#ornithologist aziraphale

[crowleysgoat]

folks its okay, there were only no nightingales because it was autumn/winter and the species is a summer visitor to the UK

source: RSPB

[riathedreamer]

Random Are We Meant to Read the Footnotes? facts without context.

Socrates gives Aziraphale "something equivalent to a mental blowjob".

Nina drinks hot chocolate from a wine bottle.

There's an ornithologist cryptic living in a bush in the park.

Muriel uses a salamander as a phone.

The movie "Mean Girls" helps Crowley with self-realization.

Maggie pulls a Weekend at Bernie's.

A pug attacks Sandalphon.

Magic jazz hands ends the age of vikings.

[loxare]

Good omens 2 ep 1 thots under the cut!

CROWLEY LOOKS!!! SO HAPPY!!!!!! MAKING HIS NEBULA!!!!!!!!! I'm so sad he got the wind taken out of his sails. And I know exactly how much trouble he got in just for asking a few questions. Theory: God is omniscient, and as such knew Crowley needed to be a demon to save the Earth. It sucks, but it's growth for both him and Aziraphale, who needed to learn to duck around the rules, and growth tends to hurt. I'm just sad Crowley got hit that hard

Aziraphale only valid landlord???

Crowley ornithologist?????

Wait, why is the mail getting delivered to the Bentley rather than Crowley's apartment? What happened to his plants? Is he just never in his apartment so it's better to deliver to the car?

Record shop coffee shop ff slow burn

John Hamm's john & hamms are on display

This is unrelated to GO but I made wonton soup to eat while watching this and it is very good. Mmmm

Those poor tomatoes

Aziraphale's music interrupted by nudity and amnesia

Oh god heaven still hurts my eye holes. So shiny

No one tell naked amnesiac Gabriel about the existence of twins

Someone get him some pants. Aziraphale please get him some pants not just a blanket. What if he stands up?

Trailer ship bait line is a good line. Aziraphale thinks of Crowley and goes all soft

"The thing" is probably the box that was doing a lot of heavy lifting to keep this show PG, that was also dropped when the door opened and left in the street. Someone should probably go pick that up before someone else takes it

Ah. Good, it's still there

Oh her name is Shax. Neat! I love Crowley's hair swirlies. The ones on top. They're nice

Gabriel's Jim's terrible short term memory will absolutely be remembering Gabriel and not retaining anything else

The reaction to a bit of litter in heaven is killing me

So Crowley is one of those coffee drinkers. Also, if I were the record shop lady, I'd bake Aziraphale a thank you cake

Getting tired of writing out all the names, sk they're just A and C now

Oh no, the coffee shop lady is taken. Poor record shop lady

Blanket toga is not a substitute for clothes

I thought "ask him properly" would lead to some magic angel stuff, not asking more aggressively

ARGUMENTS. I feel like A is playing on the time last season when C left, saying he was going to go to another galaxy (Andromeda?) and then ended up regretting that. To clarify, I'm currently paused so I haven't heard C's response yet so this entire paragraph could become moot

I feel like C's going through some stuff that he hasn't told A about

Man drinks six shots of espresso, spontaneously combusts, gets struck by lightning

The relationship and circumstances around these two shop keepers is so fanfiction. If they don't get together, I hope they can spend the time trapped in this coffee shop bonding and becoming besties. Also, there should be a manual override for the security system. Not having one is stupid, because of things like this. What if they were trapped in the record shop instead, and there was no readily available food? An internal manual override is crucial

I like Micheal's sleeve cuffs

Ooo, disabled angel!

Muriel I hope you get some confidence. And also I want your skirt

Small bit of litter confuses and confounds angels

Oh, wonder why Beelzebub got recast. (Don't go out of your way to look it up I don't care enough to check myself and definitely not enough to inconvenience someone else)

So. The conflict here is that C could give up Jim, get a promotion and that's a problem taken off his hands, but A would be mad at him. Or, he could do not that and risk both him and A getting erased from existence entirely, which will uh, make it so the apocalypse last season did not get stopped. Oh boy

Oh this coffee shop lady does not care for records. At all

Crowley "my bad" actually made me die laughing so that was excellent and also my ghost is now typing this

Oh I do not care for the tone of Lindsay's texts. At all. Nina you deserve better. I do like the format of the texts coming up though. The paper and red pen makes it seem a lot more personal and angry and uh. Not good.

One of those said "remember what we said about mutual respect" and blowing up your partner's phone angrily because they're late isn't respect, which is necessary in the "mutual" bit of mutual respect. I would personally be concerned that something had happened. Maybe walk down and see if they're alright. Assume that their phone had died maybe, idk

A: glasses on. C: glasses off

"You were right" does not contain the word sorry and oh good, A knows that. Oh there's a dance? 👀

Why. Why do they do that. This is hilarious, but I feel like it makes it more difficult to apologize for things if there's a humiliating dance involved. Which also still doesn't contain the word sorry

Jim go back upstairs. Also, why does he still not have clothes?

See, in the trailer, Muriel didn't recognize Gabriel, and I thought that was just because they've never met. Interesting to see that, no, there's an active reason for that

Being persona non grata with heaven means A isn't allowed to do miracles anymore? Or just that the miracles he does are more heavily scrutinized?

Ah, the old "immediate proof that the last thing said was completely wrong" trope. Also, weird seeing heaven with a red filter

Ah. Bit of warning for people sensitive to flashing lights. I don't think this flashes fast enough, it's a hard cut between red filtered heaven and white heaven, with a second or two between each cut. But like. Go carefully. It only lasts for a bit and there aren't too many interesting visuals during it. Right after C says "no one will have noticed a thing", stops when Uriel asks for the alarm to stop

Oh A. Can't stay out of trouble to save his life

All in all, I liked it a lot! I'm looking forward to the hijinks A&C get into, I really want to know why C's mood is so foul rn when he was generally cheery at the end of last season, or as cheery as he gets, wondering about all the empty boxes. One empty box is fine, but two? Suspicious. Hoping Nina dumps Lindsay, has a nice long recovery period where she can enjoy being herself, and then gets together with record shop lady, whose name I will remember sometime probably. But I'm out of soup, out of tea, and out of excuses to not pull nails from my wall, so I'm gonna go do that now

[bluebirdsongs16]

I get: vocabulary study and writing practice. You get: a mini Good Omens fic featuring post-s2 Crowley pining. Win/win? 😆

demesne (de-MAIN): land possessed or occupied by the owner himself, and not held of him by any subordinate tenant.

In modern use, The land immediately attached to a mansion, and held along with it for use or pleasure; the park, chase, home-farm, etc.

~270 words of demonic pining w/ hopeful ending under the cut 🐍💔

Crowley tried to avoid the bookshop, the same way he tried to avoid St. James’s and The Ritz. Berkeley Square hadn’t heard birdsong since That Day (to the utter bafflement of the local club of septuagenarian ornithologists).

He could go without boozy breakfasts and strolls around the duck pond. But the bookshop was different.

He was drawn there as if caught in the thrall of the most enticing temptation. But of course there was never the slightest hint of any demonic activity in the area. He made sure of it—if any agent of Hell even got it in their head to approach Aziraphale’s demesne, they would have him to answer to.

He, who had been previously been a nebula engineer, the architect of Original Sin, and a Viscount of Hell, now idled away his time circling Aziraphale’s block whenever the mood struck him. Which was more often than he would ever admit to. He had become the most pathetic beat cop Berwick Street had ever seen, driving the most overqualified of patrol cars.

”There goes the neighborhood / I’m gonna kill for your love!” the Bentley’s radio belted as he rounded the corner at a sedate, pedestrian-friendly twenty miles-per-hour. (Why hurry? It wasn’t like he had anywhere to be, or anything to look forward to. Not anymore.)

The unassuming two-story red brick edifice regarded him with stony indifference. And yet Crowley’s heart longed for the empty, shuttered facade to give way to soft lamplight gilding Aziraphale’s profile and Vera Lynn crooning away on the record player; endless nights with the best wine and even better company.

Armageddon could come again and Crowley would still be here, longing for a return to those days.

Seventy-two hours before the Second Coming, that’s exactly where Aziraphale found him.

[dunk-on-em-ao3]

The Warmth Found in the Stars

Delirious Avenues lit with the chandelier souls of infusoria from Pharoah’s tombstones

Every so often, if the night was fading into the early hours of the day, and if Aziraphale was especially gentle, Crowley would talk about his life before the fall. His existence upstairs, before he was sent spiraling downwards. His voice would be quiet, timid. He wouldn’t pick his eyes up off of the floor. He also wouldn’t talk about whether or not he was happy in heaven, or about the acts that led up to the actual falling. Any questions about those two topics would shut him down completely. Really, any questions at all would do that, unless they were worded very, very carefully.

But if Aziraphale was quiet (as he so often was), as the sun began to creep over the horizon, Crowley would begin to talk.

He would talk about his hand in creation. He was one of the chosen few angels to help create the stars beyond this Earth.

white-light district of lunar lusts

And even though his eyes were fixed firmly on the ground, Aziraphale could see Crowley’s eyes begin to light up as he described how it felt to shape whole planets, to gather the elements of the universe and the heat of his soul in his palms, to mix and press and pull them together until they became the stars the humans look up towards today.

He talked of Alpha Centurai most of all.

“It has three suns.” Crowley whispered one night, staring at the worn carpet of Aziraphale’s bookshop. “One sun worked out so well for this one, I figured that three could only make everything better.”

“Were you right?”

“I was.”

Stellectric signs “Wing shows on Starway” “Zodiac carrousel”

One particular morning, when Crowley had not yet sobered up, he talked about the stars and he cried.

“I poured myself into their creation. Each and every one. I left bits of my own soul behind in each cloud of star dust.” He took a breath, tears streaming down his cheeks as he wept. He was sitting on one end of Aziraphale’s couch, his hands turned upwards in his lap. His glasses were gone, and he was looking at his hands as if they were holding something that Aziraphale couldn’t see. The angel was sitting on the opposite end of the couch. He wanted to be closer, but he was afraid of what would happen if he came near.

“But when I was up there, it was okay. I could see them. I could feel their warmth in my hands, I could feel them live.”

“We can go there, if you’d like,” Aziraphale whispered into the early morning light. “We can visit them again.”

“It’s not the same,” Crowley all but howled, sounding very much like the wounded creature that he was. “Up there, visiting them was like coming home. Now-,” he choked on his own words. “It’s like I’m a stranger to them. They don’t know who I am.” With that, he fell into himself, weeping bitterly.

The angel took a steadying breath and stood up. He walked over to Crowley slowly, giving the demon plenty of time to tell him to leave. No protest came.

Aziraphale sank to his knees quietly, wrapping his arms around Crowley’s legs. He rested his head on Crowley’s knees, murmuring soft nothings gently. The demon didn’t move, but instead wept harder. Aziraphale reached up with one hand to gently brush away the stars that fell from Crowley’s eyes.

Crowley didn’t speak for the rest of the night.

Cyclones of ecstatic dust and ashes whirl crusaders from hallucinatory citadels of shattered glass into evacuate craters

On a different morning, Crowley spoke of Saturn’s rings.

“Upstairs wasn’t overly fond of them at first, you know. Said it was too overly complicated, rings of ice and stone and what not. I don’t think She saw the point.”

“The point?” Aziraphale prompted. Crowley had his head in the angel’s lap, and he was slowly carding his fingers through his hair.

“Doesn’t have to be a point.” Crowley smiled, halfway asleep. “They were beautiful.”

Aziraphale smiled back, his heart melting like an ice ring that was thrown into the sun.

Distantly, a clock chimed five times.

“Why do you only speak of these things in the morning?” Aziraphale murmured, pulling the demon closer. “It’s only when the sun comes up that you want to talk.”

The smile disappeared from Crowley’s face. Aziraphale’s heart clenched. He had pushed too far, yet again.

“I am so sorry, my dear, I didn’t mean to-”

“I don’t want to see them.”

Crowley turned his whole body, pressing his face into the softness of Aziraphale’s middle.

“I don’t ever want to see them again.”

A flock of dreams browse on Necropolis

From the shores of oval oceans in the oxidized Orient

“You should be proud, you know.” Aziraphale held tightly to Crowley’s hand. They were walking back to the bookshop, and the night was late. The stars were shining brightly overhead, twinkling like Christmas lights. The moon was full, and the way it lit up Crowley’s hair was just about remarkable.

“Pride is a sin,” Crowley shot back, deadpan. His eyes were fixed firmly on the sidewalk, never once glancing upwards. Aziraphale knew better than to ask why.

“Not when it comes to something like this, my dear.” He pressed a gentle kiss onto Crowley’s hand. “Never for something like this.”

Onyx-eyed Odalisques and ornithologists observe the flight of Eros obsolete

And “Immortality” mildews … in the museums of the moon

An angel and a demon lie twisted together in their bedroom sheets. The bedroom window is open, and starlight is shining through. They are breathless, laughing, borderline giddy. Aziraphale pulls Crowley in once more, kissing his cheekbones, his nose, his forehead, anything that he can reach. Crowley scrunches up his face, making Aziraphale laugh again.

“I love you,” he whispers, in the darkness of the night.

Crowley gazes into his angel’s eyes, and he sees the stars reflected back.

“I love you too,” and his heart begins to heal.

Pocked with personification the fossil virgin of the skies waxes and wanes

[dunk-on-em-ao3]

Read Luna Baedeker by Mina Loy. The imagery takes me places. Maybe it'll inspire you to take the ineffable husbands places.

(A/N - Thank you so much @loudest-cricket! I hope you enjoy <3)

Delirious Avenues lit with the chandelier souls of infusoria from Pharoah’s tombstones

Every so often, if the night was fading into the early hours of the day, and if Aziraphale was especially gentle, Crowley would talk about his life before the fall. His existence upstairs, before he was sent spiraling downwards. His voice would be quiet, timid. He wouldn’t pick his eyes up off of the floor. He also wouldn’t talk about whether or not he was happy in heaven, or about the acts that led up to the actual falling. Any questions about those two topics would shut him down completely. Really, any questions at all would do that, unless they were worded very, very carefully.

 But if Aziraphale was quiet (as he so often was), as the sun began to creep over the horizon, Crowley would begin to talk.

He would talk about his hand in creation. He was one of the chosen few angels to help create the stars beyond this Earth. 

white-light district of lunar lusts

And even though his eyes were fixed firmly on the ground, Aziraphale could see Crowley’s eyes begin to light up as he described how it felt to shape whole planets, to gather the elements of the universe and the heat of his soul in his palms, to mix and press and pull them together until they became the stars the humans look up towards today.

He talked of Alpha Centurai most of all.

“It has three suns.” Crowley whispered one night, staring at the worn carpet of Aziraphale’s bookshop. “One sun worked out so well for this one, I figured that three could only make everything better.”

“Were you right?”

“I was.”

Stellectric signs “Wing shows on Starway” “Zodiac carrousel”

One particular morning, when Crowley had not yet sobered up, he talked about the stars and he cried.

“I poured myself into their creation. Each and every one. I left bits of my own soul behind in each cloud of star dust.” He took a breath, tears streaming down his cheeks as he wept. He was sitting on one end of Aziraphale’s couch, his hands turned upwards in his lap. His glasses were gone, and he was looking at his hands as if they were holding something that Aziraphale couldn’t see. The angel was sitting on the opposite end of the couch. He wanted to be closer, but he was afraid of what would happen if he came near.

“But when I was up there, it was okay. I could see them. I could feel their warmth in my hands, I could feel them live.”

“We can go there, if you’d like,” Aziraphale whispered into the early morning light. “We can visit them again.”

“It’s not the same,” Crowley all but howled, sounding very much like the wounded creature that he was. “Up there, visiting them was like coming home. Now-,” he choked on his own words. “It’s like I’m a stranger to them. They don’t know who I am.” With that, he fell into himself, weeping bitterly.

The angel took a steadying breath and stood up. He walked over to Crowley slowly, giving the demon plenty of time to tell him to leave. No protest came.

Aziraphale sank to his knees quietly, wrapping his arms around Crowley’s legs. He rested his head on Crowley’s knees, murmuring soft nothings gently. The demon didn’t move, but instead wept harder. Aziraphale reached up with one hand to gently brush away the stars that fell from Crowley’s eyes.

Crowley didn’t speak for the rest of the night. 

Cyclones of ecstatic dust and ashes whirl crusaders from hallucinatory citadels of shattered glass into evacuate craters

On a different morning, Crowley spoke of Saturn’s rings.

“Upstairs wasn’t overly fond of them at first, you know. Said it was too overly complicated, rings of ice and stone and what not. I don’t think She saw the point.”

“The point?” Aziraphale prompted. Crowley had his head in the angel’s lap, and he was slowly carding his fingers through his hair.

“Doesn’t have to be a point.” Crowley smiled, halfway asleep. “They were beautiful.”

Aziraphale smiled back, his heart melting like an ice ring that was thrown into the sun.

Distantly, a clock chimed five times.

“Why do you only speak of these things in the morning?” Aziraphale murmured, pulling the demon closer. “It’s only when the sun comes up that you want to talk.”

The smile disappeared from Crowley’s face. Aziraphale’s heart clenched. He had pushed too far, yet again.

“I am so sorry, my dear, I didn’t mean to-”

“I don’t want to see them.”

Crowley turned his whole body, pressing his face into the softness of Aziraphale’s middle.

“I don’t ever want to see them again.”

A flock of dreams browse on Necropolis

From the shores of oval oceans in the oxidized Orient

“You should be proud, you know.” Aziraphale held tightly to Crowley’s hand. They were walking back to the bookshop, and the night was late. The stars were shining brightly overhead, twinkling like Christmas lights. The moon was full, and the way it lit up Crowley’s hair was just about remarkable.

“Pride is a sin,” Crowley shot back, deadpan. His eyes were fixed firmly on the sidewalk, never once glancing upwards. Aziraphale knew better than to ask why. 

“Not when it comes to something like this, my dear.” He pressed a gentle kiss onto Crowley’s hand. “Never for something like this.”

Onyx-eyed Odalisques and ornithologists observe the flight of Eros obsolete

 And “Immortality” mildews ... in the museums of the moon

An angel and a demon lie twisted together in their bedroom sheets. The bedroom window is open, and starlight is shining through. They are breathless, laughing, borderline giddy. Aziraphale pulls Crowley in once more, kissing his cheekbones, his nose, his forehead, anything that he can reach. Crowley scrunches up his face, making Aziraphale laugh again.

“I love you,” he whispers, in the darkness of the night.

Crowley gazes into his angel’s eyes, and he sees the stars reflected back.

“I love you too,” and his heart begins to heal.

Pocked with personification the fossil virgin of the skies waxes and wanes

(A/N- Thank you for reading! This will be up on AO3 shortly <3)