#or the fact that aziraphale feels the need to check on crowley immediately after that particular flashback

[tsilvy]

something about those little moments in s2ep3 with crowley alone in the bookshop while aziraphale is in scotland. I watched them all as a single sequence and it's just... SO MUCH.

look. the fact that crowley is cool as a cucumber when aziraphale is around, but when he isn't... well. there's the deep, deep breath he takes while he watches azi drive away, and i can't tell if he's more scared of being alone with gabriel or worried about azi going away alone. because as someone pointed out, aziraphale gets the car keys right after muriel arrives, and obviously it's safer for him to take the bentley which will hopefully keep him safe as it usually keeps crowley safe; but at the same time, crowley has to give up what's basically an extension of him, the one protection he has ready, to shield himself or to run away with, should anything happen while the guardian of the eastern gate aziraphale isn't there.

and then crowley is alone, without aziraphale, without his comfort car, stranded in his favorite place which has ceased being safe and has become instead somewhat inhospitable because his mortal enemy now lives here too. and the way he's wearing no jacket, no waistcoat, and he's just so thin, and snake-like, especially standing there near gabriel, who is built like a tank and you just know that if he's right, if by any chance gabriel became hostile, even in a non-magic fight crowley wouldn't stand a chance.

and yet, AND YET, he's quietly explaining gravity to him, then trying (and failing) to make Maggie and Nina vavoom and also explaining THAT to jim (azi didn't stop to hear his very romantic plan so at least maybe does jim? Can I hear a fucking wahoo?!), and you can't help but feel how badly he needs to talk to someone, anyone nonhuman around who isn't immediately outright hostile, without censoring himself, without complicated feelings in between.

and then, the exact moment later, the temporary peace is broken by gabriel himself remembering something ominous and ONE MOMENT LATER YET shax is outside, complete with background screaming chorus, and then crowley is desperately trying to convince her they don't know where the archangel is, still playing cool but swallowing like that, and then she says Hell will declare war and he's just thrown for a moment and says "to me?!" in THAT voice! but it's even worse than that, because they'll actually declare war not on him but on his friend, and he could maybe cope with hell wanting his scalp (again) but Aziraphale's?! And then STILL keeping that facade and telling her that anyway the angel is inside in the basement, because he knows that Aziraphale is safe while he's inside the bookshop, and therefore trying to keep her off Aziraphale's back while he's outside and alone? Which btw doesn't work because she somehow knows anyway and proceeds on harassing the angel in the bentley the very next time we see him?! AND at the same time he's trying to keep her from realizing he is all alone, here, in the bookshop?!?

And he's been flippant throughout, but the moment she leaves he's like, wreaked?! And his first instinct is of course to go back at being mad and threatening at Jim, but even that feels pointless, because the machine is already in motion, and it's always too late, it's "we're doomed" all over again, isn't it? and the fact that he's shaking all over as he comes to this conclusion?

and then we learn that he hasn't slept all night after this, and as soon as Aziraphale is finally back he's immediately out as if he'd been looking out the window all night waiting for him to be back home safe, and for his car to be available for him to finally feel safe into, and i've seen people wonder why he bolts the fuck out of there as soon as azi is back as if he didn't need a breather after all he's been through, AND THE FACT THAT LATER ON HE TELLS AZIRAPHALE CaN I WaTcH AS IF HE'S AT ALL INTERESTED IN HIM RUNNING ERRANDS ACROSS ALL OF SOHO AND NOT IN FACT UNABLE TO LEAVE AZIRAPHALE'S SIDE NOW THAT HE'S FINALLY BACK AFTER A FULL DAY AWAY DURING WHICH HELL IS APPARENTLY ABOUT TO DECLARE WAR TO HIM SPECIFICALLY WHAT THE FUCK WHAT THE FUCK WHAT THE ABSOLUTE FUCK

anyway what i want to say is this sequence is the epitome of anxiety and claustrophoby for me, and it plays like a horror movie. It's just A Lot

[sayuri-of-the-valley]

On how Crowley and Aziraphale felt during the kiss (but mainly Crowley here):

Ok so first, the main idea for this huge meta is that a LOT of us noticed how the music from the kiss scene is similar to the nebula one, right?

Second, a lot of us also correctly noticed the parallels between the kiss and how it was to taste food for the first time for Aziraphale: bc of his reactions, the hand on lips, the similar way MS acted both scenes, the little inhale etc. So how was it for Crowley?

Aziraphale's reaction to the kiss is practically a puzzle to solve on its own, so it's fun to analyse it, but basically, in a few words, Aziraphale kissed Crowley and he discovered he was physically starving for him, longing for him, yearning for him, for his kiss, and he had no idea. Just like with the ox. And now he needs to gorge himself in him but he can't. Great amazing heartbreaking chef's kiss someone give MS an Emmy.

But there's already so much amazing meta out there about Aziraphale x Ox ribs x The Kiss that I want to focus on Crowley here, and on the music.

So back to the music. The song in "Before the Beginning" and the song that plays during The Kiss (I Forgive You + Don't Bother) are so similar. They're not *exactly* the same, but they're totally reminiscent of each other. The viewer is immediately reminded of those chords that played in the opening scene. It's no coincidence that the fandom was talking about this fact only minutes after first watching those final fifteen minutes. This is an obvious intentional choice for storytelling reasons (David Arnold is a genius).

I have no expertise whatsoever when it comes to music, so I asked our friend @otsanda to see if that made sense and not only it does and she explained it, but she also uncovered so much more hidden meaning in all of it (musicians are amazing), so check out her meta about the music that not only serves as evidence to what I'm proposing here but it also has so much more juicy information in it 💖.

Back to the point: WHY thought? Why choose a similar song? Why intentionally COMPOSE a similar song for that moment?

Hear me out. WHAT IF, by reminding the audience of the creation of the nebula, they meant to convey to us that, for Crowley, kissing Aziraphale gave him the same feeling that creating his stars did?

THAT'S what the music is telling us. THAT'S why it makes us remember "Before the Beginning". It may sound cheesy, but Crowley may have literally seen stars when he kissed Aziraphale. He couldn't react accordingly (just like Aziraphale couldn't), bc it was an overwhelming and extremely sad moment (the music is also telling us that) for both of them. They knew it was ending . They were both having a moment of huge revelation that was fated to not come to completion. Crowley was right, it was too late.

It makes sense to show Crowley's feelings through the music, bc he was the one who started the kiss, and also he was wearing sunglasses in that scene, it's different from a character like Aziraphale that has all his million expressions for everyone to see at all times. And they've been doing this ever since s1 with the Queen songs that play in his car or in the background.

So my point is: the same song being used there makes me wonder if kissing Aziraphale finally gave him what he lost. His purpose. What Aziraphale was trying to give back to him by taking him back to heaven. There's no need for Heaven. Just kiss him, Aziraphale, and there he'll find the stars you want to give back to him. There you will one day see that smile on his face you saw Before The Beginning. Neil Gaiman and David Arnold I am in your walls 😭

This is what may lead us to see this happiness in Crowley again (not the action of kissing itself, of course, but what it represents to their relationship, them being together, them being an Us).

As @otsanda said: from the music we can interpret that that moment was a Revelation for them. Almost a religious experience. Crowley found his purpose again. What he'd been missing the whole season (or even his whole life since the Fall, but we've seen him especially depressed this season).

I'm not even getting into the poetry of how one can interpret the parallel to the angel's reaction to the kiss as carnal, and the demon's as religious; that would be another whole essay but let's just agree that it's incredibly beautiful. (Let me be clear that I mean here Aziraphale's reaction is carnal specifically for Crowley, and Crowley's is religious specifically for Aziraphale, not religious as in "worshipping god")

"Do you ever wonder what's the point?" Crowley asked in s2e1. The point, for him, is Aziraphale (if you've seen The Good Place you know what I mean). I hope he figured this out with that kiss, even as heartbreaking as it was. Even if it was a (temporary) separation kiss. (I hope Aziraphale figures this out with time too, that he's more than enough to make Crowley happy, that Crowley doesn't need Heaven, or stars, that Crowley needs him.)

Maybe that's why Crowley didn't leave and kept waiting outside until the very last moment.

Aziraphale and Crowley both bit the apple at the end of s2. There's no turning back from that Knowledge now.

Edit: I just have to add here this brilliant colour analysis of the nebula scene by @halemerry. And it's pointed out that during the nebula formation there's a moment when it looks like two people embracing. And the fact that a similar song is used in the actual Kiss scene I just... I have no words

[weirdly-specific-but-ok]

read more of the good omens book. i am in love with crowley. go away.

I'M DONE WITH THE SECTION WEDNESDAY AND GOD DEAR GOD AND SATAN AND EVERYONE IN BETWEEN I AM SO FUCKING IN LOVE WITH CROWLEY IT HURTS.

This is exactly why I was petrified of the bloody book. It's going to make the brainrot irredeemably deep. Entire bodyrot, in fact. Even Tommy (yes I named my haematoma Tommy, and he's trans, so he's a he/himatoma) will succumb to the rot.

THE LINE: "RIGHT," MUMBLED CROWLEY, SUDDENLY FEELING VERY ALONE. IT IS MY ROMAN EMPIRE. IT HURTS ME EVERY DAY SINCE I FIRST READ IT, WHICH WAS WHEN I GOT THE BOOK LIKE A MONTH AGO. I OPENED IT AT A RANDOM SECTION AND READ THAT AND PROMPTLY SHUT THE BOOK AND PROCEEDED TO CRY. THAT WAS THE MOMENT I BEGAN TO FEAR THE BOOK.

Aziraphale, you silly, silly, adorable little prissy motherfucker. What a bastard.

Sister Mary Loquacious making up her mind to have an orgasm gives a whole new subtext to my thirst for her during the rewatch of episode one.

RIGHT MUMBLED CROWLEY SUDDENLY FEELING VERY ALONE.

OW.

DOG IS THE BEST THE CUTEST EVER. EVEN WHEN HE WAS BIG AND HELLHOUNDY. HIS CONFUSION AT TURNING SMALL BUT THEN IT BEING OVERRIDDEN BY HIS LOVE FOR ADAM. IT JUST. AWWWWW.

Anathema carries a foot-long bread knife with her. Queen shit.

THE FACT THAT THEY GOT SHOT BY PAINTBALLS AND IMMEDIATELY CROWLEY THINKS HE'S DEAD AND STARTS WORRYING ABOUT PAPERWORK. ALL THAT CLUES HIM IN IS THAT THE BLOOD IS YELLOW. AND THEN HE TASTES IT TO CHECK IF IT'S PAINT WTF CROWLEY.

Warlock's birthday party omg. Aziraphale looking at Crowley desperately for help and Crowley pointedly refusing to meet his gaze because he's cringing from second-hand embarrassment and staring out of the window. I read that bit when I got out of the X-ray for Tommy and it made me smile on a very shit day.

Right mumbled Crowley suddenly feeling very alone.

Okay but ngl Crowley was entirely right? He turned the paintball guns to real guns, but the humans continued to shoot each other even after they realised the switch. Not his fault.

Oh Lord, heal this bike. So it was from the book, too.

Aziraphale being like let's get the fuck outta here before the police come coz I'll morally have to assist them with enquiries is so babygirl of him for real. You little bastard, you.

"A CAR BELONGING TO TWO CONSENTING REPAIRMEN" ah yes "THOSE TWO GAY RANDOS IN THE BENTLEY ARE DEFINITELY HAVING SEX"

I love Aziraphale. Crowley makes a man faint from fear and Aziraphale isn't all that pissed because he's salty about the man ruining his expensive shirt. Oh, Aziraphale.

So attracted to War in an awful way. It makes so much sense how attractive in an awful way she is.

Pouring one out for Mr and Mrs Threlfall of 9, The Elms, Paignton.

"Right," mumbled Crowley, suddenly feeling very alone.

Slightly desperate italics is a phrase I didn't know I needed in my life but during my inevitable next war with fucking typefaces, I will definitely use. Fuck I had design work to do for my mum. AH WELL, CROWLEY, CROWLEY, CROWLEY.

In response to watch out for that pedestrian, Crowley says It's on the street, it knows the risks it's taking! Crowley supports it/its pronouns, pass it on.

Where do you live my dear? Aziraphale oozed. OOZED. OMG.

RIGHT, CROWLEY MUMBLED, SUDDENLY FEELING VERY ALONE.

Everyday, my-homoerotic-tension-and-love-hate-relationship-with-my-copy-of-this-book's a-getting stronger... WHY MUST THAT LINE HURT ME SO MUCH.

[mrclairdycat]

WHY CROWLEY IS A BPD CODED CHARACTER: A LONG THREAD

‼️WARNING‼️ This post could be triggering to some viewers, please be mindful when reading!

I'm going follow the DSM-5 diagnostic criteria to cover each and every point (there are 9 so hang on with me please). Here they are:

Frantic efforts to avoid real or imagined abandonment:

First of all, throughout the entire show Crowley has been trying to save Aziraphale from the brainwashing Heaven has done to him. He knew that sooner or later he would've cut ties just because he's a demon, and that he was pushing his luck, so he's done everything he could to show that they don't have to choose anyone's side but their side, and that there is no need to abandon him. Second of all, even when he is in the right, he always comes back to Aziraphale after an argument, says sorry, and moves on with it in no time. All he cares about is to not lose him. One time he was literally like "Ok, I was wrong and you were right, now get in the car please".

His frantic efforts might be subtle because he's not the type to get vulnerable and emotional in front of anyone, and would never directly beg Aziraphale to stay, but he continously asks Aziraphale to "go off together" because he wants to feel safe, to secure his fp. He wants to make sure they're together, away from all factors that could make him lose Aziraphale. (not only because he could choose Heaven, but also because they could be destroyed and such).

One scene that proves the lenght Crowley would go to not lose him is in the last ep of season one where Aziraphale threatens to never talk to him again if he doesn't do something.

The look on Crowley's face after he says that says it all, me thinks. And he immediately finds a way to not make that happen.

A pattern of unstable and intense interpersonal relationships characterized by alternating between extremes of idealization and devaluation:

I think it's safe to say that Crowley and Aziraphale's relationship is super unstable and intense, so we can check that. They have spent 6000 years being friends and haven't ever properly communicated once, yet would do anything for each other.

That said, Crowley continously goes from idealizing Aziraphale, calling him his best friend and all, to completely devaluing the importance of his presence in his life (and how much he wants him) as soon as he feels threatened or angry.

An example of that is that scene where he asks for the holy water in front of the duck pond. As soon as Aziraphale uses the words 'fraternize', you can see his anger building up. Seeing that he might not look at their relationship the same way he does, he immediately devalues him. This is not the only scene where he basically says " Yeah! You're not important to me and I don't need you. I don't care about you! I can live with you!"

As a person with BPD this happens a lot with whoever is my fp. Even little words like that can make my defense mechanism to the perceived abandonment go off. Rejection is the worst thing. I immediately think "oh whatever, I have other friends who want to spend time with me/who would do this for me. I couldn't care less." (I actually do, a lot. LOL).

There's also that scene where the end of the world is near, and since Aziraphale rejects the idea of running away together again Crowley says something alongs the line of "You're ridiculous. I don't even know why I keep talking to you."

Identity disturbance: markedly and persistently unstable self-image or sense of self.

In the context of this show this culminates in the fact that Crowley doesn't really know what he is. He doesn't know if he's truly bad and if he even wants to be bad. That's just what Heaven etiquetted him as, and went with it, probably because he feels protected this way, in a sense. It's better to be someone unforgivable than a victim that has been misunderstood, after all. That would put him in a vulnerable position.

Plus, I think anyone with BPD will relate with the experience of feeling like you're ultimately bad or evil at the core, that you're someone who is unredeemable, but at the same time feeling angry because you feel like the world is being unfair towards you. We usually have a strong sense of justice because we've been wronged, and can't help but see everything as unfair and unjust.

Most of the times we were hurt because we were nice, and we don't want to be nice again in fear of not having control or power over it.

It's clear Crowley doesn't want to be an angel again, but he doesn't want to be a demon either. He had never done anything extremely bad.

So I think it's safe to say he doesn't know what he wants to be. He just wants to be ok, to rest and get away from all of it, from the sources of his trauma.

In fact, I believe Crowley sees himself in Aziraphale since he's having similar experiences, and projects himself into him. It's as though they're figuring themselves out thanks to their relationship. They mutually bring new prespectives to the table.

This is why they fail at communicating: Crowley doesn't understand himself yet, and so doesn't understand parts of Aziraphale either.

But they will get there one day, hopefully.

"I'm just a demon that gets along with Hell as far as he can."

"You're just an angel that gets along with Heaven as far as he can."

Impulsivity in at least two areas that are potentially self-damaging (e.g., spending, reckless driving, binge eating...)

Ok first of all:

... Yeah.

That checked, the second area is a bit of a stretch and can be debated (then again it's important to point out you only have to mark at least 5 points to fit the criteria), but I believe the way he lets Aziraphale treat him like "the bad demon" and tries to prove him right sometimes could be considered self-damaging behavior? I still remember that scene where Aziraphale just assumes he had fired a gun before, and Crowley doesn't correct him. Many times he does the 'bad' things for him just to please him too, and I don't believe he wants Aziraphale to perceive him as an unredeemable demon at all.

I also believe the way he impulsively and recklessly lies about getting his job done could be considered self-damaging behavior. Especially because he does it with things that are not even worth taking the risk.

Sometimes its like he doesn't care if he could get punished, and we know Hell isn't exactly forgiving. They probably use torture as a current method for this. I remember he said something along the lines of "and my lot don't send notes" to Aziraphale, after all.

TW: the next point will mention suicidal behavior! (Please skip to the next point if you feel like it could trigger you).

Recurrent suicidal behavior, gestures, or threats, or self-mutilating behavior.

This is another one that could be debated, but hear me out: yes, its true that he could've only wanted the holy water as a weapon against other demons (and he did use it that way), but Aziraphale's fear of possibly giving him a suicide pill had to come from somewhere, right? Why would he immediately assume that's what he would use it for if things went bad?

It might be because he doesn't see Crowley as someone who could actually hurt anyone, so he's only left with that option, but I'm not sure. After all, even the nicest person would try to save his life if a legion of demons tried to give them retribution, right? And he wouldn't mind giving Crowley something to protect himself.

It could be possible that there were moments and stuff that went on between them, conversations that led Aziraphale to believe this. It took time for him to decide and grant him this holy water, and even so he didn't look sure. He was extremely worried.

And no, Aziraphale is not scared of getting into trouble. It's clear the problem with giving him the holy water isn't that from the get go. That's the face of someone who is doubting their friend's intentions.

Affective instability due to a marked reactivity of mood (e.g., intense episodic dysphoria, irritability, or anxiety usually lasting a few hours and only rarely more than a few days).

This man is the epitome of emotional instability. I don't know what else to say here,honestly XJENFJ

It only takes watching the show to figure that out, I believe. He's super reactive to every little thing and word, he's super easy to irritate. He can go from being calm to snapping like a branch into a matter of seconds, and takes as quickly to let it go.

Chronic feelings of emptiness:

It is clear this man experiences chronic emptiness. He doesn't see the point in Heaven or Hell, into doing his demon buisness, or in the Great Plan, the war and all.

Ok, demons cannot properly be friends, I know, but some kind of partnerships had been shown, yet he has no 'friends'. He is distant from everything. He doesn't want to do anything.

His careless behaviors: the reckless driving, the dangerous tricks he does to not do his job, are all connected to this chronic emptiness. If he cared, he wouldn't behave like this.

That said, I do believe Aziraphale, his fp, became the only purpose of his endless existence. He was probably the only thing that began to motivate him. It is made clear from the show that he is lonely asf, and, at least in my experience, BPD makes you very lonely. If I don't have any significant relationships (including friendships) I feel empty to my core. Since we have troubles with our identies we have difficulties doing things for ourselves and ourselves only, to see the point in doing things if no one is watching, if no one is there to appreciate it. Even then, friendships and all do not fill that hole, and we might lose passion for things or not feel any passion for things at all.

We know that Crowley was passionate about one thing: creating nebulas, stars, and universes. That completely changed after he fell, a traumatic event, and that's when I believe his BPD traits started to appear.

He did say he had been waiting to build that thing since forever, and not only did he learn it was pointless since it'll be all dismantled one day, he lost his angelic status too. That was probably his only stable sense of self.

Inappropriate, intense anger or difficulty controlling anger (e.g., frequent displays of temper, constant anter, reccurent physical fights.)

Since we're talking about his angelic past: Crowley used to be happy. He isn't 'naturally' all grouchy and angry at the world. He began to be that way after he fell.

JUST LOOK AT THIS CUTIE.

Crowley before the fall and Crowley after the fall are two completely different people, right?

And he doesn't pretend to have changed to appear mean or something like that, he did actually change. He was traumatized, wronged. That's where all that anger comes from. His reactions are real, not play pretend.

And it is made clear many times that Crowley has anger issues. He can't control it. He is shown snapping a multitude amount of times.

now THIS is real BPD anger right there. If I had to visually represent how it feels when BPD anger hits this would be it. It's so edgy it's embarrassing. It truly could only take a lightning bolt to calm me the fuck down. He doesn't even give a f if humans are all seeing him do this, just like a person with BPD wouldn't feel embarassed making a scene in public since it's so uncontrollable you lose yourself and act impulsively.

The fact he's angry because of an argument him and Aziraphale just had makes this more BPD coded.

Not only that, his anger many times comes out of nowhere and could be described as innapropriate.

Just look at how quickly he reacts, without making Aziraphale even finish his sentence.

It is clear Aziraphale has no bad intentions when he says it, his voice is even sweet, yet Crowley can't help but react like this simply for being called nice or good.

Transient, stress-related paranoid ideation or severe dissociative symptoms.

We have finally came to the last point. Yippe! Now this one is a bit tricky since it's not easily identifiable just by looking at someone.

This paranoid ideation or dissociative symptoms like depersonalization can occur in periods of extreme stress, and it is hard to judge that just by watching. A person could be walking, as an example, but still be dissociating even if they look completely normal. They might not actually be totally aware of what they are doing. (Transient means they last minutes or hours, by the way.) This becomes even harder to tell since Crowley continously wears those glasses, so we can't even see if his eyes look empty or anything.

That said, we know Crowley is super reactive, but during intense stressful times, like in season one when he learns that the end of the world is near and Aziraphale rejects to run away with him, it seems like he becomes unnaturaly calm whenever he perceives there's nothing else he can do. He looks just utterly exhausted and passive.

It's important to note that these symptoms are mostly caused by real or imagined abandonment too. I point that out because in the episode scene of season 2, after Crowley sees Aziraphale officially leaving and going to Heaven, he gets back in the car, but he doesn't immediately drive.

He starts it and just sits there in silence. He looks completely out of it, like he has just taken such a big blow he has trouble properly processing it. He doesn't look like he's there, in a sense. For a moment he's completely elsewhere. Even when he starts driving he doesn't look right to me.

Welp, that's it! If you had read this all congrats to you, and thank you. Also, I apologize for any spelling mistakes LOL.

Tell me what you think! :)

[ingravinoveritas]

WOW AL does not miss a single thing! Good Omens 2 news date just came out and she’s already posting pictures of her promoting the show using a water bottle with the name on it. Also, GT. PLEASE PLEASE go look on her story RIGHT fucking now because she actually said that people have dmed her saying that she’s burning food on purpose for instagram content and she talks about it!! ALSO, radio silence from Anna for a while now and she decides to break the news with promo for Good Omens. I truly truly truly hope this isn’t some way relating to her being in the show. SO MUCH HAPPENING AMY PLEASE TALK ABOUT IT

Hi, Anons! I did indeed see all of the posts that you have mentioned, so yes, quite a lot going on today. I'm going to divide this response into two parts, first starting with the GO 2-themed Insta stories. Let's get the visuals up so we can discuss:

I know there's been some content over the past week or so that I haven't gotten to talk about--AL posting that terrible picture of her and Michael on May 1st barely an hour after Georgia had posted a new picture of David; a few days after that, Georgia posting a picture with Birdie and AL immediately following it with a picture of her and Mabli; and the weird pictures Georgia posted of David looking pissed off/annoyed after the RSC event--so I do apologize for falling behind a bit. But obviously this is all relevant to today's events, so here we go.

First of all, it seems pretty clear that these posts were planned and coordinated ahead of time. The water bottles, the sunglasses, even the striped shirts all seem deliberate and purposeful (one of my followers even suggested the black/white contrast may have been done to reflect Aziraphale vs. Crowley). The word "opportunistic" comes to mind, as well as marveling at (to quote @daziechane) AL telling people to stay hydrated "when she's the thirsty one."

But I think what you said is very interesting, Anon #2, in that Michael and David (and Ty/Peter) are not promoting the show, while Georgia and AL are. This certainly could speak to them not being it (which I hope is the case), as well as them showing off their 'consolation prizes,' so to speak. I particularly got that vibe from AL's post--a very "Look what I have that you don't" bragging sort of vibe, which I also usually get from her pictures with Michael--but mainly what it feels like to me is that Michael and David are busy having actual careers and don't need to constantly remind us how they feel about GO, whereas Georgia and AL are still trying to prove something.

It just feels desperate, and in AL's case, a bit stupid, as she didn't even mirror her camera when taking the picture, so the words on the bottle are backwards, and if this is meant to be PR/promotion, why wouldn't you be sure the writing is legible? Also, I'm not sure what Georgia is doing to the bottle, but I think we can safely say that David has less of a gag reflex than she does:

So, now let's go on to part 2 of this answer, which is regarding the videos Georgia posted about burning food. For those who haven't seen the video, you can watch it here:

I think it's worth noting that prior to the videos, she posted yet another picture of burnt food, so it seems as if the picture was just an excuse to post the subsequent videos.

I'm glad to know that other people have been calling her out for this, though. And the excuses she gave in the video seemed like exactly that--excuses for the fact that she is self-involved and can't be bothered to check on the food she is cooking. It also seems incredibly hypocritical to me that Georgia has previously reposted an Insta story about the cost of living crisis in the UK and the absurdity of spending money on the Coronation while people are going hungry, while having no problem wasting food herself.

Ultimately, my takeaway from the videos is that Georgia has and will continue to do whatever she has to for the sake of content, regardless of how hypocritical or tone deaf it comes across. But it seems clear that others have noticed what we all have, and I'm hoping that the willingness of folks to call her out will maybe--maybe--make her think twice before posting such content again. I'm not entirely hopeful, but, well...you never know.

As for Georgia/AL having Tumblr and seeing what we say, I honestly am not sure, though I tend to doubt it. My guess is that people are calling Georgia out on Instagram, where she can readily see it, and that's what spurred this response. (I'm 94% sure though that Michael did visit my blog once like four years ago when he was still heavily into the fandom, and that he sent me this Anon in response to a het fic I wrote about him.)

But Georgia and AL would have us believe they're too busy/too important to be caring what fans say, so if for some reason they have nothing better to do than wander over to Tumblr to read what people are saying, my take is that none of us can control what they do--we can only control what we do. And I'm not going to alter my blog or the honest conversations I try to facilitate on it just on the minuscule off-chance that one of them might be lurking.

So those are my thoughts on the events of today. Notable developments all, yet none of them hold a candle to the news of the GO 2 release date, and the wonderful new promo poster. It'll certainly be interesting to see where things go from here on out...

[lynswriting]

you wouldn't be the first renegade to need somebody

aziraphale has a nightmare.

contains: 2191 words, canon divergence/fix-it (s2 ending didn’t happen), hurt/comfort, nightmares.

ao3

a/n: i apologize if anything is ooc, this is my first gomens fic (+ my first finished fic in a hot minute). i hope you enjoy <3

requests are open! check my pinned post for more info!

At 3:13 in the morning on a rainy Saturday night, Aziraphale is asleep in his bed. His limbs are a tangled mess with his partner, Crowley’s. Their duvet is halfway to the floor, and the throw pillows are already there. The ambiance of London’s Soho at this hour is nothing but rain pattering, light wind, and the occasional car. Every door and window of the flat above Aziraphale’s bookshop the couple shares is locked practically and with miracles. They are completely and utterly safe.

Aziraphale doesn’t know this. His body is present, but his brain believes he’s somewhere much worse.

He’s having a nightmare. His very first one, as a matter of fact. 

He began sleeping a few weeks before this dreadful night. At first, sleeping was an excuse for him to lay in bed with Crowley instead of reading through the long nights like he usually did. After some time, though, Aziraphale began to see the appeal of sleep itself. Who wouldn’t want to escape their thoughts for a few hours? It was a break he hadn’t realized he needed, and he’d assumed angels didn’t dream in any capacity, so he foresaw no issues.

He was, regrettably, incorrect. In fact, the nightmares of supernatural beings tend to be significantly worse than humans, which is just lovely for Aziraphale. Truly splendid.

As the angel lays in bed, his arm hooked around Crowley’s side and his pillow crooked under his head, the nightmare begins.

The first thing Aziraphale notices is the cold. It is bitter and harsh against his skin, and his robes scarcely protect him from it. They’re the same ones he donned in his earliest, starry-eyed days. He’s standing on a cliff overlooking the deepest valley he’s ever seen. Darkness shrouds what should be the bottom, leaving him wondering if it is endless. The thought makes his blood run cold. The sky is piercingly white. Aziraphale looks up and immediately winces. The brightness makes his head throb within milliseconds of seeing it. He turns his gaze back down and screws his eyes shut to get rid of the ache.

The worst part of all this is that he is completely alone. As far as Aziraphale can see, there is no one else around. Just the expanse of the cliff, the sky, and the valley below. 

And yet, he has the chilling sensation that he is being watched. It’s a stronger feeling than when Heaven was constantly overseeing him. It’s as if there’s a presence, lurking somewhere he cannot see, but with an aura so threatening he feels it in his bones.

He doesn’t remember how he got here, how long he’s been here, or why he’s still here. He figures the best thing to do is to ask.

“...Hello?” he says into the air. “Is, er, anyone around? I’m a little bit confused about how I got into this, um, situation.” He chuckles, devoid of humor and full of nervousness.

Suddenly, wind begins to howl from the valley. It only deepens the terrible cold. Aziraphale hugs his torso with his shaking arms in a poor attempt to conserve body warmth. The wind continues to blow, pulling icy tears from the angel’s eyes. The sound of the gusts is nearly deafening. Aziraphale is violently shaking, and a scream is about to rip from his throat when, just as suddenly as it came, the wind halts. It doesn’t fade away, just randomly ends. Aziraphale straightens up, much more confused than before.

And then, someone speaks. The wind must have been announcing it- rather dramatic, if you ask Aziraphale.

The voice must be from whoever- or whatever- is watching him. It’s so loud that the ground beneath the angel shakes, but it remains invisible.

“THIS IS YOUR PUNISHMENT, AZIRAPHALE.”

Aziraphale’s breath hitches. He shakily inhales and replies, soft and meek, “For what?”

The voice begins to cackle. It drips with cruelty and is disgustingly mocking as if that was the silliest question in the world. Aziraphale grimaces. It goes on, and on, until it cuts off with a menacing sigh.

“YOU HAVE FAILED.”

Aziraphale wants to ask how so, but he feels frozen. The shouting continues.

“YOU WERE PUT ON THIS EARTH FOR ONE THING, AND THAT WAS TO BE AN ANGEL. AND YET, YOU CARE FOR HUMANITY MORE THAN HEAVEN. YOU CARE FOR THE ENEMY, A BLASTED DEMON, MORE THAN HEAVEN! DID YOU TRULY THINK CONSORTING WITH A DEMON AND ACTING LIKE YOU BELONG ON EARTH WOULD END UP ALRIGHT FOR YOU?”

Only when the voice pauses does Aziraphale notice the tears pooling in his eyes. He hastily swipes them away, but the pit that has formed in his stomach will not budge.

“AZIRAPHALE. DID YOU?” 

He swallows. Hard.

“...No.”

“THEN WHY HAVE YOU NEVER STOPPED? NEVER EVEN THOUGHT TO STOP, TO RETURN TO THE LIGHT?”

Aziraphale has no reply for that.

His greatest fear is falling. It always has been. The mere thought of it makes him nauseous. But it’s not like this voice is wrong. He does care about the Earth, doesn’t he? And he has no desire to return to Heaven. He’s okay with being the renegade if he gets to live on this beautiful planet with the love of his life by his side, demon or otherwise. But does that, in turn, make him want to fall? Is he demonic?

“YOUR MOST FRUSTRATING BLUNDER,” the voice snaps Aziraphale back to attention, “IS ALL OF YOUR QUESTIONING.”

Aziraphale sharply inhales. 

“YOU ASK WHY THE WORLD IS HOW IT IS. WHY HEAVEN IS HOW IT IS. ARE YOU TRYING TO QUESTION GOD’S WILL? ARE YOU TRYING TO SAY IT IS NOT ALWAYS RIGHT?

Aziraphale opens his mouth to say no, of course not , but wouldn’t that be lying? He asks a lot of questions these days.

“YOU NEVER LEARN. ANGELS ARE SUPPOSED TO LISTEN. TO FOLLOW ORDERS. AND YOU, YOU TALK AND YOU WONDER AND YOU ACT LIKE A HUMAN.”

Aziraphale tries not to think about how those are some of the greatest joys in his life. 

“DON’T YOU REMEMBER WHAT HAPPENS TO ANGELS WHO ASK QUESTIONS?”

“I-” Aziraphale begins, about to say no, when he stops, realizes, and suddenly feels incredibly nauseous. 

From the pit beneath the cliff, something begins to scream. Some one . Resounding sobs cut through horrified shrieks, clearly in agonizing pain, and Aziraphale is stunned at how familiar it is until he realizes why.

It’s Crowley. Not pre-fall, or post-fall, but as it is happening. Maybe it’s not how he really sounded, but if not, it’s terrifyingly accurate.

Aziraphale looks up at the sky. He squeezes his eyes shut but does not look down. He needs to have a word with the voice torturing him, and he assumes it’s coming from up there, and that up there is Heaven. Only an angel could cut this deep.

He wants to scream but can only whisper. “Please,” it comes out so soft, so broken, “let me go. I will do better, I swear, I don’t want to fall-”

His mouth is clamped shut. It is not by his own will.

“IT’S TOO LATE FOR THAT,” the voice delivers its final blow.

Something is controlling Aziraphale’s body, and it’s not him. His head jerks away from the sky, his eyes are peeled open, and something nudges his back. He stumbles closer to the edge of the cliff.

“Wha-” he breathes out in shock. He’s pushed again. “Why- stop, please. I-” Again. His legs begin to tremble. “Please, I’ll- you can’t-” Again. His toes are off the cliff, hovering above the void below. Again. Something in his gut tells him this won’t just discorporate him. “Please, just, stop this, I-” He’s going to die.

He feels the pressure on his back again. His foot slips, and he’s falling, the fear shoots through his body and everything hurts and he’s falling and the ground isn’t underneath him and he’s falling and he’s falling he’s falling he’s-

He wakes up.

He’s sitting up before he’s even fully conscious. A sound escapes his throat, something between a scream and a sob. The darkness filling the room only makes things worse, but he’s too tired for miracles and too disoriented to reach for his lamp. He stares into the blackness as his head spins.

You’re fine , what’s left of his rationality tries to remind him. That wasn’t real. You’re fine.

He doesn’t feel fine. He’s still horrified . He’s felt fear many times in his life, but he hasn’t been afraid like that in a long, long time. Is that what it would be like? To fall? Was that horrible voice telling the truth? It was in some ways. Maybe it was right. Maybe he deserves to fall, to suffer a torment like what he just dreamed of. Nightmares couldn’t be very holy. Why was he, an angel, having them? It has to be a sign. He deserves for that to be real after all he's done. He deserves to suffer, to hurt, to fall-

“Angel, can you hear me?”

A voice pierces through his spiraling, but this time, it’s not the harsh roar of what haunted his dream. This voice is gentle and familiar, yet so concerned.

Crowley’s awake now, with his hands in Aziraphale’s and his brows downturned with worry. Aziraphale nods. He straightens up a bit, as he’s always hated to be seen in disarray like this. Crowley frowns and rubs his hands with his thumbs.

“You’re shaking, love. What’s going on?” he asks quietly.

Aziraphale clears his throat and draws in a long breath. Crowley waits, ever patient, until he exhales and speaks.

“Just had a bad dream, dear. I’m alright.”

“Oh, sweetheart.” Something about Crowley’s tone, the way Aziraphale can almost hear his heart breaking, breaks every wall Aziraphale had put up. The dam behind his eyes is breached by his tears, and Crowley instantly hugs him close, one hand rubbing his back and the other resting in the crook of Aziraphale’s neck. 

Neither knows how long they sit like that. Time doesn’t matter then, as Crowley whispers assurances of it’s okay and you’re safe into the weeping angel’s ear. The cries can’t just be from this nightmare, both are sure of that. When you’re an angel, expected to uphold every difficulty under the sun with no complaint, you let your emotions bottle up. This is Aziraphale’s way of uncorking the bottle Eventually, though, his body runs out of tears, and birds begin to chirp outside. Crowley clears his throat.

“I’m so sorry, angel. If I had known…” he trails off with a sigh.

“Known what?” Aziraphale replies hoarsely. “How could you have stopped that?”

“I…I couldn’t have, I just…hmph.” The demon pauses. He peels away from the angel to look into his eyes and cup his cheek with his hand.

“I didn’t know that you could even get nightmares,” he admits.

“Neither did I.”

“But…I dunno, some demonic energy is probably radiating off me or something. If it weren’t for me here, you wouldn’t…I don’t know.”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale whispers, almost bewildered. “Don’t be ridiculous. There’s nothing you could have done to stop that.”

Crowley accepts defeat to his self-deprecation and weakly nods. He wraps his arms behind Aziraphale’s neck and presses their foreheads together. The touch is warm. It feels like home.

“There’s nothing you could’ve done either,” Crowley reminds the angel, who is just as insecure as him. 

They sit in content silence for a few moments before Aziraphale speaks. He hates to ruin the moment but cannot get one thing off his mind.

“What if that happens again?” Crowley moves back to look at him. “Another nightmare?” Aziraphale nods, and his next words come out faster than he can control them. “I feel so childish, for worrying about bad dreams, but it…it felt like all of my fears combined.” His voice begins to shake. “I don’t want it to happen again.”

Crowley presses a kiss to his forehead. “First of all,” he begins once he pulls back, “it’s not childish at all. You don’t have to explain it to me, but I’m sure it was fuckin’ terrifying. They always are. And second, no matter how many times it happens, I’ll be here. And if they get so bad you don’t want to keep sleeping, I’ll stay up with you. Whatever makes you feel better, my love. Okay?”

Aziraphale thought he ran out of tears, but he is nothing if not a happy cryer, so he sniffles. Crowley laughs and wipes them from his cheeks before pulling him in for a kiss.

Maybe Aziraphale’s fear of falling will linger with him forevermore. Maybe he’ll wake up screaming more often than not. Maybe he’ll never sleep again.

It won’t matter. Not to Crowley. He’ll stay by his side for as long as they live, even if that’s forever. If Aziraphale needs him, even if it’s three in the morning, he’ll be there. Always. And that love, that dedication, will carry them through anything that tries to tear them apart.

It’s funny, an angel and a demon with such an unbreakable bond, but it’s the strongest in the universe. Literally.

They’ll be okay.

[aethelflaedladyofmercia]

Absence of Words (Sawdust of Words 12)

At very long last, we have a new "Sawdust of Words" story!

Absence of Words, 13.5k, rated G.

London Sunday after the Apocalypse

They've survived an attempted Armageddon and near-executions, confessed their feelings, and now Aziraphale and Crowley are ready to spend the rest of eternity together.

But thousands of years of abuse are not so easily shrugged off. If this is going to work, if they're going to last longer than a few hours, Aziraphale and Crowley will need to learn to communicate.

It may be their greatest challenge yet. -- This fic takes place immediately after the "love confession" story "Finding the Words," and is my first real exploration in the series of what 6000 years of abuse and unhealthy communication becomes when you're abruptly free of your abusers AND starting a new relationship on the same day. Spoilers: it goes badly.

(However, I assure you all - it does have a happy ending and they will get better in the future!)

I shared the first scenes a few days ago, so the excerpt below is from slightly later, 1.3k of Aziraphale settling his emotions upon returning to the shop after the extreme thrill of walking hand-in-hand with Crowley for almost an hour. Hope you enjoy!

(CW for references to Heaven's emotional abuse/manipulation/gaslighting, and particularly to the fact that Aziraphale is still thinking in the ways they conditioned him to)

--

Aziraphale pushed the door of his shop closed and breathed a sigh of relief. Home again. His own space, where everything always made a little more sense, felt a little more secure.

Despite the fire, everything was exactly as it should be. Every book, every figurine, every speck of dust perfectly in its place. Even the rug he’d moved aside to contact Heaven lay flat in the center of the floor where it belonged, as if the entire horrid day hadn’t happened.

He paused for a moment, fingers resting on a stack of books, and took another deep breath. He didn’t feel quite settled yet; a cup of tea would really help, though he wasn’t sure if he had the time to make one properly.

Fortunately, as an angel, he had other options.

His favorite tea mug already sat on the desk by his favorite chair. Perfect. A quick miracle filled it with warm black tea, a blend of leaves with a hint of roast chestnut, something a little sweeter but more subtle than sugar, and a few buds of chamomile and safflower petals to help him relax. Then he settled into the chair and took a slow drink, letting the flavors linger on his tongue.

Yes, precisely what he needed. A moment of calm amidst the whirlwind, something Crowley would certainly understand once he’d had a chance to explain properly. Five minutes and he’d be ready for whatever excitement the world threw at him, or that he threw himself into, as that seemed to be something he did now.

He wiggled his shoulders, burrowing more comfortably into his pillows, pleased at his own boldness, wondering what he should try next. He’d played football once, years ago, perhaps they could find some energetic youths and play a match. Or he could learn a musical instrument, spend a day as one of those street-corner musicians. Not that he’d ever really wantedto, but he could if he liked, and the possibility was thrilling.

Or he could do something really audacious, like run his fingers through Crowley’s hair. That possibility made a great deal of heat rise to his face as he eyed the sofa where the demon liked to sprawl.

As he did, Aziraphale noticed a few things out of place. Nothing major. The blanket, usually draped across the sofa, lay neatly folded over the arm. The odds and ends across his desk had been properly stacked. The nearest bookshelf had been re-organized so that the books ran from the smallest on the left to the largest on the right. Even this mug, he realized, hadn’t been used for at least two days and should be sitting spotless in its cupboard.

Several possible explanations came to mind, particularly that in recreating the destroyed shop Adam had put a few items in the wrong spots. But he knew Crowley had spent hours waiting here this morning. Perhaps he’d done a little tidying, then sat and made himself a cup of tea.

That brought another fascinating blend of emotions. A little alarming, to be drinking from the same cup. Not proper at all, in today’s society, though it would have been more acceptable in the past. But in modern society, there was something intimate about it. And he found he didn’t mind that at all.

Not intimate, Aziraphale thought, eyes drifting across the shelf again. Domestic. Now there was an interesting idea. Crowley making himself at home in the shop. Making himself a snack, lounging about and being rude to customers, doing his little cleaning routine when he felt nervous, helping himself to a glass of wine in the evening or padding around in bare feet after waking up in the morning…

Instinctively, Aziraphale clamped down on the whole line of thought, burying it, glancing about to see if someone had somehow noticed.

But…there was no one to notice anything. No one to worry about. Not now, not ever again.

I’m…free.

He set down the mug and pressed his hands together. He’d never really considered himself trapped in the first place. Yes, he’d needed to be careful to avoid notice, judgement, but that was his own fault for not being the right sort of angel, for failing to measure up again and again.

And yet. There was no longer any reason to be careful.

No longer any reason to lie.

That was all Crowley had asked, wasn’t it? That Aziraphale stop lying?

Honesty. Now there was his most audacious idea yet.

“I…” He put his fingers to his lips, not quite sure he dared. But he could. He could. “I…love…”

His voice hitched over the word, his mind filling with caution, with warnings not to go too far.

“I lo-love…” Why was he shaking? He could hardly be reprimanded for it now. “I love…Crowley.”

The name seemed to hang in the air, echo off the walls. This was madness, of course, he had taken no precautions. He had every reason to think Gabriel might come back, for a check-up, for some final business, and Aziraphale would — would disappoint him, and that was worse than any punishment.

Only. Only that didn’t matter, did it? What was Gabriel’s disappointment, compared to a garden, a bright sky, and Crowley leaning down to brush his lips…

“I…I love Crowley!” It came out louder and more defiant than he intended, as warmth and excitement rushed through Aziraphale. “I love him! And he loves me!”

He gasped, just a little, to hear it out loud.

He loves me.

Sinking back into his seat again, Aziraphale rubbed his eyes. The mask of calm that had carried him through the Apocalypse fell away, and now he found himself quite close to actual tears.

He’d wondered for so many years. 78 years, 3 months and 14 days, to be precise. Did Crowley love him? Could Crowley love him? Did he feel even a fraction of that powerful force that Aziraphale often worried would destroy him, destroy them both?

It frightened him, sometimes, the love Aziraphale felt, warm and insistent, brash and bold, at times quite needy. Nothing like the pure love of Heaven, patient and kind, austere and a little distant. Not something to be freely given in exchange for a smile or a box of chocolates, but something to strive for, to inspire one towards improvement, towards one’s best self.

He’d tried, of course, oh how he’d tried. Every assignment, every duty, pouring every last bit of himself into whatever they asked of him with such good intentions, hoping for a sign, a bit of praise, a brush of that loving warmth. He always failed, of course, flawed and imperfect angel that he was.

He couldn’t resent Heaven for holding that love in reserve; that, too, was an expression of love, for how could one grow and develop if everything were simply handed to one?

But it had been lonely. So very lonely for so very long.

Not anymore.

Crowley loved him, right now, with all his faults and flaws. He couldn’t say it — such was the nature of the Fallen — but love wasn’t about words. He could feel it in Crowley’s touch, hear it in his tone of voice, taste it in his kiss. And that was enough.

He treasured it so, that love, that trust that Crowley had shared with so few. It was Aziraphale he found worthy, Aziraphalehe gave them to, and Aziraphale would do anything to show they hadn’t been misplaced.

My best friend, Crowley had said; what could be more precious than that? A greater honor than Aziraphale had ever expected.

He just wished he could hear the words in a different tone of voice, one not laced with all-consuming pain and loss. Wished he could think of them without remembering how he’d sat there stupidly, a corporationless angel floating in a void, unable to offer any reassurance or comfort, unable to even let Crowley see his face. Useless, as he’d always been.

That, at least, ended today. He loved Crowley, he was with Crowley. Nothing would ever come between them again.

He wiped his eyes one last time and went to find Crowley’s surprise. And perhaps some biscuits for the road, one never knew when one’s…companion (even that word made him blush) might get hungry.

Read the rest on AO3!

Or read the whole series here!

As always with Sawdust of Words - mind the tags and CWs.

[tifaria]

Good Omen fan fic recommendations?

This has been unanswered in my notes for far too long! 

Whoo boy, where do I start?? Let me just pull up my AO3 bookmarks… okay. This is gonna be a long post because I have a Lot of Thoughts about fic in this fandom. I’ll separate by types of fic. 

Series/stories with a plot: 

 Demonology and the Tri-Phasic Model of Trauma: An Integrative Approach by Nnm

As soon as Aubrey Thyme, psychotherapist, had opened her office door and seen her new client, Anthony J. Crowley, sitting in her waiting area, she was observing and assessing him. At first glance, she paid attention to the following:

–His clothing was expensive and stylish;–He wore very strange but noticeable cologne;–His relationship to the seat he occupied could only, very loosely, be described as “sitting;”–He looked angry;–He was wearing sunglasses.

What Aubrey Thyme, a professional, thought, upon first seeing her new client was: you’re going to be a fun one, aren’t you?

Okay, so some warnings: discussion of suicide, PTSD, implied alcohol abuse and implied child abuse. That said…. this is an excellent fic and I was thinking about it for days after it ended. It’s about Crowley dealing with trauma from the bookshop fire, and it has an outsider POV that I ended up caring deeply about, and the ending had me in (happy) tears. Just. It’s a miracle that this fic exists. 

A Curious Case of Miracles on Marlborough Street by @nihilnovisubsole

After stopping the apocalypse, Crowley and Aziraphale finally take the next step in their six-thousand-year friendship. But when a spate of miracles sweeps across Soho and Mayfair, they realize their amorous escapades may have an unintended side effect. As they scramble to restore balance and an archangel arrives to investigate, Heaven and Hell’s messengers learn that you can never have too much of a good thing.

At the very least, you need to go look at the art on this fic, because it is magnificent. But you should really read the story, because it’s absurd and weird but in a way that makes it feel like it could plausibly take place in the TV-verse. Implied sexual content, nothing explicit. Plenty of humor. It’s crackfic that’s taken seriously, but it works and I love it.

The Sandford Flower Show by Musimm

Crowley had waited six thousand years, kept it all in check. But this was the slipperiest slope he’d ever set foot on and as soon as he’d indulged in a few discretionary acts of kindness he was falling face first into pining, tumbling into flirting, about to dislocate his knees on the sharp rocks of intimacy.

Was this really it? What he had waited six thousand years for? A stupid flower show? Aziraphale wasn’t pulling away from him. Maybe… maybe this time he wouldn’t? Maybe they’d hold hands again. Maybe tonight with a bottle of merlot in them he’d finally work up the courage and just kiss him and he wouldn’t pull away.

The very moment he’d thought it he spotted the problem at the flower show.

Chapter 7 is explicit, so if that’s not your jam, skip to the next chapter after they go to bed. I really enjoyed this one! There’s angst, pining, miscommunication, idiots acting like idiots, but with a happy ending. The plot is interesting and the original characters were engaging and felt like they’d fit right into the TV-verse. I re-read this immediately after finishing it, that’s how much I liked it.

I Will Get Up Now and Go About the City by @drawlight

This is the story of six-thousand years and a borrowed jacket. (A tale told in vignettes.)

Look, if you haven’t gone and read every single thing that @drawlight has written by now, I don’t know what to tell you. This is my favorite fic of his. It is, quite simply, poetry. I’m due for a re-read, in fact.

Fluff/Sweetness:

 Divine Intervention (AKA God Ships It) by @theladyzephyr

There’s a battle strategy devised by humans many millennia ago that’s designed to overcome an adversary who is particularly well entrenched. Some walls are too tall and thick for a frontal assault, and must instead be bested through sheer dogged stubbornness.

Crowley and Aziraphale didn’t know it, but they were about to be put under siege.

Fed up with an angel and a demon who are still avoiding any talk of Feelings, God starts to interfere. When it comes to the ineffable plan, sometimes things need a bit of a push.

Listen. This is my favorite fluffy Good Omens fic ever. It’s silly, it’s romantic, it’s completely heartfelt, and it’s joyous and happy. I grinned so hard while reading it, and re-reading it, and re-reading it again. I go to this fic when I’ve had a bad day. I go to this fic when I’ve had a good day. It’s wonderful and sweet and it fills my heart with warmth.

Sunny Picnic with the Southern Pansy by @almaasi

As the one-year mark of the Unpocalypse approaches, Aziraphale pointedly mentions to Crowley that he’d like to spend the anniversary doing “something lovely” with “somebody special”. Thus, Crowley secretly plans a surprise picnic in Tadfield with Anathema and the Them. Of course, this comes served with a plateful of misunderstandings, a side of moping, and a seasoning of mischief… eventually followed by a deliciously pleasant afternoon.

I love when authors can work in the ensemble cast in a way that works. This fic is fluffy, warm, and fuzzy. I loved every time The Them were in a scene because the author wrote them so well. 

Saturday (Wouldn’t It Be Nice) by Sir_Bedevere

It’s a Saturday in the little cottage on the South Downs, where a demon and an angel are spending their retirement, and there’s nothing - nothing - that they can’t face together.

It’s a Saturday, and this is how Saturdays tend to go.

This is a gentle and soft fic that soothes my soul when I read it. There’s plenty of cuddling, sweetness, and fluff. This fic is like a comforting, warm blanket when you’ve had a hard day.

Love Like Fools by @animeangelriku

One minute, Aziraphale is cataloguing some of his first editions, and the next one, he’s leaning against the bookshelf with one hand because he feels like the breath he doesn’t necessarily need (but is nonetheless used to taking) has just been knocked out of him.

He does not need to hold back his feelings for Crowley anymore. He does not need to hide his feelings for Crowley anymore. They’re on their own side now.

Soft romance with hand-holding and plenty of kissing? Sign me up. I live for Aziraphale showering Crowley with affection, and Crowley being overwhelmed by it.

An Honest Surrender by @kedreeva

“For six thousand years,” Crowley said, voice cracking, “I have wanted something I couldn’t have, because I asked the wrong questions. But I’m asking the right one now. The only one that matters.”

In which Aziraphale follows Crowley home after the nonpocalypse.

I never get tired of what-happened-at-Crowley’s-flat-that-night fics. Never. Give me all of them. This one depicts the boys as asexual and includes some intense soul-bonding that I find really lovely and that I think is achingly beautiful.

It’s Getting Hard, This Holding Back by ZehWulf

6,000-odd years is a long time to evolve a romantic relationship, but as a near-immortal being, Crowley had patience. True, they had lost momentum right around reaching the Speaking Looks and Meaningful Gestures stage, but at the time Crowley had been more or less content to let things idle.

Now, he was determined to shift things back into gear, and that gear was Explicitly Romantic Physical Expressions of Affection.

Crowley comes up with a plot for easing into physical affection with Aziraphale, and it goes about like you’d expect. Cute, sweet, and fluffy asexual relationship. 

Smut/Explicit:

Lie Back And Think Of Dinner by jessthereckless

“Crowley, this is a disaster. This is everything I ever wanted. We’re in love. And there’s a picnic. And we don’t seem to be able to get…amorous without causing earthquakes.”

Aziraphale attempts subterfuge. Crowley sees right through him.

This fic is so cute, with just a bit of smut. I don’t always enjoy smut, because sometimes I feel it strays too much from their characterization, but this fic gets it right. It’s funny and charming and the dialogue is spot on. When you’re finished, read the sequel, which has more explicit smut but still manages to be believable for me while also being very sweet. 

The First Week of the Rest of their Lives by @deputychairman

“Port gives the worst hangovers in the world, did you know that?” Crowley slurred when the bottle was all gone. “Don’t know who got credit for that one. Nice drink, lovely drink, shame it makes you want to die in the morning.”

“Such a shame,” Aziraphale agreed sadly, watching Crowley stretch out on his sofa. He did like port. He liked Crowley stretched out on his sofa, too.

After a week of lunch dates, Aziraphale is finally ready to face his feelings. This is sexy and just smutty enough and the banter between them in the bedroom is cute but also hot.

Overboard by Laura Shapiro

Asking Crowley to move here with him is, Aziraphale thinks, the bravest thing he has ever done.

Aziraphale tries and fails to deal with his anxiety, and eventually the pining and angst lead to an understanding. I enjoyed the depiction of Aziraphale’s anxiety over he and Crowley’s relationship, and the sex is very well done and you can sense the love in it. 

Alternate Universe (AU):

Here’s the thing about AUs: I don’t usually enjoy them. I find that often the characters don’t resemble the ones I know at all, and it prevents me from getting interested in the story. However, I have come across some that I’ve loved, and while the characterizations aren’t necessary recognizable as Aziraphale and Crowley, the stories are compelling and well-written. I tend to think of it as the actors from the TV series playing other parts, and it works for me. 

Acts of Service by seekwill

After receiving direct instruction from God, village reverend Aziraphale leaves his countryside congregation to serve the underserved and in-need at an urban church in London, a transition made all the more complicated by the mysterious and handsome Crowley, who always seems to appear when Aziraphale least expects him.

I was thinking about this fic for a while after I finished it. Is it a bit soap operatic? Yes. Is it also compelling and romantic and sexy? Hell yes. Just go read it and decide for yourself. The only reason I didn’t finish the entire fic in one evening is because I read until 1am and then had to wake up four hours later. Otherwise I’d have binged it all in one go.

Only Love (Can Bring the Rain) by soft_october

There were all these little hopes and musings Crowley buried so deep in his heart it ached to bring them out into the light to catalogue their faults and flaws, and each time Aziraphale sought him out, or asked his opinion on some weighty manner that was hanging on him, or even just smiled, those little wishings grew bigger and bigger, pressing in on him until he felt as if he was being crushed.

“Princes do not fall in love with gardener boys,” he told himself one night, staring into the shard of looking glass he kept on a shelf, hoping it would help, hoping that hearing it out loud would make him believe it, would help him put all these ridiculous notions behind him.

It didn’t work.

Crowley and Aziraphale, the gardener’s boy and the prince, meet as children and develop an unlikely friendship.

By the time they’re twenty, everything has changed.

Crowley is a gardener, Aziraphale is a prince, and this reads like a gentle fairy tale. I adore everything about it.

With All Your Delights by @weatheredlaw 

Crowley laughed. “I thought you’d have realized by now. I am no ordinary king.”

“No,” Aziraphale said. “You certainly are not.”

or: aziraphale is sent as a gift to the southern king to smooth over trade negotiations. they both find themselves in over their heads.

Good Lord, this fic. This fic is so sexy, so romantic, so immersive. The world-building is vague, but somehow that worked for me because I was able to imagine and fill in the gaps as I pleased. Do they 100% resemble any Crowley and Aziraphale that we know? No. But is it a well-written romance that checks off a lot of boxes I enjoy? Yes. There’s angst, but with a happy ending. I think I’ve read this one 3 or 4 times now, which is unheard of for me with an AU.

Slow Show by @mia-ugly

Listen. This. This fic. It’s done something to me. I live for updates on this fic. 

Crowley and Aziraphale are co-stars on a Game of Thrones-esque TV show. There’s pining, angst, explicit sex, mentions of past addiction, and somehow, it all comes together in a beautiful story that has me rushing to me computer on Mondays to check and see if it’s been updated. It has wrecked me. The last chapter was a wham and I am desperate for more. I have the utmost admiration for the author because it’s a beautiful, sexy, romantic story and I have never been so eager to read an AU before. 

[justkeeptrekkin]

A gift to all my followers!

This is something I whacked out a couple of weeks ago- just a thank you to all my followers who’ve stuck around, or who have just found me within the Good Omens fandom! It means the world to see you guys enjoy my fics. This is my gift to you guys, now that 2019 is coming to a close!

Enjoy! x

***

It’s hard to keep track of time when they're together on a good day. It’s even harder on the best of days. 

The Ritz is busy. The lunch table is inappropriately large for just the two of them. They’re sat right next to each other. Champagne is bitter-sweet on Crowley’s tongue and he could watch Aziraphale for hours, listen to him talking for hours. He measures the way Aziraphale leans towards him with a hand stretched across the table, sharing a story. Eyes bright, typically taut posture unusually relaxed. Entire aura relaxed. The feeling in his own chest, relaxed.

And so it’s harder than usual to keep track of the time. People leave after tea; people arrive for dinner; people leave after dinner. The waiters stare at them from the kitchen doors, waiting for them to ask for the bill, which they don’t. Crowley barely has it in him to glare at them. 

Their knees touch for almost the entire time. 

For Crowley and Aziraphale, time has only ever been a construct. However, it has also, always, been bound by celestial responsibilities. Now, they have no such responsibilities. And they are no longer being watched. 

The sky is darkening just a little when they finally leave. Green Park remains busy at-

Crowley checks the time on his phone.

-Greek Park remains busy at five thirty on a Tuesday night. People line up at the bus stop, heading home from work. Tourist stands filled with union jacks litter the streets outside the park. The colonnade of The Ritz shelters them from a light bit of drizzle. 

Crowley slides his hands into his negligible pockets and considers what comes next. Dining at The Ritz has always comes with a time limit, and somewhere to go immediately afterwards. Some sort of agenda. He doesn’t know what that is now. 

He looks over at Aziraphale, who hovers. Hovers and fiddles with his hands. Gaze flitting about as if he’s nervous, smile flickering on and off as if he doesn’t want Crowley to notice. He makes a feeble attempt at smiling again and gestures to the rain with a small nod. “Lovely weather we’re having, eh?” he says. It’s followed by a shaky half-laugh. 

Crowley frowns at him, the bottom half of his face forming a smile. He feels as if he’s watching the Angel of the Eastern gate, introducing himself at Eden. And something about the sudden awkwardness fills him with intrigue- more than that, anticipation. 

He leans back against a column, hands in pockets, and surveys Aziraphale’s anxious flapping.

“Well, go on, then,” Crowley prompts. “Something’s on your mind.”

“Not on my mind, per se,” Aziraphale concedes. His eyes darting up to the roof of the colonnade, to Heaven- a habit that may take some time to kick. “An idea of sorts.” “You’ve intrigued me,” Crowley drawls. 

“Nothing exciting. Only.” 

The look Aziraphale gives him in the brief moment of hesitation is heart-breaking. It’s filled with hope, and a healthy dollop of apprehension, too. As if Crowley would ever deny him anything. Crowley has experienced these moments of heart-shattering, heart-squashing, heart-pummelling love many times before, and he very much hopes that he’s done an alright job of concealing it from his expression.

He raises his eyebrows at Aziraphale and waits. 

Aziraphale sighs, looking uncomfortable and apparently having no intention of expanding. He expects Crowley to make the move. Unsurprising.

“I could…” Crowley starts. Aziraphale looks at him in hope again. Christ on a bike I’m a pushover, he thinks. “I could. Invite you round to mine for a drink. If… you were thus inclined.” A great beaming smile. “Oh, you took the words right out of my mouth.” Crowley huffs an almost-laugh. They look at each other. And they both let the weight of that sink in. Slowly, like the rain that’s currently seeping into the stone pavement beyond the Ritz’s colonnade. 

“Right,” he announces quickly, before thoughts can escalate any further. “Off we go, then?”

“Yes, just so. Tip top.”

Crowley conjures an umbrella. It’s not as if anyone would have noticed, he tells himself, though he sees the doorman at the Ritz recoil a little in shock. They share its shelter until Aziraphale miraculously hails a cab. 

***

“Best idea you’ve had all week, angel- and that includes the body swapping nonsense.”

Aziraphale is sat on Crowley’s sofa. He has been handed a glass of wine. He holds it between cupped hands like he plans to take communion. His legs are hidden behind a tartan blanket. (Crowley will never admit that he conjured such a thing long, long ago, just in case something like this might happen. Something like Aziraphale staying for a movie night, or even, staying for the night. It had always seemed so unlikely. In fact, the moment he’d created said blanket, Crowley had been so infuriated by his blind hope of ‘having Aziraphale round’ that he’d burned it. 

He’d restored the ashes to its original, tartaned form just a couple of hours later.)

“It seemed like the next logical thing,” Aziraphale explains pensively, brows raised and peering down into his Malbec. “If I had a ‘to do’ list, this is what I would put on it. I haven’t sat down and watched a movie all the way through in such a long time.” This may well be true, Crowley considers, as he rifles through his DVD collection, knees against polished concrete and painted nails tapping the spine of Monty Python and the Holy Grail. Meanwhile, he’s simply marvelling at the fact that they’ve never sat down and watched a movie all the way through together, the two of them, ever. They’d always had more important things to be getting on with, like saving the world or performing miracles or negotiating the terms of their Agreement. And now. Now they can-

Now they can what?

He looks back over his shoulder at Aziraphale. Aziraphale is looking at him. The angel’s gaze flicks away instantly, staring back down into his wine. It hurts something in his chest. A nice kind of hurt, like a dash too much wasabi. 

Crowley takes a moment to recover from this. Then- “You. You still haven’t given me any clues. What you in the mood for, angel?”

Aziraphale’s eyes widen for the briefest moment as if he’s alarmed by this question, for whatever reason. Then he frowns to himself, purses his lips in thought. Casts his eyes around the room, for inspiration. “Something…” “If you say nice,” Crowley warns, knees hurting a little on the hard floor. 

“I wasn’t going to,” Aziraphale retorts. He pauses. He adds, more quietly, “I was going to say fun.”

Crowley groans. Turns to the DVD cabinet.

“I don’t do fun,” he says slowly, emphatically. 

“Alright, well. Something at least a bit light-hearted. I think saving the world rather calls for it, don’t you?” Crowley tilts his head from side to side in consideration. “It’s a fair point,” he concedes to himself more than Aziraphale. Pouts. “Don’t want to bring the mood down. Not sure I’d want to…”

The reason he doesn’t finish his sentence is because he’s just been, unfortunately, reacquainted with the more mushy end of his DVD collection. He’d forgotten that he has several Audrey Heburn films, as well as a couple of Julia Roberts classics. He glares at them. Hidden amongst the arthouse silent movies, they’re betraying just how soft he is. And Aziraphale’s watching.

The DVD boxes quiver under his stare. 

“How about we start with discussing what you have,” Aziraphale tries, reasonably. “Since we can’t reach a consensus. We don’t even have to watch a DVD if you don’t want-”

“Netflix,” Crowley remembers, standing up abruptly and immediately closing the cabinet. Then, “Netflix! That’s a thing. That’s a thing that we can do.” “Oh yes- I’ve heard of that,” Aziraphale says chirpily. 

“Oh, yes, well done, angel.”

Aziraphale glares. 

And so the Netflix loading screen bongs into life, Crowley collapsing onto the sofa beside Aziraphale. The red wine is jostled; Aziraphale tuts. Crowley props his heels on the coffee table. 

“Do you mind. I almost spilled Malbec on my shirt.” “Lots more choices now,” Crowley ignores him and begins flicking through. “Look, it’s all organised nicely in rows of genre. Love how tidy this is, look. And the search function is so much easier. Have you tried the search function on Amazon Prime, lately? Nightmare.” “I have no clue what you’re talking about,” Aziraphale replies lightly, spinning the wine in his glass like a whirlpool.

“Look, ‘s’got a whole section called ‘light-hearted movies’.” 

“Very helpful.”

They flick through the row. They go through all of them without choosing, and end up at the beginning of the loop again. Crowley growls and hangs his head off the back of the sofa.

“Oh, pass it here,” Aziraphale sighs, putting down his wine with a decisive clink and picking up the remote. He holds it with one hand and presses the directional buttons with his other hand, as if it’s far more complicated and delicate a process than it actually is. Like an octogenarian trying to use an iPhone.  

“How about this lovely looking Christmas film.“

"N- no. Anything but that. It’s October. And more importantly, no.”

“It looks ever so sweet, though. How lovely and romantic-”

“We are not watching The Christmas fucking-well Prince.”

He’d had a hand in inspiring that, and he’s too embarrassed to admit it even to himself. His evil deeds really are shit. 

“No need to snap,” Aziraphale mutters.  

“If you’re determined to watch something romantic and seasonal, I will accept The Holiday. If I must. Jack Black makes it bearable.”

Aziraphale lets the screen rest on the thumbnail of the movie. Then, quite thoughtfully, he says: “I like Kate Winslet. She seems like a nice woman.”

“Mm. Yeah, that’s. OK. I’m sure she is, angel.”

In all honesty, the idea of watching a rom-com with Aziraphale is border-line torture. It’s not quite as bad as waterboarding, but it’s close. More on the same level as those nightmares you get where you have to do a maths exam in your underwear, on stage, and all of your exes and crushes point and laugh at you. Not only are rom-coms pretty hit and miss- some influenced by Heaven, some by Hell, you never know what you’re going to get- they’re also a fantastic way of making Crowley feel incredibly exposed. Incredibly hot in the face from second-hand embarrassment. Incredibly aware that he’s meant to be sneering and heckling, when he’s just trying to concentrate on holding himself together. Stop the feelings from spurting out of his heart like water in a dam: feelings that he thinks are, embarrassingly, rather a lot like longing.

And yet, because it is Crowley, and this is what Crowley does, he lets Aziraphale select the movie and they watch The Holiday. They remark on the general cheesiness, the (at times) witty dialogue. The staggering amount of disbelief that has to be suspended for the plot to work. How nice Jude Law looks in glasses. 

Crowley’s only sort of watching. He’s concentrating on Aziraphale. Not outright staring at him (although he does often do that, it’s a wonder he hasn’t noticed and told Crowley to sod off). Rather, letting his brain tick over the knowledge that he is right beside him. Too much of his daft, devil mind is unable to ignore the fact that Aziraphale is there. 

Sometimes, it sends unhelpful thoughts his way. Like, you could touch his hand. Or, imagine feeding him popcorn- wouldn’t that be interesting. Or simply, there he is. He’s here. He’s with you. He’s chosen this. 

About half-way through the film, Aziraphale starts with those sad sighing sounds, making woebegone eyes at the television- which tells Crowley that he’s getting peckish but doesn’t want to bother Crowley with it. So, Crowley casually announces that he’s heard there’s a good new Chinese restaurant around the corner, and Aziraphale brightens up again immediately. And they have to pause the film to choose what to eat, because Crowley reckons he might actually order something for himself this time, and Aziraphale ums and ahs about these things for hours anyway. And once they’ve ordered- over the app, thank God for avoiding human interaction- the food arrives, quite miraculously, three minutes later. 

And once the food is gone, the film is almost finished. And Netflix seems to have decided what they should watch next, because it puts on the first episode of The Crown without asking them. Which they watch, although Crowley’s not really watching. And Aziraphale is complaining about the inaccuracies. 

And at some point they end up sitting very close.

No. That makes it sound as if Crowley has no idea how they ended up that close. He knows exactly when this happened, because he hasn’t taken a breath since. 

It happened like this.

They’re halfway through the first episode of The Crown, and Aziraphale has returned from the kitchen with a new bottle of red- a Pinot, this time- and he pours for both him and Crowley. Aziraphale has been sat on his own side of the sofa, and Crowley has been on his, draping his arms and legs wherever he sees fit. Now, as Aziraphale resettles on the sofa, he sits right beside him. The way Crowley is angled, his legs dangling off the arm of the sofa, means that he’s leaning in Aziraphale’s direction. Very obviously. 

So he’s using all his (very little) core strength to keep himself sitting upright enough not to fall into his lap. Even if it would be very nice to let his head rest on Aziraphale’s lap. And even if he’d really like to relax a little bit and lean his shoulder against Aziraphale’s. 

And for Heaven’s sake, it shouldn’t be an issue for a couple of six thousand year old beings to sit side-by-side on a sofa, and yet, here’s Crowley, having a crisis about it. It’s not as if he thought twice about pinning him against a wall. 

Although he probably should have. That was a lot.

His eyes follow the way Aziraphale’s legs stretch in front of him, crossed over at the ankles. A little slouched on the sofa, shoes off. It’s about as relaxed as Crowley’s ever seen him. 

“Why do you think they decided to make this TV series now, when the Queen is still alive,” Aziraphale remarks. It almost makes Crowley jump a little, so deep in thought that he’d forgotten time hadn’t stopped entirely.

“Whassat?” “Well, why do you think they’ve made the series now? It seems a bit-”

“Right,” Crowley says brain finally processing the question. “No- dunno, angel.” They both go quiet. Crowley’s hand grips the back of the sofa. The fear that he’s going to slip and lean against Aziraphale is too real. As nice as it would be-

Perfect. Miraculous. Wonderfully human. 

-It would also be mortifying. 

He can hear Aziraphale’s breathing. Slow. Precise and even, like he’s measuring out ingredients for a recipe. It makes Crowley’s mouth go dry with painful self-awareness.

“Do you remember,” Aziraphale starts quietly, “when you and I bumped into each other in Camden Town?” He takes a few seconds to pretend to think about this. “Yeah, ‘f course. Nineteen seventy-seven. What made you think of that?” Aziraphale shifts a little, looking at Crowley. Crowley doesn’t look back, watches the screen. If he turns towards Aziraphale, they’ll be-

“You were wearing that awful t-shirt.” That makes him laugh. A tipping-the-head-back laugh. “Oh yeah- my God Save the Queen t-shirt. Sex Pistols. Yeah, those were the days. Don’t knock ‘em, they were a good band.” “I’m sure they were.” “Don’t use that voice, they were. Anarchic music at its finest.” “I believe you, but bebop is still a little too baffling for me, I’m afraid.”

Crowley doesn’t expect it. He doesn’t know where it comes from- he thought he knew himself quite well at this point, but apparently not well enough. He feels something take over from out of nowhere. Rather, feels something erase everything else- a whiteboard rubber cleaning all the bullshit away. 

And now he’s turned to Aziraphale without the babbling voice of anxiety in his head. 

“It’s punk music, not bebop. And. I reckon you’d like it.” His voice is a murmur and his eyes are looking at Aziraphale’s lips. Thank Christ for sunglasses. 

When he looks back up and meets Aziraphale’s gaze, he’s watching Crowley. Looking for something. 

He feels his lips part, hears himself take a breath through his mouth. 

“Oh, really?” Aziraphale asks weakly. A small quirk in one eyebrow. 

“Y-” Fucking Hell. His throat’s all dry and he’s forgotten what words are. And now Aziraphale is definitely looking at his mouth. Fuck fuck fuck fu- “Yeah. You’re a rebel now, after all. Sort of. Breaking all those rules.”

“Yes,” Aziraphale replies in a whisper. Then, regaining his voice, “I suppose that’s true.”

“S- uh- mm- w- some of the songs, anyway, not all of them. You’d uh- h- some of them are a bit explicit than others and you’d probably not. Not get on with those ones.”

“Crowley…?” That’s all it takes. Thousands of years of keeping his feelings to himself and taking it slow, and all it takes is that little inflection in Aziraphale’s hushed voice. That hesitant request, draped over the sound of his name. Crowley leans in and presses his lips gently against Aziraphale’s. 

There’s that horrible moment when it stops, and everything else seems to stop, too. The what next? hangs in the air and Aziraphale stutters a shaky breath against Crowley’s skin. 

“Too fast?” is what Crowley ends up asking. Just to break the pause. 

And then the most dazzling, drunken smile spreads across Aziraphale’s face. Brows knit together. An expression that looks a lot like “To the world.” 

“No,” he half laughs, shaking his head infinitesimally. “For once, no. We… we saved the world, I rather think we deserve this.”

Something in Crowley relaxes, unhinges, collapses. It lets all the feelings free and they flood him till he swears he almost goes blind. And that is how they both end up falling asleep on the sofa, still wearing the days’ clothes and kicking off a tartaned blanket. Wrapped up in each other- starting this new era as they mean to continue.

***

Crowley wakes up and finds his head on Aziraphale’s chest. He’s splayed on top of him, arm hanging off the edge of the sofa. He feels Aziraphale’s hand, warm between his shoulder blades. 

“What would you like to do today?” Aziraphale asks with a smile in his voice. 

That is how it starts. They think of the things they were too scared to do together, the things that they never found the time to do together, the things they always liked to do together. 

They go for a walk through Hampstead Heath, just as the weather’s beginning to turn- their breathes steaming in front of their faces as they walk. They haven’t been here since 1815. They both try to avoid the muddy parts and fail spectacularly. They make fun of each other for the mess they’ve made of their shoes. They begin by hooking their fingers together, until they’re brave enough to hold hands completely. 

They go home and cook together. It goes disastrously. 

“What are we doing today?” Crowley asks the next morning, when they wake up on Crowley’s sofa again. 

They go to some hipster bar in East London- Tobacco Docks, it’s called. They find that there’s good food, lots of good booze and an ice rink- which Crowley absolutely point-blank refuses to go on until Aziraphale makes that wide-eyed, pleading face. They have a tipsy and very clumsy skate around the rink before returning to their drinks. Crowley’s better at wine than ice rinks. 

“What are we doing today?” Aziraphale asks, when they’ve woken up in Crowley’s bed. His white hair against his white sheets. A new part of the landscape of his room.

They end up doing very little. They read together on the sofa and make tea.  Crowley introduces Aziraphale to the best music ever created- disco, of course. They dance in the living room in bare feet and laugh till they can’t see through the tears. 

“What are we doing today?” Crowley asks the next morning. 

“What are we doing today?” Aziraphale asks the next. 

They’ve saved the world, and that still seems surreal. But there’s waking up on Crowley’s sofa after a movie marathon, too. A dinner date, or a night in. 

And that feels perfectly real. 

[aughtpunk]

White is Not the New Black

Crowley woke up feeling weird. Like, weird weird.

He laid in bed a good three hours just trying to find the best way to describe said odd feeling. Like if someone spackled a crack with whipped cream and for some unknown reason it worked. Like a completely boneless adorable kitten that kept slipping through his fingers. Like floating safely on an inner-tube in the middle of a stormy ocean. Like stepping on dew-covered grass knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt there were no red ants for miles around. It felt like the time Warlock decided to bake cookies using marshmallows and kool-aid mix. It felt, for reasons Crowley could not comprehend, a bit like Aziraphale.

So of course Crowley decided to ignore it.

Crowley was an expert at ignoring his feelings. He should be, considering he’s been doing it since before The Fall. There was nothing with feelings per say, it was just they tended to get in the way of things. Feelings made it hard to do evil. Feelings compelled Crowley to save children, to save Aziraphale, to save those two bloody unicorns, to save Aziraphale, he was thinking about Aziraphale again, he was thinking about Aziraphale and that odd feeling in his chest only got worse. 

“Shutupshutupshutup.” Crowley muttered to himself as he watered his plants. He opened his mouth to snap at them only to find that nothing would come out. It was as the feeling was forming a wall between him and his usual projected self-loathing that morning. Crowley fought down the staticy sensation and gave being mean to his plants another shot.

“You,” He said pointing his finger at a particular irritating Norfolk Island Pine, “you can do better! Don’t make your needles as sharp! Stop looking so smug for being mistaken for a Christmas tree! There better not be a single dropped needle on this floor or, or,” the words scratched at his throat, unable to escape but unable to settle as well, “or I’ll gift you to Aziraphale this Christmas! And you know he’ll go full Victorian on dressing you. He’ll use candles. Real candles.”

That got the Norfolk Island Pine to stop looking so smug. 

(Crowley was rather proud of himself for the sudden popularity of the Norfolk Island Pine. He had convinced humans it would be a perfect Christmas plant, what with it being vaguely pine-ish and having the word Pine in its name. In reality the Norfolk Island Pine was possibly the worst plant to have around the holidays. It was a tropical plant that needed high heat and even higher humidity with multiple waterings a day and frankly had no business being in a cold dry climate. Because of this they tended to drop dead the second they left the store. The fact that once it died the dried pine needles became as sharp as rose thorns but three times as long was just an added bonus.)

Crowley rubbed an odd spot on his chest. Mentioning Christmas had only made the odd feeling grow feelers and wiggle about. Maybe he just needed coffee. Or a drink. Or Aziraphale.

Don’t think about Aziraphale.

Evil, he decided, he needed to go do evil. That would fix this right up.

***

Being evil didn’t help.

It did cheer him up in that the-misfortune-of-others-is-hilarious sort of way, but it did nothing to get rid of the feeling in his chest. In fact, the feeling felt as if it was growing. He couldn’t rid himself of the mental image of it being this multi-limbed fuzzy insect lodged in his chest. Right between his lungs, he decided. Just this spider-wasp-scorpion thing clawing at his internal organs. In a metaphorical sort of way, of course. 

After an afternoon spent causing traffic jams and making people forget their significant other’s birthdays, Crowley knew there was no use putting it off any longer. He had to go see Aziraphale. Not that he didn’t want to see Aziraphale! In fact he felt totally the opposite way. Ever since they toasted to the world Crowley’s only desire was to spend more time with Aziraphale. Possibly all of his time. He never wanted to leave his angel’s side and that was a problem because there was no way Aziraphale wanted the same. 

This was Aziraphale! The dear angel who spent a decade re-reading every book he owned because he quote ‘didn’t feel like going out’ end quote. Crowley knew that Aziraphale would be sick of him hanging around within days. Yes, they were best friends. Yes, they had chosen each other over Heaven and Hell. But that didn’t mean Aziraphale wanted Crowley to hold his hand and never let go.

The odd feeling wasn’t love. Crowley knew this because he had felt love for Aziraphale since Eden. He could feel it still as he drove over to the bookstore. His love had no odd descriptions attached beyond the usual overwhelming yearning for returned devotion. Not a single insect leg or boneless adorable animal to be seen. Just love. Simple, pure, unrequited love.

The bookstore was closed of course. Crowley could count the times he had seen it open on one hand (He would have been able to even if he got two fingers cut off before the count). That didn’t stop Crowley from opening the clearly-locked front door and walking in. The shop knew better than to keep Crowley out. 

“Angel?” Crowley called out as he entered the shop. Even after all of these weeks there was always a funny twist in his stomach when he came to visit Aziraphale. This feeling, unlike the love and the squirmy feeling that current reminded Crowley of a bowl of ice cream covered in stale pieces of candy corn, was one of dread. The fear that Crowley would find the shop burning once more and his angel missing for good. Crowley had managed to convince himself that the reason he visited Aziraphale so often was to check in on things, and not because it was the only way for that fear to die down.

Crowley was very, very good at ignoring his feelings.

“Crowley! You’re just in time! I need your help with this.” Aziraphale popped out from between the shelves holding what must have been someone’s lost smartphone. Yes, a lost smartphone that just so happened to have little angel wing stickers on the case. The white case. The sparkly white case. Oh no.

“Oh no.” Crowley groaned, “Angel, where did you get that? Why did you get that?”

The angel beamed with happiness even as he kept his eyes glued to the screen. “It was Miss Device’s idea! This way we can keep in touch with each other in case anything happens! I already have the numbers for Adam and all of his friends, too. We really must go visit them some day. Pepper, the girl who killed War, she’s trying to explain how I can set up a twitter account and I thought oh, Crowley helped make that, I should ask him--”

Aziraphale finally lifted his head up enough to look at Crowley.

He froze on the spot, causing the phone slipped right out of his hands and land on bookshop floor with a muffled thud.

(Luckily the phone liked the angel stickers so much it refused let its screen crack.)

“Uh.” Crowley cleared his throat once the silent went on a beat too long. “Angel? Aziraphale? You okay?”

Aziraphale didn’t respond right away. His eyes were wide with shock, his lips parted, and he looked one loud noise away from passing out on the spot. “Crowley,” he finally managed, “Are you okay?”

Crowley almost lied out of habit, but the feeling stopped him again. Well. If anyone knew about weird feeling it would have to be Aziraphale. “No? Kinda. I feel...off.”

“Off.” Aziraphale echoed.

“Yeah. Like, like there’s something in me that shouldn’t be there.”

“I see. What does it feel like?”

“Like if someone glued fake fur to a balloon and inflated it in my chest.”

Aziraphale didn’t respond to that.

“And the balloon is filled with those little sphere things that grow when you put them in water.”

Aziraphale closed his mouth.

“What the hell are those called, anyway?”

Aziraphale took a few steps forward. 

“I’ve seen them used for growing bamboo.”

“Crowley.” Aziraphale finally said once he was within arm’s reach of his dear friend. 

“I should try that sometime--”

“Crowley, show me your wings this instant!”

Crowley didn’t even think about questioning Aziraphale. He did as he was told, unfurling his wings for the first time since Almost-End and giving them a good flap to stretch them out. A few feathers shook loose, as they tended to, sending bits of white fluff flying across the shop floor. “There? Happy? I know, they’re stunning, I know, but that doesn’t--”

Bits of white fluff.

White fluff.

White.

White.

Crowley spread his wings out wide enough to circle around him and Aziraphale. 

White. They were white. Pure, brilliant white feathers sparkling in the bookshop’s dim light.

Aziraphale took Crowley’s shaking hands within his own and said in a hoarse whisper. “Crowley. That weird feeling you’ve been experiencing is holiness.”

***

“Fuck.”

Crowley laid on Aziraphale’s couch, waiting to see if anything would happen. When the feeling--the feeling of God’s Grace--didn’t go away, he decided to experiment a little more.

“Fuck. Shit. Arse. Arsehole. Dick. Prick. Fucking shitting arshole prick cu--”

“Crowley, cursing isn’t going to make you re-fall.” 

Aziraphale placed a nice hot cup of tea on the small side table next to the couch. Not close enough to imply that Crowley had to drink it, but close enough to let the demon know the option was there. 

No, Aziraphale reminded himself, not a demon anymore. 

He was still kicking himself for not noticing the second Crowley stepped into the shop. Demons didn’t give off the same energy as angels. In fact, they absorbed it. Standing around a pack of demons was spiritually akin to getting one’s shoelace stuck in an escalator. Crowley’s pull just happened to be weak enough that Aziraphale stopped noticing it after the first few thousand years. At most all it did was given Aziraphale the heads up that Crowley was somewhere in the immediate area. But now?

Now Crowley was burning. 

The ex-demon (that was easier than thinking of him as an angel) was absolutely crackling with holy energy. It was probably strong enough to give everyone in Soho a lovely day. Maybe even powerful enough for them to find a fiver in an old jacket pocket! Aziraphale hadn’t felt such pure holiness since...well...since before. Before it all. 

Crowley sat up and removed his sunglasses. “What about my eyes? How do they look.”

“Still very snake-like.” Aziraphale said, which was the truth. Unfortunately the truth also required him to keep going. “But they’re less yellow and more um, gold.”

“Gold.”

“Yes.”

“In what way?”

“In a...um...golden-angel-halo sort of way.”

Crowley promptly fell back onto the couch. Aziraphale waited for him to say something, anything, but when it was clear Crowley wasn’t going to say a word Aziraphale did his best to fill in the silence between them. 

“It must have been the whole saving-the-world thing that did it. Too much good all in one go. And frankly I don’t see why you’re pouting about this! Isn’t this good? Isn’t un-falling, ah, isn’t rising exactly what all demons strive for? Don’t you feel...better?”

Silence. 

“You told me falling felt like having a part of you violently ripped out. That demons aren’t filled with evil, they’re filled with nothing. Absolutely empty! You said, and I quote, it feels like slowly bleeding out for eternity! That you spend the first thousand years on Earth simply getting used to the pain!”

“I was drunk.” Crowley finally replied. 

“Drunk means you were telling the truth.”

Crowley let out a deep sigh before rolling onto his back. “Drunk means I was melodramatic. Falling didn’t hurt that much.”

“But it did hurt, didn’t it?”

Crowley didn’t answer that. 

“Does it hurt now?”

“Hasn’t hurt in ages, angel. Decades. Not even sure when it faded. Just realized one day it was...gone.”

Aziraphale sat down at the other end of the couch, just far enough to let Crowley’s feet dangle in peace. Crowley was lying. He knew if he pressed Crowley would not only tell him the exact day but the exact moment down to the millisecond. Not that Aziraphale needed to do that. He already knew the answer. “The church.”

Crowley stared up at the ceiling above. “Yeah. After the church.”

Aziraphale wasn’t sure when his hand moved onto Crowley’s ankle, or when he begun to soothingly trace a circle against his friend’s skin with his thumb. Funny. He had always dreamed of what life would be like if Crowley was an angel. If they were on the same side since the very beginning. 

(What Aziraphale nor Crowley realized is that they had been on the same side since the beginning. Their side was formed the second they stood side-by-side on the Garden’s wall and made small talk. God had looked down upon them and said oh, oh this is new. This is interesting.)

“Do you really hate angels this much?” Aziraphale said, his voice barely above a whisper. 

“What? Aziraphale, angel, course I don’t.” Crowley said as he finally sat up. “It’s just that it’s, well, it’s wrong. All of it feels wrong! It’s like, it’s like there’s always been this balance, right? You being all goody-angel and me being all, all demony-demon! It, it worked, didn’t it? Six thousand years it worked fine! I mean, humans go on about having a bloody angel and demon on their shoulders, right? No one ever goes oh no I’m in a terribly difficult situation, better consult the angel on my shoulder and the angel on my other should who is just like the first one but dresses in black. But not his wings! Nooooo, can’t have an angel with black wings. Gotta be white! Perfect bloody bone-bleached wings! Only pretty clean doves allowed in Heaven! Noah never would have accepted that olive branch if it was being held by a damned raven.”

Aziraphale stared into Crowley’s desperate now-golden eyes, his heart ready to burst from his overwhelming desire to help his dear friend. Yet at the same time thought over everything Crowley had said with a fine-tooth comb. He knew Crowley better than himself. He knew the snake always had a terrible habit of showing his hand. He also knew that sometimes Crowley was just...Crowley.

“Crowley. Darling. Are you upset because white wings ruins your aesthetic?” 

“They bloody destroyed it!” Crowley shouted as he threw up his arms in defeat. “White wings! Six thousand years of black going with everything and then I get white wings dropped on me like a damn missile! Do you know what white wings go with, angel?”

“Cream and tartan?”

“Nothing in my bloody closet, that’s what!” As if to punctuate the point Crowley outstretched his wings again and pointed at them as if saying ‘see?’. And as much as Aziraphale hated to admit it Crowley was right. The white wings didn’t go with Crowley’s normal attire at all. 

Aziraphale struggled internally with his centuries of British politeness. “Now Crowley, they’re very...well maintained. Impeccable grooming as always, darling. All the feathers are pointing the right way. Yes. Very good wings.”

Crowley sunk into the couch. “That bad?”

“You look like a salesman's half-hearted costume for an office Halloween party.”

“You don’t have to rub it in, angel.” 

Crowley drew his wings close to his body, using them to create a feathery barrier between him and the rest of the world. Aziraphale had seen him do it many times, usually after humanity had done something awful or when a TV show he really liked ended. The worst part was that these sulk sessions could last months, if not years. Aziraphale had to do something to shake his now angelic-snake friend out of it before it got bad.

“I have an idea.” 

Crowley peered at him through his feathers. “Good idea, or bad idea?”

Aziraphale thought it over carefully in his mind before settling on “Stupid idea.”

***

It was an immensely stupid idea. So stupid that if any of their human friends were around, yes even the children, they would have sat the angel and slightly-different-angel down and explained why this was a stupid idea. Why it wouldn’t work. That feathers don’t work that way. Ink doesn’t work that way. That the world didn’t work on cartoon logic. But they weren’t there, which meant Aziraphale’s stupid idea worked perfectly.

“There! That’s the last one!” Aziraphale stepped back with brush in hand to admire his work. The ink had soaked through Crowley’s feathers, turning them that lovely shade of endless void they used to be. “Now we just have to wait for it to dry--”

Crowley snapped his fingers.

“--or you could be an impatient child and miracle them dry. Really, Crowley?” 

“Just because I’m all holy now doesn’t mean I’m into any of that patience is a virtue nonsense.” Crowley stretched his wings up and out, their feathers once more the color of the space between the stars. He twisted his wings as best he could, marveling at the way the bookshop’s dim light danced across the feathers. “They’re perfect, angel! Course we’ll have to do touch ups whenever new feathers come in but that’s a small price to pay for fashion. What do you think, uh, Aziraphale? You okay?”

Aziraphale stood there, brush still in hand, his lip trembling the way it always did when he was upset. “Crowley. Are you really okay with this? Being...one of us?”

Crowley took the brush from Aziraphale’s hand and dropped it into the large ink pot on the floor. “It isn’t like I’ve never been an angel before. Besides, I’m not with,” he waved his hand vaguely in the direction of heaven, “them. We’re on our own side, remember? I’m not with Heaven as an angel the same way I wasn’t with Hell as a demon. I just got to get used to this...holy-feeling.”

Aziraphale removed his cotton gloves and let them fall to the floor. “Wonderful, isn’t it?”

“It feels like someone handed me a baby lamb wrapped in a blanket and told me that if I drop it I’ll die.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

Crowley shoved his hands as deep into his jacket pockets could go before mumbling “Yeah it’s alright, I guess.” 

“I’ll just have to be a little bit more of a bastard to balance everything out.”

They smiled at each other, as they always did, right within arm's reach yet so far away. There had always been that barrier between them even as they stood side-by-side at the end of the world. A barrier that, in roughly thirty seconds, both men would realize wasn’t there anymore. Crowley reached the realization first, most likely because of those long dangly legs of his.

“I’m not a demon.”

“Yes, Crowley. We’ve established that.”

“I’m an angel.”

“Yes, Crowley.”

“Aziraphale, we’re both angels.”

Crowley may have reached the conclusion first, but Aziraphale was the first one to move. He closed the distance between them, happy to find that Crowley was already leaning down enough to welcome his angel with a kiss. When the world didn’t try to end again they followed it up with a second, a third, and then quickly lost count in the double-digits. They spoke between the gaps, neither man willing to let go long enough for proper dialog.

“I was afraid--”

“I thought we couldn’t--”

“What if Heaven found out--”

“What if you Fell--”

“What if it hurt you--”

“What if your saliva counted as holy water or something--”

“That’s not how it--”

“Doesn’t matter, not anymore--”

“I love you--”

“I love you so much, angel--”

“You can’t call me that anymore now that you’re,” Aziraphale suddenly pulled away, his eyes wide, “oh fuck, you’re an angel. If you’re an angel that means Heaven--”

“--Will find out.” Crowley said, slightly annoyed that the kissing had to stop for a bit. The second this conversation was done, however, they were going right back at it. “And Hell. Bugger all.”

Aziraphale reached up and tugged on Crowley’s jacket enough to pull him back down for a softer kiss this time. “Maybe we should beat them to it with an official announcement?”

“Angel, you got that right-bastard look in your eyes.” Crowley laughed, the holiness in his chest mixing in with the rest of his love. Once combined they settled in naturally, allowing the odd feelings to finally pass. “Another stupid idea?”

“Better. This idea is hilarious.”

***

There were angels missing in Heaven.

Gabriel flipped through the ledger again, as if the missing names would simply magically reappear. Oh look, those couple hundred names were just hiding in the index! Nothing to worry about here. No angels going AWOL and seemingly vanishing from Heaven’s gaze for good. But no matter how many times Gabriel went through the old ledger not a single missing-angel name popped up. The worst part was that it wasn’t like they fell because their name would have been scribbled out like the rest of the demons.

He paused mid-flip as an absolute terrible thought occurred to him. Some people thought Gabriel wasn’t smart, or a bit thick, or any other number of phrases that meant he wasn’t the brightest angel. This was only partially true. He--and many other angels--may have been clueless when it came to Earthly matters, but were very sharp when it came to celestial matters. That was why Gabriel returned to the first page of the ledger and began counting the scribbled out demon names. 

Two hundred and seventy-five were missing, the same amount as the missing angels.

Gabriel closed the book with loving care before pressing it against his face to muffle his screams. He found screaming very therapeutic. He couldn’t really curse at God as that was a big no-no, but he could scream to the universe at large about that damned angel and that double-damned demon and their damn-damn-bloody-damned ineffable plan and--

Gabriel’s scream session was cut off by his holy smartphone going off. He could scream at whoever was on the other side, he thought. Even better! Gabriel answered the phone and was just about to start bellowing when the person on the other end cut him off.

“GABE! WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO?!”

Beelzebub. Great. His eternity wasn’t going bad enough. “Beez--”

“DO NOT CALL ME BEEZZZZZZ!”

Gabriel took a deep breath before continuing with “Beez, if this is about the missing names in the ledger I’ll have you know I had nothing to do with it, Heaven had nothing to do with it, and if you actually sat down to read the thing you would see that there’s just as many angels missing as demons--”

“I didn’t mean that! I meant the pizzzzzzzza party!”

“The what?”

***

“The Pizzzzza party!” Beelzebub sunk down on their throne, phone in one hand and slice of pizza in the other. “Hell is full of pizzzza!”

There was a beat of silence on the other end before Gabriel replied, “What like, just lying around in piles or--”

“No! There’s, there’s tables! And streamers! Balloons! There are balloons here, Gabriel! In bright cheery colors! And there’s this one really long table full of different types of candy and and ice cream it’s supposed to be a, a,” Beelzebub lowered the phone just enough to shout “Ligur! What did you say it was called?”

“An ice cream sundae bar!” Ligur shouted back.

“An ice cream sundae bar!”

“Hold up, didn’t you tell me that Ligur was dead?”

Beelzebub shrugged even though they knew Gabriel couldn’t see it. “He showed up right before the trial. Said he just stopped being non-existent.” 

“I got better!” Ligur shouted again. 

(Of course Ligur was better. When Adam said he was going to put the world back together he meant it. That included any and all demons killed over the course of the week. There were also a lot more bees and whales than before but Adam figured no one would notice.)

“Anyway!” Beelzebub snapped, “No one down here did this so it must have been one of your lot!”

“My lot?! If you think any of ‘my lot’ would sully themselves with pizza and ice cream--”

“No but your lot is more likely to use their powers to create a pizzzzzza party large enough for all of Hell because they thought it was nice or something!”

“I am insulted! I will have you know there’s not a single angel up here who would waste even a drop of mercy for ‘your lot’ and you know it!”

“Well if it wasn’t me, and if wasn’t you, then...who…” Beelzebub let their voice trail off. Much like their counterpart, Beelzebub was not stupid. But they were a fly, and sometimes it took their brain a bit of buzzing around before landing long enough to connect the dots. 

“Fuck me.” Beelzebub said the exact same time Gabriel said “For fuck’s sake.”

It was at that moment Hastur popped out of the milling crowd of Hell and said “Hey boss? Ligur found a cake and uh, I think you need to see it.”

“Of course there’s cake.” Beelzebub said as they shoved their phone back into their pocket without bothering to hang up (Butt dialing was an invention of Hell after all). They wolfed down their slice of pizza disturbingly quick and followed Hastur through the crowd, eager to get this over with. If you asked why Beelzebub was impatient they would say something about needing the time to plot against this grand insult against Hell and all of its demons. They would not under any circumstances say because they wanted one of the cake’s corner pieces before a far less worthy demon claimed it. 

The crowd parted as Beelzebub swept through, giving them a clear path to this mysterious cake. Beelzebub was slightly disappointed to see that it was round, therefore meaning there were no corner pieces to claim. In just a few more minutes Beelzebub would be even more disappointed when they found out it was an angel food cake. But at that very second all they could focus on was the sprawling script written across the cake in flowing gold-frosting letters punctuated with a tiny angel wing on both sides.

He’s mine.

- A. Z. F.

***

Back in Heaven Gabriel didn’t hear Beelzebub’s frustrated scream on the other side of the phone because he was too busy staring at a sticker. 

He had no idea how he missed it during his numerous searches through the ledger. Whoever had placed it in the ledger did it in a way that it covered a name that could have been angelic or demonic scribbled-out.  It was absolutely hideous. A mess of holographic rainbows and sparkles designed to catch the light of Heaven at just the right angle to annoy Gabriel with its glare. The sticker also so happened to be in the shape of a black and red snake wearing sunglasses.

Gabriel couldn’t even find it in himself to scream. 

The door to Gabriel’s office opened as Michael stepped in with rather puzzled expression on his face. “Gabriel, I apologize for interrupting but I just got word from my informant that there’s been a massive miracle performed in Heaven and Hell and I wanted to speak to you about--”

Michael stopped talking. Odd.

“About…?” Gabriel asked as he finally tore his eyes off the garish sticker. Michael was staring at him. “About what?”

No, he thought, Michael wasn’t staring at him. He was staring up and over Gabriel’s shoulder. Dread pooled in Gabriel’s stomach as he turned around in his heavenly office chair to see what was behind him. 

There, right on the back wall above his desk, was a large portrait of The Serpent of Eden, Tempter of Mankind, Boyfriend of That Angel We Don’t Talk About, and a General Royal Pain in the Ass, Crowley. He was grinning from ear-to-ear, shooting double fingerguns to make it absolutely clear that he was far cooler than anyone looking at the painting. Aziraphale was there too, pressed up against the serpent’s side with his head propped up on Crowley’s shoulder. And there, under the painting, was a shining golden plaque with a single line engraved across its surface in a style that Gabriel didn’t know, but any Earthbound human would recognize immediately as comic sans. 

ANGEL OF THE MILLENNIUM - ANTHONY J CROWLEY

Gabriel didn’t bother to muffle his screams this time.

[wanna-b-poet31]

Aziraphale and Food

So, stick with me for a moment: Why do we almost universally essentialize Aziraphale into a glutton? 

Like yes, he eats, and yes, to our knowledge he’s the only known celestial creature (Christs and Anti-Christs notwithstanding) to eat on screen, but he never really eats to excess. In fact, I don’t think he eats food because he’s a hedonist (I mean he is a hedonist, but maybe not for this), BUT rather because it provides him an excuse to be with Crowley. 

Sounds ridiculous right? It shouldn’t be right, right? We see Aziraphale eat alot over the course of the show, we see him enjoy eating, and we never see Crowley eat ever. So, it can’t all just be a ploy to be with Crowley?  Right?

I mean he certainly enjoys eating, I’m not fool enough to say he isn’t getting any pleasure from dining out.  Just look at his face as he appreciates the sushi! Joy! 

And this calm, happiness follows Aziraphale when later in Ep. 1, Crowley takes him to the Ritz in an attempt to persuade him to save the world.  And, to celebrate surviving the end of the world with his boyfriend best friend, the first thing they do once they’re free, really free of Heaven and Hell and their abusers, is going to the Ritz. 

So I’m not proposing that Aziraphale doesn’t eat, or that he doesn’t get any enjoyment from eating >I mean look at how his face falls he is When Gabriel asks why he’s eating food, proceeding to call it “gross matter”, and eating it “sullies” his heavenly temple.  It’s straight-up heartbreak, as Aziraphale glances down at his spicy tuna roll.  (and let’s not forget or excuse that what Gabriel is doing here is abusive) <

However, if Aziraphale’s interest in food is simply selfish or gluttonous, then we must have seen him eat plenty of times without Crowley or the expectation that eating would be a vehicle for their social interaction.

We don’t.

AZIRAPHALE + SUSHI

Just think back to the above scene that establishes Aziraphale’s character. 

This is the only scene with Aziraphale and food that does not include Crowley. And sure, he is alone in a sushi place, before being rudely interrupted by Gabriel’s garbage attitude. Crowley doesn’t isn’t there now, he’s not ducking under the table, or jumping out the window, or materializing himself anywhere else but there to avoid being seen by Heaven. So, clearly, this must be proof of Aziraphale’s undying attachment to food. 

Case Closed.  Diagnosis: Gluttony plain and simple.

However, if this is true, how do we explain his peculiar behavior in this restaurant? 

For starters, immediately after receiving his food, he’s striking a conversation with the chef -- a chef who knows his NAMEd, not Mr. Fell, not some pseudonym, not simply addressing him like another customer, but as a friend (at least an acquaintance).  Perhaps even more telling is not that Aziraphale and the Chef know each other, but that Aziraphale -- I’m a bit out of Practice is French IN FRANCE -- has gone out of his way to learn Japanese to converse with this person, treating him with the respect of a friend, not someone who is here simply for food alone. This is social. 

Then there is a small chime, indicating a supernatural presence has entered the building. (We hear the same chime when Crowley rescues his ass from a guillotine) And notice how unsurprised he is by the sudden supernatural presence. He’s expecting a guest.

Couple this information with Crowley’s behavior at the graveyard (he acts like he wants to get the hell out of Dodge even before he’s tasked with delivering the Anti-christ like he’s got a prior engagement) and the knowledge that the A40 goes straight through Soho.  

I think it’s reasonable to conclude that he’s expecting Crowley. 

Notice how he pointedly looks to his left upon hearing the magical chime.  We see in the next (below) shot, that he’s not turning to the door, but to a mirror.  So why look there if not because Crowley always is on his right?

His face instantly drops and an overjoyed expectant look turns to a terse, forced polite smile when he sees Gabriel, not Crowley, has joined him. And while he defends eating, we don’t see him eat (even after Gabriel leaves). I think, perhaps unintentionally, this is the scene that tells us why Aziraphale eats. 

Pretext.

AZIRAPHALE’S SOCIAL CALL, CROWLEY’S BUSINESS DEAL

Let’s look at the first time (temporally) we see Aziraphale broach the idea of food. In the early years and in Heaven, Aziraphale doesn’t volunteer any interest in food or social interaction. However, in Rome, things are clearly different.

>check out where I purpose Aziraphale falls in love with Crowley in Rome here<.

Notice how in the opening shot, Aziraphale isn’t eating. There’s no drink in his hand, no grapes in his mouth, nothing to indicate that he has been eating, or socializing.  When suddenly!! He hears a voice, and stops, his game piece hovering over the board as he realizes Crowley is nearby. 

Only when after he approaches Crowley, does food enter the conversation Hearing Crowley order gives him the perfect in, the clearly acceptable, casual social relationship that no one could question.  He can see that Crowley, like him, has changed and that the demon is giving him limited responses, barely joining the conversation. 

Aziraphale tries-- he honest to God tries -- to start a conversation without pretext, without some kind of excuse to join in the welcome, and frankly comforting, company.  He asks “still a demon” trying, oh so haphazardly, to make it about work, kind of like when someone is asking you about the weather, and it blows up in his face, earning him the wrath of his friend. He simply can’t be the one to initiate business conversations because it, as a pretext for their relationship, is always off the mark, and comes across as dismissive of Crowley’s demon identity. 

Only when he talks about food does he manage to get Crowley to open up, and accept his presence. He gives Aziraphale the all-clear to continue talking to him, and Aziraphale fucking jumps on it.  It’s extra fascinating how both parties leave this scene with two radically different uses for food. For Aziraphale, it is a safe pretext to get Crowley to open up, but for Crowley, it seems to be Aziraphale’s main interest, not him. 

Crowley also doesn’t seem to get that Aziraphale is not equipped to talk shop, and needs the security in being in a sanctioned social interaction.  Friendly talks like the ones they’d shared earlier were comforting to Aziraphale, getting him to open up in a way that no other character had successfully managed.  He means for this, and more importantly, he NEEDS this to be social. To be a kind of friendship, partnership, that he doesn’t get from Heaven. There’s security in being casual, social, and nothing more than that. 

However, Crowley can’t talk about himself in any meaningful way. He mentions he’s never had oysters before, his sarcasm missing Aziraphale only to have him be surprised when Aziraphale tries one last jab at the business talk. The “let me tempt you” gets his attention, but he doesn’t relax until Aziraphale, “no, I suppose that’s your job”, or when Aziraphale diverts the conversation back into their work.  

Both walk away from this conversation thinking “yes, I know how to talk to him now” Except, they don’t. Aziraphale doesn’t recognize Crowley uses their work as a catalyst, and Crowley doesn’t recognize that for Aziraphale food is a catalyst, not the product, he desires. 

A MISCOMMUNICATION

When Crowley asks for a “favor”, a work lunch, we can see how the two fundamentally misunderstand how food is being used, and how the other thinks food is being used.

The whole exchange about the crepes, boils down to Crowley opening the door with “remember that work favor?” and Aziraphale responding with “I don’t remember the work pretext, but I remember sharing crepes with you”. 

Notice it’s not I had crepes, nor is it a focus on the food itself. It is Aziraphale emphasizing the shared part of the shared experience, not the details (which we get to see by the way) of being rescued or of accusing Crowley of starting the revolution, and Crowley explaining that neither side had started it, but the humans had.  All Aziraphale cares about is their relationship, but can only safely use food as his point of reference because it allows him to share time with Crowley.  

Contrast this with how Crowley’s perspective. Even just asking if it was one of Heaven’s or Hell’s is cementing the conversation as a work lunch, reminding Aziraphale (and perhaps himself) that they’re only allowed a professional relationship, not a social one, and he gives himself the pretext of work.  Neither recognizes that there is a cross in the symbolism. 

THE SHIFT

Things do shift, at least for Aziraphale, and food works a second role. Romance.

In the 60′s Aziraphale doubles down on using food to facilitate his relationship with Crowley because now he explicitly us that, “He can’t have [Crowley] risking [his] life, not even for something dangerous” which I think means “I’m afraid of our relationship without the pretext and safety that food has provided us me.” The danger is having their mutual feelings of love being discovered, so he’ll give Crowley the holy water as a symbol of that trust.  

But when he continues as uses food to roadmap a relationship free of the pretext, “Maybe one day we’ll go for a picnic, dine at the Ritz” is indeed a literal example of what their relationship could be but it also acts as a promise that “Maybe, one day we can go on a picnic, or dine at the Ritz without the excuses, and simply be us enjoying food, not us using food as a safety net”. It’s a road map that he will continue with the pretext, and he’s alright if Crowley is tired of using it to be around each other, but he needs it, not always, not forever, but for now, it allows him the comfort that he is protecting Crowley’s safety (as well as himself). 

Crowley counters this moment with, “I’ll take you anywhere you want to go”  which I argue translates into “I will dismiss the pretext now in a heartbeat, I’m not afraid of the consequences, I could ‘eat’ with you now”, but Aziraphale can’t risk it. “You Go too Fast for me Crowley” is a warning that he can’t have Crowley risking his life for him. We talk often about how Crowley has self-esteem issues, but so does Aziraphale, he does not see himself as being worthy of such a risk. So, he needs the pretense of food to function without (much) worry about what Hell would do to Crowley if they were discovered. 

Unfortunately, they’re not speaking the same symbolic language, and as pointed out earlier, their wires are crossed. 

CONCLUSION 

In the beginning of the show, Crowley uses “no more fascinating little restaurants where everyone knows your name” specifically as a selling point, appealing to his presumption that Aziraphale’s love of food outweighs his love of the demon. He’s seen Aziraphale eat, and enjoy himself, clearly, at least Crowley thinks this tactic is reason enough to get Aziraphale to stay.  Which points to the fatal flaw of Crowley’s reasoning.  He only uses it because saying “we’ll never be able to talk to each other again” doesn’t even register as something he can say because he doesn’t value himself as enough for Aziraphale to consider saving the world. Food, however? Food has acted as a catalyst for understanding, but Crowley mistranslates “catalyst” for “produce” and presumes that because Aziraphale uses food to talk to him, he must love food, and not him. He’s wrong.

It’s not until they both throw out pretext and realize “shit, the song and dances we’ve been doing have not allowed us to rely on each other in the way we need” that they can move forward. And, after Armagedon’t they do just that, leaving the garden, and the remnants of their loyalties to other parties, and dropping all pretext, and just enjoying each other’s company as equals. 

Ending the series at the Ritz, celebrating their closeness is likely not the last time they’ll ever share a meal, but it is likely the last time they will under the pretense that food is Aziraphale’s central desire and not Crowley.  Sure, food is something Aziraphale mostly enjoys, but it no longer is an excuse. If he eats, it’s for enjoyment and personal choice, not a means for hiding or protecting Crowley anymore. And for Crowley, “tempting” Aziraphale to a bite of lunch without the expectation of a favor, or repaying a favor, removes his similar reservations about pretext. He no longer has to rely on work to simply “be” with Aziraphale. 

TLDR: Aziraphale uses food as a social excuse to spend time with Crowley

Thanks for coming to my TedTalk, next time I’ll write too much about Crowley and retraumatization

[lei-sam]

Hello you art is amazing! Was wondering if you have any fic recs for good omens? Or fav authors?

Hi there!! Thank you so much! I really appreciate the comment!!

Oh wow! I feel really honored, no one has ever asked me about my fave fics, but I’m more than happy to oblige! Here’s a list (in no particular order) of some of my all-time favorites!!

Flowers From The Grave Of Our Friendship by WaitingToBeBroken

Summary: Crowley is very good at temptation, not so good with what comes afterwards. Aziraphale knows demons don't love so he is happy to take anything Crowley would give him. Both of them are too blind to realize the thing they want is right in front of them. ______________________________________

Slow Show by mia_ugly

Summary: In which temptations are accomplished, grand romantic gestures are made, and two ineffable co-stars only take four seasons of an award-winning television program to realize they’re on their own side (at last, at last.) ______________________________________

The Stars Walk Backward by Beckers522

Summary: The year was 1926. Anthony J. Crowley and his wife were in need of a tutor for their young son Adam. Dozens applied for the job, but only one stuck out above the rest - a kind bookshop owner from Soho. It was impossible for Anthony to know during their first meeting how much of an impact Ezra Fell would have on his family or, more importantly, how much of an impact Ezra would have on his heart. He wasn’t certain of much anymore, but one thing was for sure, Crowley knew he would never be the same again. _________________________________________

Car Trouble by summerofspock

Summary: Aziraphale’s car breaks down so he takes it to the first mechanic he can find. From there, his mundane life changes drastically as he finds himself befriending the man fixing his car. _____________________________________________

Angleterre by Scusi

Summary: 1793 - Aziraphale hadn't always been so cautious of loving Crowley. For the longest time Crowley excuses himself for the simple fact that he's a demon. After Armageddon, well, it has been a long time since Crowley has regretted it all. ______________________________________ 

how big the hourglass, how deep the sand by bibliocratic

Summary: After the Apocalypse, and with characteristic slowness, both Crowley and Aziraphale think there might be something they need to sit down and talk about. And then Aziraphale disappears. ______________________________________

The Sandford Flower Show by Mussimm

Summary: Crowley had waited six thousand years, kept it all in check. But this was the slipperiest slope he’d ever set foot on and as soon as he’d indulged in a few discretionary acts of kindness he was falling face first into pining, tumbling into flirting, about to dislocate his knees on the sharp rocks of intimacy. Was this really it? What he had waited six thousand years for? A stupid flower show? Aziraphale wasn’t pulling away from him. Maybe… maybe this time he wouldn’t? Maybe they’d hold hands again. Maybe tonight with a bottle of merlot in them he’d finally work up the courage and just kiss him and he wouldn’t pull away. The very moment he’d thought it he spotted the problem at the flower show. _________________________________________

Flowers for Anthony by Atalan

Summary: Crowley didn't look up immediately when he heard the shop door open; he was just in the middle of finishing off a complicated bouquet, and the blasted ribbon was being difficult about things. "Just a sec," he said, scowling as the end slipped away from him again. There was a pause. And then a voice, softly, "There you are." An unusual customer walks into Anthony Crowley's flower shop with a very specific request. AU, series, complete, angst with a happy ending. ____________________________________________

Whatever a Moon Has Meant; Whatever a Sun Will Sing by Beckers522

Summary: There was a photograph, torn down the middle. Pieces scattered as far as the East is from the West. Thousands of kilometers separated them now, as the world fell to pieces around them. And yet, if someone were to look closely, if someone were to traverse the space between them and lay the folded and worn parchment flat on the table, if someone were to line them up just so, they might realize that the two pieces fit together like the pieces of a puzzle, Like the gears of a clock. Like a nut and a bolt. Almost as if they were made from the same stock. This is a tale of love and of loss. Of heartache and of hope. Told in three parts, follow Aziraphale and Crowley as they navigate the hardships of growing up, the horrors of war, and the miraculous wonder of finding love in the most unlikely of places. __________________________________________

So Hey, I Drew You In A Coffee Shop Before Christmas, You're Welcome by ServantOfMischief

Summary: Aziraphale decides to go to the coffee shop right by his bookshop just to relax a bit and read a book, even doodle a little bit if inspiration struck him. And inspiration just walked in the door in the shape of a redhead with the most ridiculous shades. ____________________________________________

Time is the Longest Distance by Beckers522

Summary: Six months had passed since the world hadn't ended and life was good. Life was more than good. It was more than nice. Life on Earth, here in his little corner of London, here with Crowley by his side was absolutely wonderful. Until the day that it wasn't. Until Aziraphale walked into Crowley's flat to find his best friend mysteriously discorporated with both Heaven and Hell staying silent on the matter. With Crowley trapped in Hell and Aziraphale unable to reach him, the pair set off to find their way back to each other. They will have to fight against Heaven, Hell, and Time itself to make their way back into each others arms once more. _______________________________________

A Curious Case of Miracles on Marlborough Street by akfedeau

Summary: After stopping the apocalypse, Crowley and Aziraphale finally take the next step in their six-thousand-year friendship. But when a spate of miracles sweeps across Soho and Mayfair, they realize their amorous escapades may have an unintended side effect. As they scramble to restore balance and an archangel arrives to investigate, Heaven and Hell’s messengers learn that you can never have too much of a good thing.

(That last one has some of the most beautiful fanart I’ve ever seen!!! it is top notch!!)

[theplatinthehat]

2019 Good Omens Fic Post

I didn’t think I could let the end of the year go by without celebrating some of my favourite Good Omens fics and authors that I’ve read over the last few months. This fandom has really encouraged me, and loads of others, to write some really amazing and fun work. I just wanted to say thank you to everyone who has made my time in this fandom something to be treasured – it’s been an amazing experience!

Consider this a love letter to the fanfic writers of this fandom. I can’t include everyone in the list, but if you write fanfic – thank you so much for the time and energy you put into this fandom!

  AUTHORS

Drawlight / @drawlight

Can you fall in love with a writing style? Because I honestly think I have. I, like many other, came across Draw’s amazing work after Michael Sheen tweeted about Salinity and now here we are! It’s been an absolute privilege to read the incredible fandom works by Draw, and we really have been blessed by his beautiful stories. I remember reading Salinity for the first time, and it totally took my breath away. Whenever I open it up to re-read I find myself taking a deep breath before diving in.

What I Love: My favourite thing about Draw’s writing is the way he weaves in references to music, poetry and other stories into his work (Hadestown makes a regular appearance). His writing often makes me very warm and very soft and are much like a literary hug after a long day.

Favourite Works: Salinity (And Other Measurements of Brackish Water); tell me who is victor; I Will Get Up Now And Go About the City

Atalan / @seaskystone

What. An. Author. Atalan has made me cry floods of tears and laugh until I’ve fallen out of bed! Their long-form stories are a particular favourite of mine, and whenever I get a notification that one of those has been updated I have to read it immediately (even if I’m in the middle of a lecture). Atalan is a superb writer in any style, and I cannot wait to read more of their work.

What I Love: I must confess, my favourites are definitely the comedies – their sense of humour is absolutely fantastic, and their witty writing style makes me grin like an idiot. I remember reading the opening chapter of ‘Instructions Not Included’ and messaging my sister to let her know that I had found the perfect fic.

Favourite Works: Pray for Us, Icarus (and check out this amazing video by @pinkpiggy93) and Instructions Not Included

JMA

My goodness where do I even start with this incredible author? JMA takes our favourite angel and demon and explores some intriguing and often dark concepts through them. JMA has a very erudite writing style, and I often find myself reading their work twice or even three times before I even begin to scratch the surface of what they’re saying. Absolutely beautiful prose – I can’t recommend enough.

What I Love: The fact that their work makes me stop and think. Each story is a rich tapestry, which you can admire as a whole, but each individual thread is beautiful in its own right. JMA also has excellent command of both plot and character, which I love.

Favourite Works: Rebuild you from clay (the full series is worth a read in my opinion). You might also like Suffer the Children, which was written in collaboration with Ineffable_Plans

weatheredlaw / @weatheredlaw  

I think it’s safe to say that weatheredlaw is the champion of the AU. There’s not a world that they can’t turn their hand to, and not a setting that they can’t describe in vivid detail. Weatheredlaw is an absolute pro at making me feel all sorts of things, and honestly, it was their fic that made me go ‘Oh, I see why people ship the Bookshop and the Bentley’.

What I Love: What’s not to love in weatheredlaw’s work? If I had to pick a favourite thing, it would absolutely have to be their descriptions. This comes across particularly well in ‘with all your delights’ where the descriptions of the south were so eloquent that I thought I might be able to crawl through the screen and join Aziraphale and Crowley there.

Favourite Works: with all your delights; dream to me

racketghost / @racketghost

I only discovered racketghost’s work recently and I only have one question – how on earth did I manage without their writing in my life before? Oh my goodness, their stories are absolutely marvellous. The main body of their work imagines what Crowley and Aziraphale might have been getting up to during WWI – and let me assure you, they pull no punches.

What I Love: I absolutely adore their storytelling style – it’s fabulous. Their descriptions of war are unflinching, and feel so real. The relationship between Aziraphale and Crowley is explored so well, and their emotions are so well portrayed.

Favourite Works: Strange Moons

INDIVIDUAL WORKS

With Love, A Symphony – OneofWebs / @tantumuna

This is a beautiful tale of love and music. I remember when I first read this, I fell in love instantly. I have such a weakness for Crowley playing stringed instruments, and this gave me exactly what I needed. The exploration of Aziraphale and Crowley’s relationship through the different periods of music was just incredible. If you have an appreciation for classical music and slow-burn romance, this is the fic for you.

Full Circle – Hekateras / @futureevilscientist

Gosh, where do I even start with this series? The first two sentences grabbed me by the lapels and did not let go. An absolutely fascinating exploration into what happens at the End of Days – and beyond… This fic played my heartstrings like a fiddle and I loved every second of it. There’s a lot of angst, but it’s well worth sticking through until the end. I thoroughly recommend if you, like me, wonder what might happen if the Apocalypse comes round again.

Slow Show – mia_ugly / @mia-ugly_ugly

Is there anyone in this fandom that hasn’t read this fic? Well, if there are, here’s a reminder for you to set aside a day and devote it to reading this amazing story. This is a beautiful AU that imagines our favourite angel and demon as human actors; Avery Fell and Anthony Crowley. The narrative, the characterisation and the world-building are all absolutely stupendous, and like me you’ll be absolutely desperate to see Warlock on the screen yourself! Gosh, I don’t want to spoil this too much – go and read Slow Show! Now!

And once you’ve read that, be sure to check out the some faith remix of the fic by attheborder and curtaincall

Demonology and the Tri-Phasic Model of Trauma: An Integrated Approach – Nnm

Many of us have said that Crowley needs to go to therapy. But what would therapy with a demon actually look like? And what kind of a therapist would be able to unpack all that trauma? Meet Aubrey Thyme, professional psychotherapist. Nnm does a wonderful job with this story, and its equal parts humorous and heart-breaking. And the end… oh the end – I won’t spoil anything. You really must read this fic.

Acts of Service – seekwill / @jasmine-cottage-uk

Another stunning human AU. Aziraphale is a vicar, and Crowley is a mysterious bad boy that can’t seem to keep away, and Anathema is there being an absolute bad-ass, set in the heart of an inner-city community. What starts out simply turns out to be much more convoluted than I ever could have imagined, and there were points where I was literally at the edge of my seat! An intriguing story, with vibrant characters, told by an absolutely marvellous writer.

Made Flesh – rfsmiley / @redfacesmiley

What if two, were in fact three? This is the question that runs throughout this piece of work – where Crowley is shadowed by something that only Aziraphale can see. A thoroughly absorbing tale that explores the love shared by an angel and a demon, and how that love manifests itself. This story settles itself well within the 6,000 year canon, and is beautifully told. An absolute must-read.

The Demons Have the Phonebox – theplatinthehat

You didn’t think I could get through this list without a self-rec did you? I shan’t say much, but I will say that the overwhelming love and support I’ve had for this fic has meant more to me than you’ll ever know. Recommended reading for people who love Donna Noble, creative use of the English language and general hijinks.

[nicnacsnonsense]

I said yesterday that every single song on the Wicked soundtrack is a Good Omens mood, so today I went song by song, and yep, checks out. (I am going to be skipping three songs -- “I’m Not That Girl (Reprise)”, since as a stand alone song it is not meaningfully different than “I’m Not That Girl”; “Dear Old Shiz” since it’s only intended to transition us from the opening number which takes place at the end of the story back to the beginning; and “Finale” since it is just a reprise/combo of the previous song “For Good” and the next song (in the stories internal chronology) “No One Mourns the Wicked” and does not meaningfully add to either -- and I will be adding in “Wicked Witch of the East” which does not appear on the soundtrack.)

“No One Mourns the Wicked” -- Aziraphale (Glinda) talking to the Archangels (Chorus) about Crowley. “Nothing grows for the wicked/They reap only what they've sown”

“The Wizard and I” -- The general sentiment echoes Aziraphale’s continued faith in God, despite private doubts about Heaven and the Great Plan. “He'll say to me, "I see who you truly are/A girl on whom I can rely!" 

“What is This Feeling” -- Heaven (Glinda) vs. Hell (Elphaba) with the Chorus representing Christianity, on Heaven’s side despite neither ultimately being appreciably better than the other. Alternatively, there’s some solid Ineffable Bureaucracy feels if you’re into that. “There's a strange exhilaration/In such total detestation/It's so pure, so strong!/Though I do admit, it came on fast/Still I do believe that it can last/And I will be loathing, loathing you my whole life long.”

“Something Bad” -- Aziraphale (Elphaba) believing God will stop the Apocalypse. “If something bad is happening to the Animals/Someone's got to tell the Wizard/That's why we have a Wizard/So nothing bad....“

“Dancing Through Life” -- Fiyero’s opening section is very remiscent on Crowley’s policy on working and his efforts to tempt Aziraphale into the Arrangement. In that context, him coming to this philosophy after having been kicked out of schools in the past is a bit... painful. “Dancing through life, no need to tough it/When you can slough it off as I do.”

“Popular” -- This one is a bit harder to place, but I can imagine that if Crowley and Aziraphale had to teach each other how to do their jobs in service of the Arrangement, this is the kind of energy I imagine they’d bring. Alternatively, if you dial down the good-natured intentions and dial up the judgement and condescension, there are shades of Heaven/Hell (Glinda) wanting Aziraphale/Crowley (Elphaba) to be a proper angel/demon. “Don't be offended by my frank analysis/Think of it as personality dialysis”

“I’m Not That Girl” -- Crowley through 6000 years of pining, with the “that girl” he’s losing out to being Heaven. Though the general longing for someone you feel you can never have also has some pretty strong Aziraphale through 6000 years of pining vibes too. “ Ev'ry so often, we long to steal/To the land of what-might-have-been/But that doesn't soften the ache we feel/When reality sets back in “

“One Short Day” -- This is the background music every time during the 6000 years when Aziraphale and Crowley manage to sneak in some time to enjoy each other’s company just for the sake of it. “ And then, just like now, we can say/We're just two friends/Two good friends/Two best friends/Sharing one wonderful/One short day!”

“Defying Gravity” -- The main feel of the song has a lot of Crowley (Elphaba) immediately pre-Fall energy, but the conversation between Elphaba and Glinda in particular is very reminiscent of the bandstand. G:”Elphie, listen to me, just say you're sorry!/You can still be with the wizard/What you've worked and waited for/You can have all you ever wanted.” E:”I know/But I don't want it/No, I can't want it anymore”

“Thank Goodness” -- Aziraphale (Glinda) trying to put on a obedient and faithful attitude while dealing with his doubts about Heaven and his forbidden feelings for Crowley. “ And if that joy, that thrill/Doesn't thrill like you think it will/Still, with this perfect finale/The cheers and the ballyhoo/Who wouldn't be happier?/So I couldn't be happier”

“The Wicked Witch of the East” -- Most of this doesn’t connect much, and very little of it is sung, but this last bit here is absolutely Crowley (Nessa) sitting in the bar after the bookshop fire. “Alone and loveless here/Just the girl in the mirror/Just her and me, Wicked Witch of the East!/We deserve each other”

“A Sentimental Man”/”Wonderful” -- I combined these two because “A Sentimental Man” by itself is really short and doesn’t really tie in, but thematically it goes with “Wonderful” so I think it works with that context. One thing for this one is to keep in mind that in Christianity Gabriel is an Archangel, but he’s generally consider the messenger, which one would think would generally put him at the bottom of that top group, and yet in Good Omens he seems to have worked his way up to de facto leader of Heaven in God’s absence/silence. Making the Archangel Fucking Gabriel feel a lot like the Wonderful Wizard of Oz. Not to mention the general point about labels and history has a lot of Good Omens Heaven and Hell are basically the same thing with different names vibes. “There are precious few at ease/With moral ambiguities/So we act as though they don't exist”

“As Long as You’re Mine” -- Azcrow Saturday night “you can stay at my place” feels. Enough said. “ Say there's no future/For us as a pair/And though I may know/I don't care/Just for this moment/As long as you're mine/Come be how you want to/And see how bright we shine”

“No Good Deed” -- The bookshop fire. The first three-quarters or so of the song is Crowley running into the burning bookshop, desperate to find Aziraphale and being overwhelmed by how absolutely everything has gone completely wrong this week capped now with this, losing the love of his life. The last bit of the song transitions to Aziraphale up in Heaven completely done with all this bullshit and flipping the entire Host off on his way out. “Fiyero, where are you? Already dead or bleeding?/One more disaster I can add to my generous supply?”

“March of the Witch Hunters” -- This is literally just the Witchfinder Army’s theme song. “Go and hunt her/And find her/And kill her/Kill the witch!”

“For Good” -- Aziraphale and Crowley on Sunday morning as they wait for Heaven and Hell to come for them, not knowing if their plan will work or if they’ll ever see each other again. “ Who can say/If I've been changed for the better? I do believe I have been changed for the better/And because I knew you/.../I have been changed/For good.”

And there you have it. Every single song on the Wicked soundtrack is a Good Omens mood, fact checked and proven. Still compiling evidence for the “Stephen Schwartz is a time traveler who did this all on purpose” theory. I’ll keep you posted.

[lady-divine-writes]

Missing (Rated PG13)

Aziraphale is late for a meeting.

Late because he can’t find his coat.

And Crowley is being of no help whatsoever.

But he has his reasons. (1460 words)

“What are you … weren’t you just … where the Devil are you?” Aziraphale mutters, tossing the couch cushions one by one with a fervor that suggests he believes they’ve done him a great disloyalty.

Crowley, dressed in a t-shirt and lounge pants which would be wrinkled from sleep if not for demon, watches curiously from the doorway as Aziraphale turns his hostility towards another innocent piece of living room furnishing.

“It was here yesterday!” Aziraphale continues, storming over to the coat tree in the corner by the door and giving it a stern eye. “What have you done with it? Hmm? Have you eaten it?”

“Aziraphale?” Crowley calls from a safe distance, debating whether or not he wants to risk life and limb by getting in the angel’s way.

“What is it, Crowley?” Aziraphale snaps as he marches back to the sofa and violates the cushions one more time.

“Nothing. I was just wondering if there’s a reason why you’re ransacking the place.”

“I can’t find my coat! And if I don’t leave soon, I’m most definitely going to be late,” Aziraphale explains, barreling out of the living room, down the hall, and into the master bathroom.

Crowley snickers when he hears the commode flush. “I don’t think your coat has gone down the toilet, angel.”

“I don’t see why it couldn’t! I’ve looked everywhere else and it’s nowhere to be found!”

“Maybe you didn’t wear it when you came over last night.”

Aziraphale’s incredulous face pops out through the bathroom door. “Crowley, I’ve worn that coat every day for over one-hundred-and-eighty years! Why would last night be the exception?”

“Dunno. Just trynna help.”

“Then put your eyes to good use and look around, please! I’ve only got …” Aziraphale pops open his pocket watch and gasps “… fifteen minutes!”

Crowley shakes his head, overly amused by his poor angel who has gone so native he seems to honestly forget that a snap of his fingers can instantly transport him anywhere he needs to go. But what Aziraphale seems to like about living on Earth among the humans is the ritual of things – keeping to a schedule, making appointments, getting ready at a certain hour and being on time. He likes feeling a part of the flow instead of bouncing around along the outskirts the way angels and demons usually do.

“I can miracle you up an overcoat if you’d like.”

“I appreciate the offer,” Aziraphale says, rummaging through the drawers of Crowley’s vanity as if he expects to find his coat hiding betwixt a dozen bottles of expensive cologne, “but I’d like my coat, if it’s all the same to you.”

Crowley pushes off the wall he’s been leaning against and saunters over to his frazzled angel. “Yes, well, seeing as you can’t find your coat, and you’re obviously running behind, how about we stop being stubborn about things and you let me dress you just this once.”

Crowley puts his hands on Aziraphale’s shoulders to pause him but Aziraphale starts examining him, looking him over left and right as if he might have his coat tucked into the waistband of his thin, black pants. But when even he has to admit he’s being ridiculous, he abandons his search with a sigh.

“Yes, all right,” he says. “If you wouldn’t mind, that is.”

“Not at all. In fact …” Crowley leans in and gives his nose a peck “… it would be an honor.” He takes a step back, looks Aziraphale over from head to toe through thumbs and forefingers as if gauging his size, then snaps his fingers, pulling up from the floor with a dramatic flourish. He turns Aziraphale toward the mirror so the angel can see for himself, straightening his shoulders and pulling at the seams, tailoring the coat with each tug for a better fit. “Well … whaddya think?”

Aziraphale shifts side to side, giving the garment the scrutinous once over of someone with an eagle eye for fashion … which he has not. Not by modern standards anyhow. But all in all, he has no complaints. It’s not his coat but it’s similar, an updated rendition, a stylish enough replacement. And he likes it. He really does.

“It’s … it’s a fine coat,” Aziraphale marvels, holding his arms out straight to check the length of the sleeves. “But …”

“But what?”

Aziraphale grins at Crowley’s reflection in the mirror, wondering how he could have overlooked such a detail. “Black isn’t really my color.”

“Oh. Right. Habit.” Crowley snaps his fingers again, coloring the fabric a creamy eggshell. “How’s that?”

“It’s lovely, dear.” Aziraphale turns and kisses his cheek. “Thank you.”

“You’re … you’re welcome,” Crowley grumbles bashfully. Kisses he can handle. Thank yous he still has trouble with. “Anytime. Are you sure you don’t want me to go with you? I can have you there in thirty seconds.”

“That’s all right, my dear. You’ll be bored to tears.”

“Yes, I will. But I’ll be quiet about it.”

“Really? Is today not a day ending in y?”

“Ha … ha …”

“I won’t be but an hour or two.” Aziraphale gives himself one last look in the mirror, then hurries for the door. “Three tops. Now, if you see my coat around, please …”

“I’ll hang it up all nice and neat like. I promise.”

“Thank you.”

“Let me pick you up after, hmm?” Crowley says, catching Aziraphale by the wrist, delaying him a few seconds more. But Aziraphale doesn’t seem to mind this time. “We’ll go to the museum, have lunch in the square, go for a walk around the pond - make an afternoon of it.”

Aziraphale’s glowing smile is all the answer Crowley needs. “That sounds perfect.”

Crowley watches Aziraphale bustle out the door and speed-walk down the hall to the lift. He waits till it arrives and the doors slide open, then watches his angel step on. When the lift doors slide shut behind him, Crowley closes the door to his flat and becomes immediately aware that he’s alone.

Crowley has never felt lonely in his flat before. Of course, he hasn’t spent much in the way of quality time there. But it’s exceptionally lonely without Aziraphale. Quiet, too. Aziraphale may not be chatty all the time, but there’s a hum that fills the place when he’s around, constant but understated. It doesn’t needle at Crowley’s ears and annoy him. It’s comforting, like a handmade quilt, each stitch filled from end to end with love.

It’s happiness, Crowley realized not too long ago - a softly whispered hymn that follows Aziraphale everywhere, which makes Crowley’s flat seem deathly silent in comparison when the angel leaves.

Crowley decides to return to his other happy place – bed. For a few more hours anyway while he waits for Aziraphale. His angel always claims these Optimist Club meetings will take only a few hours, but the last one went over by three. Meh. Crowley doesn’t mind. Aziraphale enjoys them. He has friends there. Friends that appreciate brandy, books, cheesecake, and gossip almost as much as Aziraphale does. Besides, if he takes too long, Crowley will simply snap himself into something skin tight and crash the proceedings. That’ll get things moving along.

But for now – bed.

And before he does …

He takes a minor detour through his office. He strolls over to his desk and opens the bottom drawer – the largest one. He reaches in and, ever so carefully, pulls out Aziraphale’s coat. He holds it up by the shoulders and gives it a good long look. Aziraphale is going to be cross when he finds out Crowley swiped it, but Crowley had his reasons.

Good reasons.

He can’t think of them at the moment, but they’re good reasons, he remembers that much.

Crowley slips his arms into the sleeves as he walks to the bedroom and wraps himself up tight. The lapels overlap and he hugs them closed, burying his nose in the fabric and breathing in deep. It’s still warm. Somehow, even without Aziraphale wearing it for more than six hours, it’s toasty. And it smells like him – not just his cologne, but Aziraphale, Angel of the Eastern Gate, with a hint of himself thrown in. That’s probably the most thrilling part. After all the hugs they’ve shared, all the kisses, he’s managed to weave himself into the fibers of his angel’s favorite coat.

Crowley leaps onto his side of the bed and stretches out, rolling left and right with his arms wrapped around him until he’s trapped inside a snug hug of fabric.

‘Yup. This is nice,’ Crowley thinks as he snuggles in. ‘Not as nice as having Aziraphale here, but definitely the next best thing.’

Then he falls fast asleep.

[barely-counts-as-a-miracle]

Balancing Each Other Out

This story was inspired by @mielpetite‘s ineffable holiday drawing of Crowley at the ice skating rink.

Aziraphale slipped and wildly grabbed onto the wall for the 5th time. “I thought you said this was going to be fun.”

“It is fun.” Crowley lazily skated backwards watching Aziraphale’s progress. “I can’t believe in 6,000 years you’ve never gone ice skating before.”

Aziraphale slipped again.  “Never had a reason.” He hauled himself unsteadily upright.  “And,” he said stiffly.  “After this experience I don’t think I will be doing it again.”  He glanced over to Crowley still skating backwards.  “In fact, I don’t understand why I’m here now.”

“We have to keep an eye on the boy.”  Crowley jerked his head in the direction of a group of young children across the ice.

“Yes,” said Aziraphale, picking out the dark haired boy in the center of the group. “I understand that, but why do we both have to be here?”

“Balance each other out.” Crowley said nonchalantly.  He blew an errant strand of hair out of his face.

“Surely,” Aziraphale argued, still pulling himself along the wall of the rink.  “The boy can’t get into too much trouble on an outing with his friends.”

Crowley arched an eyebrow looking over his dark glasses.  “Angel, what have I told you? Children are chaotic, whether for good or evil, and remember I helped raise that one.  If you aren’t here it could tip the scales.   Besides, what happened to godfathers?”

Aziraphale sighed.  “You’re right.  I just wish I could stay upright for more than 15 seconds on these infernal things.” He looked down at the skates.

“Here.  Let me.”  Crowley turned and gracefully skated to stop next to Aziraphale.

Aziraphale closed his eyes waiting to feel the wash of demonic power.  When nothing happened after about 30 seconds Aziraphale opened one eye.

Crowley was standing with his hand outstretched, waiting for Aziraphale to take it.

“Oh.” Aziraphale stared at it before looking up at Crowley and firmly grasping it.

“I’ve got you, angel.” Crowley interlaced their fingers  “Let go of the wall.”

Aziraphale looked panicked, his hand involuntarily tightening on Crowley’s

“I won’t let you fall.”

Aziraphale nodded, still looking at Crowley’s face and let go of the wall.

Crowley skated forward slowly pulling Aziraphale with him.  “Just relax.  The skates and the ice will do all the work.”

“I did it!” Aziraphale said, completing his first circuit around the ice without falling or holding the wall.

Crowley smiled.  “You did.  Do you want to let go?”  Crowley knew he had to ask.  He was only holding Aziraphale’s hand out of obligation to keep him steady after all.

“Uh,” Aziraphale’s hand tightened in Crowley’s again.  “Better not.  Maybe after we’ve gone around a few more times?” He was smiling.  “This is actually starting to be fun.”

They had gone around the rink three times without Aziraphale falling when they heard a bunch of scattered pops on the ice a little ways away from them.

Aziraphale startled and stumbled in surprise at the noise.  “What was that?” He asked gripping Crowley, who was making sure he stayed upright.

Both looked in the direction of the noise.  “Shit,” Crowley cursed softly.  He had quite forgotten about the antichrist they were supposed to be keeping an eye on.

“Warlock.”  Aziraphale should have known this moment was too good to last.  They were here to do a job after all.

“Stay here.  I’ll go check it out.” Crowley let go of Aziraphale’s hand.

“Wait! No.” Aziraphale immediately started to lose his balance.

Crowley caught and steadied him.  “Sounds as if he is causing enough trouble already,” Aziraphale continued.  “I will investigate.”

“Angel,” Crowley said gently.  “You’re getting better at skating, yes, but I don’t think you’ll even make it to the edge of the rink to pull yourself over there.” He nodded towards the children as another round of pops went off on the ice and a few people fell over.

Aziraphale glared.  “Then help me over there.”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale said again when Crowley didn’t move.

“Right, right.  But,” Crowley paused.  “I think this is a job for Nanny to handle.”  He glanced around surreptitiously then squeezed his eyes shut, Nanny Ashtoreth taking shape.  

Aziraphale stared at her.  “What?” Nanny asked self-consciously, her voice still a blend of Crowley’s and her own.

“Nothing,” Another set of pops went off on the ice.  Aziraphale gave himself a shake and squared his shoulders.  Nanny swished her skirts and slipped her gloved hand into his and started moving them towards Warlock.  

Warlock was skating backwards, exactly as Nanny Ashtoreth had taught him when he was six.  He was throwing bang snap fireworks onto the ice by random passersby.  

Nanny was furious.  How dare that child ruin her outing with Aziraphale by using a prank that she herself had taught him.

Warlock and his friends laughed as he threw a few more of the noise-makers at a nearby doe-eyed couple making them spring apart.

“Watch this!” Warlock started picking up speed moving in a curve backward, not looking behind him at all.

Aziraphale saw it coming the moment before impact and closed his eyes.  There was a crash.  Warlock Dowling had knocked directly into both of them.

Aziraphale opened his eyes, he was miraculously still upright. He could feel Nanny’s demonic powers holding him steady even as she and Warlock were a tangle of fabric and limbs on the ice.  

Nanny was going to kill him.  She disentangled herself and straightened her glasses picking herself off the ice and drawing herself up to her full height.

Warlock, still a bit stunned from the fall, looked up from his seated position on the ice and froze in horror.  “N-nanny….”

“Warlock Dowling!” Nanny’s Scottish accent cut through the air and both Warlock and Aziraphale flinched.  “Just what do you think you are doing?!”

“I-” Warlock swallowed and glanced over at his friends, who were all staring at the scene opened mouthed.

“Well?” She put her hands on her hips.

Warlock scrambled up off the ice.  “I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want ‘I’m sorry.’ you know I can’t stand those, Warlock.  What. Were. You. Doing?”

Warlock looked down and muttered.  “Showing off.”

“And what do I say about showing off?”

“Not to do it unless I know I can pull it off without embarrassing myself.”  The sentence sounded rehearsed, like he had said it many times before.

“And looks like I was right.  Therefore,” Nanny peered at him over her small dark spectacles, showing a glint of her deadly snake eyes underneath.  “I think it’s time you and your friends go home.”

Warlock nodded in agreement and skated away quickly.

“And don’t let me catch you doing such nonsense again!” She called after him.  

Nanny turned her gaze to the onlookers that had gathered.  “What in Satan’s name are you all looking at?!” Everyone scattered and Nanny and Aziraphale were given a wide berth on the ice.

“Well,” said Aziraphale after a time his eyebrows raised.  “Looks like you were right about us needing to be here.” He was still standing without aid on the ice.

“Little punk.”  Crowley was still looking in the direction Warlock had gone.  He was returning to normal, Nanny Ashtoreth melting away.  “Using my tricks without me.”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes, unsurprised.  “I should have known.”

Crowley grinned and turned to look at Aziraphale properly.  “Where were we?”

Aziraphale rocked on his heels like he was on solid ground.  “I believe you were going to help me skate around one more time before I try to go around on my own.”  Crowley’s hand slid back into his own and Aziraphale felt the demonic power keeping him upright recede.

Crowley smirked wickedly.  “See I told you.  Ice skating is fun.”