehusbandz]

Dire Deeds

Dire Deeds

by EdosianOrchids901

Demons capture Aziraphale and lock him in a box. He can’t get out and is starting to panic, but he gets a call on his new mobile phone. Crowley is on his way.

Words: 2445, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: Good Omens (TV)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: M/M

Characters: Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley (Good Omens)

Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)

Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Post-Almost Apocalypse (Good Omens), Crowley's Bentley (Good Omens), South Downs Cottage (Good Omens), Confinement, Trapped, Blood and Injury, Phone Calls & Telephones, Non-Graphic Violence, Vomiting, Anxiety, Holding Hands, Pie, Hurt Aziraphale (Good Omens), Scared Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley to the Rescue (Good Omens), BAMF Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Married Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)

From https://ift.tt/6DQNstF https://archiveofourown.org/works/44175634

[rcreveal]

Run! They think we're their Valentine!

Summary:

For Sendarya's Discord Writer's Group Prompt a week 2024 Prompts:1)Valentine's day, 2)oysters, 3)"Should I say 'thank you?'" Need a palate cleanser before your next course of creating and reading Aziraphale and Crowley romantic fluff? This one is rated Teen for innuendo and states of undress. Readers have called this fic 'hilarious' with an unusual premise. This is set shortly before the Antichrist arrives on Earth in S1 when they are still more "working acquaintances". Something odd happens on Valentine's Day, and they do not care for it! How can they escape from... .

Work Text:

“Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!” Crowley hurried down the Soho streets trying to take advantage of every bit of cover.  They saw him anyway.  His only hope was to keep moving until he could make it to Aziraphale’s bookshop.

Not surprisingly, the door was closed and locked.  Very surprisingly, it wouldn’t budge when he tried the doorknob.  He rattled and cursed, growling, “Aziraphale, don’t do this to me,” and pulled out his mobile to call the shop.  He heard the phone give his special ring through the windows, but there was no tread on the stairs, no one shifting up from a comfy chair.  In desperation, Crowley tried both blessing and cursing the door into opening.  Nothing.

“They’re coming,” he moaned, looking around with a hunted expression and dashing into the alley.

Trying to find the deepest, darkest shadows in the alley, cursing so angrily that he’s literally spitting sparks of fire, he hears a voice issuing from the fetid archway he’d been wanting to hide in.  Figures.

“Crowley, is that you?  Please tell me it’s you!” Aziraphale sounds desperate, and well he might, outside on this of all nights.

“Angel!  Why aren’t you in your shop!?  Why did you bloody well lock me out!” Crowley rages, as quietly as he can.

“ I didn’t lock you out! I’m locked out!  What are you doing out tonight!  I was going to try and make it to your place and beg for shelter!” whispers Aziraphale.

“Can’t get in there, either.  I’m locked out of my flat, too!  And before you ask about the Bentley, it’s locked in the underground garage. Which I also can’t get into,” Crowley snarls in frustration.

“Oh God, they’re coming, Crowley, what do we do?” Aziraphale looks to the mouth of the alley in something like terror.

“Let me think, let me think!” hisses Crowley.

Two unlikely groups rounded the corner at the same time. Suddenly, their dark refuge felt illuminated…because a building light that had been broken for thirty years miraculously restored itself over their heads.

‘ Oh damn, here it comes,’ thinks Crowley.

“Hey Ginger, give us a try!  We’ll show you a good time!  Nobody wants to be alone tonight!” catcalls a man detaching himself from a group of leather clad bikers, sauntering down the alley towards Crowley.

At almost the same moment, “Hey Angel! Be mine tonight. I’m pure…mostly,” a woman with a fake halo and wings in a skimpy white dress and 4 inch stilettos starts stalking down the alley towards Aziraphale advancing out of a group wearing similar attire, some with little toy bows and arrows.

The humans, locked onto their selected target, only seem to see one of them.

“I cannot live through another 1969, Crowley, I just cannot ,” begs Aziraphale.

“We said we’d never speak of it!” Crowley shudders.  “Is there a back way out of the alley or up to the roof?” but he already knows they’re trapped.

“We have to do the thing!” urges Crowley.

“It won’t work!” moans Aziraphale.

“At least try, Aziraphale!  Anything is better than a repeat of 1969!” Crowley implores.

Just before the humans reach them, Crowley and Aziraphale grab each other and yell, “He’s my Valentine!”

With an almost audible pop, the biker and the woman in the angel costume stop, bemused, taking in the two men clutching each other.  The woman pouts a little but seems to notice the biker for the first time, looks at him from the poured on leather pants up to the tight undershirt.  This must be the fellow she was so intent on.

“Hey, you fancy taking an angel for a ride, love?” she propositions.

“Thought you’d never ask, pet,” he holds out an arm and helps her back to the two groups, who have suddenly become one group.

“Come on!” Crowley says, head up and smiling brightly as he feigns an easy saunter up the alley.  He whispers to Aziraphale, “While they’re confused we can get out of here.  But whatever you do, DON’T LET GO OF ME!”  Crowley leads the way through the humans at the mouth of the alley, keeping his arm draped around Aziraphale’s shoulders while Aziraphale wraps his arm around Crowley’s waist. 

Out of the mob of humans, Aziraphale can still feel the tension Crowley is trying not to show while he saunters through the neighborhood.  Aziraphale isn't doing as well hiding his nerves, scanning every face, feeling every glance as they clutch one another for protection.

Crowley spares a vengeful thought for whatever happened around forty or fifty years ago.  Humans, whose gaze usually slid off them, could suddenly see them for the demon and angel they were on Valentine’s day.  But instead of running in terror and awe, plugged them into their own personal fantasies and pursued them relentlessly!  Even worse, if the besotted humans caught him or Aziraphale, the humans could sometimes roll them under the Valentine’s influence like some horrible fey glamor to act out those fantasies!  Even their miracles were blocked unless they followed a Valentine's script.  In short, being on the street on Valentine’s evening created an almost 100% chance of ending up somewhere… unexpected. 

Walking arm in arm, fewer people are taking an interest now that they seem to be together, but a few start to tail them anyway with that dreaded look in their eyes.

“Quickly, buy me flowers!” suggests Aziraphale, glancing over his shoulder.

Passing a corner shop with a wall of fresh blooms, Crowley selects a dozen red roses, and miracles a 50 pound note, to pay the shop keeper. 

“Happy Valentine's, keep the change,” he says to the pleased shop keeper as they keep moving.

To Aziraphale he says loudly, “For my Valentine! A token of my affection!”

“How lovely they are, dear Valentine!” Aziraphale hams it up.

Looking like he’s coming in to peck Aziraphale on the cheek, Crowley presses his lips next to the angel’s ear, “We have to get off the streets!  Can you get us a table somewhere suitably couplish?”

Aziraphale announces, “We don’t want to miss our reservation for our intimate Valentine’s dinner, my dear!” and tries to hustle them down the street, but not before two befuddled humans start to cross in their direction.

“Swingers at 9 o’clock! Put your hand in my pant’s pocket,” Crowley orders, then jumps nearly a foot in the air, “My back pocket, you idiot, my back pocket!” while putting on a fake lecherous smile, “Not here, Valentine!  You get to have me all to yourself later tonight!” which sends off the hopeful couple.

Aziraphale steers them down a side street, “We’re almost to the restaurant!” They walk up to a brightly painted little cafe and duck into a dim interior lit by candles on every table.  The waiter seats them at an odd little corner booth, which forces their feet into a tangle, but at least they don’t have to manufacture a way to keep touching.  After pouring cold, flat water into their glasses, the waiter inclines his head and says, “The first course and pairing will be out shortly, gentlemen, please enjoy this perfume and pheromone mixture to set the mood,” spritzing them both full in the face before they can duck or refuse.

Blinking and wrinkling his nose, Aziraphale turns over a hand inscribed card at the table.

“A lover’s banquet!

Seven courses and wine pairings to enliven the senses and invigorate the evening!”

Shaking his head, as he reads over the angel’s shoulder, Crowley intones, “This is bad, angel, this is so, so bad.”

“We can do this, Crowley!  Just don’t lose your nerve on me!” Aziraphale whispers, hand gripping Crowley's arm, forcing a smile.

“But all the wine!  And I won’t be able to sober up quickly until tomorrow! You know that,” on Valentine’s, Crowley can neither hold his liquor nor say no when anyone offers it.  A state that leaves him open to…influences.  His eyes are swiveling in panic behind his glasses.  Feeling Aziraphale’s hand on his knee, he freezes, locking his eyes back on the angel.

“That couple was thinking of asking us over,” Aziraphale raises an eyebrow, “Just keep your eyes on me, Crowley.  You’ve watched me eat for years.”

Mouth suddenly dry, Crowley grabs a sip of water, before the first course descends onto the table.  ‘ Oysters.  Of course, the first course is oysters, ’ well, might as well try and do it properly, he picks up an oyster, taking care to brush the angel’s fingers with his own and keeping desperate eye contact through his sunglasses.

After the second wine pairing, the rest of the dinner was hazy for Crowley, with the waiter, damn him, topping up the wine glasses with every course.  Other patrons are enjoying Aziraphale being even more obvious in his sensuous appreciation of every delicacy than usual (he can’t help it, it’s Valentine’s, thinks Crowley muzzily).  Despite their attempts to act completely enamored with one another, other couples start to send them things: extra oysters, couples massage vouchers, keys both personal and to hotel rooms.  With distant, tipsy horror, Crowley watches Aziraphale’s hand descend into the pile of offerings at the end of the meal and extract a hotel room key and the massage vouchers, bestowing a radiant smile on the group before scooping Crowley into the hollow of his arm and steering his stumbling feet outside.  “Hold on a little longer, we should be able to hail a cab now!” Aziraphale whispers kindly, throwing out his hand only to overbalance slightly since he’s partially supporting Crowley and none too clear-headed himself.  Thankfully a cabbie pulls over immediately.  “Please take us to this hotel,” Aziraphale shows him the room key, and the cabbie remarks, “Nice place for lovebirds such as yourselves.”  Aziraphale, smiles in relief, he’d been worried that the cabbie wouldn’t be able to read the hotel name until they’d been to the massage parlor.  Holding the massage vouchers up to his uncertain vision, he sees that the vouchers are from the same hotel.  

No one looks at them askance for arriving arm in arm without any luggage, though the bellhop discreetly takes the 100 pound note from the fair haired fellow with instructions that they not be disturbed with the promise of 200 more pounds if he can accomplish that feat all night, with the exception of the couples massage which should arrive “with alacrity”.  The bellhop opens the door of the suite displaying an enormous bed on which lays a white faux fur coverlet strewn with red rose petals.  He also demonstrates the workings of the advanced sound and television system, the jacuzzi, and the location of the champagne in a large ice bucket.  Pointing out the heavy turkish cotton ankle-length robes, he promises the two masseuses will be up in the next 20 minutes.

“Quick, Crowley, take off your clothes and put this on!” tries Aziraphale, less tipsy than the more slender demon.

“Uh-uh, angel,” Crowley weaves towards him, shaking his finger, “ I have to take off yours and you have to take off mine! ‘S the Valentine’s thingie…rules,” he pats the angel’s chest and takes off Aziraphale's long coat, “But we don’t have to be uncivilized about it. Whereza wooden butler thing?” finding one behind him when he looks for it. Trying to untie Aziraphale’s bowtie, Crowley finds his fingers too clumsy for knots.  Improvising, Valentine’s style, Crowley finds the end of the bowtie with his teeth, and tugs, slowly undoing the knot, “But not too civilized!” he winks at Aziraphale’s sharp intake of breath.  Aziraphale recalls that the drink and the Valentine's compulsions are making Crowley erratic now.  Tomorrow morning, he’s likely to be embarrassed and resentful.  Quickly, Aziraphale starts undoing the buttons of his own vest one handed while fumbling with Crowley’s belt, to stave off whatever Valentine induced methods he might try next.   

The belt distraction works, just like when he’d grabbed Crowley’s knee in the restaurant, Aziraphale sees him shake his head in confusion, frowning slightly, trying not to fall over.  Crowley puts one hand to his head and the other on Aziraphale’s shoulder as Aziraphale quickly eases Crowley’s tight pants to the floor. Their shoes already came off at the door.  Coming up swiftly, Aziraphale slips the shirt and jacket over the demon’s head, catching Crowley around the waist as he overbalances away from the quick move.

“Should I say thank you?” Crowley asks quietly while he takes off the angel’s unbuttoned vest and tugs the shirt over Aziraphale’s head. Aziraphale, gives him a sympathetic smile, then says more loudly, “For that? Wait until you see what else I’ve got planned for you, Valentine!”  Crowley mouths, ‘ oh, right ’ manages the slacks reasonably well, after nudging the angel onto the loveseat, then is surprised into exclaiming,  “Savile Row Victorian unmentionables! Oh you are so lucky to be in here with me!  There are some quarters where you wouldn’t be able to keep the humans off with a sharp stick!” 

“They’re comfortable!” Aziraphale explains, “We can take our own underthings off,” he cautions, holding up a hand.

“Only if we show off the goods while we do, angel!” Crowley demonstrates, taking off his black undershirt and underwear only to pose dramatically with his back to the angel like some classical Greek statue, albeit one that is prone to tipping over.

“Lovely, dear boy, and you’d still be much admired at the Roman baths,” says Aziraphale, glancing at him, while slipping out of his undergarments.

“You and me both, angel.  I have to cover you up, tho’.  Masseuses coming and all that,” Crowley wraps the plush robe around the angel.

Aziraphale flourishes the other robe over Crowley’s shoulders and looks up at a knock on the door.

Tying the belt, Crowley says, “It’s just the masseuses,” and saunters unsteadily over to the door to let them in.

Two massive gentlemen, looking rather like WWF wrestlers but in khakis and matching polo shirts, wait in the hall carrying massage tables.

Aziraphale says brightly from behind a frozen Crowley, in whom imminent threat is causing instant sobriety, “Hello, gentlemen! Would you be able to do a brisk Turkish massage?” the dark heat in their eyes fades and the taller fellow, he must be 6’8”, replies, “My great grandpa used to talk about the massage you could get at the Turkish baths.  The nearest thing Jasper and I can do is a sports massage with interfascial release.  Would that suit you gents?”

Crowley finds that he and Aziraphale have drifted together and Aziraphale is whispering urgently into Crowley’s ear, “I have no idea what he’s talking about, do you?”

“Yes, that would do us a treat,” Crowley says with only a frisson of trepidation.

From where they’ve been helped into the loveseat after the massage, independent movement being more of a theory at the moment, Justin brings them both large vitamin waters, “You really shouldn’t drink any alcohol after a massage like that, gents.  Just stick with the vitamin waters and don’t operate any heavy equipment for several hours.” 

“Oh, and the jacuzzi is probably not your friend at this time,” Jasper rumbles from where he’s wiping down and folding up the massage tables.

Crowley miracles another couple of 100 pound notes from his robe pocket and passes them over while taking Justin and Jasper’s cards.

“Excellent work, gentlemen!  Your great grandpa would think it was 1871.  No fear, message received!  Stay out of the jacuzzi and no more alcohol tonight!” as the door closes behind the two men he lets his head fall back on the loveseat.  “That was a stroke of luck!  Massages, jacuzzi, and bubbly sorted.”

“How many more hours?” Aziraphale asks plaintively with his head propped in the corner of the loveseat and one arm calculatingly draped towards Crowley as he sips his vitamin water.

“It’s early yet.  Nine or ten hours?” Crowley holds his bottle to his forehead before taking a large gulp while Aziraphale turns on the TV.  It really is an enchanted evening if the angel can work a remote, thinks Crowley darkly.

“A romantic movie? What’s ‘Notting Hill’ like?” asks Aziraphale.

Scrambling for the remote, Crowley says, “YES! Quick, pick that one before something else presents itself,” blessedly the light romcom actually starts playing instead of so many other movies that could have come on.

Tilting his head, Aziraphale says, “Those people from 219 are coming back, persistent, aren’t they?” as the movie gets going.

Crowley replies, “Little blighters are watching for the bellhop to move on.  Uh, try light-hearted banter about the movie, like: ‘Did you ever consider Notting Hill for your premises?’”

“Nooo, too far away from the City,” Aziraphale replies.  “Soho just has that certain something.”

With a wicked grin, Crowley banters back, “Color, a lot more color.” Carrying on like this throughout the remainder of the movie, they feel other besotted humans diverted away from their room.

“There’s nothing for it, Crowley.  We have to go to bed,” Aziraphale announces, turning off the telly before another show queues up.  They both look over the back of the loveseat at the king-sized monstrosity still strewn with rose petals as though it’s some sort of trap.  A discrete and thoughtful basket of ‘items’ sits on both nightstands.  

Crowley rubs his eyes, having taken off his sunglasses during the movie.  He makes a strangled sound in the back of his throat before putting his head in his hands, “You know we have to do something vigorously on the bed,” then he sits up straight and looks wildly at Aziraphale, “How’s your Shakespeare?”

“Reasonable. Why do you ask?” Aziraphale replies.

Crowley takes his hand and draws him over to the bed, stepping up onto the broad surface like a stage, passionately intoning, “Romeo, Romeo wherefore art thou Romeo?”

“Oh, good thought,” Aziraphale shakes out his sleeves, and warms up his voice.

“It is the east and Juliet is the sun!” proclaims Aziraphale.

Then sotto voce to Crowley, “Less projection and more intimate intensity.  The iambic pentameter is calling in the Royal Shakespeare patrons!”

Crowley, sotto voce back, stares at him, appalled, “How many humans are after us in this hotel, angel!?” Seeing Aziraphale’s pained expression Crowley starts to jump lightly on the bed, shaking himself out for the performance, and, incidentally, producing a suggestively rhythmic creaking from the bedframe. “Ok, ok, we’ve got this.”

Holding nothing back from the performance of the star crossed lovers, their words are inaudible outside the room, but their sighs, exclamations, gasps, and set changes when they move on and off the bed and loveseat apparently pass muster. The physical contact required by the play doesn’t hurt, either.  Finally, panting in an artfully entangled heap, rose petals streaming from them like the lovers’ heart’s blood, they wait for their pulses and breathing to slow down again before cracking an eyelid.

Looking up at Aziraphale from where his cheek rests on the angel’s chest, Crowley asks, “Do you think it’s safe to go to sleep now?  I’m knackered.”

“I think so,” Aziraphale senses around, “But best sleep nude, just to be on the safe side.  Are you going to shower first?” he asks, even while moving towards the bathroom. 

“You go ahead.  I’ll get this mess sorted first,” Crowley downs some more vitamin water and starts to return the ravaged bed to something with bed clothes that can cover them properly and pillows that are only at the head of the bed.

Aziraphale finds Crowley already asleep when he comes out of the bathroom swathed in huge towels and steaming.  Considering how well things have gone thus far, it would be a shame to have someone sneak in on them now.  Rummaging in the bedside table for reading material, he’s encouraged to be able to produce something suitable from his own shop.  As he settles down to read love poetry and “watch his Valentine sleeping” Aziraphale smiles to himself as the couple in 219 finally give up and go to their own bed.

The next morning, Crowley wakes but keeps carefully still with his eyes closed on finding himself nude in a strange bed the morning after Valentine’s, again.  Then he hears the page of a book turning and opens his eyes to see Aziraphale reading a small, antique volume, "The Collected Love Sonnets of William Shakespeare” while drinking tea from a room service cart.  Crowley sits up and looks hopefully at a French press and a couple of covered plates.

“You’ve got pajamas on!” he points out, enviously.

“Hotel pajamas are allowed the next morning while our clothes are being cleaned and pressed.  Your pajamas are hanging up in the bathroom,” Crowley’s robe is laying across the foot of the bed.

Crowley rolls out of bed to get up, Aziraphale glances over to see the demon’s back dotted with rose petals. “Um Crowley, you’ve got rose petals on your…”

“If rose petals are the only thing that I've got stuck to me the morning after Valentine’s, I’m ahead of the game,” he says over his shoulder while putting on his robe and padding towards the bathroom, firmly closing the door behind himself.  Aziraphale, returning to reading Shakespearan sonnets, raises his eyebrows and intones, “ Strewth, ” considering some of the post-Valentine’s mornings they’ve had.

Sauntering back to the vicinity of the room service in a set of his own black silk pajamas, apparently miracled out of his flat, Crowley stretches himself into the love seat and gratefully sips on some excellent coffee.

“I haven’t been locked out of my place in years, you?” says Crowley.

“Last year I let it be known that I was out of the country that week and hid in the basement for the night of.  The pressure must have built up,” remarks Aziraphale.

Waving a croissant with a bite out of it at the angel, Crowley says, “Yeah, but, all things considered, we got out of quite a tight spot last night, by being…you know.”

“Each other’s Valentine?  Yes, it could probably use some refinement next year.  And maybe if we set it up earlier the humans wouldn’t be so hard to deflect!” Aziraphale is getting that, ‘up to something’ look.

“Are you thinking, what I think you’re thinking? Crowley asks the angel, dubiously.

“Would you be my Valentine again next year?” asks Aziraphale, brightly.

Crowley, considers for a moment, “Yeah, sure, but do me a favor.  No oysters, okay?” he begs, extending a hand.

Aziraphale tries to nod solemnly, as they shake on it, then claps a hand over his giggles  and chuckles until tears stream out of his eyes and Crowley starts to laugh along with him.