#tickety-boo

[minnjes2]

Happy Azirafeast! Afternoon Tea at The Ritz, where everything is tickety-boo! 😇🐍💝

[hopelesslysleepy]

My dentist office is trying to make me cry with back to back Good Omens-coded songs. My God, they are EVERYWHERE.

[parlapina]

"Gayer than a tree full of monkeys on nitrous oxide"

[celestiallyineffable]

Not to worry, my dear. Everything is tickety-boo ❤️❤️

(Everything was, in fact, NOT tickety-boo.)

[mumblelard]

the youths were having some kind of gumball on the outer rim in their go-go go-fast cars and i got to be right in the middle of it for a minute. real world hijinks like that always make me optimistic in an old man the kids are alright kind of way

[ineffableigh]

Rewatching S1 and uhhh what is this second book in the Bentley?

I'll have to rewatch to pay attention better but when Aziraphale finds the Agnes Nutter book after they hit Anathema, there's a second one covered in his tartan lol. I wonder what he brought to read on the drive. xD

He takes it with him when he goes to hide in the bookshop in a panic and we don't see it again.

[gun-roswell]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Good Omens (TV) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens) Characters: Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley (Good Omens) Additional Tags: Ineffable Kinktober 2024, Kinktober, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Tickety-boo, Fluff, poetic form, 100x100, azicrow Series: Part 28 of GO Ineffable Kinktober 2024, Part 72 of 100x100 Words for Fandoms Summary: It’s all good, all is fine, tickety-boo as said!

[nastasya--filippovna]

oh. my. GOD.

I couldn't stop smiling.

Tickety-boo will forever remind me of Azi.

[lipsyncforyourlife]

[justaballofgender]

Aziraphale would be livid

[sentientsky]

here, have some silly little good omens valentine’s day cards from your local arospec dumbass

[rustic-ghoul]

I never realised until after reading so much Good Omens fan fiction how I have always called those close to me as ‘my dear’ or ‘my sweet’ and how I have always naturally used Aziraphale-esque words/idioms like blimey or the bees knees 😆

Now it’s become a trait I quite like about myself because it’s so Aziraphale-coded

There is a certain eeriness about how much reading Good Omens fanfiction has changed my emotional output. Sometimes, the two just take over. I first noticed it with Crowley, when I was in the lab and my bacteria were growing too slow and I had to resist the sudden urge to hiss: "Grow better!"

But it happens with Aziraphale as well. I have called people sweetheart on several occasions. On accident.

I love that this is happening. But it also creeps me out a bit.

[missninapea]

😇☁️Are you a GOOD or a BAD omen..?🔥😈

📖☕Which side are you on?🐍🪴

[p4nishers]

aziraphale is so fucking silly he makes me wanna bash my head in with a rock everything he says is absolute bullshit wtf is 'jiggery-pokery' ??? bitch im gonna kiss you on the mouth

[iamhisgloriouspurpose]

How.Dare.You.

<collapses onto Divan of Despair, sobs into cushions>

I skipped reading this when you first posted, because I hadn't finished watching the show. Now I have finished the show. The show has finished me, and your ficlet is the scattering of ashes on my grave.

I regretfully demand 2) If you don't find me, you'll find the things. You'll touch what my hand touches. : Crowley and Muriel, bookshop bay-beeeeeeeeeee

“Those don’t go there,” Crowley snarled, suddenly appearing at the door of the basement with a case of bottles.

Muriel, formerly 37th level Scrivener, jumped, though not as much as they would have only a few days before, which they were rather proud of. As the nice human lady at the record shop put it, ‘Mr. Crowley’s bark is worse than his bite.’ Muriel wasn’t entirely sure what that meant; all the information they’d ever seen about the demon Crowley indicated that he favoured snakes over dogs, and Muriel was reasonably sure that snakes didn’t bark. But they had yet to see either one up close.

“What doesn’t go where?” they asked.

“Those books. They don’t go there.” He jerked his chin at a dusty corner shelf, far away from where Muriel had started to shelve the items. “Over there. That’s where he kept them.”

“But…,” they started, as he set the case of alcohol down on a chair and snatched the books from Muriel’s hands, “wouldn’t it be better to—“

“Better to what?” The slitted yellow eyes glared at her.

“Um.” Muriel twisted their fingers together and debated trying to take the books back. “Well, better to put them where people can find them? Like, putting books by the same author together? Or maybe books that are about the same things should go together?”

Crowley raised his eyebrows. “People? You think the point of this bookshop is for people to come in and buy books?”

“Well,” Muriel said, with a nervous gush of a giggle, “that’s what a shop is for… right?”

“There are a million other places for people to buy books from, these days,” the demon retorted. “Amazon, for one.” He wouldn’t take credit for Amazon anymore, but online bookselling had significantly cut down on Aziraphale’s foot traffic, and the angel had been so pleased. “This shop doesn’t sell books.”

“So, it’s like… a library? Ooh, or an archive!”

“Yeah, sure, call it whatever you want, just don’t sell anything. And make sure it’s an archive of stuff where only you know where to find things. That’s the important bit. Makes the customers annoyed and less likely to come back.”

Muriel smiled broadly. “Great! I’ll just go, um…” Their eyes lighted on a stack of volumes of poetry that a recent customer had been prevented from purchasing, due to an inconveniently missing wallet and a sudden cold feeling on the back of his neck, as though a large reptile was glaring at him from the shadows. “I’ll just go put these with the cookery books.”

“Sure,” Crowley sighed, “that’ll do.” He looked down at the books in his hands, and for a moment, held them a fraction of an inch closer to his chest.

One by one, he sifted through them. There was the Alanson copy of Milton’s Paradise Lost (originally owned by the grandfather of some pioneer of surgery, printed in 1711, that was still missing its cover), a second American edition of C.S. Lewis’s Perelandra, and a wallpaper-covered copy of Jane Austen’s (Jane! Austen!) Love & Freindship from the 1920s. The Lewis and Austen books, he shoved into the shop’s most uninviting corner shelf, in between a natural history of octopuses and a manual of traditional wood carving. But he hung onto the Alanson.

Crowley fucking hated Paradise Lost. He made a point of making sure every copy that made it into the shop got stored under the lavatory sink with its dripping pipe. But this one had escaped him. Aziraphale had faithfully promised the previous owner in 1956 that he would repair the book and return it to them as soon as they paid, but the years went by and there was no payment, so it remained in the shop, half-denuded of boards and smelling strongly of dust and vanilla, the way old rag paper did as it decayed slowly over time.

He chafed the little book between his hands, feeling the crumbling edges and the imprints of the plump, deft angelic hands that had held it last.

A hand on his chest, reassuring him. Hands on his back, holding him in place when they ought to have pushed him away. Hands that always smelled of old dust and vanilla.

A snarl curled his lips, but it was a silent, half-hearted one.

He slipped the battered book into his back pocket and took it upstairs, along with the case of wine.

Want a Good Omens ficlet for your very own? The list is here, drop a # and a character/pairing in my ask box!

[beerok23]

It’s tickety-boop 🎃