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droids-in-disguise · 1 year ago

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Good Omens 2 making me think a lot about religion and religious deconstruction.

For context, I grew up Baptist, went to Catholic school for jr. high, and attended a private Christian school for my undergrad.

I grew up being told that the Bible was the ultimate source of truth, that is was the guidebook for our lives as Christians, and that, most importantly it should be taken literally.

I started wrestling with the concept of queerness when I was in jr. high. By then I had joined tumblr and had a best friend who was openly pan. But it was still a problem, because my church's reading of the Bible was that being gay was a sin. I existed very much in that "hate the sin, love the sinner" space that so many Christians seem to think is the appropriate answer. I also realized that despite being told that my church was doing Christianity the "right" way, these Catholics seemed to be just as sure in their conviction that they were doing it the right way.

In high school, I could sometimes privately admit to myself that the label "asexual" felt good, but more often than not I would lie to myself and say I was just too busy with grades and extracurricular activities to commit time to dating boys. I certainly never came out to anyone.

Ironically, it was the theology classes I took in college combined with the freedom of living away from my parents that helped me to finally realize that the Church as I knew it did not have the final say.

I learned that Biblical canon was not always set in stone and that it varies from denomination, that Hebrew and Greek words can have more than one translation or even no direct translation in English, I learned about liberation theology, and about womanist/feminist interpretations of scripture. Outside of theology class I took classes focused on Islamic history and literature. I had conversations about faith with my Muslim, Jewish, and Pagan peers. I met queer people who were both queer and Christian and who didn't see these identities as conflicting.

I had an old, hardass British lit professor who said something once during our study of Paradise Lost that I'll never forget, and that was that he believed God was like a diamond or some other precious gemstone, and that that all the different groups of Christians, Jews, and Muslims were all just seeing different facets of the same thing. Apparently this statement was something he had once told university higher-ups and it nearly cost him his job.

Despite all the deconstruction and the private acknowledgement that the church I grew up in did not have a monopoly on truth, I still went to church for years after. I did have the good sense to stop going to my parents' church and found one that was much more progressive and openly accepting of queer people, but even still it was hard to separate how much of me was there because I wanted to be there and how much was out of obligation or some sense of needing to reclaim my now tarnished view of the Church. I'm not sure where I sit now, only that I don't think I can be the one to create change from within, I am too damaged and tired for that.

All of this is why I think I relate so deeply to Aziraphale and the journey his character has undertaken, and why claims that he behaved out-of-character in the finale or that his coffee was drugged irritate me so much, because in another universe where I'm Aziraphale, I could see myself doing and saying the exact same things.

Letting go is hard, it's been painful and traumatic for me, I can't imagine what it would be for a being like Aziraphale with a much longer history.

There's such a strong desire to believe that it's only some of the Church that's bad and that if we have enough good people on the inside we can change it for the better.

Aziraphale has been hurt by Heaven and he's realized that Heaven is just as capable of doing bad as Hell (in many ways what Heaven does is more sinister because they won't admit to the bad and hide behind the façade of goodness and moral superiority), but he's a people pleaser and he's been an angel for so long, he can't just let go of his community and everything he has ever known no matter how poorly he has been treated by said Heavenly community. So then he gets this offer, work for Heaven, be in charge, make a difference. He can keep Heaven and Crowley, have his cake and eat it too. Of course he takes the job.

Crowley has had the outsider perspective for longer, he was the first to start asking questions. Perhaps there was a time when he too would've said yes to the Metatron, but now he knows better.

"We don't need Heaven, we don't need Hell. They're toxic!"

Aziraphale hasn't reached the same level of understanding that Crowley has, that no matter how many times he goes crawling back, Heaven will never truly accept him or be the place for him.

They way this story has been told over the past two seasons has been magnificent. Just as I can pinpoint all the different moments in my life that have helped to unravel what I thought I knew, we as the audience get to watch Aziraphale have these revelations too. In the first season we have the ineffable plan and this idea that armageddon is necessary and that Aziraphale shouldn't be the one to question it, but he does question it because he loves humanity, sees their goodness, and can't understand why a good God would allow them to be destroyed.

In season two, I found the bits surrounding Job to be especially poignant. First the shock that Heaven would condone the killing of children, then the realization that Crowley wouldn't kill the children or the goats going against his demonic "nature" proving Aziraphale's assumptions wrong, and finally the fear that lying would make him into a demon and the surprise when this turned out not to be true.

I have a feeling that by the end of season 3, when we get it, we will have the satisfaction of seeing Aziraphale and Crowley finally on the same page and I for one can't wait.

#good omens #good omens s2 spoilers #good omens 2 #good omens spoilers #good omens season 2

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roxannepolice · 1 year ago

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Venting in a Aziraphale and the Master have certain similarities and it's not just about dialectic eroticism with David Tennant (and being foodies 👍) way, but...

man is there something similar about the audience raging about how Aziraphale choosing heaven was ooc, bc poor bby was simply scared and brainwashed all those years by bad bad *checks notes* metaphor of abusive religious sects and toxic bosses Gabriel on the one hand, and on the other the fanon I personally hate but politely don't comment on about how the Master is the way they are bc bad bad Time Lords society that's *checks notes* exclusively a metaphor of imperialist Britain and Rassilon specifically of an abusive father (now add sprinkles of Tecteun's nonexistent relationship with the Doctor to the picture), and surely the moment either of them would be presented an alternative they would immediately grab it.

Boi. If your grown ass character that's existed for hundreds if not thousands of years among various peoples and cultures holds onto a certain outlook on life then it's no longer brainwashing only an actual part of their personality. AND THAT'S OK, CHARACTERS HAVING AND REPRESENTING CERTAIN PHILOPHIES AND ATTITUDES IS A GOOD THING, EVEN OR ESPECIALLY IF A CHARACTER YOU LIKE HAS AN OUTLOOK YOU DON'T LIKE. Just. Let eldritch horrors be responsible for their choices not uwu bbies that just need their skinny assed dialectic counterpart to confess love.

While we're at it, allow me to quote a professor of philosophy and theology from one of the oldest universities in the world: Dialectics is when three drunk people go down the road and one is staggering downwards, one is staggering to the sides and one is staggering backwards but so long as they hold onto each other they stagger forwards.

#tw: negativity #as always hidden under a cut #murmured it before will murmur it again post saxon masters were neutred of philosophy to make them more palatable #like sometimes people say missy wasn't evil enough or spymaster is a complete joke but in reality neither is new to the master #what is new is that their killings are so random and purely emotional there is no room for interpretation #and for universe's sake i trust neilman won't do anything comparable with aziraphale #cultural ramblings #spoilers

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d20owlbear · 4 years ago

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WIPs Meme

As the progenitor of the McWips lineage, i take my tags by @sevdrag and @goodnightmoonvale with little to no grace.

Just remember, y’all fukkin ASKED for this (bolded the ones that are in progress but partially posted)

**Rules: post the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. send me an ask with the title that most intrigues you and interests you and i’ll post a little snippet of it or tell you something about it!**

Read More cause there’s like... 100 here

Single WIPs

Love and Joy and Happiness

Wives Exchange: [redacted, it’s a secret but i have the recipient here]

The Siren in Yon Garden

As You Wish

Kinkmeme Prompts and Fills

Blasphemy

For Ecchima: book nanny/gardener

Western AU Notes Lasso

Gooley and Swordziraphale

Your lasso wound around my neck

Ineffable Residences

False Gods—Bound To These Bones, Until Dust Arise

GlitterGoo

The Great Basin

Bloodbourne AU Sparky

Wives Exchange: [redacted, #2 it’s a secret but i have the recipient here]

Discorporation

A Seat at the Table

Barometric Pressure

Two Truths and a Lie

SCP-4174

These Types of Kisses

Ghost Stories

The Profluetion and Temptations of the Angel Aziraphale, as Necessitated by the Arrangement

To Noise Making

NSFW RodeOmens

Gloria in (Excess) Excelsis

How Embarassing

Gloria, We Lied

Satyr/Dryad A&C

Another New World

Sex & Falling (Sex-ER)

Poems by Angsty McGee

The Lost Octodecimo

Finishing My Chapter

A Lady Fallen to the Serpent Seas

InstaDemon

See You In The Next Life

Words Krowley Knows

Untitled Demon Game

Bite My Tongue And Set Me Free

Kenkrowley & Aarakocraziraphale

In Thy Loving Handhold

An Everyday Love

12 Days of Blasphemy

The Intrinsic Differences Between the Occult, Ethereal, and Human

Ineffably Sentimental

CYOA by AJ Crowley

A Problem Like Theology

Repetition

What was that? I couldn’t hear you...

Phone Letters

A Masquerade To Remember

The Ultimate Question of Free Will and its Logical Proceedings

An Inquisition’s Life

Of All The Men In the World (It Had To Be You I Loved)

I Am Thy Fool In The Morning

Faults Of The Earth (I am the Winter)

Very Important Stories About A Dog Who Loved His Boy Very Much

Interaction Myths

Creations Myths

Fairy Tale Love (Walkers)

In Time

Ave Avarice

Tales of the Sonoran Desert

24 Hours

(Lost) Chapter 1: In Which We Meet The Characters, Or Otherwise Known As The Prologue

The thoughts that arise in me [from Filing of Serial Numbers folder]

Stephen Strange, Sorcerer Supreme, and all-around Sarcastic Shit

Tap-Tap-Tapping

Elysia

Clean Up Crew

Salem magic - Colette Irving and coding

Call me Jim

Collab WIPs

Dear Professor

GameDev AU by BeeJam (Honey?)

Hidden Kisses 5+1

The Art of Forging Wine

The Art of Forging Wine Timeline

With Remnice

Hellboy AU

With childrenofthesun

Hellboy AU initial ideas dump

6/30 Snick Snack Snake Tat Give a Dog a Bone

Scent Memories

Bartender AU

HKissing Booth

"Rude Notes" Aftermath

A/C Sex Pollen Crowdsource doc

Silk Road Trip

Resurrectionstein: A Conspiracy Board

Emperor’s Quantum Clothes

Soft Omens: A Working Title

Making Entanglements [folder]

The Mathematical Improbability Of Reaching the Stars [folder]

Synesthesia Podfic [folder]

Basil For Luck: 1001 uses for witchery [folder]

Tagging @moveslikebucky @cassieoh @ran196242 and @sosobriquet (as long as it won’t make y’all worried about your WIPs in a bad feels way)

#wips #wip list #only writing no art wips here #i do have like 2 art wips tho but I can't access them rn #my writing #mostly GO lbr #also some others #and a handful of pocket change OrigFiction

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wholesome-revelry · 5 years ago

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fic: “Long-Term,” Aziraphale/Crowley, outsider POV | 1.6K, G

(Nominally a sequel to this)

Officiating weddings has got to be one of Dr. Blackwell’s favorite parts of ministry, and although she’s probably not supposed to have preferences, if she looks deep into her jaded lesbian heart with any degree of honesty, queer weddings are by far the best.

Take, for instance, the couple she’s consulting with this afternoon, for their upcoming October ceremony. Seemingly mismatched in every respect. The plump, fair-haired one looks like a parody of an absent-minded professor, as sketched by someone who didn’t bother to do much actual research; his clothes are so outdated it teeters on costume. He’s wearing a bowtie, and not in that reinvented hipster way. This is a bowtie unacquainted with the cycles of fashion, a bowtie that has never heard the word irony.

His partner is a rangy, black-clad ginger in snakeskin boots. He has the look of a hungover rocker about him, and would somehow, even without the sunglasses he has fully committed to wearing indoors on a cloudy afternoon. He’s sprawled almost defiantly in his chair and keeps throwing dubious glances around Dr. Blackwell’s office, as though expecting a lightning bolt to strike him down for merely daring to be within spitting distance of a church.

Everything about his posture screams ‘Extremely complicated feelings about religion ahoy!’

Ex-Catholic, Dr. Blackwell thinks sagely.

Something funny about their names, too. Their names are--

They’re--

(She knows they both gave her their names, but as she looks at their faces, there is a curiously name-shaped hole where the sounds should go. Every time she approaches the edges of this thought, it ripples and changes shapes, and whispers, ‘Don’t worry now, it’s really of no consequence, is it?’

Dr. Blackwell didn’t get a degree in Unitarian Universalist theology by looking away from paradoxes. ‘Curiosity is earthly and holy and wonderful,’ she tries to tell the thought, pushing forward, ‘even to question truly is an answer--’

‘Ah yes,’ the thought says after her third attempt, ‘very nice, but in this particular case--’ and the absence where their names should be yawns, stretches, and swallows down all of her related concerns with a shrug.)

She blinks. She watches as Bowtie casually takes Sunglasses’ hand, as Sunglasses responds with a look so gooey and sweet and private that she feels a bit weird for intruding. How, she thinks, the fuck did you two meet?

The only thing they seem to have in common, beyond their feelings for each other, is a certain aura of personal disaster. Still, let she whose outfit doesn’t heavily feature Birkenstocks and cat hair throw the first stone. So to speak.

“So,” says Dr. Blackwell, “anything in particular I should know first? Any thoughts, or concerns?”

“The hymns,” says Bowtie, “or. Uh. The songs, I suppose?” He coughs. “Any chance we could stick with ones that don’t, you know, prominently feature--?” He pointedly casts his eyes towards the ceiling and almost seems to mutter, “No point in asking for trouble.”

“Oh, of course,” she says, shaking off the flash of weirdness like an errant cobweb. “We have plenty of non-denominational hymns.”

“About what,” Sunglasses says with a slight sneer. “Tax forms? Penguins? Automotive repair?”

Oof. Definitely an ex-Catholic, she thinks. You can smell the baggage from here.

“Mostly about the inherent holiness in doing good, or the beauty of nature?” says Dr. Blackwell. “Sometimes, someone will sort of retrofit a classical melody to Transcendentalist poetry, but those tend not to scan so well, in my opinion.”

Somehow, without any eye contact, Sunglasses manages to give her a wary look.

“You can borrow a hymnal if you’d like,” she continues. “We tend to edit out the G-word anyway. Makes the atheists and the agnostics a bit jumpy, me included.” Bowtie starts.

“You don’t,” says Sunglasses, “believe in--?”

“Not really,” says Dr. Blackwell. “Suppose I’ll allow for the possibility, but in my mind, the existence of some divine Heavenly will is just not as important as other questions. Like ‘How do I do what’s right for the planet and everything on it?’”

“How do I avert the apocalypse,” Sunglasses murmurs.

“Exactly,” she says with a laugh, “although I’d settle for doing something about Brexit.”

Neither of them laugh, and after an awkward pause, she adds,

“As far as music goes, for the ceremony. If you’ve got a song that really resonates with you, no matter what it is, let me know and we can work that in.”

“No Queen,” says Sunglasses immediately.

It feels like there should be a story here, but Bowtie only turns to him and says, “What was that band you liked? Velveteen--”

“We’re not playing Velvet Underground at our wedding,” Sunglasses says.

“Same thing goes for readings, too,” says Dr. Blackwell. “If there’s a text that holds special meaning--”

“Hm,” says Bowtie, “yes, about that--” He reaches to his side and heaves an antique leather briefcase onto her desk. “May I?”

“Of course.”

Bowtie fiddles with the latch, which clicks open to reveal a mountain of papers: wine-stained cocktail napkins and looseleaf notebook pages, parchment-looking stuff, and everything in between. It’s a veritable avalanche of love poems, as well as quotations from various plays and books, all laboriously hand-copied in the same tidy penmanship.

“Angel,” says Sunglasses slowly. “What is this.”

Pink-cheeked, Bowtie flutters his hands. “Just--some things I’d been setting aside!”

“For how long,” Sunglasses says, leaning forward. He sounds delighted but also deeply confused.

“So sorry,” Bowtie tells Dr. Blackwell, “I really should’ve organized these better! Even a rudimentary system--”

“It’s fine,” she says, blankly. She really hopes it isn’t going to be her job to narrow down the options. There are literally hundreds.

“How long,” Sunglasses repeats.

“You know how long!” hisses Bowtie.

Sunglasses plucks a sheet off the pile, rubs it between his thumb and finger. “They stopped making paper like this in the nineteenth century,” he says, sounding strangely triumphant about it.

Dr. Blackwell furrows her forehead, where a number of facts are colliding uncomfortably inside, like how some of these specimens are clearly very new, some are so old she’d be uncomfortable touching them with her bare hands, and the handwriting on every one of them is identical.

“Oh!” she says with sudden bright clarity. “Are you two vintage paper enthusiasts?”

“Yes,” says Bowtie. “Love it, love the stuff, simply cannot get enough.” And then, to Sunglasses, with a pointed look in Dr. Blackwell’s direction, “We’ll talk about it later.”

Maybe they met at a convention, she thinks. That’s nice.

“How about you pick out your top five first?” she suggests. “Or ten.” She glances down at the mound of text. “Also, we might need to get some volunteer readers for some of these, because my French isn’t exactly up to par. Or my--is that Middle English?”

“Haha, how did that get in there, couldn’t even begin to guess,” Bowtie babbles. He has to brace most of his weight on the briefcase lid to wrench it closed again. Sunglasses watches with interest, chin resting in his hands. “Yes, I will, I will absolutely weed some of these out, not to worry--”

The rest of the conversation is standard, for the most part. It’s going to be a relatively small ceremony, no child ring bearers and thankfully no animal ones either. (They have a whiff of eccentricity that had made Dr. Blackwell nervous one of them might suddenly produce a cat on a leash, insisting it was trained. In her experience, granting your beloved calico or tabby custodianship of the rings was a quick recipe for a ringless, catless wedding.) Only a shared stricken look at the possibility of involving any parents in the proceedings.

This, sadly, is also quite standard with older queer couples.

“Between you and me,” says Dr. Blackwell, “and I know this isn’t very ministerial of me. But if the people who raised you don’t support what you have together, which is clearly a wonderful and beautiful and life-affirming thing, I say to Hell with ‘em, you know?”

Bowtie chuckles unsteadily. “I’ll take that under advisement.”

“How long have you two been together?” she asks.

Bowtie and Sunglasses stare at each other. There is a long beat of silence. This is normally, she thinks, not a very hard question.

“How long have we been together?” says Sunglasses at last. The shades may hide his eyes but every molecule of his being is oriented at his fiance. “Hm?”

“Six thousand--” Bowtie starts, resolute.

“What,” says Dr. Blackwell.

“Days!” Bowtie finishes. “Six thousand days!”

“So,” she does some fast mental math, “about sixteen years, then?”

“Yes,” says Bowtie decisively.

“That’s great,” says Dr. Blackwell. “I’ve been with my wife for almost six years, I hope we’re still this much in love a decade from now.” There’s just something so reassuring about meeting older queer couples, she thinks. Bowtie and Sunglasses must be at least forty. Maybe fifty?

(It’s odd; they’re clearly solid, clearly sitting in front of her, but every time she tries to clue into any specific detail about either of them, her mind sort of skitters away from it--

Her head hurts.)

“Guessing you want a short service,” she says, rubbing at her forehead. “I’ll just write out a few remarks for you two to look over first, if that’s alright? I can email something to you by the end of the week.”

“Sounds perfect!” says Bowtie.

They shake hands. She watches them leave, watches Sunglasses mutter something in Bowtie’s ear that makes him smile on the way out the door.

Pair of oddballs, but in a nice way, she thinks. You can’t always tell, as a minster, which couples are going to make it in the long run, but she hopes this all works out for them. Maybe it will. They’ve already stood the test of time, it seems.

Sixteen years--they’ve been together since early 2000.

Imagine, she thinks. Just imagine.

#good omens #ineffable husbands #codename pending #sort of a pre-marriage fic #99% fluff and 1% soft eldritch horror #not sure about ao3ing this one bc it's just so self-indulgent

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goodbyevanny · 5 years ago

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All-girls school AU - Good Omens

This has since been edited and posted on AO3!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/22201279/chapters/53005516

Writer’s note: I saw a prompt on tumblr, and it hit me hard, as I went to an all-girls Catholic school and definitely did my fair share of pining over my best friend. That said, I’m in the US, in a very specific part of the country. So, in the spirit of write-what-you-know, the setting is in the US, and you will see some culture references to that. Keep in mind this is an AU. I’m gonna be honest, this is just a lotta self-indulgent wish fulfillment and me working through my own issues.

Summary: Aziraphale Angeles has been given a fresh start as a first year at prestigious all-girls Catholic school and she LOVES it. She’s finally being left alone by her family, and she loves her uniform, her books, her tea. It’s practically Eden, if only she didn’t keep running into that trouble maker, Antonia J. Crowley! She does NOT need more questions in her life...

Rating: T

Warnings: Main characters both experiencing and participating in fat-shaming, homophobia, transphobia. Aziraphale grew up in a very religious, patriarchal household and her views will be in line with that upbringing. Of course, this will change through the story.

It will begin, as always, in a garden.

It was the second week of starting at Immaculate Conception Preparatory Academy for Girls, and Aziraphale Angeles was feeling guilty over just how much she was enjoying herself. When the term had started, she hadn’t been sure as to what to expect, but so far it was surprisingly, well, wonderful.

Honestly, she had expected to hate it. The Holy Angels University system was designed to so that you could spend the entirety of your academic career within it (and, in her family’s case, even after) and Aziraphale had known from when she was very young that she very likely would. This meant that entering high school was a simple matter of walking up a very steep hill to a new building. Her classmates, for the most part, had transitioned with her, and of course, she had a plethora of cousins in the school as well.

She had anticipated her troubles from her younger years following her here, schoolyard taunts of ‘Azira-FAIL’ echoing in her head. She’d imagined being ostracized at lunch, eating at the end of a table filled with family and their friends, only being acknowledged with the occasional snide comment about how much she was eating, and how she never pulled her nose out of a book.

But it hadn’t been like that at all. First, the homeroom that she had been placed in had none of her former classmates. As the most prestigious private school system in the city, students from all over matriculated in, not just from the associated middle school, so there had been plenty of new students to meet.

Even better, her homeroom was presided over by the head of the Theology department, which was always one of Aziraphale’s best subjects, and she’d managed to impress her professor on the first day. She was given the job of class rep, and that alone had given her the kind of protection and independence she had craved in her younger years. At first student council meeting she received a gold brooch with the emblem of the institution: a heart, encircled by thorns, pierced by a sword, wreathed in flames. Aziraphale had wrinkled her nose when she had received it, annoyed by the heavy-handed, overlapping imagery. But even so, she felt proud to have it shining on her lapel.

It wasn’t just the pin she loved; it was the whole uniform. Her brand new oxfords, with the sharp contrast of white and black. The silky feel of her stark-white summer knee-highs. Her brand-new summer uniform, the polyester skirt in inverse eternity tartan, with the matching camel colored tartan blazer and tartan bowknot tie. Her starched linen blouse, neatly tucked in, and large white grosgrain bow, perched like wings atop her perfect high ponytail. Or at least, her attempt at a perfect high ponytail. She found her white-blonde curls rather refused even the most maximum hold gel or hair spray, so by the end of the day a cloud of frizz had usually fought free it’s constraints and made it look like a haze or halo around her head.

Also, the high school was much more lax in how it corralled its students. Meaning, classes were held at regular times, and it was up to you to make sure you attended the correct number of sessions every week; other than that, your day was free for independent study. Aziraphale was allowed now to spend almost the entire day in the library, or quiet classrooms with cozy window nooks for reading. Combining that with her class rep pin, which allowed her to roam the halls as needed, she felt free for the first time in her life. It was heady.

Her evenings had been a delight of tea and cocoa, cozy blankets and books now that she had moved into the dorm. Her cousins, including Michael, were all in the upper years’ dorms, so after dinner, she didn’t even have to see them. Even better, some combination of her family’s connections and her pristine academic record had scored her a single room. The only thing that had disturbed her peace so far had been the loud music coming from the room across the narrow hall, but even that had been turned down when she knocked on the door, without her needing to say anything.

She knew this peace wouldn’t last, but for now it was all just so lovely.

Now, two weeks in, she was comfortable in her routine. She was in the back of Professor Tracy’s classroom, where there were several very cozy chairs set on a plush, if worn out, rug. It was one of her favorite classrooms so far; set on the third floor, overlooking the school’s science building and extensive gardens. The chairs were set in front of an unlit fireplace that probably didn’t even work, but Aziraphale thought gave a nice ambiance to the room. She was quite comfortable and, having already completed attending the necessary lectures earlier in the week, full intended to camp out in this chair for the rest of the day. She’d plugged in the electric kettle on the nearby shelf, intending to enjoy a cup of tea with the pastry she smuggled out of breakfast in her handkerchief. She’d gone so far as to carefully unlace her oxfords and set them next to her book bag, so she could tuck her feet under her.

Today she intended to begin on the recommended reading list that had been provided to her by the terrifying University library assistant, and had checked out the few books that were carried by the high school library. While she waited for the kettle to be ready, she stared out the diamond paned windows that arched upwards, almost reaching the painted tin ceiling. It was probably the best view on Mt. Eden, overlooking the gardens and orchards that tumbled down the hillside to the valley below. Her eyes traced the highway that hugged one side of the mountain, only to then twist away into the distance, raised high above the valley so it nestled between the treetops.

She could see dark clouds gathering at the edge of the valley and could see it would likely rain soon. Thankfully, she didn’t have any classes in the science building, which was detached, but she had her white ruffled umbrella with her anyway, and thought she might come up with some sort of excuse to go outside with it later today. Her brother had brought it back from Japan, and she was somewhat eager to use it, even if it wasn’t really needed.

She had just settled in with her cup of tea, taken a bite of the pastry, and read the first page of Dangerous Angels when Professor Tracy interrupted.

She hadn’t meant to interrupt her, of course. Instead, the teacher who was rapidly becoming her favorite professor was standing at the windows, peering down in the direction of the orchards. “Oh no, Mr. Shadwell. Ohhh leave them alone, they’re fine,” she fretted, and then finally reached for the hand crank to open the window. As soon as it was swung open, she was calling out and waving, “Mr. Shadwell! Mr. Shadwell! Oh dear, I don’t think he hears me, Sargeant Shadwell!”

Well. There would be no reading through that nonsense. Aziraphale untucked her feet and wandered in her socks up to the window to look out, and immediately saw the problem. From this vantage point, it was easy to see the three girls lounging in the stone circle at the center of the orchard, and farther up the hill, the insufferable Mr. Shadwell making his rounds. The last call out of Professor Tracy had stopped him in his tracks, leading him to stand, eyes roving over the building, looking for the offending distraction.

There was no time to waste. Aziraphale was already back in her chair, shoving her feet in her oxfords and desperately tying up her laces. She’d have to leave her things, but she thought it would probably be fine, as Professor Tracy and her had an understanding...and with one last glance around she snatched up her umbrella and ran out of the room.

Aziraphale hated running. It conjured up the worst memories for her, sweating and taunted in gym class, in white T-shirt that she felt was unnecessarily tight. Michael, her cousin, laughing and pinching the flesh above where Aziraphale’s gym shorts dug in. “Like a fat frosted cupcake,” she teased, and the nickname had stuck. It had taken over a year before Aziraphale could eat cupcakes again without furious tears. (Not that she had give up eating them, though, because Michael was not taking that away from her too. She just sniffled through through deliciousness.)

Yet now she was running, out of the classroom, down the hall, and then down the stairs in leaps and bounds, taking multiple steps at a time and then out outside, down more steps towards the STEM building and the accompanying gardens. She had recognized one of the students from the orchard immediately: Eve. They’d met in homeroom, and had started a tentative friendship; at any rate, Eve saved her a seat every morning and afternoon in their homeroom.

The heat outside was oppressive, even with the increasingly storm dark skies, the humidity instantly freeing wisps of curls to halo her face and fluffing her ponytail. She tried to smooth the white blond strands back against her scalp even as she ducked behind an impressive hedge of oleander, trying to see where Shadwell had gotten off to. She sighted him as she passed the long line of towering cypress that ran alongside the driveway behind the school. He was shouting up at Professor Tracy, who was hanging partly out the window, obviously hoping to catch the notice of the students and get them to move. Shadwell sounded apoplectic, and was alternating between stomping his feet and vigorously pointing at the professor.

Aziraphale hurried down the limestone steps at the edge of the slope to the gravel path that wound through the orchard, gritting her teeth as sweat began to drip between her breasts and collect along the underwire of her bra. Eve and her were going to have words this afternoon in homeroom over this.

When she reached the stone circle, she pulled up short. Eve was there, sure enough, with her long dark curls, lustrous eyes and smooth complexion. Aziraphale couldn’t help but return a helpless smile as Eve caught sight of her and grinned, a mischievous brow arching. But Aziraphale’s smile faltered when she caught sight of Eve’s company. First, there was a boy. Wearing their uniform, no less. Where had he even gotten it? From Eve? What was she thinking? If she was caught with a boy they would be expelled! And her other friend—Aziraphale gave this second girl a look over. “Good Lord,” she muttered.

This second girl lounged on the stone benches that made up the ring of circle, long legs spread out before her and weight resting on one arm, while the other was propped up on her bent knee. The only thing that kept it from being ridiculously lewd was that she wasn’t wearing the skirt uniform. Instead, she was wearing the pants, in the black eternity tartan, completely out of season. Her matching blazer had been tossed over the bench behind her. Her shirt was untucked and her tie was tied like a boy’s. She was wearing what were likely very fashionable sunglasses, because they looked ridiculous, and her head tipped back so she could look down her nose at Aziraphale as if Aziraphale was the one that deserved to be judged.

But, worst of all, was her hair. Loose, like Eve’s, but carefully styled, deep red curls. It hung down her back in ringlets, and Aziraphale was sure it wasn’t naturally that color. No one had the right to that much color, on their head, it was obscene, and wasn’t that just the perfect word for this creature, she thought, as her eyes traced down the long line of her tanned throat, and did she have her top button undone?!?

Eve was laughing, “Oh c’mon, if you glare any harder you’ll burn a hole through them,” and the floozy had the gall to smirk.

Aziraphale whirled around to face Eve, hands on her hips, white umbrella still clutched tightly in one hand.”Have you lost your mind? What are you doing down here? With a boy?” She threw out an arm and waved it up and down to encompass the offending human, who was adjusting a pointless, but lovely, matching headband on their shaved head.

“Oh? Jealous already, Azira?” Aziraphale stepped back and her mouth fell open, eyes wide. “What? No! Of course not! I just,” and hold on, she wasn’t the one out of line here. “BOY!” she snapped back, and gestured again.

“It’s just Adam. We’ve been friends forever, Adam having such a time of it at the boys’ school, and Tony had the brilliant idea to have them hang out with us here! I mean, if they’re in uniform, and we just hung out in open classes, how would anyone even tell? We’re firsties, professors don’t even know us yet, really.”

There was so much wrong with that statement, and too little time to unpack it all. “You and I are going to have a talk after study hours tonight. But for now, Shadwell is doing his rounds, and you all need to get out of here,” she could already hear him cursing and sliding on the gravel at the top of the orchard. Tony–of course this delinquent would have a boy’s name–looked up the hill in what might have been a vaguely interested way, but it was impossible to really tell with those stupid sunglasses. Then, quick as a snake, she was up on her feet and was exiting the circle, one hand saluting with a “Ciao.” She slipped between the trees and was gone.

Aziraphale rolled her eyes, and went to follow, but Shadwell had spotted them. “I see you, ladies, stay where you are! Miss Angeles!” He was in sight of them now, but was slowed by the steep incline of the gravel path.

“Oh!” Aziraphale spun in a circle, fretting, and finally her hands flew to the gold brooch on her lapel. “Oh no,” she lamented, but there was nothing for it. She unfastened it and then quickly reattached it to Eve’s blazer. “Stay behind us,” she told the boy, who wisely hadn’t said anything so far, thank the good Lord, because she didn’t think she’d be able to handle any more idiocy at this point.

They barely had time to turn around when Shadwell burst through the bushes. “Out of class!” he spat. “Smoking? Drinking?”

“Please, Sergeant Shadwell, I think you know me a good deal better than that.” Aziraphale stepped forward.

She hated “cheating” in this way, but she also knew that it would take nothing short of a miracle to get Shadwell to get him to let this go. Angelic influence was required. And by that she meant, of course, the Angeles family name. Her family was the founding benefactors and remained the principal donors to the Holy Angels University System, and being a part of that family did come with certain privileges.

“Eve is a class rep with me, and um, Professor Tracy saw this student out of bounds so we were sent to escort them back in. For demerits,” she said, nervously tucking wisps of her white-blond hair behind ears.

Eve stepped forward and tapped the badge for good measure, trying to distract Shadwell from getting too close of a look at her companion. Although, Aziraphale really wished she hadn’t, because now Shadwell would ask—

“Hrmph. And where’s yours, then?”

“Oh, um,” Aziraphale glanced around like she actually expected to see it lying on one of the stone benches, and not like it was pinned to Eve’s blazer plain as day. “It’s around somewhere. Forget my own head next,” she smiled and laughed weakly, and prayed Shadwell didn’t ask why the girl behind them had no hair and broad shoulders. She was delivered, though, by a single distant bell toll. “Oh goodness, we need to get going to our next class! Thank you Sergeant, you’ll take over patrolling where we left off, yes? Ok!” And then she was steering Eve and the boy forcefully up the gravel path, through the break in the crumbling stone wall around the orchard.

It wasn’t until they were back in the building, the halls crowded with students passing to their next class that her heart started to calm. They followed her as she ducked down a side stairwell that lead to the basement level and pushed open the door on the distant side of Mt. Eden. The slope would lead to the bridge that connected their crest of Mt. Eden to the lower hill of the boys’ school.

She turned to Eve. “Ok, you have to get him back to his own school, he can absolutely not be here when classes let out for the day. All in all, this was a terrible idea and I can’t believe you let that girl tempt you into it!”

“Azira, thank you so much for coming to get us—

“No, best not thank me, I do feel a bit like I’m sending you into the lions’ den. I have no idea how you’re going to get him back on campus.”

Eve reached up to her lapel and began to unfasten the pin, but Aziraphale reached out and covered her hand with her own to stop her. “Oh, no need to worry about that. You can get it back to me another time. You better hold on to it for now, it might be useful.”

Eve smiled, dazzling Aziraphale, and then threw her arms around her, hugging her tightly, and for a moment Aziraphale was breathless. Just as quick, Eve stepped back and took up Adam’s hand, and pushed open the door. “I’ll see you at dinner!”

“You better!” Called out Aziraphale, but then the door swung shut with a heavy snap, and she wasn’t sure if she’d been heard. It seemed too final, and she wanted to see that Eve and that stupid boy were safe, so she headed up the stairs. She cleared the basement level, then passed the stairwell entrances that lead to the classrooms, one, two, three, floors. Here, a red velvet rope cordoned off the stairway, like an exclusive club awaited beyond, and she awkwardly stepped over it. When the staircase turned again for the next level, the marble steps gave way to concrete. There was a heavy wood door here, with a keyhole, but she knew it would open for her. She pushed it and now she was in an empty storage space, under the sloped roof of her school. It smelled musty and old, it was hot, but stronger than that was the sharp scent of cedar, which paneled the entire space; roof, floors, walls. All intended to drive away the moths, she supposed, because stacked floor to ceiling, across the wide space, were hundreds of books, stacked to the roof, forming twisting corridors interspersed with antique furniture. Aziraphale left this all ignored and picked her way through until she came to a ladder against the wall.

Looping her umbrella over her wrist, she climbed up until it reached the hatch in the roof, and leveraged it open with a strong, firm shoulder against it. It gave, flinging open and she made her way through. She was in the bell tower; the large brass ladies hanging heavy overhead, a choir of sixteen, ropes strung across the soaring space overhead. Aziraphale spread them only a quick glance of appreciation before she opened the side door and headed out onto the roof.

The roof was bordered by a white limestone crenelation, and Aziraphale stood behind one of the merlons to stay hidden from anyone looking up from the ground. She could see Eve and the boy approaching the bridge. Mercifully, it was cooler up here. She wasn’t sure if that was because the roof was able to better pick up the increasing breeze, or if it was because the storm was finally closing in. She reached up to smooth down her frizz against her head to no avail. She could feel it instantly curling back up.

“Well that went down like a lead balloon,” and Aziraphale wasn’t surprised to see Eve’s friend sauntering up to her. Because of course she would know how to get up here.

“I’m sorry, what,” snipped Aziraphale, already at her wit’s end with this girl.

“I said, ‘that went down like a lead balloon.”

“Oh, yes, rather,” snarked Aziraphale, because honestly, whose fault was that?

“Well it just seems a bit of an overreaction if you ask me, handing out demerits for sitting outside.”

Aziraphale rolled her eyes. “Yes, sitting outside and demerits, that’s definitely what you had Eve risk,” she said with another head to toe look over of Tony that shouted, you are as slow as you are pretty. A second lookover did not improve her opinion. Tony was still in the eternity tartan pants and black blazer, with her tie tied like a boy’s. As the breeze whipped her deep red curls back, away from her graceful neck, Aziraphale noticed a pair of long black snake earrings, twisting in loops down from her ears and definitely longer than allowed by the student handbook.

“Seems a bit ridiculous, though. Big stone seating area in the middle of an orchard, why put a bunch of benches up if you don’t want anyone to sit there? Why give us all this free time and the ability to sort our own schedules if they don’t trust us to go inside to class when we’re supposed to?

“Oh for g—for goodness sake, you brought a boy on campus! Eve could have been expelled!”

Tony smirked. “Eve, huh?” And anyway, the point is that we wouldn’t have even been noticed if we were allowed to sit outside. Doesn’t make much sense does it?”

Aziraphale could feel her face hearing. “Best not to question things. The rules are the rules, and they’re not that hard to follow. Just because something seems ineffable, doesn’t mean that it isn’t right.”

“Ineffable? Did you really just throw the word “ineffable” into conversation, just like that?”

Aziraphale answered with a glare.

“Just trying to give you some trouble,” she said, giving a blinding white smile.

“Well, I dare say you’ve succeeded. What were you thinking, bringing a boy on campus? And dressing him in our uniform, have you lost your mind?”

She paused because she could see how, across the bridge and down the hill, she could see Eve and the boy duck behind a crumbling stone wall as campus security drove by in a golf cart.

“A boy? You mean Adam?”

She really should have reported this girl when she had the chance. “YES. HIM. Who else would I mean?”

Tony shrugged and leaned her shoulder and hip against the merlon next to Aziraphale’s, somehow lounging while still upright. “I dunno. Adam’s probably more a girl than me, I figure. They certainly look better in a skirt.”

Aziraphale couldn’t help but glance down at Tony’s long legs, somehow making tartan pants look fashionable. They would just have to agree to disagree about that one. When her eyes came back up, Tony was smirking again, and the heat of the day seemed to have returned. Lightning flashed in the far distance, and they could see a curtain of rain begin to steadily make its way across the valley below.

“They’re going to get caught,” fretted Aziraphale, and she wasn’t sure if she meant in the rain or by security. Thunder rumbled in the distance.

Tony took off her sunglasses, hooking the arm of them in the V of her linen blouse, which only emphasised that yes, she really had left the top button undone. She peered down the hill and then back to Aziraphale, and frowned. “Aren’t you a class rep?”

Aziraphale’s brain had short circuited the moment she had met Tony’s eyes, no longer hidden by the sunglasses. ”What?”

‘“Didn’t you have a flaming sword?” Tony asked, reaching out and twirling a finger over Aziraphale’s lapel, thumb smoothing over the spot the material still indented in. “I’m sure you did. It was glittery as anything.”

Aziraphale had never seen anything like her eyes. Like harvest moons, golden to the point of glowing. “Oh, um. Yes.”

“Lost it in the mad dash, huh? Or did Shadwell confiscate it?”

And there was that damnable smirk again, which finally broke her out of the spell of Tony’s eyes. “Well, if you must know, I gave it to Eve,” she huffed, her face burning under Tony’s scrutiny.

“You what?!” Asked Tony, her smirk dropping into an open mouthed, genuine laugh.

“I gave it to Eve! She was trying to take Adam all the way back to the boys school, it’s dangerous! If she’s caught she could be expelled! So I said take the pin, don’t thank me, could help you get out of a tight spot, and don’t forget to be back before you’re missed. Oh, I do hope I made the right decision.”

Tony started to roll her eyes, seemed to remember she wasn’t wearing her glasses, and abruptly turned to look for Eve again. “Oh, I’m not sure an angel like you can do the wrong thing.”

Aziraphale’s heart sank a bit. Angel? What does she mean by that? Not that she cared what this delinquent thought of her, but she had thought she was being judged on the basis of her own merits, not by her family name.

“Well, thank you for the reassurance, I guess,” her ingrained good manners forcing her response. Lightning flashed, immediately followed by a boom crack of thunder overhead. The curtain of rain swept up the mountain, obscuring their view of Eve and that idiot Adam. Aziraphale hurried to open the umbrella and with a flick of her eyes, communicated to Tony she should step under it. Not a moment too soon, because the rain poured down around them. It was a tight fit, and Aziraphale could feel the heat from Tony’s body seeping into her body, from shoulder to hip.

They stayed there together, eyes straining to see their friends through the storm.

TBC

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mostweakhamlets · 5 years ago

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That small coffee shop you know the one,where time seems to stand still and the coffee seems to be laced with stardust

i’ve never been to a small coffee shop that isn’t too loud from grinders or blenders or has obnoxious hipsters working in it but i can do my best

Aziraphale is a student just trying to get some decent cash. He’s not a great barista, but he does know little tricks to make tea just a bit sweater and coffee a bit stronger. People seem to enjoy their coffee--or at least, they don’t complain. Other students will come in and rave about their drinks and what their friends should get.

Aziraphale often doesn’t remember faces or names of regulars. His hours are so odd, and he’s always too busy to make an actual effort to get to know many people.

There is an older woman who comes in every Saturday morning for a small, black coffee. He remembers her order and gives her a free shortbread biscuit on the side.

There’s a single father that comes in a few times a week in the evenings, ordering hot chocolate for his little kids and coffee for himself before settling down and working on his laptop while his children do their homework. Aziraphale always adds extra mini marshmallows to their hot chocolate.

And then there’s Anthony. Anthony is a theology student at his university who comes by fairly often for the most sugary, blended drink they have with his bag slung over one shoulder and sunglasses still on. He’s usually on his phone when Aziraphale calls his name and places his drink on the counter. He barely mumbles a “thank you.”

At first, Aziraphale thought he was just rude. But he quickly realizes that “shy” was a better word for him. He always tidies his space and leaves at least 30 minutes before closing--possibly, Azirpahale supposes, to get out of their hair. Whenever he asks for the wifi password, he’s quiet and nods and quickly walks away.

Two days before finals start, Aziraphale is waiting for his manager to give him the okay to fully close. Five minutes before they’re due to lock up, she comes into the back, huffy and says that there’s still one guy left.

“Bastard will probably stay until the minute we close.”

And Aziraphale is upset because he has two 15-page papers due in a few days that he’s only just started as well as other studying to do. After a few minutes, he volunteers to ask the man to leave. He looks polite and innocent. Customers usually listen to him.

He walks to the front of the house and hears someone typing on a laptop, hidden by one of the many bookshelves they have. He pops his head around the shelf, smiling, and then freezes.

Anthony looks exhausted and doesn’t even notice Aziraphale there with his headphones on. He’s frantically typing, occasionally glancing at a book or pausing before picking up again.

“Excuse me.”

Anthony looks up, startled. It’s the first time Aziraphale has seen his eyes, he realizes. They’re a very pale green, and the pupils look as if they have burst at some point, spilling out into the iris. They’re beautiful, Aziraphale thinks.

“We’re closing in a minute, and we wouldn’t want to lock you in here.”

Anthony glances at his laptop screen. He blinks and raises his eyebrows.

“I’m sorry,” he says, grabbing his bag. “I lost track of time.”

“It’s alright! It happens. Are you writing for a final?”

Anthony nods. “Due tomorrow.”

“Oh! Well, good luck with it!”

Aziraphale turns to leave, but Anthony stops him.

“You’re an English student, right? I think I’ve seen you around the humanities center.”

“I am!”

“Umm...” Anthony shoves his laptop into his bag, grabbing a book next. “Do you know Dr. Gabriel’s office hours? Or his email? I’m supposed to have him sign a paper to get my thesis approved for next semester, but I don’t know anyone in that department, and no one told me how to contact him.”

Gabriel is the professor Aziraphale hates the most. He’s self-righteous, pompous, and thinks highly of himself for being given the position of the dean of the humanities the year before. Thankfully, that also means he has fewer classes, and Aziraphale didn’t have to take Modern British Literature with him that semester.

“I do, but not off the top of my head. I could send it all to you tonight if you’d like.”

“Yeah! That’d be fine. Uh...” Anthony tears the corner of a piece of paper out of his notebook. He scribbles his email on it. “Here. Thanks.”

Aziraphale tucks it into his back pocket. He grabs Anthony’s empty cup and scurries to the back.

An hour later, he sends an email:

Anthony,

Dr. Gabriel is in his office MFW from 8 am to 2 pm. TR he’s there from 10 am to 4 pm. Thought, he does sometimes drift around the department if he doesn’t make appointments. I would email him to let him know when you want to see him: egabriel.

Good luck with your paper and your thesis (I’m completing mine next semester as well).

Aziraphale

#good omens #stardust au #smolbeansnas

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morosexual-aziraphale · 5 years ago

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Chapters: 17/30 Fandom: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Anathema Device/Newton Pulsifer, Warlock Dowling/Adam Young, Hastur/Ligur (Good Omens) Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Professors, Slow Burn, Friends to Lovers

Fic Summary:

Featuring cameos of everyone's favorite (and least favorite) characters, gratuitous descriptions of paintings, long text messaging conversations, and one cranky cat.

Chapter Summary:

Conversations are had. Holidays are celebrated. Zira has a realization.

Oh boy I finally updated my professors AU fic again! Please enjoy this super sappy chapter!

#cc writes #good omens #good omens fic #good omens fanfic #good omens fanfiction #anthony j crowley #aziraphale #ineffable partners #ineffable husbands #ineffable spouses #ineffable idiots #ineffable professors #professors au #maggot husbands #nonbinary crowley

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ao3feed-goodomens · 4 years ago

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All's Fair in Love and Politics

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/2PLUrFK

by Hokkaido_Pumpkin

Dr. Aziraphale Eastgate (also known as A.Z. Fell on research papers), is a book collector, professor of Theology in the University of Wales, wine conussieur, ocassional blogger, and now unwillingly the newest member of the House Of Lords.

Dr. Anthony Jay Crowley, former delinquent turned respected politian with a medical sciences degree, hotheaded gay disaster, commited dungeon master in spare time, and newly appointed Secretary of State for Health and Social Care (basically, the NHS' guardian)

At this point, neither could have expected to be dealt the card of romance in their decks, but all is fair in love and politics.

CW: Some strong language at points

Words: 3122, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English

Fandoms: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Good Omens (TV)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: M/M, Multi

Characters: Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley (Good Omens), Anathema Device, Beelzebub (Good Omens), Hastur (Good Omens), Ligur (Good Omens), Gabriel (Good Omens), Newton Pulsifer, Madame Tracy (Good Omens), Sergeant Shadwell (Good Omens), God (Good Omens), Satan | Lucifer (Good Omens), Original Characters

Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Anathema Device/Newton Pulsifer, Sergeant Shadwell & Madame Tracy (Good Omens), Hastur/Ligur (Good Omens)

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Politics, Bisexual Crowley (Good Omens), Genderfluid Crowley (Good Omens), Asexual Beelzebub (Good Omens)

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/2PLUrFK

#ao3feed #fanfic #Good Omens

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ao3feed-ineffablehusbandz · 4 years ago

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[Podfic of] love like yours (will surely come my way)

by CCs_World, Yleia

Featuring cameos of everyone's favorite (and least favorite) characters, gratuitous descriptions of paintings, long text messaging conversations, and one cranky cat.

Podfic of the amazing fic by CC's World

Words: 22, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English

Fandoms: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Good Omens (TV)

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: Multi, Other

Characters: Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley (Good Omens), Gabriel (Good Omens), The Them (Good Omens), Beelzebub (Good Omens), Pepper (Good Omens), Adam Young (Good Omens), Wensleydale (Good Omens), Brian (Good Omens), Anathema Device, Newton Pulsifer, Lucifer the Cat - Character, Warlock Dowling, Madame Tracy (Good Omens), Sandalphon (Good Omens), Hastur (Good Omens), Ligur (Good Omens)

Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Anathema Device/Newton Pulsifer, Warlock Dowling/Adam Young, Hastur/Ligur (Good Omens)

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Professors, Slow Burn, Friends to Lovers, Homophobic Language, (it's dealt with), Nonbinary Character, Nonbinary Crowley (Good Omens), They/Them Pronouns for Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Has ADHD (Good Omens), Fluff, Artist Crowley (Good Omens), Rating May Change, Eventual Romance, Aziraphale Is Trying (Good Omens), Crowley is Whipped (Good Omens), aziraphale is baby, transphobic language, it's also dealt with, Crowley Has Chronic Pain (Good Omens), trans wensley, Trans Newt, not brit-picked, No beta we fall like Crowley, Pining, Mutual Pining, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Religion, Eventual Sex, Podfic & Podficced Works, Podfic, Podfic Length: 0-10 Minutes, Audio Format: MP3, Audio Format: Streaming

source https://archiveofourown.org/works/26580889

#ao3feed ineffablehusbandz #ineffable husbands #good omens #aziraphale #crowley #anthonyjcrowl

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aziraphales-library · 1 year ago

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Hello dears, thank you for this service you provide for the fandom. It really makes finding fics so much easier!

I am not in search of a particular fic, but I do have a theme.

See, I love Good Omens fics that explore more so the mentality and personal intricacies of Crowley and Aziraphale as they fall in love. Physical attraction in a relationship is important, yes, but it seems that all I can find is smut with a bit of story. I want to read something that shows they falling in love with the others mind.

If you have anything of the sort, please do tell me. I hope you have a lovely day!

Hi! General tags on AO3 or this blog you will want to check out for fics like this are #demisexual aziraphale, #demisexual crowley, and #falling in love (you can also exclude explicit fics from the AO3 search if you want to avoid smut completely). Here are some to start you off...

Sudden and Surprising Moments of Overwhelming Affection by darcylindbergh (G)

Aziraphale has not shut up in thirty-four minutes. Crowley’s been counting.

Dearest Diary (The History of an Angel an a Demon) by MadisonAvenue (G)

Entries from Aziraphale's personal diary that recounts his relationship with the Demon Crowley and how it's changed overtime.

heaven is not fit to house a love like you and I by stellarpoint (T)

While Crowley set about getting drunk, Aziraphale’s eyes drifted over to the newly-engaged couple, now embracing. The woman dabbed at her tears with a napkin and the man watched her, utterly smitten despite her smudged eyeliner. Crowley followed Aziraphale’s line of sight just in time to see the man kiss the woman. Crowley wrinkled his nose. “‘s a weird custom, isn’t it?” “Hm?” “The whole—” Crowley gestured at the couple, “—kissing business. It’s a bit weird, isn’t it?” Aziraphale frowned. “I don’t know about that.” Crowley was feeling a little tipsy and a lot philosophical—narrowly averting the apocalypse will do that to a demon—and decided to press the point. “Like, what is it about mouths that makes it so nice? Mouths are weird. Humans don’t even have forked tongues. They can’t even do anything fun.” He looked at Aziraphale. Aziraphale looked back, his cheeks faintly pink. Or: Five times Crowley thinks about kissing, and one time he thinks about kissing Aziraphale.

As Time Goes By by EdosianOrchids901 (T)

As their feelings for each other grow, Crowley and Aziraphale both want to kiss. Unfortunately, all their attempts at kissing are thwarted by inconvenient things like stab wounds. Will they finally get what they want? Or: Five time Crowley or Aziraphale tried to kiss the other, and one time they did.

These fragments I have shored against my ruins by HolRose (T)

At the Tadfield air base, as the threatened End of Days looms over them, the Principality Aziraphale considers his relationship with touch. Or how an angel left on Earth for over six millennia copes with an increasingly human-like need for sensory stimulation, and alongside this, his growing attachment to his hereditary enemy.

love like yours (will surely come my way) by CCs_World (T)

Dr Zira Fell is a new professor of theology at St Beryl's University. His first day there he meets the mysterious and enchanting Dr AJ Crowley, an art history professor and a painter. They almost immediately become friends, and spend most of their time getting lunch together, talking, drinking wine, making art, and falling slowly in love with one another. Featuring cameos of everyone's favorite (and least favorite) characters, gratuitous descriptions of paintings, long text messaging conversations, and one cranky cat.

- Mod D

#good omens #ineffable husbands #demisexual aziraphale #demisexual crowley #falling in love #mod d

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magziraphale · 5 years ago

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Somehow, while searching for some Good Omens images, I came across an absolute howler of a review article (It’s the Catholic Herald. Thought to myself ‘well, this’ll be good for a laugh’. And it sort of was and also sort of made my blood boil when I realised that the person writing it is a professor of English. One with apparently zero critical thinking skills.)

Here are some *deep thoughts* brought to us by this paragon of theology:

“Somehow, they must bring an end to … the End. Actually, Crowley has no intention of doing anything of the kind because he figures the devils can win, but Aziraphale, being a first-class nincompoop, swallows the story pitchfork, line and sinker.”

WERE YOU PAYING THE REMOTEST ATTENTION? Yes, Crowley wants Hell to win so much he offs one of them in holy water. Jesus H.

“Michael Sheen’s Aziraphale seems too dense and simpering, but one gets used to him; he is, after all, a gay angel. As for Gaiman’s travesty of eschatology, best to take it as just another excrescence of trendy atheism: stupid and ultimately risible.”

1. Well hello homophobia. I’m so surprised. As the Great Sheen himself would say, you are welcome to very fuck off.

2. ‘Travesty of eschatology’ is absolute excrement, which you would know if, perhaps, you picked up some books on theology, eschatology and philosophy not written by your buddies in the last 50 years. Playful, very, but this story has an engagement with ideas of free will, good and evil, creation and the end times that humanity has been playing about with for millennia.

#AM I RANTING? YES I'M RANTING #it's been that kind of day #good omens #the part i can't believe most is that he actually thinks crowley is playing aziraphale for a fool #like anyone with the barest of comprehension can see otherwise just from a narrative point of view #tw: homophobia #and other bullshit

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niceprophecies · 5 years ago

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@neilhimself

“Good Omens is a travesty of eschatology”

[Eschatology is a part of theology concerned with the final events of history, or the ultimate destiny of humanity. This concept is commonly referred to as the "end of the world" or "end times".]

wikipedia

A scathing article that gets almost everything wrong.

From the timeline:

“Two angels, heavenly Aziraphale […] and hellish Crowley […] learn that Armageddon is nigh – 11 days away. [it’s 11 years from where the story kicks off, but hey]

to the characterization and motivation of the main characters:

“[…] Somehow, they must bring an end to … the End. Actually, Crowley has no intention of doing anything of the kind because he figures the devils can win, but Aziraphale, being a first-class nincompoop, swallows the story pitchfork, line and sinker.” [oh, good grief, has the critic got that one wrong!]

@neilhimself

As for the casting choices:

“It will surprise no one to hear that Good Omens pushes various PC buttons. God is a “She”; […]

David Tennant is marvellous as Crowley; […] Michael Sheen’s Aziraphale seems too dense and simpering, [did they watch the same show?] but one gets used to him; he is, after all, a gay angel. [all too obvious, was it?]

In conclusion:

As for Gaiman’s travesty of eschatology, best to take it as just another excrescence of trendy atheism: stupid and ultimately risible.”

The Catholic Herald

FYI, the author, Dr Carl C Curtis III is a professor of English at Liberty University in Lynchburg, Virginia

[his reading comprehension skills should for sure earn him a commendation! Or at least a wahoo!]

#good omens #review #catholic herald #this is pure gold #michael sheen’s acting choices are neither dense nor simpering #stupid and ultimately risible #neil gaiman #twitter #mystuff

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liketonybutwithane · 5 years ago

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Guys, I haven’t written anything in nine(ish) years. My will to write has been all but squashed out of me.

But then Good Omens happened and I’m having all these little brain children that are probably some of the same ones the rest of the fandom are having, but if there’s something I have learned in life it’s “if you don’t write it down, you’re gonna forget it!”

So yeah, I wrote these down.

HP!Good Omens

Aziraphale is a Syltherin pureboood with a distinct interest in muggle theology that he only indulges at Hogwarts

When he was young, his paternal aunt fell in love with, courted and married a Muslim muggleborn witch and she is the one who cultivated his interests. Having no one else to confide in, she told young Aziraphale about her love and how her family studied and followed the 'lord of the skies.' Aziraphale has copies of the Torah, the Qur'an, the Tripitaka, and both the King James Bible and Catholic Bible in his school trunk (the covers are transfigured to look like older spell book editions).

Aziraphale isn't technically allowed to communicate with his aunts, but he does it anyway. He's never understood with the big deal was. Aunt Ophelia basically raised him; why shouldn't he be allowed to speak with her whenever he wants?

He routinely writes to his Aunts Ophelia and Hafiza - they send him presents at Christmas and he always remembers to (with the help of Crowley) convert his wizard galleons into muggle money to send his Aunt Hafiza his donation for her mosque at Eid al-Fitr.

Crowley is a half-blood Hufflepuff. A bundle of sass and snark wrapped in a crispy coating with an ooey-gooey soft-hearted center and a loyalty streak that rivals the length of the Thames river.

Snake animagus Crowley, just imagine - Pseudechis porphyriacus, the red-bellied black snake. He's just so proud of his animagus form!

Raised by a partially-practicing Catholic muggle and pureblood witch, Anthony "Just Crowley!" Crowley knows his catechisms and (most of the important) saints but not much else. He still manages to impress Aziraphale with his St. Christopher (patron saint of travelers) and St. Albert the Great (patron saint of students) medals.

Crowley adores Herbology and Charms. He gets good marks on his Care of Magical Creatures O.W.Ls and of course, nearly gives his Professor a heart attack when he asks if he could raise a basilisk for extra credit?

He keeps to Aziraphale's side when he has rows with his parents. He tells his mum about the glassy hard stares the Slytherins give him when he walks to classes with Aziraphale and knows deep in his heart that Aziraphale is catching all kinds of hell for siding with "that loud-mouthed Hufflepuff who can't pick a side."

I just have a lot of feelings about Hufflepuff!Crowley and Slytherin!Aziraphale.

NOTE: I know next-to-nothing about Islam or Catholicism and googled and wikipedia’d what is referenced here. If I am wrong or flubbed something, I beg of you, please correct me! Thank you!

Ballet&Ballroom!Good Omens

~ Crowley = a danseur working hard to keep his place in [Europe's equivalent to Julliard?] BUT also struggling in keeping himself alive and housed by working the only way he can think of and using his skills

He works as an under-the-table exotic dancer 5 nights a week

He is cheated more often than not by the shifty club owner but it's still more than he could make anywhere else so he keeps his mouth shut and takes the money

He dances as a female persona; his gorgeous lace-front wig (only one or two shades off from his natural hair color) and lace and silk lingerie are some of the most expensive and well cared-for things he owns (aside from his dancewear, obviously)

He only dances - no private shows, no client requests, nothing that could possibly compromise his identity and thus his place at school

~ Aziraphale = a fair-to-middling ballroom competition dancer from a wealthy family who accidentally trods on his partners toes once or twice but always apologizes profusely

Naturally, Aziraphale has no rhythm. (He knows the mechanics and kinesiology of the ballroom dances but can't make his limbs cooperate.) The only way he is as good as he is now is because he learned to keep time with iambic pentameter in his head. Mostly Shakespeare, but he hasn't told a soul - and he probably never will.

He enjoys dancing. He can keep time by retelling himself the great works of Shakespeare or Milton or Chaucer. It’s his dance partners who he finds lacking. They are haughty and pinch-faced. This should be fun!

For some possibly (hysterical? ungodly? trippy?) reason [omg, Gabriel is totally shitfaced in the men’s room , Aziraphale ends up at Crowley’s club and that goes about as well as expected, what with the blushing, stammering and exaggerated averted gaze. That is until he first glimpses Crowley (as his dancer persona) and, as a student of kineisology and someone who has fought tooth and nail to control his own limbs, is floored by the mastery of control and discipline the dancer on stage displays over their body.

Aziraphale is mildly besotted, to say the very least...

High school!Good Omens

This is just me wanting to have Nanny Ashtoreth and Brother Francis play parents to Aziraphale.

Aziraphale is the only child to missionary-religious-scholars. They were less interested in raising the child and more in there efforts of spreading the ‘word,’ so Nanny and Brother Francis in essence raised him.

Mostly Aziraphale dealing with benign neglect from his biological parents and Crowley dealing with hardships and grief from either shitty foster homes or being some kind of scholarship student in a boarding school for old-money families.

(I know, I always put Crowley in shitty situations! I’m sorry!)

I really wanted to write a fic where God chooses to inhabit a human to express Her approval of Aziraphale and Crowley.

At first, Aziraphale was a little cautious of the street performer taking up residence across from his shop. But she simply sings (quite well, mind you) and plays her instrument from roughly 10 to 5 every day then goes about her way.

The song I really wanted to focus on is Sinners by Lauren Aquilina. [x]

Like:

Aziraphale is sitting with Crowley in companionable silence and the lyrics drift over him. And he listens.

Then he feels the need to get up and look out the stop door. There, he sees it. Faintly, through the shine of sun beams and dust motes and drifting London smog, are wings. Multitudes of feathers and shining eyes and Aziraphale can't look away. His eyes slide to look the woman in the face and he can feel tears begin to creep from crease of his eyes to trickle down his face.

Her voice rumbles through him, as gentle and powerful and awe-inspiring as it had been at the wall, "Aziraphale." He can barely catch the breath he doesn’t even need.

And the woman glances up from her instrument and Aziraphale gasps. She smiles as though she heard him. The woman strums one last note on her instrument, inclines her head in a gracious nod and then is gone.

Crowley appears from somewhere behind Aziraphale, and asks what's gotten him so upset. Aziraphale splays a hand over his own chest, above his pounding heart, and sighs tearily. Then he half-turns and crushes Crowley in a tight hug. "Nothing. Nothing at all, my dear."

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morporkian-cryptid · 5 years ago

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Ineffable Husbands + Something like Teachers? Uni? I dunno

YESSSSSS ! I love this AU! Warning, this is going to be pretty long. Yes, even longer than the previous ones.

As agents on Earth, they both have to pretend to be human so they choose a job to blend in with humans and have some influence on them

Both realise that education is the best way to influence humans directly, so they both become professors, and somehow both end up in the same university

No one knows how long they’ve been here, all the alumni say they know them, even the ones who are almost as old as them (and if you ask the ones who are older, they’ll say the same thing, but no one thought of asking them)

Aziraphale is a history teacher, known as Mr. Fell (no one knows his first name)

He uses his knowledge and his own experience to teach things as accurately as he can, but that gets a bit complicated sometimes because he is very knowledgeable on specific details but sometimes knows nothing of some big events

Nonetheless he always does research himself before teaching anything, and encourages his students to always, always check sources

So in the end his history classes are the most accurate ones

He doesn’t always follow the curriculum, and often calls bullshit on some of the stuff written in history books

He tells stories and anecdotes and events like they are tales, he captivates his students, they always feel like they are in the middle of the action and are living these historical events too

Basically he’s the weird uncle who tells strange but captivating stories at family gatherings

He also gives really long essays to write to his students, they’re not too fond of that part

But they do all the assignments very seriously, because if they don’t, Mr Fell will be disappointed in them, and that’s worse than him being mad (he never gets mad)

He always uses historical events to teach morals to his students, show them what they should or shouldn’t do, teach them how to make decisions

He also runs a book club outside of school hours. A lot of students attend (the literature professor is a bit boring and useless so it’s nice to have a different way to see books)

Aziraphale usually gives classical literature to read to his students; at first they were a bit iffy about it but somehow Mr Fell manages to make even the most boring books seem fascinating and full of hidden details

Book club sessions turn into literary scavenger hunts

Mr Fell is the kind of teacher who always “knows what the author meant”, but whenever he claims a specific phrase has a certain meaning, it always sounds true, no matter how far-fetched the interpretation is

Mr Fell has the most beautiful and captivating reading voice, especially when he’s reading poetry

Crowley is a physics teacher, but mostly teaches astrophysics. Everybody knows his first name is Anthony, and students only call him Mr Crowley in class, but Anthony when they meet him in the corridors

His students LOVE him

On the first day of class, he introduces himself as a tough and strict teacher, tolerating no disruption and no trouble-makers

It only takes a few weeks for the students to realise that he’s the sweetest professor in the whole university

He pretends to follow and enforce the rules, but will actually help students with their shenanigans when no one is looking

Ie, he’ll give them advice, sneak them some supplies he stole from the chemistry closet, etc

Whenever a student has problems (with school, with his family…) they come to him for help

He’s a very good teacher, and manages to make all the students enjoy physics, even the ones who hate maths. He explains how things work, how they interact together, he tells science like it’s a story, explains the birth and death of stars like they are people that we watch from afar.

He’s very, very passionate about the stars

He doesn’t only teach astrophysics, but also the principles of science in general: how to think like a scientist, how to reason, how to question everything you see. Sometimes the students wonder if he shouldn’t be a philosophy teacher instead.

He’s very adamant on the fact that students should always seek knowledge by themselves instead of taking for granted the facts that are given to them. He always answers every question with utmost seriousness, even the ones that seem silly

He’s also very snarky and can get quite mean if you’re disrupting the class or distracting other students. But students don’t do that.

He always seems to know the things his students are ashamed of.

Mr Fell and Mr Crowley have an ongoing rivalry, and both encourage their students to have the best grades in their respective classes. They always stare each other down in the corridors and exchange snarky comments about classes and their students’ achievements

The students would believe this petty rivalry is genuine if it weren’t for the fact that the two professors call each other “angel” and “my dear”. Instead, everyone thinks they’re secretly married

For some reason, Mr Fell calls Mr Crowley by his last name, while Mr Crowley calls him Az, Azi or Zira (everyone assumes these are nicknames, because what kind of first name is that?)

There’s actually an ongoing bet about what Mr Fell’s first name is

In their offices, they both have a bunch of plants. Very luxurious, very lush plants. There are more in Crowley’s office, but the ones in Aziraphale’s are prettier, and definitely happier.

All the plants in Aziraphale’s office are gifts from Crowley. Crowley is very pissed that the plants grow better at Azi’s place, but he doesn’t change his method of yelling at them. He has decided to believe that Azi’s plants grow better because they know how much Azi means to him and they’re scared he’ll take revenge on them if they’re not extra beautiful.

He’s wrong, of course. They just grow better because Azi is nice to them.

Aziraphale reads poetry to Crowley in return for the plants.

They spend a suspicious amount of time in each other’s office, most of the time it’s in Aziraphale’s. They have tea and they talk about their students and their colleagues, comparing their curriculums and their students’ grades.

Also they make out, but shhh, no one knows about that

Actually, everybody does

One time, a student saw them kiss as Crowley was leaving Aziraphale’s office. He told his classmates; half of them believe him, the other half think he’s lying

Neither Aziraphale nor Crowley said anything on the matter, but Crowley got uncharacteristically mad and threatened to give them all negative grades if they ever said such nonsense again

The only times when they put aside their petty rivalry (in public at least) is when they team up against the theology and religion studies professor

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