#HES SO UPBEAT AROUND AZIRAPHALE | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

vidavalor · 2 months

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*dings the bell* … I’m back.

My Ukrainian friend made potato salad! It has cucumbers, carrots, onion, & canned green peas in it, and it’s absolutely delicious!

Sooo… can I ask what moment/scene you found the most devastating so far? I guess The KissTM is the most popular but I wonder if you’ve spotted something even more heartbreaking?

Hi @procrastiel Much love to you and your Ukrainian friend & please thank her again for me for the recipe as we made it and it was delicious. 💕Hope she's doing well. The KissTM is pretty heartbreaking for sure but I had a couple of moments that I found at least equally as heartbreaking...

The blues below the cut. TW: Depression.

What really got me in S2, in terms of heartbreaking stuff, was the focus on the less "showier" kinds of depression in Aziraphale and Gabriel. I'm not dismissing the amazing Crowley story the show has been telling but it tends to be more overt. The story focusing on depression lingering beneath different types of exteriors-- those who project themselves as being upbeat and/or fine-- was really well-executed and it had moments as devastating to me as the kiss.

The "but that's for professional conjurers only" scene and, in particular, the choices made in Aziraphale's response to Crowley's "my Nefertiti-fooling fellow" response is probably my favorite bit of acting in the series entirely to date. Michael Sheen broke me into little pieces with the way he conveyed a lifetime of pain, depression, anxiety and sleepless nights in Aziraphale's eyes on the "professional conjurers" bit and the smile...

...I love how you literally watch the pain of it all melt off his face at Crowley gently reassuring him and the smile that starts and then becomes just a beam of love he can't keep off his face. It's gorgeous.

It's actually what makes The Final 15 hurt even more, really, I think-- because you know that this is what Aziraphale needed. It's the same core set of problems but he needed 1941!Crowley and he got AlphaCentuari!Crowley because of where they both were at in the moment. It just makes 2.06 even more brutal because it shows you how they do understand each other and how right they are for each other if they could just stop being idiots lol.

I also actually think this is one of the most intimate scenes in the show. It shows a lot of guts on Aziraphale's part to be honest about how he's feeling and that's courage that Aziraphale has in general but was lacking a bit in the present in S2. He lets Crowley in here-- which is the theme of all of it and what he's not doing in S2 very much, especially in 2.06-- and we get a scene where Aziraphale is vulnerable and hurting and trusts Crowley with it and Crowley is there to help him as much as Aziraphale helps Crowley. It's very sweet and romantic but in a heartbreaking way because of how it shows how much pain Aziraphale is carrying around with him all the time. The lovely bit, though, is how it also shows how Crowley knows and is trusted with it. That it all takes place in largely the same space as the mess in 2.06? Gah. Devastating...

The other storyline that broke me was Gabriel. I know not everyone has the empathy for him that I do and he can be a total jerk, no doubt, but I thought he was the best example of the show bringing in other perspectives on life in Heaven/Hell in S2. We had angles like Furfur and Muriel illustrating that life for those not on Earth is lonely, isolating and boring and that many are yearning to live a bit more. Crowley and Aziraphale have not had it easy by any means but we are given characters whose perspective is that they're jealous that Crowley and Aziraphale have at least been able to be on Earth and have one another this whole time, which is more than a lot of other angels and demons can say, and that's fair. Expanding upon the glimpses of Gabriel that we saw in S1 and showing that, really, he's more complicated than we might have expected, was something I both loved and was a bit broken by.

Essentially, S2 shows that Gabriel is actually arguably the worst off character of all of them-- Crowley and Aziraphale included. That he really had no one until Beez is shown on his face so well-- Jon Hamm and Shelley Conn selling Gabriel's depression and how healthy this relationship is in almost no time at all really shows how great they both are. Look at this poor bastard, though, really...

He has the worst job of all of them. The Metatron is really in charge of Heaven-- Gabriel's the pretty face, forced to keep everything going or be killed for disobeying. S2 emphasizes how much he and Beez did what they did at the end of S1 basically at gunpoint-- it was kill or be killed and neither of them have the power to overthrow anything on their own. They have enough power, in the future, to probably help sway some things. Gabriel's always had enough power to make differences where he could and he used it to try to protect people. He can be a judgy jerk but he also fundamentally cares about the people around him and he's been drilled for so long into believing that upholding Heaven is his only purpose and only reason for existence that he's even still mulling over the ghosts of those thoughts when he has his whole gravity crisis in S2, even when he can't remember his name.

This is the bit that got me actually teary, though:

Imagine being thousands of years old and no one's ever given you a present. You don't have a birthday. You don't celebrate holidays. No one's ever protected you or been on your side or even just listened. You don't have any friends because everyone is afraid of you and you have to put up those pretensions to stay alive. The people you spend your entire life with are out for blood-- they'd sooner see you stripped of your sense of self and tossed through the ranks or to Hell and take your seat. Your life is one, long, never-ending meeting with your abusive dad and charming personalities like Michael and Uriel and Sandalphon. For six. thousand. years. Gabriel had never eaten anything before S2. He's never slept. Imagine six thousand years of being the Senior VP of Climb Every Bullshit Mountain without ever having a lunch break or ever going home. It's kind of no wonder that Gabriel spent half of S2 taking a nap-- he's exhausted.

He's not from anywhere. He doesn't even have a desk. Is it any wonder that this poor bastard was already rebelling a bit in S1? That he didn't totally get Earth but he was sneaking down there to get tailored suits made just so he could have something that is his own and taking himself for jogs in the park so he could get away from everyone for awhile? He's vain, sure, yes, but really because his looks are all he has that actually belong to him. It's why Beez gives him a pass on the statue-- because they know that this poor guy doesn't have anybody but them. The humans immortalize him in marble like he's a God and everyone in Heaven and Hell is terrified of him-- and he's been terrified of trying to be real with others because who is he going to trust who won't stab him in the back?

All Gabriel has that is his own are his clothes and Heaven even takes that, too. Beez is the first person who has ever seen Gabriel as a person. Is it any wonder why Gabriel likes and goes to Aziraphale for help? He knows that Aziraphale is the only angel who is both kind and sorta sees him there sometimes. He's the only one who ever seems to consider that Gabriel might exist in there as more than just The Supreme Archangel.

Gabriel's memory loss is actually very much akin to the real world occurrence of retrograde amnesia, which can and does actually happen to people who have undergone traumatic events. (It doesn't happen all the time but it's also not as rare as you'd think it might be.) The mind shuts down in such a way as to intentionally forget everything related to the trauma in order to protect itself and that can sometimes result in a loss of identity. The forgetting, though, also frees Gabriel because when he can no longer recall the fascist system of Heaven that has been harming him for so long, the actual self that he's been repressing and hiding shows up.

I see a lot of people talk about Jim as if he's a separate entity from Gabriel and he's really not-- he's Gabriel without the self-protective airs that Gabriel puts on. Jim is really not much different from glasses-free Crowley-- they have the same approach to self-preservation. It turns out, when he's free from the toxic masculinity hellscape that is Heaven, Gabriel likes hot chocolate and tiny dinners and bookselling and is emotionally available and mindfully curious about everything. He's a lot of fun and he cares about his friends and is grateful to have them. He's still a snarky bitch sometimes but so is Crowley lol so... That Gabriel was so miserable before, though, I thought was really pretty heartbreaking.

Now that I've depressed you, we'll leave on the sweeter note of Gabriel torturing some humans to romance Beez...

#ineffable husbands #good omens #crowley #aziraphale #good omens 2 #aziracrow #good omens meta #the archangel fucking gabriel #jimbriel #lord beezlebub #ineffable bureaucracy

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freyjawriter24 · 11 months

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AO3 is down, so I'll have to post this there later and backdate it, but...

Today's 10th July, which means there's only 18 days left until Season 2 of Good Omens!

To commemorate this momentus point in the @gomenseveryday countdown, please enjoy the little fic below the cut...

August 2008: 11 years until Armageddon

Aziraphale was trying desperately not to think about it too much. He was failing, of course. But really, how could he be expected to just forget? This was, quite literally, the end of the world. And even if it was still eleven years away, well, that really wasn't long at all, if you thought about it. Which, despite his best efforts, Aziraphale certainly was.

He'd tried putting on some music to distract himself, but that had failed dismally, too. What a Wonderful World, Louis sang, and the angel couldn't help but picture it as a mourning song, covering everything Aziraphale would be heartbroken to lose when the war destroyed it all.

He'd quickly changed the record, but for some reason the next, usually upbeat track suddenly sounded sinister.

Everyday it's a-gettin' closer,

Goin' faster than a roller coaster...

Oh dear. Eleven years really wasn't much at all, was it? He wished Crowley were here. Why had he only agreed to meet with him the following morning? That was hours away. And in the meantime, he had to sit with memories of destruction and the echo of Buddy's words circling around in his head.

Everyday it's a-gettin' closer...

August 2009: 10 years until the Apocalypse

A decade left, now. Only a decade. Crowley had slept through more than one of those by accident, and now it was all the time they had remaining until either the Earth was annihilated or they, impossibly, miraculously, succeeded. Ten years.

You wouldn't think it, looking at him. Warlock Dowling, the Antichrist. It didn't feel real, watching the rise and fall of his chest as he slept. He was still so small. One year old, and so much potential held within him. He looked like any other human child.

Still, ten years. Just a drop in the ocean in Crowley's lifetime, but for a human – a human child in particular – that was aeons. They had time. Time to guide him, time to encourage him, time to carefully balance the good and bad impulses in him so that Hell would fail and Heaven would be denied their war. They could do this. They still had time.

August 2010: 9 years until the End of the World

"It's admirable, really," Michael mused, only half sincere.

"Naïve, is what it is," Gabriel grumbled. "And now we're getting yearly check-ins, as if anything at all is going to change."

Michael nodded sympathetically, and shuffled some paperwork on her desk. She wouldn't have minded Aziraphale's visits really – it often made for an entertaining change of pace, watching him attempt to make his busywork sound important – except that they always seemed to leave Gabriel in a bad mood.

"Well, at least you've got less than a decade left of that to go."

"Yes!" Gabriel said, brightening. "Only nine years left, and then war. What a delightful thought."

Michael smiled. "Glorious indeed."

August 2011: 8 years until the End Times

"I don't get it," Beelzebub muttered.

"He always did like going above and beyond," Dagon reasoned.

"Yeah, but yearly check-ins? It's just pointless. We know the child is going to be evil, he's the Antichrist, for Satan's sake. We don't need constant updates just to state the obvious. Certainly not every year."

Dagon shrugged. "I think he just likes showing off. Fair enough, really. He's been doing some outstanding work up there. It's only demonic that he come and gloat." The Lord of the Files rifled through a damp-looking cabinet, and pulled out a mouldy-looking folder. "Have you seen what he did with the global economy the other year? I'm thinking of sending him another commendation for that."

Beelzebub hadn't, but didn't want to let on in case Dagon launched into an explanation. "Why doesn't he come and give us presentations on that, then, rather than some snivelling child?"

Dagon raised an eyebrow. "Because you'd hate that too, and understand it even less. He's not stupid. Don't you remember the M25?"

Beelzebub groaned. "Okay, yeah, fair enough." There was silence for a moment, broken only by the steady drip of yet another broken pipe. Then: "Do you trust him, though?"

Dagon snorted. "No. Of course not."

"Good. Just checking."

"Like I said, he's doing it for his own benefit, not ours. Self-obsessed little prick, prancing his pet project in front of us every year. But at least it's only for another handful."

"Mmm. Suppose so."

Beelzebub looked gloomily into a corner, lost in thought.

Dagon sighed and slammed the filing cabinet shut. "Want to go torture someone for a bit?"

"Fuck yes. I thought you'd never ask."

August 2012: 7 years until the Destruction of Earth.

Everyone was so happy this year. London was buzzing with the energy of it all, the weather seemed determined to echo the mood, and Warlock was picking up on the collective indulgence in the simple joy of living.

You wouldn't think there was only seven years left of all this.

They took him to the Olympic Stadium, and the O2, and the Velodrome, even though he was probably still too young to understand all the rules and nuances of the sports they were watching. He loved clapping and cheering, though, and would do so regardless of who won, calling out with pride when Kenya got gold, when France did, when China did.

Thaddeus was getting more and more red in the face with each passing win for another country, but Nanny Ashtoreth's sharp gaze stopped him from doing anything about it. She'd had the forethought to warn him in advance that there would be no stifling of Warlock's joy this summer, as he was far too young to be trying to understand the nuances of the geopolitical landscape his father occupied.

Harriet sat fairly quietly the whole time, trying not to look bored, and clapping politely whenever either the USA or UK did well.

When it came to his birthday towards the end of the month, Warlock's parents got him a bike. A simple gesture, but one surprisingly aware of their son's interests.

Nanny carefully fitted a pair of stabilisers to it, and Brother Francis gifted Warlock a set of knee pads and elbow pads, alongside a helmet printed with an illustration of grass and ladybirds.

Warlock learned quickly, and took great joy in shouting out garbled imitations of Olympic commentary as he cycled around the garden.

"And Warlock Dowling cwruches his enemies under his heel, shooting stwaight into first place and winning five hundred gold medals for Team GB. And, uh, America."

Nanny watched with pride, and ignored the flutter of nerves that whispered that she might be doing a better job at influencing the child than her counterpart, and all that would mean.

August 2013: 6 years until the start of the Second Angelic War

Brother Francis tried not to think too hard about it all while he neatened up the flowerbeds for the garden party that afternoon. Warlock was turning five, and miraculously the weather had speckled the garden with enough rain overnight to keep everything looking green and vibrant without threatening any ruination to the outdoor celebration that was to come.

Five years old. Six years left.

He tried not to think about flaming swords and burning wings. Tried not to consider what might become of this garden in a few short years if they failed. Tried not to imagine what would happen to the Antichrist himself if he accepted all his inborn power.

"Brovver Francis!" came a high-pitched call, and the gardener turned to see Warlock – still tiny, really, barely more than a toddler – running across the grass towards him, Nanny following protectively just behind.

"Hello young Master Warlock. And happiest of birthdays to you! How old are you now?"

"Four," Warlock said, a little uncertainly.

"Ah, you were four, weren't you my little Prince of Darkness," Nanny said, crouching down. "But today is your birthday, and that means you get to add one year to your age! So how old are you now?"

"Five!" Warlock said brightly.

"Yes, you clever little cherub!" Brother Francis beamed.

Cherub? Nanny mouthed over Warlock's head.

Francis raised his eyebrows and shrugged slightly. Ashtoreth rolled her eyes.

"Almost halfway to conquering the world, aren't you, my little charcoal dove?"

The gardener gave Nanny a look then, too, but she just smiled, a touch wickedly.

"Come on then, Warlock, let's let Brother Francis finish his work so everything's ready for your party."

"Okay Nanny! Bye Brovver Francis!"

"Goodbye, Warlock!"

Only six years left.

August 2014: 5 years until the End of Humanity

Warlock was turning six this year. He was very excited.

Six was bigger than five, and four, and three, and two, and one. It was much bigger than zero. Not quite as big as seven, true, but six was a very good number. It did lots of clever things with factors and division, which Warlock liked, and it had a special sort of meaning when three of them were next to each other, which Nanny liked. And three was half of six, too, so even better. Warlock liked maths a lot.

Six was also over halfway to eleven, which Nanny said was going to be important. That was when he'd come into his powers and rule the world. Mummy said it was when he'd go to big school, too, so maybe that was what Nanny meant. But either way, he was over halfway there now. Six was a very good number.

August 2015: 4 years until the Events of Revelations Come to Pass

Warlock had been looking forward to his birthday, as usual, until he'd learnt from his father that seven-year-olds don't have nannies, they have tutors, and that meant Ashtoreth would be leaving him soon. The child was heartbroken, and even Nanny couldn't console him for several days.

He seemed to cheer up a bit, though, when he met the first of his two new tutors – Mr Harrison, it appeared to Thaddeus and Harriet, was exactly the sort of no-nonsense teacher that little Warlock needed to get over his childish attachment to his Nanny. Warlock looked up at his new tutor in awe, and chose not to suggest otherwise to his parents.

The changeover day was to be his birthday, when neither Nanny nor tutors would be required, and it thus marked a turning point in young Warlock's life. But he knew he would be safe. Growing up wasn't all that scary when you had trusted people there to protect you. And, as it turned out, Mr Cortese looked rather familiar too. Maybe the future was going to be okay after all.

August 2016: 3 years until the End of Days

"Maths! Why did it have to be maths?"

"I don't know. I can't imagine where he gets it from."

"Makes no sense at all."

Warlock was thriving in his lessons, but that was the one thing Mr Harrison really couldn't get over. Maths.

"I mean, if it had been anything else..."

"Well, perhaps it's our fault. We really should have learnt enough by now to keep up with him on it."

"Yes, but..." Mr Harrison spluttered for a moment, unable to articulate his thoughts. "It's maths."

"Point taken."

The only maths Mr Harrison was capable of doing at the moment was subtraction. Specifically, counting down from eleven. And he was getting shockingly close to zero now...

August 2017: 2 years until the Day of Reckoning

Mr Cortese was getting rather into this teaching lark. He hadn't done much of it for centuries, but the knack hadn't left him, and he was rather enjoying things. Pity about the maths, but he was less distraught about that than his counterpart.

He just had to remember that this wasn't forever. It was a temporary measure, designed to prevent the end of the human race and all life on earth.

He didn't like reminding himself of that. But needs must. He shouldn't lose sight of the goal.

Not that Buddy was letting him forget any time soon.

August 2018: 1 year until Judgement Day

The tutors both got Warlock's birthday off, and so Crowley and Aziraphale were holed up in the bookshop, celebrating dismally the one-year-left anniversary.

"It will be fine, won't it?"

"We've done all we can."

"Not quite yet. Still a year left."

"Yes. A year."

They sat in silence for a long while. Well, the outside world was silent – Aziraphale could still hear the echoes of an earworm he'd had for the last decade, insistent and unrelenting. He began to tap his foot absentmindedly.

"What's that you've got there, angel?" Crowley asked after a few moments.

"Hmm?"

"What's in your head? You're tapping."

"Oh. Yes." He sighed. "Buddy Holly."

"...Buddy Holly?"

The angel sighed again, then got up and put the offending record on. The upbeat music filled the bookshop, and the demon winced.

"Ah. Buddy Holly."

Everyday it's a-gettin' closer...

August 2019: Adam Young's 11th Birthday

Adam opened his eyes. Yes. Today was the day. Eleven years old. He he grinned up at the ceiling, then scrambled out of bed, still grinning, and headed downstairs.

Today was going to be a brilliant day.

#my writing #fanfiction #good omens #GOmensEveryday #everyday it's a-getting closer #aziraphale #crowley #warlock dowling #archangel michael #the archangel fucking gabriel #beelzebub #dagon #adam young

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multifandomfanficss · 3 years

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Crowley x Reader

Good Omens

Crazy Little Thing Called Love

Prompt: Your boyfriend Crowley finally lets you pick the music. This leads to some confessions.

Warnings: None

A/N: This is my first time writing for Crowley so I hope you guys like it. Sorry it’s short. Maybe if you guys like it I’ll write a longer Crowley fic in the future.

You sat in the old Bentley leaning your head against the cold window. The chilled glass was refreshing on what had been a warm early spring day. It was now cool night time and you were unable to sleep as you went on a late night drive with your boyfriend. You always enjoyed going for drives with Crowley especially after particularly long days when you could watch the city lights pass while the rest of the world was asleep.

You playfully whined as your boyfriend changed the music again. “I thought you said I could pick the next song” you said in a fake upset tone.

“You can pick the next song when you get a better taste in music” He joked. Knowing the demon he was probably half serious.

“Crowley” you whined.

“Fine” You saw his eyes roll behind his glasses and you smiled. You got to work going through your phone to pick the perfect song. Then you plugged your phone into the aux chord in Crowley’s radio. You then hit play on Queen’s Crazy Little Thing Called Love. Crowley’s hands tightened around the steering wheel. Although he did love Queen, love itself was always a very touchy subject for Crowley. You couldn’t blame him for that because you understood that he was a demon, but nonetheless you still wanted to show him love and for him to give you the same in return. You had been dating for the better part of a year and hadn’t said I love you yet. You were worried how he would react because you had seen how he reacted when Aziraphale said something as simple as calling him nice. You couldn’t imagine how he would react to love.

The air in the car was more tense than usual until you saw Crowley crack a little bit of a smile at the lyrics:

There goes my baby

She knows how to rock and roll

She drives me crazy

“You do” He said giving you a small nudge. You looked up at him and smiled. Then you leaned against the arm he wasn’t using to drive and decided to take a big leap of faith. You sighed.

“I love you, Crowley” You stated. You were very nervous during the brief silence that followed. You could feel him tense bellow you very quickly and then relax.

“I suppose I lo-love you too” The words got caught in the back of his throat, like he hadn’t said them in centuries. You smiled up at him and he continued to drive like nothing had been said. You yawned and snuggled into his arm a bit more. When the song ended and Crowley went to pick the next song you were too tired to object. You were surprised by the upbeat tunes of Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy playing through the speaker. You smiled as you heard him sing quietly above you as you drifted off to sleep. You loved your Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy and you knew he loved you too.

#good omens #david tennant #fanfiction #fanfic #crowley #crowley x reader #crowley x you #anthony j crowley #Anthony j Crowley x reader #good omens x reader #good omens fanfiction #good omens fanfic #good omens imagine #good omens one shot #Crowley oneshot #crowley imagine #david tennant x reader

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captainclickycat · 4 years

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Regardless of how much or little canon backs it up, personally I really like sexually/romantically confident Aziraphale. Not exclusively and not because I haven’t noticed that he often comes off socially anxious in the show (or think there’s anything wrong with that), but because I’m generally fond of character contrasts and seeing dorky, flustered characters also have their suave moments. Possibly because it resonates with me a lot as a dorky, oft-flustered person who is also sometimes charismatic and talkative depending on the social situation. I like depicting him as being more savvy and self-assured when he’s bantering/flirting with Crowley and matching his snarkiness on a one-to-one level, because for me that speaks to how comfortable he feels around Crowley in stark contrast to his employers/‘family’.

That being said, he does have his own particular brand of charisma and his comfort level manifests itself in ways that might not necessarily look comfortable to an onlooker. He’s not James Bond. Which again is something I can identify with - people often think I’m ‘shy’ or ‘nervous’ when I play with my hair or don’t look them in the eye, when that’s not actually the case and often indicates the reverse - that I’ve got comfortable and caught up enough in the conversation that I’m falling back into habits that I usually have to school myself into not doing (the autistic experience, amirite?)

So the way I see it, being very prim and dainty and sometimes cutting, gushing and infodumping openly about books and food and being generally perky and upbeat is his own manifestation of confidence and self-assurance.

And yeah, I also like seeing Crowley getting a little bit dorkier and more flustered when things get steamy or kissy between them. Not because I want to reduce his character to ‘teen-movie nerd with a crush’, but because it’s fun to see an outwardly aloof too-cool-for-school character lose their cool just a little bit (and, somewhat paradoxically, feel comfortable enough to do so) in the presence of the right person.

Not entirely sure what my intended point was here, just something that was going through my head today.

#good omens #aziraphale #ineffable spouses #ineffable husbands

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meli-productions · 4 years

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Moonlight Sonata

My contribution for @whiteleyfoster‘s Jazz Baby DTIYS! Hope it’s good enough *fingers crossed*

Also on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25813717

Aziraphale had seen Crowley sneaking away from the party a couple of minutes ago. Slithering through the crowd of bodies that were at high swing of frantic frenzy and drunken revelry.

It’s true that Heaven had patted Aziraphale on the back for the Temperance movement, but he’d much rather be in the midst of these party-goers than the straight-backed and stern people responsible for this underground lair.

Especially if it meant coming across Crowley at every turn.

The demon had invited him to this specific Speakeasy, a little tamer than most and not yet corrupted by the wads of cash that were rolling into the Bootlegger’s hands.

With bone-soaking Jazz music that brought both supernatural beings out of their element and onto the dancefloor for an upbeat dance along with the humans. Aziraphale had been taken by the rare, open expression on his demon’s face, and the edges of her lined eyes that were bright with joy and crinkled in laughter. His stomach had squeezed with affection and something that he dared not name at the risk of getting them both killed.

The only problem was that the two of them had been so caught up in their little bubble of joy that they almost missed the scent of a different demon disguised along the crowd. Crowley had almost been caught alongside him by Ligur who was there to spread a little chaos among patrons. With dropping hearts, and twisting stomachs, the two decided to split, making plans to meet back up when it was safe.

So now, having waited long enough for the feel of Ligur’s fermented sweetness to dance far enough away, Azriaphale found himself spiraling up the stairs towards where his demon had said she'd be waiting.

The stairs led up to different floors and different levels of debauchery, of uninhibited affections safely tucked away in this haven. As Crowley had tempted them to act upon feelings they’d been afraid of out in the wider world, Aziraphale blessed them - that their love be protected in a time where it wasn’t all accepted.

And letting the aura of love radiating through the air sink into his skin and add to his glow, he followed his own heart higher and onto the rooftop.

When Aziraphale pulled himself onto the roof, a little breathless from the descent onto the sloped surface, he was relieved to see the edges of black from Crowley’s fringed, rhinestone dress. Then his breath caught in his chest for a whole different reason.

Aziraphale gazed at the moon-bathed silhouette and his heartbeat - unnecessary but present - sped up as his eyes followed the relaxed line of Crowley’s body, the glistening of light on her crushed-rose hair, and the smattering of constellations on her shoulders that blended into the stars of the night.

“Are you gonna sit there the whole night or are you joining me, angel?” asked Crowley, turning her head enough for Aziraphale to see the glint of molten gold eyes and the smoke of a cigarette haloing her head.

He blushed and climbed up to where she was seated. Crowley, for her part, had turned to straddle the crest of the roof and Aziraphale matched her, leaning against the chimney until he could find his balance.

“Ligur headed north,” said Crowley, waving her hand in the general direction. “I’m sure he sensed another Speakeasy that was more corrupt and headed that way. You get seen?”

Aziraphale swallowed around the dryness of his throat, “No, luckily not. You?”

“He and I like to run in different circles, so he goes his own way whenever he senses me,” she said, shooting a sharp smile out towards the city. Then turned a smaller one towards Aziraphale, “But we didn’t even cross paths. Want some?”

She held the smoke out to him and he took it without a second thought. Taking a long drag, Aziraphale let his eyes flutter closed as he relaxed and smiled.

“Good, I didn’t want anything happening to you,” said Aziraphale, then looked down at the outstretched hand between them. “I’ve had a good time today, Crowley. Thank you for inviting me over.”

There was a blush that spread across Crowley’s cheeks, freckles highlighted by the pink. She ducked her head and he caught a glimpse of the pair of feathers of her headband, black and white - the remnants of a preening long-forgotten.

“‘S nothing, angel, just thought you deserved to get out and have some fun - I know your guys are expecting you to be around the Temperance team and,” she shuddered, “they’re hideous - inside and out.”

“And what better way to spend my nights with a tempestuous demon at a Speakeasy full of debauchery and drinks,” Aziraphale said, a twinkle in those hazel eyes of his.

Crowley took the cigarette and took a drag herself, “Write it off as you having to come and undo the sins of your adversary.”

“Hmm,” Aziraphale said. “We might come across very often - there’s just so much tempting you could be doing at these places.”

The sparkle in his eyes was matched in the warmth of Crowley’s, “And you’d need to follow and keep me in check, wouldn’t you?”

“Quite right,” replied Aziraphale, reaching for the cigarette once more. “I’m the only one that can keep you in check, my wily adversary.”

Crowley chuckled, then sighed and gazed over at Aziraphale with a look that almost melted his heart. She worried her lip under sharp teeth and, with a coy expression asked, “Nightcap?”

Aziraphale beamed, flicking the butt of the cigarette into the ether, “I have a nice vintage that I was able to stash underneath a floorboard, better than the stuff these bootleggers can stir up. Ready, my dear?”

Crowley’s wings unfurled from the pocket of space they rested in and she swooped into the sky. She hovered before Aziraphale, hand outstretched, “I’m ready. Are you?”

Aziraphale’s smile had dropped into open-mouthed awe, but now his smile was brighter than the moon behind her. He took her hand and let his own wings spread, “Ready, darling.”

If anyone had looked out into the night, they might’ve thought they’d seen two winged, human-shaped beings flying hand-in-hand through the sky. They might’ve rubbed their eyes and then the sight had disappeared.

But, then again, they had been drinking.

Probably just a trick of the imagination.

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justkeeptrekkin · 5 years

Note

Not making this too specific because there's a lot of fun directions it could go, but here's a fic I've been dying for: Ineffable Husbands at a gay club and one of them gets REALLY jealous of all the attention the other's getting from the patrons

Anon, you’ve inadvertently triggered my very niche interest in the 1980s Manchester music scene. This is so so long... apologies for that. This is also very relevant to another anonymous ask I got about dancing/letting loose, so I’m screen-shotting it here- anon, I hope you see this!

***

The year is 1984. Margaret Thatcher has won her landslide victory, and the miners’ strike has started sweeping the United Kingdom. Lesbians and Gays Support the Miners (LGSM) is beginning to make its mark in the papers. Madonna has taken over all radio stations worth listening to. Manchester United and Brighton drew 2-2 in the FA Cup, and the CD is now available in all good music stores.

Aziraphale is in Manchester. The North is currently filled with civil unrest due to the current political situation. Crime is rising, jobs are dwindling, people are scared for their futures. Aziraphale doesn’t often venture to The North, but when he does, it’s because something’s either gone terribly wrong or terribly well. For example, the Industrial Revolution (which had been both good and bad).

Crowley is in Manchester, too. He is in Manchester’s coolest club, The Haçienda. Nowadays, rather shockingly, Manchester is the place to be. It’s where New Order and The Smiths come to play. It’s the epicenter of British sex, drugs, and rock-and-roll. It’s Crowley’s creation, and for the first time since the city’s inception, he’d been- in his own words- ‘more than happy to come and check up on it and see how it’s doing’.

The two of them run into each other one night, on a busy street outside The Haçienda.

It’s eleven-thirty in the evening when Aziraphale turns a corner and walks directly into his best friend, whom he hasn’t seen since 1975. At first, he doesn’t recognise him for the lack of handle-bar moustache, begins apologising profusely. But the apology fades away on his tongue as he takes a step back and sees Crowley, giant Ray-Bans hiding most of his face. A black suit that’s too large for him- shoulders padded. Sleeves rolled up to his elbows. The ankles of his trousers rolled up too, and slacks without socks. And a painfully loud red and black Hawaiian shirt.

Crowley’s eyebrows shoot up above his considerable sunglasses. “Aziraphale?”

“Crowley! Fancy running into you here.” Aziraphale brushes off his cream, swede, double-breasted suit jacket. “What are you doing here?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Crowley spends a moment trying to re-roll his sleeves. Ever the perfectionist, he isn’t happy with how purposefully dishevelled he looks, and shrugs off his jacket, trying again. As he faffs, he continues, “This is my city. And it’s only just started getting really interesting. What are you doing here? What’s an angel doing in Manchester of all places?”

“Well. All this Thatcher business.”

“Oh,” Crowley nods. “Yes. Her. Coming to try and tidy up after her, are we?”

“Sort of. Lots of unhappy people, thought I’d try and perform a miracle or two.”

“Fair enough- except- except, doesn’t really answer my question,” Crowley drawls, stepping closer, sliding his hands into the pockets of his loose trousers.

The streets of Manchester are filled with party goers. Music from The Haçienda booms out, cigarette smoke pouring through the half open doorway. The bouncer eyes them suspiciously.

Aziraphale feels transfixed on the spot, Crowley’s gaze fixed on him and an amused smile playing on his lips.

“What’s an angel doing in Manchester at 11:30 on a Saturday night?”

Aziraphale stares. That hair. Some sort of miracle has gone into that hair, the way it’s been swept back and sprayed to an inch of its life to keep its hold. There’s so much volume to it, so much life that it looks like it might leap right off Crowley’s head and run away. But what’s more distracting is the way Crowley begins to pace around him, the way he always seems to do. Like he’s orbiting Aziraphale- the sun around a sunflower. And Aziraphale turns to watch him.

“It’s- you’re right, it’s not my preferred thing to be doing,” Aziraphale begins, feeling very thoroughly watched. Crowley is looking at him like he’s enjoying himself, as if he’s impressed. “I’d much rather be reading my book back home, but I’m actually here to lend some support.”

“Support?” Crowley repeats, smile still there, brows raised in interest.

Aziraphale glances at him as he continues to circle. People pass them by on the street without a second glance. The bouncer, however, looks like he’s about to shoo them away from the outside of the club.

“Support,” he emphasises. How is he forgetting his words so easily tonight? Crowley doesn’t always have this mind-numbing effect on him, but when he does, it’s awfully embarrassing. “I’m here to support the Lesbians and Gays Support the Miners. They’re having a party to gather allies in the gay club here. Just down the road.”

Crowley stops at that. And if he’d looked impressed before, now he looks positively elated, smile huge and brows flying to his hairline. “You what? LGSM- that was you?”

“Of course,” Aziraphale says quietly. Smiling to himself, feeling pleased. And quite frankly, flourishing a little under Crowley’s smile. “Two subjugated parties, coming together for a common cause. Equality.”

“And riots.”

Crowley smirks. Aziraphale frowns at him.

“Peaceful protest,” Aziraphale amends.

Crowley bows his head in concession. “Of course,” he says insincerely.

“Anyway,” Aziraphale says, before Crowley can begin lecturing him. “I’m heading over there now, just to show my face. It would be very rude not to, as they had invited me. Although…”

Aziraphale swallows. Looks about the dark, lamplit streets around him and sees the people stumble along, beers in hand, empty bottles of Lambrini rolling down the pavements. People chanting football anthems as they run through the deserted roads. The red-brick, converted factory buildings illuminated by club lights.

“You’re lost, aren’t you?”

“No,” Aziraphale asserts. Then, after being stared at for a few moments, “Yes.”

Crowley snorts. “Well, there’s only one good gay club that I know of round these parts, go there quite a lot myself.”

That brings his attention right back to Crowley’s Ray-Bans. “You do?”

Crowley shrugs enthusiastically. “Yeah, why not? Good fun.”

“Oh, yes?”

“Absolutely.”

“Ah- good. Well…”

“You don’t strike me as the type to go to clubs often.”

“And you’d be right.”

“So, let me get this straight- you live in Soho, gay centre of London, and haven’t been to a gay club?”

“Not knowingly, no. You’ll have to show me the ropes.”

Crowley looks at him. He looks at him with an intensity that makes Aziraphale’s neck shiver strangely, and not altogether unpleasantly. And then he sniffs, looks away, begin walking away from the club their hanging outside of. Their steps falling easily in sync, as if they haven’t been apart for more than five minutes.

“You know it’ll be loud.”

“Yes, of course.”

“And you probably won’t like the music.”

“Well, I’ll judge that for myself.”

“And people will try and flirt with you. Even in…” Crowley looks him up and down. “That.”

Aziraphale glares at Crowley and side-steps a little as they walk, brushing off his jacket again defensively. Looks down at his outfit- he’s sporting a very soft, very comfortable turtle neck. And some well-fitted trousers, thank you very much. Aziraphale has never seen Miami Vice, but he has seen posters and he knows that Crowley has taken the vast majority of his fashion inspiration from the show (at least he’s now emerged from his Saturday Night Fever phase). Aziraphale thinks he has rather better standards.

“What’s wrong with this?”

“You look like a Philosophy teacher.”

“And- excuse me, what is wrong with that?”

“You’re going to a gay club.”

“Well, my lesbian and gay friends don’t seem to take issue with my fashion choices.”

This is not, distinctly, true. They had tried to give him a makeover last week, and it had ended up with him looking like a lost member of Adam and the Ants.

“Alright, well, how about this.”

Crowley snaps his fingers- and then Aziraphale’s in a white silk shirt, buttons undone to his clavicle, the collar turned up and sleeves rolled up. White trousers- oh, Lord, no, they’re white jeans. And, well.

A little snug, at that.

“Good God,” he remarks.

“There. Suits you.”

“White jeans, Crowley. I mean, really, I think I can be classier than that.”

Crowley links arms with him and grins eagerly. Aziraphale’s back straightens and he returns his smile, a little giddily.

“Tonight, we aren’t doing classy, angel.”

***

Three hours and several cocktails later, and Aziraphale has found himself dancing something that isn’t a gavotte.

Some song about ‘needing a hero’ is playing, very upbeat and jovial it is, too. He’s dancing with the LGSM crew, glass half empty in one hand. It’s hot in here- he’s sweating horribly. And it’s incredibly loud. He doesn’t know what anyone’s saying, but they’re all having an excellent time. Cigarette smoke lingers in the air. And there are men in shorts so absurdly tiny that he doesn’t know how they keep everything in. The outfits get far more outrageous than that, too- people in full leather, people in full feathers, people in full glitter.

Gay clubs are fantastic, Aziraphale has decided.

He’s several drinks in, and Crowley has gone to the bar to buy a round for them all. Meanwhile, Aziraphale is jumping around with reckless abandon, knowing that, sooner or later, Crowley will come back. Crowley will come back and look at him in that way he does that Aziraphale doesn’t understand but makes his heart jump- a look that’s intense, yet soft, frustrated yet affectionate.

Aziraphale will do almost anything to see him look at him like that.

In the loud of the club, he hand signals something to his friends- something very inarticulate and nonsensical that’s meant to convey ‘I’m going to go look for my age-old friend Crowley, whom I have associated myself with for roughly six thousand years even though it’s technically against the rules, but I do it anyway because he’s probably the only person in this universe who understands me. Also I’m going to go help him with the drinks.’ And so he steps further into the crowd of the club- he’s lucky he’s drunk enough that he isn’t bothered by the sheer number of people- stepping on the sticky floor to find his friend.

And there.

There is Crowley, two cosmopolitans in hand. Being chatted up by a stranger.

A very large, lumberjack looking man leering at him. He has even more hair on his head than Crowley does, piled on top of it like a rodent. And then there’s the huge beard and the frankly alarmingly hairy chest, poking out of layers of denim. Crowley stares at the stranger with slightly raised eyebrows and pursed lips, listening to whatever pick-up line he’s being given with a look of heavy judgement.

And at first, Aziraphale doesn’t know what to do.

There’s no reason to be jealous, of course. Because, they aren’t together. In the coupley sense, anyway. Are they?

No we aren’t, we can’t be, he thinks. Aziraphale would know if they were. And they’d probably see each other more often if they were, rather than parting ways every decade or so only to accidentally run into each other.

But he thinks about him all the time. All the damn time. He’s the only person in this universe that he misses, really truly misses. And Aziraphale knows beyond doubt that what he’s feeling right now is jealousy- a burning, horrible possessiveness that makes his stomach churn and his chest ache. A furnace inside him that makes him square his shoulders and march over to Crowley through the sea of sweaty bodies. He knows it’s jealousy- which is not good news at all, for an angel.

Bad bad, very bad indeed. Not heavenly. Problem is, I think I love him, and there’s not much to be done about that, Aziraphale thinks to himself. Lord, I’m very drunk.

The song about needing a hero continues, its fast rhythm giving him momentum as he approaches the enormous man and an unintimidated Crowley. And then, Aziraphale hesitates. Because, he really shouldn’t be interrupting this, if Crowley enjoys this sort of thing- and he’s said he does like gay clubs, so by proxy he probably also likes the attention from other men. Which means that Aziraphale has absolutely no room to disturb that enjoyment, even if it hurts him.

And so Aziraphale stands and watches, heart breaking a little in the middle of the dance floor as Crowley smirks at the lumberjack man. Lumberjack man leans a hand on the bar and continues talking. Leans in to say something in Crowley’s ear.

Aziraphale burns.

He watches helplessly as Crowley’s smirk becomes a grimace, and he begins searching the crowd. The disco lights catch his Ray-Bans, flash a bright green. And then he seems to spot Aziraphale, because his face softens in relief, his body slumping so he almost pours the cosmopolitans down his shirt. Aziraphale watches his lips as he mouths something to him.

Help? Please?

That’s all it takes. Aziraphale doesn’t question the fact that Crowley could easily miracle himself out of this awkward situation. If it crosses his mind that actually, Crowley may want Aziraphale to come save him, it’s quickly dashed away. Yes, that thought is considered for all of point-five of a second, before being locked away and buried somewhere deep in his mind.

Aziraphale rocks up to the bar. Crowley smiles at him, extends an arm to Aziraphale and gives him one of the drinks. Then, he snakes said arm around his waist.

Oh, golly, he thinks in sudden alarm.

The song changes to something about ‘spinning me right round.’ Not that Aziraphale’s attention is on the music right now- no, it’s on Crowley, who’s wrapped himself around Aziraphale and is leaning against him sinuously.

“Sorry, love, this is my boyfriend,” Crowley shouts over the music to the disgruntled looking stranger. “Go bother some other twink.”

Aziraphale has absolutely no idea what that last part means, but it does make him laugh nervously. Crowley looks at him seriously, raises his eyebrows at him over his sunglasses. From this close, he can see the slits of his snake eyes.

“Oh,” Aziraphale says out loud- one step behind Crowley’s thought-process, as drunk as he is.

He wraps an arm around Crowley’s slim waist, and gives lumberjack his best intimidating stare. Straightening to his full height and tilting his chin imperiously. Lumberjack waves a dismissive hand at them and moves onto his next conquest.

The two of them hover at the bar for a long moment, annoying the rest of the club-goers who are trying to get to the front to make their orders. They stand there, arms around each other, both of them seemingly frozen in surprise at what has just occurred. And, apparently, not knowing what to do next.

Crowley is the first to untangle himself. His cosmopolitan sloshes down Aziraphale’s shirt, and he instantly miracles it better, without a care in the world who can see. He stands back a little- not very far. There isn’t enough room to stand that far apart. And he looks him dead on. Purses his lips, as if nervous. As if trying to figure out what to say.

Then he dips his head to Aziraphale’s ear to speak. The closeness of it-

Lord, the closeness of it. The heat of Crowley’s breath against his ear is something else. It freezes him on the spot.

“Fancy a dance, angel?”

Crowley leans back again. He looks tense and relaxed all at once. Lips parted, as if dazed. Cheeks red from the heat of the club. A sheen of sweat on his brow, shoulders creeping up to his ears.

Aziraphale nods. And then Crowley beams a sharkish grin at him- something far more apprehensive than it is happy or confident- and takes his hand.

He takes his hand, and Aziraphale lets him take him to the dance floor.

They dance. They dance to the song about spinning right round, to a song about being together in electric dreams, and then something by the wonderful Mr Bowie. Because yes, even Aziraphale knows David Bowie. And if he notices the LGSM gang waving and leering at him, making rude hand gestures and mouthing words of encouragement at him from across the room, he ignores them as best he can. Rather, he waves a shooing hand at them when Crowley’s back is turned. They’ve heard him talk about Crowley too many times for them not to put two-and-two together, apparently.

How mortifying.

That doesn’t stop them from having the most enormous fun. Crowley is absolutely delighted by the fact that Aziraphale can dance something other than the gavotte. Within the first three minutes he’s laughing uncontrollably, grinning like an idiot with how amusing it apparently is to see Aziraphale dance. When Crowley dives in to talk in Aziraphale’s ear again- a hand on his arm-

A hand on his arm-

He tells Aziraphale that he dances like a granddad. Aziraphale shouts something about Crowley being very rude and mean to him- he doesn’t remember the exact words, he’s too tipsy- and Crowley just smiles wider. They dance and shout and Crowley sings lyrics at the top of his lungs like his life depends on it, with utter dedication that makes Aziraphale’s heart swell. They continue to drink and laugh and let the night take them somewhere they haven’t experienced together before. With every song, with every terrible dance move that he shares with Crowley, he feels some weight lift of his shoulders.

And then something with a heavy beat starts playing. Something that stops the crowd from jumping and flailing. It takes too long for Aziraphale to notice, drunkenly swaying on the spot with a dazed smile pulling at his lips. And then he sees the way Crowley is standing stock still, arms awkwardly at his sides like he’s forcing them to stay there. Lips pressed together and eyes scanning the room.

Aziraphale doesn’t think about taking his hands in his, he just does it. Crowley’s eyes snap up to him, lips parting in soft surprise.

The music plays.

‘You’re out of touch, I’m out of time- but I’m out of my head when you’re not around…’

They move closer. And then they move even closer. And Aziraphale holds Crowley’s hand, holds his waist like he’s leading him in a waltz. And Crowley looks at him with brows pulled together, Adam’s apple bouncing as he swallows. And they shuffle terribly awkwardly, as if they’ve both forgotten how to use their mortal bodies, forgotten what legs are. And Aziraphale supposes he should feel embarrassed, that this should feel strange. To hold his best friend like this and stare into his eyes like he has no intention of ever leaving this moment. And in a way, it does feel strange.

But more than that, it feels wonderful.

And if the song changes to something faster again, neither one notices. If the club starts to get quieter, people going home, neither one cares. And if the world really is going to end someday soon, with fire and flame and the armies of Heaven and Hell using Earth as its battle ground, neither one will leave each other’s side.

The year is 1984, and although they’re both too afraid to say it out loud, they know that they belong together.

#fic prompt #my writing #ineffable husbands #good omens #aziraphale #crowley #anon

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infinitevariety · 3 years

Text

May Your Days Be Merry

Having never been able to celebrate previously, Aziraphale and Crowley decide to embrace the festive season and make the most of their first December together since the world didn’t end.

Chapter Two: Bells (AO3)

Aziraphale wastes no time ringing in the festive season, much to Crowley's dismay.

As Crowley approaches the bookshop, everything seems normal. After yesterday’s decision to embrace the holiday season he had half expected to see tinsel and candles and fake snow in the windows. But no, the outside of the bookshop is steadfastly the same as usual. Crowley breathes a sigh a relief.

It’s only when Crowley pushes open the door and enters the bookshop that the chaos is revealed.

The first thing Crowley notices is the music. While it’s not unusual to hear music played in the shop, it is usually classical, operatic, or from a musical. This music is… lively. One might even say jolly. Crowley recognises the current song enough to know it’s a Christmas song, but not what it’s called.

The second thing Crowley notices, under the upbeat jangles of the song, is the humming. It can only be Aziraphale. Not only is he listening to Christmas songs, he is humming along to them.

Crowley has to pause by the door to gather his thoughts, as they have spun off in various unfamiliar directions. Once he has become acclimatised to the music and the humming, he steps further inside, wary of any further disturbances to his expectations.

A few rows of books back, he finds Aziraphale. Any thread of normality Crowley had been clinging to dissipates before his eyes. Because before his eyes is an angel in a bright red jumper, swaying his hips to the jolly music. Aziraphale is on tiptoes, reaching up with a feather duster to the top of the shelves.

Crowley must make some kind of choked noise of dismay, because Aziraphale turns around. He beams at Crowley, turning fully to face him. His movement is accompanied by a jangling sound so loud it is easily heard over the music. Crowley closes his eyes, whips off his sunglasses, and rubs at his eyeballs.

“Crowley!” calls Aziraphale, happiness in his voice.

“Are you— Is that—” Crowley struggles to find the words. “Does your jumper have bells on it?”

“Yes! It’s marvellous, isn’t it?”

Horror confirmed, Crowley opens his eyes to fully take in the monstrosity that is Aziraphale’s jumper. It’s mostly red, with circles of bright colours on the front—baubles, Crowley’s brain unhelpfully supplies—and attached to each circle… a small silver bell.

“It’s hideous. Put your waistcoat back on.” At least he’s still got his bow tie on, Crowley thinks but does not say.

Aziraphale huffs. “I will not. If we’re celebrating the festive season we’re doing it properly.” As Aziraphale pulls his arms stiffly to his sides in an effort to emphasise his point, the bells on his jumper jingle again. “I’m getting in the spirit, Crowley.”

“I’d rather get the spirit in me,” says Crowley as he turns and walks towards the back room. “Where’s the whiskey?”

Bells and footsteps sound behind him as Aziraphale follows.

“That’s not very festive, my dear. How about we make some eggnog?”

“Help yourself to the egg, angel.” As he speaks, Crowley pours himself a generous drink. “I’ve got the nog covered.” And with that he downs three fingers of whiskey.

Crowley notices Aziraphale take a swift glance at the clock—quarter past four.

“I suppose I could close the shop early…”

With a snap of Aziraphale’s fingers Crowley hears the lock of the front door close. Then Aziraphale is relieving Crowley of the bottle and pouring them both a drink. Crowley relaxes for the first time since he walked through the bookshop door and wanders over to collapse on the sofa.

Aziraphale brings him a glass with only one finger of whiskey, so Crowley sips it. He also narrows his eyes at Aziraphale as he watches him take a seat opposite.

“If you’re going to ration me can we at least turn the music down a bit?” Before he’s even finished speaking the volume of the music lowers to that of not entirely unpleasant background noise. “That’s better.”

“You, er, don’t like the jumper then?” Aziraphale asks far too softly.

Crowley wishes he’d kept his sunglasses on so he could roll his eyes. He settles for a small sigh.

“It just… I wasn’t expecting it, you know? Bit of a change from your usual garb. Quite modern of you, really.”

Crowley looks at Aziraphale over his glass as he takes another sip of his drink. He watches for subtle signs of discomfort, wondering if Aziraphale will take insult to the implication that he is with the times. The idea of Aziraphale throwing off the jumper in a fit of sudden annoyance does have its appeals to Crowley.

Alas, Aziraphale simply looks down at his jumper and wiggles, causing the bells to jingle happily again.

“I got the jumpers this morning, from the charity shop a few doors down. They have some wonderful bits in there.”

“Jumpers—” Crowley sits up, suddenly alert. “—plural?”

“Yes.”

“What, do you have one for every bloody day of December?”

“Of course not, my dear.” Aziraphale pauses to take a sip of his own drink and Crowley allows himself to relax. “I got one for you as well.”

“Absolutely not,” cries Crowley as he springs up to grab the whiskey bottle.

Two hours and most of a bottle of whiskey later sees Crowley and Aziraphale drunkly stumbling around the bookshop in a manner that could generously be described as dancing. The music has been turned back up, so loud, in fact, that Crowley can barely even hear the sound of the bells from Aziraphale’s jumper.

Crowley himself is wearing a jumper. He can barely remember being cajoled into it, but he will never forget that it is green and has a reindeer with a flashing red nose emblazoned on the front. And he certainly won’t be telling Aziraphale how comfy it is.

#good omens #good omens fic #ineffable husbands #ineffable husbands fic #ace ineffable husbands #ineffable festive #fic: may your days be merry #2020 advent ficlet challenge #i wrote this

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ao3commentoftheday · 5 years

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Can someone please explain why epithets and adverbs are bad? Like I’m seeing it everywhere and I just don’t get it??? If Homer can use epithets and have the Odyssey accepted as a great classical work, what’s so wrong with them??

They’re not bad in theory, but they can become bad in practice, if that makes sense? Like, adding a little bit of salt to your food makes it delicious. Adding a lot makes it inedible. And adding it to the wrong dish makes the food taste weird.

An epithet (in the case that people are always complaining about) is just a descriptor for the character. They’re used instead of the character’s name, so they’re kind of like pronouns that way. But only kind of.

Crowley looked around Aziraphale’s book shop and thought about how much he loved the angel.

In this case “the angel” is an epithet. It’s standing in for the name “Aziraphale.” The reason this might read as awkward to some people is because “how much he loved the angel” is Crowley’s thought. Is Crowley going to think of Aziraphale as “the angel”? No. He’s probably going to think of him as “Aziraphale” or “him”.

It’s the point of view (POV) that makes an epithet awkward, most of the time.

[ I’m going to put the rest of this under a cut because it got long. ]

An external narrator who is introducing a new character can say something like:

The Cantina was full of the usual array of scoundrels and scum. Deals were being made and fights were breaking out and laughter wove its way between both. As the band played an upbeat tune, a scruffy pilot sat across from a bounty hunter and tried to look casual, even as he surreptitiously pulled out his blaster.

There’s no point of view there and it’s our first introduction to Han Solo so referring to him as “a scruffy pilot” works. In fact, it might even work if Luke were the POV character because he’s never met Han before. The iffy part there is whether he’d know he was a pilot just based on how he was dressed.

As for adverbs, there’s nothing wrong with them. People use them all the time, and they don’t even realize it. The reason why some people rant and rave against adverbs is because they insist “there’s a word that exists that means that same thing, so use it.”

They would argue for example that this is wrong:

“I love you,” he said quietly.

Instead of “said quietly” you should use “whispered.” Instead of “very special” you should say “extraordinary.” (you get the idea)

And that’s fine, and if you like that writing style go for it. Fill your boots. But that really is just a style, and not everyone likes it. To me, saying something quietly and whispering it are different. I’m going to use both, but I’ll use them for different purposes at different times to give a different feeling to the conversation.

A lot of the time, the lack of adverbs makes me feel like the writer is trying to show off their vocabulary. Not all the time, no, but in situations where they’ve seen those word list posts about how to replace adverbs or “said is dead” etc. I’ll read a fic and I’ll just want to simplify it because those more complex words can sometimes obscure the meaning of what you’re actually trying to say.

If you love epithets, go ahead and use them. If you love adverbs, enjoy yourself. Write your story however you want to write it. It’s fanfic. It’s fun. Have fun with it.

#asks and answers #Anonymous

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ziraley-j-crow · 4 years

Text

‘The Way You Look Tonight’ - Crowley x Aziraphale

Author’s Note: Hello! I haven’t written anything in a long time, but after being in the Good Omens fandom for nearly 4 months, I’ve finally caved.

This is simply a one-shot/short story. This is my first time writing Crowley and Aziraphale, so let’s see how that goes, shall we?

Also, I know we don’t exactly get to see Crowley’s lounge in the show, so using the description from the book, I try to conjure up my own vision of his lounge as if it was set in 2019.

Below is a link to the song that inspired me to write this. I can’t help but think of them dancing together to this. Please give it a listen!

https://youtu.be/gsALgi5yM_A

London

2 months after Armageddon.

It was always The Ritz.

They celebrated here after stopping Armageddon a couple of months ago. It wasn’t so hard to tempt Aziraphale to afternoon tea there in between. It was almost routine.

They’d always walk out together and get into Crowley’s car. Crowley would always remember to hold open the passenger door for Aziraphale before getting in himself. When Aziraphale asked him why he did that, Crowley would just shrug him off or change the subject.

Then, Crowley would drive Aziraphale back to his bookshop, stopping outside and cutting out the ignition. They would sit in a comfortable silence for a moment, before Crowley would say something along the lines of:

“Well, that hit the spot. Same time next week?”

And Aziraphale would nod and smile.

“Sounds absolutely wonderful. I wouldn’t miss it for the world!”

He’d get out of the Bentley, walk through the old doors of the shop, and turn to give one last small wave to Crowley before closing the doors softly. Crowley - usually needing five minutes to collect himself - would wipe the fog from the driver’s window where he was staring out from before anyone could see how infatuated he was.

It had been like this for the last 2 months.

This evening was going to be different, though. It had to be.

***

As always, they walked out together, the sunset casting a calm glow through the quiet, Sunday evening streets.

“Splendid as always!” said Aziraphale blissfully, as they walked to Crowley’s car.

“I’m glad you enjoyed,” Crowley said, as they put on their belts. “Where do you want to go now?” He turned on the car, music playing from the radio. He’d never usually ask that.

“I assume to the bookshop, but I suspect you have another place in mind?” Aziraphale inquired, watching Crowley as he turned down the music. Crowley raised his eyebrows, and began to drive.

“I was thinking... We could go back to my place? I have some old bottle of wine lying around, if you want to try. Leroy Rich, or something...” he trailed off. But he knew the name off by heart, of course. It was-

“Domaine Leroy Richebourg Grand Cru? Oh, I’ve heard that is a fantastic wine! You know, there are only 700 bottles made each year. How could you possibly have got your hands on that?” Aziraphale asked, sounding quite impressed.

“Wasn’t too difficult,” He gave a nonchalant shrug. “Just knew some people, is all.” he replied, trying to sound suave.

“Well, I suppose I will take you up on your offer, Crowley. I believe I have to see this wine for myself.” admit Aziraphale, and Crowley shot him a quick glance, the angel not noticing. He nearly hit the curb.

“R-Really? Great! It will be a relaxing evening then. Cool.” he tried to compose himself, and ever so slightly applied more pressure to the accelerator pedal.

***

“You can sit anywhere,” Crowley gestured to the living room of his flat. “Make yourself comfortable.”

Crowley had made himself a nice and modern home. Dark interior, not a spec of dust on any surface. It was as if he had just bought the place, furnished and spanking new. The living room was spacious, a dim lighting causing shadows to seep into the room. A long white leather sofa faced a wide flat screen TV, which was perched up on the wall, a pristine electric fireplace underneath it.

“Thank you. I must say, you have this place kept immaculate, Crowley!” stated Aziraphale, removing his coat.

“Not much a miracle can’t do, angel!” Crowley said. “I’ll get the wine. Here, give me your coat, I’ll put it away.” Crowley vanished to the kitchen, leaving Aziraphale to have a nose around the room. His attention was drawn to a rather tall display cabinet. It was black, with glass doors, so you could see what it entailed. There were some small bronze statues, collectibles perhaps. Some CD’s lined up together, music Aziraphale hadn’t quite heard of.

“Oh, that looks familiar...” he muttered to himself, inspecting a smooth, round cup, looking like it were made from brown clay.

“That cup is from Italy. 41 AD, if I’m not wrong.” he said, inspecting another artifact.

“That cockade is from Paris, in 1793. I wore that..” he trailed off when he realized something.

In the cabinet were tokens that Crowley had taken from every moment in history they were together. There was the coin Crowley used when they met William Shakespeare in 1601. Beside that was the tartan flask, lid and all from 1960.

There was something from every moment with them.

His attention was pulled to the sudden sound of music coming from a corner in the room. Surprised, he looked around, and sat by the window was what appeared to be a gramophone, but was neater and rather modern. An upbeat, foot-tapping song flowed softly from the speaker, unmistakably retro swing music.

“Hm, that’s not very Crowley, is it?” Aziraphale thought, amused. Just then, Crowley had returned. Two wine glasses in one hand, bottle in the other.

“Ah, Crowley. I was just admiring your gramophone! Quite a lovely thing.” Aziraphale said, walking over to the couch, and sitting himself down.

“Yes, handy little thing. Wine?” Crowley handed a glass to Aziraphale, who took it from him. He poured them both a drink, settling down onto the couch too.

“This wine is simply divine! Mind if I look for the date?” Aziraphale asked Crowley, who nearly choked on his drink.

“Date?” Crowley quickly trying to compose himself, clearing his throat. Aziraphale looked puzzled.

“Yes, on the bottle of wine?” asked Aziraphale, not picking up on the reason for Crowley’s behavior. Certainly not noticing how Crowley’s once pale complexion, had now turned rather flush.

“Oh, yeah, sure. Here.” Crowley handed Aziraphale the bottle. The music was still playing quietly in the background, setting a relaxed mood to the apartment.

“Ah, 1940... I remember that year like it was yesterday.” said Aziraphale wistfully. He concentrated on the bottle for a moment. “Do you remember that time? When you saved those books for me?” he asked Crowley, perhaps nostalgic.

Of course Crowley remembered that moment. The memory played out in his mind as clear as anything. Aziraphale needed help, so he was there. He’d lost the books, what would be easier than a *snap* and a little miracle? How much he wanted to say “Oh, don’t worry, angel, I’ve got you covered!” when Aziraphale was obviously troubled. Maybe he could have lingered for a second longer when handing the books back to him. Maybe “Lift home?” could have meant something more?

It was iconic. Like ‘Casablanca’.

“Yeah, I remember.” He paused for a moment. “Messy night.” He took another drink.

“Indeed it was. But I’m still glad you saved those books. I’ve cherished them ever since that night.” said Aziraphale fondly, having a drink too.

Neither of them shared a word between them, the music filling in the blanks. Glen Miller’s ‘In The Mood’ played smoothly from the gramophone. The sun was well gone by now, and the room was set with an orange aura. The glow softened both of their features, making them look relaxed.

“I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t shown up, really.” Aziraphale confessed, sinking into the sofa. He looked at Crowley, with genuine gratitude.

“I dunno, you could have pulled an MacGyver on them?” he said, humor in his tone.

“Um, who is MacGyver? One of yours?” asked Aziraphale, confused. Crowley was astonished.

“Who is MacGyver?!”

***

The wine bottle was empty after less than an hour, and the lounge was full of laughter from Crowley and Aziraphale. The two were sharing stories of deeds they had done over the years. Well, the stupidest ones.

“Wait, so you deliberately stuck the £2 coin to the ground? As one of your schemes? Why?” Aziraphale was quite entertained by Crowley’s story.

“Yes, because who doesn’t see a £2 coin and want it for themselves?” Crowley said shamelessly, finishing off his drink.

“But you tried to pick it up. You tempted yourself, Crowley.” said Aziraphale, feigning shock. “You could have...” The wine had gone to both of their heads by now. “Oh look, now I’ve forgotten my words!”

“Discorporated!” Crowley exclaimed, lifting his arms up for dramatic effect, nearly dropping his wine glass. “Oop, better put this down.”

“Yes! Very much so! Not a nice place to be.” grumbled Aziraphale, a small pout forming on his lips. He stared into his wine glass, not much left now. Crowley’s tipsy mind remembered Aziraphale’s discorporation, and racked itself to distract him from that memory.

“I suppose it’s not.. Sorry, angel.” he said, looking at Aziraphale, a tone of regret in his voice. Coincidentally, not even a second after saying that, another song had begun to play on the gramophone. Crowley knew just which song to ‘miracle’ onto the gramophone.

“Oh my goodness! I absolutely adore this song!” Aziraphale piped up, an almost child-like excitement filled him and his face was washed with a distant longing. Of course, the sight of this nearly made Crowley cry with pure adoration for the angel. But all he could do was sit, stare, and take in the beauty sat in front of him.

***

The song Crowley chose was “The Way You Look Tonight” by Fred Astaire.

Why? Simply because one night after dropping Aziraphale home after their traditional rendezvous, Aziraphale had forgotten his reading glasses in the car. He likes to use them when reading the menus at The Ritz.

“You know, if you didn’t want the trouble of glasses when you read, you could just... Miracle them away.”

“Yes, but, well... I think they’re rather nifty!”

On this particular evening, Crowley had driven well away from the bookshop before he actually noticed them on the passenger seat. The Bentley’s tires nearly produced flames from the sudden skidding halt, thanks to Crowley. He picked them up carefully.

“Holy shit, he forgot his glasses!” Crowley exclaimed, removing his own sunglasses to get a better look at the spectacles. They were delicate, small and round.

Like the angel.

The hasty beeping of a car horn pulled Crowley away from his thoughts. With a scowl, he quickly swerved his car around, miraculously not hitting anything or anyone, and made his way back to the bookshop.

He pulled up outside the bookshop once more, noticing a light was on upstairs in the building. He needn’t worry about his sunglasses now. It was late, dark, and he doubt he’d run into anybody. Carefully, he put Aziraphale’s glasses into his coat pocket, and made his way over across the road. He knocked on the bookshop door, and waited for an answer.

If you listened very carefully, you could hear the muffled sound of music coming from the bookshop. It was distant, but Crowley found himself being pulled to it. He followed the song, opening the door of the shop quietly. He closed the door behind him, scanning the room to bear his surroundings in the dark.

The song was clearer now. It was a swing song, the type that made you feel floaty when you listened to it. He noticed a warm light at the top of the stairs, presumably where Aziraphale was. He sauntered over quietly, so as to not frighten the angel.

“Uh, hey, Aziraphale, you forgot these...No. Hey, angel, these are yours, I think? No, that’s too obvious, of course you know.” Crowley was practicing what he would say when he gave Aziraphale back his glasses as he crept up the stairs. As he made his way up, Aziraphale came into view through the staircase, the music flooding the room. Crowley stayed low, observing. Listening.

Aziraphale was, as usual, organizing his books. But he looked.. Alluring.. Beautiful.. Captivating. He had removed his coat, which was likely to be hung up neatly somewhere. His shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, an almost daring look for the angel to pull off. His bow-tie was removed, and the top buttons of his shirt were undone. His brown vest was snug on his hips, and when he reached up to place a book on the shelf, a little bit of his tummy showed. He was quite relaxed, doing what he loves to do the most.

Internally, Crowley was screaming. His heart was beating in his ears right now, and he almost couldn’t hear the music that was describing his feelings for the angel. Aziraphale was singing contently to himself. Or so he thought.

“...yes you're lovely, with your smile so warm. And your cheeks so soft. There is nothing for me but to love you, just the way you look tonight.” Aziraphale sang softly, examining the couple of books in the crook of his arm. Crowley didn’t want to move. He wanted to savor this scene for eternity. But he knew he couldn’t stay and watch how the light made his figure glow, so angelic. How he sang so heartfelt and almost waltzed across the room to retrieve more books to stock on the shelves. How he put so much care into his skill, when he looked fondly at each book, perhaps a thoughtful memory springing into his mind each time.

The song was coming to an end, and Crowley took that as his que to leave. He miracled Aziraphale’s glasses onto the table with the books, placed so that Aziraphale would see them in plain sight. He took one more loving look at the angel, taking him in as he took a deep breath, and then proceeded down the stairs quietly.

At his car, he looked up at the window where Aziraphale was working. He thought about him. How he felt about him. How he made him feel.

The light suddenly switched off.

“Must have found his glasses.” Crowley said to himself, and got into his car.

***

“Oh my goodness! I absolutely adore this song!” Aziraphale gasped. Crowley watched Aziraphale’s face light up with bliss, the song working it’s magic.

“Some day, when I'm awfully low, and the world is cold...” Aziraphale sang, perhaps not as well as when Crowley first heard him, but Crowley found it quite endearing to see him so happy.

That’s when Crowley plucked up his courage.

He stood up from the sofa, as casual as he could - in this case he hoist himself up, his hands held out at either side of himself for balance - and made his way over to the gramophone. He turned up the music, not blasting, but just so that it felt like the music was wrapping you in a reassuring hug. Almost so that Fred Astaire himself was saying “You got this. Go get him, kid.”

Crowley turned around to see Aziraphale tapping his foot to the music, humming contently to himself. He walked over to him, stopping in front of him and put out both of his hands in front Aziraphale.

“...There is nothing for me but to love you, just the way you look tonight...”

Aziraphale looked up at Crowley, confused. “Are you.. Do you want my glass?”

“No, Aziraphale. I... I want to take your hands... If that’s alright.” Crowley said, shyly. He wasn’t his usual confident and bold self right now. He was nervous. Aziraphale’s eyes opened a little wider, and Crowley looked away, thought about snatching his hand back and saying “I’m sorry, forget I did that.”

“Yes... Yes, of course, Crowley.” Aziraphale took Crowley’s hands in his - soft and warm to touch, a gentle grasp - and Crowley felt electric shocks shooting up through his arms.

“..With each word your tenderness grows, tearing my fear apart, and that laugh that wrinkles your nose, it touches my foolish heart..”

Crowley looks at Aziraphale, not believing the words he was hearing. Aziraphale was holding his hands. In Crowley’s flat. They were in Crowley’s flat holding hands.

“Okay... Can we... Can we try something?” Crowley asks, leading them away from the sofa, to the middle of the room. Aziraphale follows him.

Crowley was going to try and dance with Aziraphale. He’d seen lots of movies, he’d seen how they do it, the music was perfect. Except, he had never actually danced before.

“Lovely...Never, ever change...”

They both stood together in silence, still holding hands. Aziraphale giggled sheepishly, his eyes trying to meet Crowley’s. Crowley had never been close to Aziraphale like this. His sunglasses had slid down his nose, so he could see Aziraphale’s stunning cornflower blue eyes, quite possibly the most beautiful shade of blue he’d ever seen. The lighting of the room would give you the impression that they were glowing. It would be stupid of anyone to not be nearly intimidated by how striking they were.

He didn’t even notice Aziraphale was doing the same. With his sunglasses no longer shielding his eyes, Aziraphale could appreciate how Crowley’s eyes were the color of the finest whiskey money could buy, with the sunlight shining and rippling through it. He thought if he stared for much longer, he was sure he would melt. They were always covered, so he was savoring this moment for as long as he was allowed to.

“What were you planning on trying, dear?” Aziraphale asked, not breaking his gaze. Neither was Crowley.

“Hm?” Crowley asked softly. He wasn’t too sure if he heard Aziraphale actually say something. He didn’t want to move.

“...Keep that breathless charm... Won't you please arrange it?...'Cause I love you, just the way you look tonight...”

“You wanted to try something? What was it?” Aziraphale asked, batting his eyelashes. Crowley woke from his trance-like state.

“Oh, yes. I'd like to dance with you, if that’s alright?” Crowley asked, hoping he sounded somewhat like James Dean, but really sounded more like he was asking his date to dance at their high school prom.

“Dance? Of course, that sounds really wonderful, Crowley. Do you mind me asking if know how to dance?” Aziraphale asked, and Crowley shook his head, feeling rather foolish, come to think of it.

“Well, not to worry, we have already accomplished one step. We're already holding hands!” Aziraphale chuckled, easing the mood. They both looked down at their hands, cheeks almost burning. A sobering moment. Cliché, but their hands fit together.

“I think have to... If you don’t mind?” Crowley began, taking his hands from Aziraphale. He quickly adjusted his sunglasses, and placed his hands gently on the angel’s hips. Aziraphale took a deep breath to himself, and nodded.

“Y-Yes, that seems to be right.” said Aziraphale, feeling his heart beat faster with every passing second. He could have nearly passed out from the overwhelming bliss. “And I think that I-I have to put my hands..” he gingerly placed his hands on Crowley’s shoulders. “Here?”

Crowley gulped, and nodded. “Yes, that’s.. That’s good.”

“...Oh won't you please arrange it?..'Cause I love you, just the way you look tonight...Just the way you look tonight...”

The music blended effortlessly into another repeat. Perhaps another sneaky doing of Crowley.

“We have to move, that much I do know.” Crowley said, earning a smile from Aziraphale.

“Well, yes. That is how one dances.” Aziraphale giggled.

“Oh really? I wouldn’t have known!” Crowley remarked, sarcastically, a charming smirk on his lips.

“Oh come now, Crowley. Don’t be like that, my dear! Just... Follow my lead.” Aziraphale began stepping from side to side, Crowley following suit.

“See? This doesn’t seem too bad, does it?” Aziraphale said, finding he was getting into the swing of things.

“...I will feel a glow just thinking of you...And the way you look tonight...”

“No, I guess not.” Crowley replied, his hands relaxed on Aziraphale’s hips.

They swayed together with the music, familiarizing themselves with how the other moved and felt to touch. They stole a few quick glances at each other, nervousness made clear through their laughter.

The music helped them relax. There was something about that piano that made their steps feel lighter than air. There may very well have been no ground beneath them, their elated states were enough to keep them airborne. They could endure this dance for eternity. Nobody could take this bliss away from them.

“Crowley? Can I ask you something? And by all means, I don’t mean this to come off as impolite.” Aziraphale asked, softly.

“Sure, angel.” Crowley said, his brain casually rattling for whatever question Aziraphale could possibly ask him at this moment.

“If it’s alright with you, I would love to see your eyes again. Could I look at them while we dance?” Aziraphale asked, almost bashful at the question. Crowley raised his eyebrows. This wasn’t any of the thousands of questions he’d conjured in his mind.

“Oh.. Yeah, sure.” Crowley reached up to remove the sunglasses, his eyes averting Aziraphale’s gaze. He put them into his pocket, and placed his hands back on Aziraphale. “There.”

“Crowley, you can look at me. I.. I love your eyes. I always have.” confessed Aziraphale. Crowley looked into Aziraphale’s eyes, and he was sure he heard the angel gasp.

“They’re... They’re simply breathtaking, Crowley..” Aziraphale sighed. Crowley, not used to such words of affection about something he considered an imperfection, was now blushing furiously.

“They’re nothing, really. I mean, everyone’s got ‘em. Eyeballs, I mean..” Crowley was trying to take the attention away from himself. He noticed Aziraphale had stepped a little closer. Perhaps to get a closer look.

“No, really. They’re as warm as the first rays of a new day. They’re as beautiful and radiant as the freshest marigolds of the new season. They’re dangerously hypnotizing. But I am willing to get lost in them, if you’ll allow me to.”

Crowley couldn’t believe the words he was hearing, his eyes opening wider with astonishment. All he could do was smile. A smile that grew bigger as his mind repeated the words Aziraphale had just said.

“...Oh but you're lovely, with your smile so warm...”

“You really think so?” Crowley asked, nearly nose to nose with the angel. Aziraphale nodded, adoringly.

“Without a doubt.” Aziraphale smiled. Crowley found his focus being dragged to Aziraphale’s lips. He couldn’t help himself.

“What else do you think, angel?” Crowley asked, a slight change in his tone, shifting his focus back to Azirphale’s eyes.

“What else do I think?” Aziraphale repeated, Crowley nodding. But of course, Aziraphale understood. The feeling was obviously mutual. Just in case that wasn’t so obvious from the start.

“...There is nothing for me but to love you...Just the way you look tonight...”

“Well, your hair resembles the fiery autumn leaves, radiant in the warm, evening sun. Bold and striking to the naked eye, and.. If I may?” Aziraphale signaled with his hand, and Crowley nodded. Aziraphale slowly reached his hand up to Crowley’s hair, and took a sharp intake of breath, finally touching it.

“Delicate and feather soft to touch.” he sighed. “Light between my fingers like fresh blades of grass.” Aziraphale was now slowly brushing his fingers through Crowley’s hair. Crowley closed his eyes, a guttural moan erupting from him. The sensation of pleasure was almost overwhelming to him and he stepped closer to Aziraphale to feel more. His hands had snaked their way around the angel, pulling them closer. They were now flush against each other, neither one minding the lack of personal space.

“Go on...” Crowley’s voice was throaty, eyes on Aziraphale again. Aziraphale noticed Crowley’s eyes were more yellow than usual. They were fascinating. Aziraphale wasn’t startled or frightened. He knew what it meant.

“What else is there left to say about one so... Elegant... Radiant... Magnificent..” Aziraphale’s attention was tied between Crowley’s full yellow eyes, and his parted lips. Both equally tempting.

Which is what happened.

Time came to a halt when their lips first met. Their eyes closed upon contact, the urgency evident between them. Their lips soft, melting together, finally unifying them. Crowley pulled Aziraphale impossibly closer to him securely, breathing him in through his nose like he was fresh air. Aziraphale was gripping Crowley’s vest, almost clinging for dear life.

“..Lovely never, never change... Keep that breathless charm...”

Aziraphale’s hand found it’s way back to Crowley’s hair, soft and familiar, something Aziraphale swore he’d never get tired of. This made Crowley suddenly moan into the kiss, a sound that thrilled Aziraphale. A sound that made him grip Crowley’s hair just a tad to see what would happen. Crowley pulled away, stopping the kiss. Aziraphale’s eyes shot open in a panic, pulling his hands back to himself.

“O-Oh dear, Crowley, are you alright? I thought I was doing something right a-and-” Aziraphale stammered, his breathing a little rapid and cheek flushed.

Crowley’s eyes were still closed. “Angel..” Crowley’s voice was scratchy. “I think it’d be very wise of you to do that again..” He opened his eyes now, brilliantly gold, with full blown pupils peering at Aziraphale through half lidded eyes.

“Again?” Aziraphale repeated in a near whisper. Crowley nodded, stepping over to Aziraphale, who stared back in complete wonderment, bright blue eyes fusing with dazzling amber hues.

“Again.” Crowley said softly, “And only if you want to, I mean-” Aziraphale didn’t know where the confidence came from, but just knowing he made Crowley feel this way, it gave him a sudden drive. He didn’t waste time, catching Crowley off-guard.

“...With each word your tenderness grows... Tearing my fear apart..”

Their lips met again with a ravenous force, a flame ablaze they undeniably yearned to quench. Hungry hands roaming each other freely. Crowley cupped Aziraphale’s cheeks in his hands, kissing him deeply. Anything to have him closer. There were no prying eyes on them. Once more, Aziraphale’s fingers brushed through Crowley’s hair, earning a very satisfied purr from the demon. Almost mischievously, he gently tugged Crowley’s hair.

Crowley released a suppressed moan, a sound Aziraphale could only describe as euphonious. Almost like an instinct, he nipped the angel’s bottom lip, causing Aziraphale to wince slightly. Crowley was about to stop to ask him if he was alright, but Aziraphale instantaneously pulled him back into the kiss, knowing just what he had to do to make him do that again.

“My dear... I’m not made of glass... I won’t simply crack.” Aziraphale breath was raspy between kisses. Crowley’s hands then trailed down to the angel’s back, and he deviously grabbed his buttocks, giving them a tender squeeze. It was Aziraphale’s turn to moan, a sound so blissful it made Crowley dizzy with lust.

Crowley gently guided them towards the couch, never parting for a breath. Aziraphale collapsed onto the couch, dragging Crowley down with him. The demon straddled his hips, completely flush against Aziraphale.

“Better be careful, angel.” Crowley growled playfully when he noticed Aziraphale was attempting to remove his vest. But he needn’t stop him.

“Mm? Why?” Aziraphale asked, not opening his eyes. Crowley pulled away from the kiss briefly, his lips trailing down to Aziraphale’s jawline, peppering along it with light kisses. Aziraphale’s head hit the top of the couch with a soft thud, giving Crowley more access to his neck. He stopped fumbling with the vest, giving in to the immense pleasure. They were breathing quicker, more excited at every touch, sensation.

“To put it simply... If a foul fiend were to see something... As painfully tantalizing as you...” he said between kisses, “Something ghastly may happen..” Crowley’s lips made their way to his neck, obviously a sensitive area for the angel, who let out a pleasurable gasp.

“Ohh, whatever might happen to me?” Aziraphale played along. Something in the way Aziraphale sounded turned Crowley on even more than he thought was possible. Of course, it was made obvious through his effort.

“Nng.. Oh you wouldn’t like to find out, angel.” Crowley tried to restrain himself.

“Oh... But I really do, my dear- Oooh, Crowley!” Aziraphale whined, cut off when he felt Crowley’s hips grind painstakingly slow onto his as he kissed behind his ear. He was worshiping him.

“A demon might possess you, Aziraphale.” Crowley growled into his ear, returning to Aziraphale’s lips for a heated kiss. Aziraphale pulled him closer, gripping his thighs, letting him know that he very much liked what he was doing.

“If I may... I’m willing to be yours to possess, Crowley.” Aziraphale insinuated during a breath. A devilish smile spread across Crowley’s lips, and nothing but adoration filling his eyes.

“~Oh, angel~.”

#GoodOmens #crowley #aziraphale #crowley x arizaphale #fanfiction #ineffablehusbands

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sweathands · 5 years

Text

I need animation suggestions!

So my roommate and I are both art students and animation enthusiasts. (She's studying it more officially than me) And we're both deep into Good Omens. This could only end one way. I'd shout her out but she's not really on social media.

But we're having trouble picking a song.

I was originally thinking "Do I Wanna Know" by the Arctic Monkeys but then I saw Pinkpiggy93's animation and *chef's kiss* I don't think it needs to be done agaaain.

Ideas we have so far:

"Back in Town" by Matt Dusk. A swingy energetic song the pair would dance to. Very energetic Disney like animation. Think "friend like me" from Aladdin. Boils down to Aziraphale being like "sorry it took me so fckn long to come around and also for dying but I'm back now and babey I'm never leaving again"

"A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square" for obvious reasons. Last song in the show or not. Very cutesy, saccarin, animating the pair of them on a date in London.

"Nearly Human" by Voltaire. A song about a fallen angel asking God why he was cast out for speaking out of turn and mourning the loss of his heavenly grace. Laced with bitterness, but he's sking for sympathy because he's not very different from humans or angels anyway. I think it's obvious I would find something to do with Crowley here.

"Weak" by AJR. An upbeat song about giving into temptations and reveling in it even though it's the 'weak' thing to do. Very Aziraphale. The song is a little repetitive so I don't know if I'd be able to figure out an entiiire video for it.

"Amen" by Halestorm. This one would be Crowley focused. Moody, hard rock. A big "can I get an Amen" to his faults and darker sides and such. I think.

Can't Help falling in Love... Either dark and spooky and edgy or not.

Fly me to the Moon. Light. Playful. Space!! Crowley loves space.

There are a few TaTu songs I think would fit. (A band who's shtick is "Russian Lesbians in forbidden love writes a lot of pining who knew) All the things she said.. Show me Love.

We'd also 100% do something sexy. Like Flesh by Simon Curtis or something. I like the idea of doing an OVERTLY STUPID one of Buttons by the the Pussycat dolls. Like Crowley trying to be sexy and Aziraphale being like "wtf is this bebop what are you doing stahp"

I dunno! What would you guys want to see?

#help me #too many idea #good omens #good omens animation #good omens animatic #ineffable husbands

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fly-flower-fanfics · 5 years

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Since We’re Alone

Crowley x Demon Male Reader

Warnings: None

*Based off Niall Horan’s song of the same title, but I changed some of the lyrics*

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Crowley hadn't been doing well lately. I wasn't sure what was wrong with him, but he just wasn't his usual self. He seemed a lot more glum and sad. It broke my heart terribly. My beautiful demon didn't deserve whatever was bothering him to be going on.

I was wondering if it was Aziraphale. The two were inseparable best friends, but sometimes they had falling outs, and Crowley would be a bit blue for a while after, even if he didn't directly say. I didn't ask, but I had a feeling that that was the cause. Crowley didn't like talking to me about his feelings; he didn't like his feelings in general, really.

Actually, lately he has been becoming more distant than ever before, and I was worried. I knew that it wasn't anything against me because even though Crowley was the definition of Gay Panic, we'd gotten to the point in our relationship where he would tell me what he did and didn't like. After all, after dating for over a millennia, you become a bit more comfortable in your feelings. At least I hoped.

I decided that I'd talk to him about it tonight; I just wasn't sure how to do it.

I didn't want to push things, and I didn't want to make him uncomfortable. I wasn't necessarily the best at most thing because I, too, was a demon, but I liked to think I had a good head on my shoulders. I didn't want to make it too somber, but I also didn't want to make it too upbeat so he just thought I didn't care.

Eventually, I decided to sing a song to him. It was a song that meant a lot to me, one that I had actually written myself. I wrote it a long time ago when I was in a bad spot; I'd thought it was the last few days I'd be around on earth actually. It was only a few days after I had fallen in love with Crowley, after only knowing him for about a century.

Now I could finally use my love song to potentially help the demon that I loved.

When I walked out into the living room, Crowley wasn't there. I eventually found him sitting in his throne-like chair. He was twirling a pen around in his fingers, staring at it like it was the greatest invention that had ever been created.

"Crowley?"

His yellow snake eyes slowly turned to look at me, settling down on my face. "I don't want to talk."

"Then don't," I answered softly. "Just listen."

He raised an eyebrow at me, but he didn't say anything else. I found myself growing incredibly anxious. I'd used to sing all the time, long before Crowley ever knew me, but I just got made fun of for it. I was told that demons weren't allowed to sing anything remotely happy sounding. I was also told that I didn't have a good voice. That really shut me up, and ever since then, I only ever sang to myself.

But this wasn't for me, it was for Crowley.

"Like the rain on a sunny day, there's a shadow behind your face. Tell me what you're running from." I walked closer to him, actually entering the room. "I don't know what made you so afraid. Don't you know you got the best of me? You're everything I want. Anyone can see, yeah, anyone can see you're hurting, your heartache." I stopped by his chair, placing a hand on his cheek. "You can talk to me; it's more than skin deep. I'm trying."

I dropped my hand from his face, gesturing around the room with a small twirl. "Since were alone, you can show me your heart. If you put all in my hands, no, I swear, no, I won't break it apart. And since we're alone, just show me all that you are. And if you get lost, that's okay, I can help cuz I can see in the dark." I smiled down at him, taking his hands in my own. "All these thoughts running through your head, that things you think are better left unsaid. Just wanna know what thoughts are."

I got down on my knees, still holding his hands tightly in mine. Tears wet my eyes, but I didn't let that bother me. "Why would you wanna play someone else? I love you best when you're just yourself. Yeah, you're everything I want. Anyone can see, yeah, anyone can see you're hurting, your heartache. You can talk to me; it's more than skin deep. I'm trying."

I got up and kissed his forehead softly. "Since were alone, you can show me your heart. If you put all in my hands, no, I swear, no, I won't break it apart. And since we're alone, just show me all that you are. And if you get lost, that's okay, I can help cuz I can see in the dark. Oh, since we're alone." I sat in his lap, gently cupping his cheeks in my hands. "Please just show me your heart. Show me all that you are. Since we're alone."

Crowley's hands fell on my hips as he looked up at me with a soft smile on his face. "That was beautiful," he spoke in a hushed tone.

"I wrote that for you ages ago," I said with a small laugh. "There wasn't a need for it until now..."

“You wrote that for me?”

I gave a slight shrug. “Well, yeah. I used to sing all the time, and occasionally I’d wrong a song or two. Wrote this for you pretty much as soon as I realized that I was in love with you. Thought it would be helpful for, well, ya know, times like now — when you’re sad. I wanted a way to tell you that I’m here for you and that I love you.”

“I think you should sing more often,” Crowley said, moving his fingertips under the bottom my shirt. “It’s quite nice.”

I laughed a bit. “Thanks. Your plants seem to think so, too.”

“You sang to my plants before you sang to me?!”

“They needed cheering up!” I replied, biting my lip to hide my smile.

Crowley growled and pouted, looking up at me. I chuckled, cupped his face, and gave his lips a gentle kiss. He was a chaotic bastard, but he was equally soft.

“I didn’t realize you would be so upset by it,” I said, kissing his nose lightly. “I’ll sing to you more often, how about that? Just ask me to sing whenever you want, and I will.”

A small smile spread over his lips as he began running circles on my skin with his thumbs. “Can you sing that song again? The one you wrote for me?”

“Absolutely, my little demon.”

As I began sing I felt again, I noticed his change. He didn’t seem so upset anymore. Crowley’s eyes were glued in one place, but he didn’t look like he was hoping to murder someone; they were just settled peacefully on my lips. His eyes also didn’t look so sad, and he was more talkative now.

It seemed my song and singing had the effect that I hoped it would. I also hoped that he’d take the words I was singing to heart and know that every one was true because I’ve showed him my heart, too.

#good omens #x male reader #good omens oneshot #crowley x male reader #lgbt #good omens x male reader #x reader #crowley

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dragon-kazansky · 4 years

Text

One year special

Chapter two - Time to party

It makes sense to speak to the characters that started this blog. My first ever post was a Fantastic Beasts post. I make my way over to the small group.

Queenie noticed me coming over and broke away from the others to greet me halfway. She pulled me into a hug which I was happy to return. She led me back over to the group, who all turned to smile at me.

It's so cool seeing them all standing in front of me.

"It makes sense for me to speak to you all. You're the guys that started my blog." I smile at them.

Newt smiles back.

"We should thank you for making us your first post."

"You'll always have a special place on my blog, after all, my URL is a Fantastic Beasts reference. You'll always be there on my page." I chuckle. "The wizarding world is fun and there is plenty for me to explore in it."

"Though don't think we haven't noticed your sights have been on someone else." Tina pointed out, nodding behind her sister where a certain wizard was standing. Glancing up, I noticed him watching. He smirked.

"Well, sometimes the villains can be the most fun to write, but that doesn't mean I don't love you lot any less."

They all smile. They know I mean well, even if I have written a lot for Grindelwald. I glance back over to see him still looking at me. Grindelwald obviously wants me to go over and talk to him, and I probably should. I turn back to the group though, Grindelwald can wait a little longer.

"Will you be writing for us again? We know you did at Christmas, but we would like to see what else you can come up with." Queenie gives me her beautiful smile.

"Of course! I won't stop writing for you just because I haven't had many ideas. Just you wait, I'll have ideas for you again soon! I'll probably do more Christmas stories for you guys again this year too." There's plenty more characters for me to write for after all.

They all nod and smile.

I can still feel Grindelwald's eyes on me. I glance over and he smirks again. I sigh softly and excuse myself. They understand and let me go. I walk over to the dark wizard slowly.

"Ah, so you are going to talk to me." He sounds smug.

"I would have got to you eventually." I grin. "Patience is harmless."

He chuckles. It's a deep sound that seems to vibrate from his chest. Much like Dracula's chuckle.

"I don't really know what to say. I write for you quite a bit. I've done many headcanons for you." I smile.

"I'm honoured. You clearly have fun writing for me."

"You're intriguing." I smirk.

"I'm glad you think so."

"I wrote a whole story about you, so you know it's true." I chuckle softly. "Actually I've written a few stories about you."

"I hope to see another in the future."

"I can't promise anything, but we'll see." I suddenly find the courage to wink at him, which seems to please him.

The Doctor pops up beside me and smiles.

"They're going to start karaoke now."

"Alright."

I don't glance back at Grindelwald as I follow her across the room, but I can feel his gaze on me. I heard him chuckle as I left his side.

The karaoke machine was set up and I see Crowley go over to take the mic. The Doctor and I go to stand by Aziraphale who had been left by himself.

The angel turns to smile at me as I stop next to him.

"Oh hello!" He says, cheerfully.

"Hello Aziraphale." I smile. "I bet it's a Queen song."

Aziraphale chuckles and nods. We watch Crowley as the music begins to play. I chuckle when the intro comes on. Yeah, it's a Queen song.

"Are you going to sing, Aziraphale?"

"Oh no, I'm quite happy just watching." He smiles.

"Me too." The Doctor chimes in.

"Awe. I was hoping we could sing something." I pout at her. She looks a little caught off guard, but smiles.

"Well, I suppose one song will be OK. She grins brightly at me.

"I can't sing very well, but that shouldn't stop us from having a good time." I chuckle. There is no one here I wouldn't feel comfortable singing for, so it should be a good laugh if anything.

The Doctor nods.

Crowley gets really into the song and even poses at the end before grabbing a drink from the table next to him and strutting over. He comes to stand in front of me and smirks, pulling his glasses down just enough to peer over the brim. I can see his bright yellow eyes.

"Though we would have to wait all night to talk to you."

"Sorry I kept you waiting. There's a lot of people here." I smile up at him. He's tall. Everyone seems much taller than me.

"You're here now, let's have a drink." He puts his arm around my shoulders and leads me over to the table he had just come from. Aziraphale and the Doctor follow silently.

Crowley tops up his glass after downing what was left and then pours me a drink. Sparkling white wine in a pretty wine glass.

"The V.I.P gets a special drink." He winks at me as he hands it over. I smile and drink some of it.

"Thank you."

Crowley keeps an arm looped around my shoulders as he looks around the room. Thor was having a go on the karaoke machine, Loki trying to avoid him nearby. Some of the other guests are dancing despite Thor's singing.

Across the room I can see Dracula and Grindelwald talking. I wonder what they're talking about. I see Dracula glance up and grin at me when he sees me looking. I smile back and turn my attention elsewhere.

I see the Master trying to make his way over, but suddenly the Doctor leaves Aziraphale's side and hurries over to him, pulling him in a different direction. I wonder what's going on there.

I feel Crowley tug me closer. I look up and see him looking at me with a grin.

"When the party gets going, we should dance." He wiggles his eyebrows.

I chuckle.

"Sure, but keep in mind that I've told Dracula I'd dance with him too. He might want to go first."

Crowley glances up at the vampire across the room.

"Suppose I don't have much choice if he comes over." He clicks his tongue.

For the rest of time the karaoke goes on, I stay with Crowley and Aziraphale. We have a wonderful conversation, Aziraphale telling me how excited he was to meet me and that he hopes an opportunity like this rises again.

I'm sure another opportunity to gather like this again will come again.

We watch as Wanda Maximoff, Queenie and Jacob, Jerome Valeska, and then Lee Scoresby take turns on the karaoke machine.

I catch the Doctor's eye and she nods at me. I notice the Master isn't with her as she meets me at the machine.

"You can pick the song." She says, looking at the machine in front of you.

"Um, OK." I look at all the songs on the machine and smile as I see one I like.

Believer - Imagine Dragons.

I listen to them a lot, so this is a song I've sung many times while listening to their stuff. I smile at the Doctor as we grab a mic each and wait for the song to come on.

I choose not to notice all the eyes on me. If they were all strangers, I wouldn't be doing this right now.

The song is certainly not a duet, but we both sing a verse each and it's a lot of fun. The Doctor is smiling which is more than I could ever ask for. I feel a sense of pride knowing I'm the reason she's smiling.

If only she smiled like this more.

When the song ends, everyone cheers. I take a bow and put the mic down.

The Doctor is grinning as she follows me away from the machine.

The karaoke is promptly turned off for now while music plays loudly. This gives everyone the excuse to dance.

I'm now standing in the centre of the room. I know what's coming as I see Crowley approach from one side, and Dracula from the other. I barely blink when Dracula comes up beside me. I turn to talk to him, asking if this was about the dance I promised him, but I'm tugged backwards gently. Crowley has just arrived, so it's not him.

I turn to see the Master smiling at me.

"First dance is mine."

I smile.

"Alright."

We leave Dracula and Crowley standing there as we go to join in on the fun. The music is upbeat, so we're just bopping along to the beat of the song. He's smiling and I once again feel proud to get the Time Lord smiling. I managed to get them both to be happy in less than an hour.

When the song comes to an end, the Doctor rushes to pull the Master away. Before I can intervene, I'm also dragged off. I turn to see Dracula.

"You owe me a dance."

"Yeah, but I didn't realise how urgent it was."

He has me face him and pulls me a little closer. I have to strain my neck to look up at him.

"This is going to be uncomfortable if I have to stand this close to you and look up." I tell him.

"Don't look up then." He grins.

I roll my eyes and take a step back. The next song has already started. I begin to bop along to the music.

Dracula eases his way into the dancing.

Unfortunately for him, my attention is being held elsewhere as I look to the side. I see Lee Scoresby making his way over. I slip from Dracula's hold to meet him halfway.

"Hey."

"Hey!" Lee grins.

Dracula isn't so pleased to see my attention is held elsewhere, but he leaves it and disappears into the crowd across the room.

"I was hoping we get to spend some time together. I have to thank you for that story you did for me." He smiles.

I smile back.

"It's my pleasure. I wish I could go on an epic adventure like everyone here, but writing about those adventures is the next best thing, and I get to share those stories with lots of amazing people."

He smiles brightly at me.

"That's an adventure by itself." He chuckles.

I smile fondly at that.

"I guess it is."

I dance with Lee for a while before deciding I want to sit down and eat something. He seemed cool with it and left to find Lyra, promising to bring her over later.

I make my way to the buffet table. Someone had gone to a lot of trouble with this and it looked amazing.

This was so far the best party I had ever been to.

#doctor who #gotham #marvel #avengers #dracula #His Dark Materials

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lady-divine-writes · 5 years

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After 6000 Years, This Is Where We Begin (Rated PG)

(Some after wedding bliss, featuring my personal head canon that they get married at the Globe Theater and featuring the Queen song ‘You Take My Breath Away’)

You can reduce me to tears With a single sigh Please don’t cry anymore Every breath that you take Any sound that you make Is a whisper in my ear I could give up all my life for just one kiss I would surely die If you dismiss me from your love You take my breath away

Aziraphale smiles when Crowley holds him tighter, singing to himself at the start of the next verse.

So please don't go Don't leave me here all by myself I get ever so lonely from time to time

Crowley seems so calm, so at peace, so far removed from the demon Aziraphale knows, the one that feels every emotion that passes through his body so completely it tends to overwhelm him.

Here, beneath an indigo sky filled with stars, he’s finally found his bliss.

Aziraphale regrets interrupting it, but in a few short hours, it’ll be sunrise.

“Crowley, my dear?”

“Hmm-mmm?” Crowley mutters to the tune of the music.

“Everyone’s gone home. Hours ago, as a matter of fact.”

“So they have,” he replies, not lifting an eyelid to check.

“And the managers are going to want their theater back.”

“Probably.” Crowley rests his head further into the crook of Aziraphale’s neck, his breath ghosting his skin.

“Maybe we should leave, too? Get along home and put ourselves to bed?”

“No,” Crowley says without pause.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale chuckles.

“Aziraphale!” Crowley mimics. “How often do we get to dance like this, hmm? Alone underneath the stars?”

“We’ll find the time. I promise. It’ll be easier now. Besides, we’re not exactly alone.” Aziraphale catches sight of what’s left of the staff (the losers of a ‘straw draw’ Aziraphale saw them at earlier) seated at a table off to the corner playing cards while they wait for the happy couple to leave. The more understanding of the lot either ignore them or smile as they waltz by. One or two throw them glares of pure venom. “We’ll be living in your flat. There’s plenty of room to dance there. And we can miracle up some stars. If I recall correctly, you used to be pretty good at that sort of thing.”

Aziraphale feels Crowley’s steps slow, feels him frown against his neck, exhaling so deeply he flattens against Aziraphale’s body. Holy God above, does he wish he’d kept his mouth shut! Of all the things to bring up, and on this day in particular! It’d been perfect up till now!

Crowley was right. For a clever angel, he really could be quite stupid.

Aziraphale holds his breath, waiting for his demon to react – for him to pull away with a monotone, “Okay, then. Let’s run along home,” and lead him off to his Bentley, hands shoved in the pockets of his tuxedo trousers.

But he doesn’t.

He threads the fingers of his right hand with his angel’s left, his pinkie searching for, and finding, the band on Aziraphale’s ring finger. With a contented sounding exhale his smile returns, and in that moment, everything seems right with the world again.

“You’re the only miracle I need, angel. The only star in my sky.”

Aziraphale’s heart stutters – at the sentiment, its meaning, and the softness of his demon’s voice. “That’s rather romantic of you.”

“You sound surprised.”

“Maybe I am a little.”

“You don’t see me as a romantic?”

“I didn’t say that. It’s more that … you’re a romantic in actions, not so much words.”

“Well, then – in the spirit of active romance, I’ll make you a deal.”

“A deal?”

“Yup. I’m still a demon. Deals are what demons do.”

“All right. What’s the deal then?”

“Call me by my full name, angel, and I might consider going with you.”

“Your full name?” Aziraphale asks, confused.

“A-ha.”

“Who are you taking your cues from, then? Rumpelstiltskin?”

“Strike one.”

Aziraphale’s nose scrunches as he tries to determine what in the world Crowley is talking about. “Do you mean Anthony? Oh …” he groans “… you’re not still going on about that now, are you?”

“You’re just gonna have to try it and find out.”

“Oh, Lord.” Aziraphale shakes his head. “O-kay. Anthony Crowley, would you do me the honor of accompanying me home?”

Crowley snickers. “No. Because that’s not it, angel.”

Another soft groan from his angel has Crowley smirking.

“Anthony J Crowley?”

“Try again.”

Aziraphale racks his brain, trying to solve this riddle before sun up so that the tired group gathered in the corner can finally go home and get some rest. But when the answer occurs to him, thoughts of anyone but his husband siphon swiftly away. “Anthony J Crowley … Fell?”

Crowley smiles, and kisses his husband on the forehead. “That’s it.”

“I---I thought I would be going by Aziraphale Crowley now, if we decided to change our names at all.”

Crowley shrugs. “I think Crowley Fell makes more sense.”

“It sounds like a sentence,” Aziraphale says sadly. “One that’s a little too on the nose, as they say. I was afraid that it might bring back bad memories.”

“It does,” Crowley admits, “but I can’t keep running from my past. I mean, it’s been over 6000 years. I should start thinking about getting over it. Don’t you agree?”

“I would understand if you didn’t.”

“You know, Aziraphale, things didn’t end too badly for me after I fell.”

Aziraphale tilts his head questioningly. “How do you mean?”

“I got tossed out of Paradise in Heaven, but I found it again here on Earth. With you.”

Crowley looks down at his angel as Aziraphale looks up, their eyes meeting in between. Crowley stares at him long, lovingly even with those serpent eyes that seemed so inhuman to Aziraphale at first – a bright and blaring indicator his demonic magic couldn’t hide that he was who he was.

Evil.

They’re a warning for anyone who happens to see not to be fooled by his handsome exterior, as something truly wicked lies beneath.

But now, Aziraphale can’t imagine Crowley without them. It would be odd to see him with brown eyes. Or green. Aziraphale has tried to picture it before, unsuccessfully. The Crowley that Aziraphale knows – the one who has followed him through history, teased him, cajoled him, saved him, and then, finally, proclaimed his love for him, couldn’t look more lovely, more human, if he tried than he does in this moment. Aziraphale’s cheeks go pink beneath Crowley’s stare, but he can’t look away.

He doesn’t want to miss a thing about this moment.

“H-how long is all this romantic talk going to last, do you think?”

“Don’t know. But you should soak it up while you have the chance. Just in case.”

“I guess I should do. I do admit, I like how Crowley Fell sounds, but I like the idea of taking your name, too. Call me old fashioned, I guess.”

“We can always switch. We’ve switched bodies before, why not names?”

“True.”

The song ends and a new song begins. The tempo shifts, becomes upbeat, and Crowley spins Aziraphale quickly. He yelps at the change in speed, giggling with the giddy feeling of sailing the night air in the safety of his husband’s arms. When they return to the dance, however, he notices one young lady at the table has fallen asleep, head resting on her crossed arms. He knows she has children – 8, 6, and 3 – being watched by their dad while she works. He remembered overhearing something about the three-year-old being sick, and that the other two had to wake up early for school in the morning. If that’s her life, what about everyone else’s?

It tugs at his heart.

Plus, selfishly, he doesn’t want their wedding reception to be the thing these nine strangers curse come sunrise.

“Crowley?”

“Hmm?”

“The least we can do is help tidy up the place. That way, when we do leave these poor overworked and underpaid people to their tasks, they won’t have that to contend with.”

“Why? We paid for them to clean up. Not us.”

“Yes, and your silliness has caused them to miss their buses and trains.”

Crowley stops dancing. He looks at the staff layered at the table, two more in the process of putting their heads down for some shuteye, one nodding off sitting straight up, and rolls his eyes.

“Oh, all right then.”

Crowley snaps his fingers. The nine people at the table disappear without a sound. Aziraphale looks around in alarm.

“Wha---where did you send them?”

“I sent them home.”

“Whose home?” Aziraphale pictures them stuffed into some random one room flat, the first Crowley could think of, solely for the purpose of getting them out of the way.

“Their homes. They’re all fast asleep in their beds, dreaming about whatever they like best. As far as they’re concerned, they’ve been there since eleven. A reasonable time. Plus, they’ve each got themselves a hefty tip for the time we’ve wasted. I thought you’d like that.”

“I do.”

“Good. Now can we keep dancing?”

“And how long do you intend to keep dancing?” Aziraphale asks, though the answer no longer concerns him much seeing as the exhausted staff have been properly seen to.

“I don’t know. Till the stars fall out of the sky?”

“That sounds about right.” Aziraphale smiles, resting his head against his husband’s shoulder, melting back into the sway of slow dancing together, without a care in the world. “Of course, tours of the theater start at 9:30, so …”

“Shut it, angel.”

#Good Omens #ineffable husbands #aziraphale x crowley #crowley x aziraphale #frankie writes

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freyjawriter24 · 4 years

Text

Advent Omens: Snowball

Many thanks to @drawlight for the beautiful prompt list that has me still writing about winter and New Year celebrations well into March. This ficlet is in response to Day 28, and, uh, it got long... Enjoy!

-----

The theme was twenties – nineteen twenties, for clarity – and that much was obvious from the decor.

The original theme had been ‘The Great Gatsby’, as was evident from the cardboard front of a bright yellow car that was positioned in front of the microphone stand, and the pair of oversized glasses and blue-backed eyes that glared down from above the bar, but all references to the name of the book itself had been expunged after someone pointed out that Gatsby’s parties didn’t have a particularly positive resolution, and they’d like to avoid anyone being tempted to bring toy guns and re-enact the swimming pool scene.

But there were still plenty of not-specifically-Gatsby nineteen twenties decorations dotted around, including Art Deco edging that had been added to the stage and little golden centrepieces on each of the tables. Besides which, the music and the dress code were enough to give it away.

Aziraphale had been nervous, and Crowley had insisted they arrive ‘fashionably late’, about half an hour after the official start time, which meant that the venue was already full and they wouldn’t have to stand around in a half-empty room, waiting for things to get started. The angel had reached for the demon’s hand as they stepped towards the door, and Crowley had obliged, squeezing tightly as they went in.

No one even really looked at them as they went in, except for the humans manning the ticket table, who smiled up at them and carefully counted out their change. The party was already in full swing (no pun intended), as the demon had hoped, and people were moving across the dancefloor in pairs or groups of singles, or hovering at the edges, watching and chatting with drinks in their hands.

“Drink, angel?”

“Ah, um, yes, please.” The demon raised his eyebrows in question, and Aziraphale swallowed. “Ah, well, whatever one normally drinks at these sorts of things. A cocktail, I imagine.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Crowley said with a grin, and gave the angel’s hand a final squeeze before slipping away through the crowd.

It didn’t take him long to get back, the queue miraculously parting for him without any sort of complaint. Aziraphale had retreated to the safety of an empty table in the corner already, and was watching the dancers apprehensively.

“They’re all rather good,” he said slowly, as Crowley sat down beside him. “I’m not sure I’ll be able to...”

“You’re good too, angel. You’ve been practicing long enough. Besides, it’s not a competition. Well, there is one, but you don’t have to enter it. This is just for fun. No one cares if you mess up a little, least of all me. Just enjoy it.”

He pushed a cocktail towards the angel, and Aziraphale dutifully took a sip. His face brightened a fraction at the taste. “Ooh, what’s this?”

“It’s called ‘Paradise’,” the demon said, with a glimmer of a smile.

Aziraphale cocked an eyebrow at him in mock judgement, but he only held the expression for an instant before smiling happily. “Well, it’s delicious. Thank you, my dear.” He took another sip, then eyed Crowley’s tall, blood-red drink. “What’s yours called?”

“It’s a ‘Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer’.”

The angel couldn’t help but laugh, and did so even more as the demon acted offended, straightening up and crossing his legs in an affectation of vaguely familiar primness. Crowley sipped delicately at the drink until Aziraphale stopped laughing, letting one golden high heel dance off the end of his toes to the beat of the music.

“Want to try a bit?”

“Ooh, yes please.” He sipped, then nodded appreciatively. “I prefer mine, but that’s got a certain charm to it too.” The angel went back to tasting his own cocktail, basking for a moment in the music and the festive glow of the evening, drinking in a little bit of paradise.

“Let me know when you're ready to dance, angel.”

Aziraphale stiffened slightly, and Crowley had to stop himself from wincing. “I will. Thank you, my dear.”

It was at least another twenty minutes and a second, double-strength cocktail before Aziraphale had settled into the atmosphere of the place enough to dare to try. He held out a hand to Crowley, who put a hand to his heart in mock surprise – me, good sir? You want to dance with me? – but accepted, and then the two of the crossed the floor, hand-in-hand, to an empty spot at the far end of the packed dancefloor.

They assumed their positions, side by side, hands resting in the right spot on each other’s backs.

“Ready, angel?” The murmur was soft, gentle, only just audible under the music.

Aziraphale looked sideways at Crowley and gave a half smile. “As I’ll ever be.”

They paused a moment, getting the feel for the music, reaching out and relaxing themselves into the rhythm of it. In sync, their knees started to bounce to the beat. Then the angel counted them in, under his breath. “Five, six, seven, eight.”

And they were off, stepping up and down with everyone else in the room, daring themselves to throw in some simple moves – a spin here, a different one there, something a little more complicated, then back to the relative safety of triple-stepping in time, shoulder to shoulder.

“There you are,” Crowley said, allowing a hint of pride into his voice. “Told you there’s no need for nerves.”

“Shh. I need to count.”

Crowley smiled. “Want me to lead for a bit?”

“Mmm,” the angel said. “Next song.”

More than one dance? That was encouraging. “Okay.”

Aziraphale dared a look up, rather than focusing on his feet and the floor, and kept leading them up and down in a simple sequence of steps. Crowley watched through the sides of his sunglasses as a smile of confidence gradually spread across the angel’s face, and then he felt his own expression break into a grin as Aziraphale swung him out and span him around again.

The music was upbeat and exhilarating, the dancing was freeing, and the look on both their faces was enough to have a whole conversation with. They moved in perfect synchronisation, with each other and with the band on stage, weaving among the humans who were dancing alongside them.

Neither of them knew who laughed first, but at some point they both were, letting out the pure joy that the movement gave them, sharing the bliss of the moment with each other and anyone else around who cared to listen.

The fringing of Crowley’s gold and black flapper dress flicked out dramatically as he span, but the carefully-positioned curls of his red hair remained in place, the thin golden headband staying neatly where he’d put it. Aziraphale’s new pinstripe waistcoat suited the dance perfectly, too, as did the bowtie he was wearing – a gold and black one to match Crowley’s dress, swapped out from his usual tartan for one night only. The two of them fitted together so perfectly that more than one human paused to watch them for a moment. And then the song came to an end, and they fell panting against each other, both beaming from ear to ear.

“Oh, that was wonderful, Crowley,” Aziraphale said breathlessly, eyes shining in the twinkling lights that were ubiquitous for the season.

“Yeah, it was, angel,” the demon replied, heart bursting with more than the physical exertion. How am I so lucky? The next song started up, and he offered his hand again. “Do you need a break, or may I have this dance?”

“You very much may,” Aziraphale said happily. They swapped places, back to the sides they usually fell into when walking together – somehow, Crowley standing to Aziraphale’s right still felt like a slightly odd feeling, even though they’d been practicing dancing both ways for months now (six thousand years of habit will do that to you) – and took up their new positions to begin swing dancing all over again.

This song was faster, if only by a little, but it was noticeable. The dancefloor was a little emptier this time, and they had more room to spin into, more space to mess around in and gather themselves up again if they made a mistake, more of an audience to wow.

They weren’t experts, of course. Angels don’t dance, as a rule, and although Aziraphale had been an exception to that rule for a rather long time now, this particular style was still relatively new to him. Crowley, being a demon, was rather more used to dancing as an overall concept, but, being a demon, was naturally rather more artless about it too. Not that he hadn’t also been going against the grain in this respect for a while, but then swing dancing was still relatively new to him too.

But regardless of all of those things, they were still a sight to behold. Dancing isn’t just about technique, of course – it’s also a performance, and the celestial couple were exuding so much pure delight as they moved in and around and through each other’s arms that many of the nearby humans couldn’t help but watch and smile, and whisper to their friends.

Aww, aren’t they cute?

They’re pretty good, and they’re clearly loving it!

I love older couples at things like this – it’s goals, you know?

How long do you think they’ve been together?

Aww, look how in love they are...

When the song ended, they collapsed against one another again, giggling like schoolchildren, and then staggered their way back to their seats to take a breather and have another drink.

“Water, I think, this time!” Aziraphale said.

“You don’t need it,” Crowley said, one eyebrow raised over his gold-edged sunglasses. “You could miracle yourself okay.”

“Yes, but I want it,” the angel said, rolling his eyes.

Crowley laughed and stood down. “One water coming right up. Anything else?”

“Well, another ‘Paradise’ wouldn’t go amiss...”

They sat and talked and drank and watched the humans dance together for a while – hours or days, it felt like, and yet also no time at all, and the real joy of it (still new, still not certain) was that they knew it didn’t ever have to come to an end; there would be no tentative farewell at the end of the night anymore, no more ‘see you in a century’ goodbyes, no more cutting conversations short and wishing that the next time would arrive soon or yet sooner still. This was their life now, this spending time together. They could do it as much or as little as they liked, and no one would stop them. It was the very definition of paradise.

They danced a little more, and then drank a little more, allowing the gold-tinted night to blur slightly at the edges, allowing themselves to lean against each other and hold hands, as they had refrained from doing for so long. They watched the humans dance together in friendly competition, paper numbers pinned to their shirts and skirts, and they clapped along with the rest of the crowd when the winning leads and follows from each category were announced.

Then a shout went up.

“Ladies, gents, and old sports,” came a voice over the microphone. “There are only ten minutes left of the decade. Please, gather yourselves on the dancefloor for our Snow Ball’s snowball!”

The crowd cheered, and a few began chanting. “Snowball! Snowball! Snowball!”

“What are they saying?” Aziraphale asked, suddenly nervous again.

“Snowball,” Crowley replied, casual to the last. “It’s a dance thing, like a cascade. Start with a few people, more and more join in.”

“Ah, right,” the angel said, and even with the hours he’d spent sinking into this feeling, adjusting to the atmosphere and learning to relax, he looked like he wanted to run away, to hide in the corner and only watch, to make himself invisible if necessary.

“Hey, it’ll be fine,” Crowley said gently. “It’ll be fun. You don’t have to if you don’t want to, obviously, but the whole point is to get everyone involved, regardless of ability or anything. They won’t mind if you do it wrong, I promise. And you won’t, anyway. You’re better than you think.”

The crowd had organised itself into a ring by this point, a mass of bodies packed together with a perfect circle of clear dance floor in the middle. Crowley stood from their little table and offered his hand to Aziraphale, who only hesitated for an instant before accepting and following the demon to the snowball circle.

Three pairs of dancers had separated off from the snowball’s audience and were stood in the centre of the ring. On stage, the band grinned as one and struck up a cheerful tune with exactly the right kind of beat to it. The couples glanced at one another, smiling, and then the dancing began.

A few bars in, and a not-part-of-the-band human, who had apparently snuck up on stage to steal another go at the microphone, shouted out “Change!” The dancing couples obediently separated and turned to the ring of people around them, singling out friends to become their new partners for the next phrase or two of music, so there were now six pairs dancing.

“Oh!” Aziraphale said, understanding now. “A snowball. It keeps gathering snow.”

“Yup,” Crowley murmured. “Exponential growth. Exponential fun.”

The angel looked at him, so he wiggled his eyebrows over his sunglasses, and enjoyed the little blush that rose to Aziraphale’s cheeks.

“Change!”

The dancers in the circle doubled again, and the remaining audience spread wider to give them more space. Crowley moved subtly so he was slightly in front of Aziraphale, and squeezed the angel’s hand as he caught the eye of one of the dancers.

“Change!”

The dancer offered, and Crowley accepted, and for a moment the demon was whisked off around the circle by a human, Aziraphale watching him go with bright eyes and pink cheeks. Crowley danced, and grinned at his partner, and smiled back at the angel as the human on stage got ready to lean over to the mic again. Aziraphale nodded.

“Change!”

Crowley was by the angel’s side in a moment, and then they were both dancing together again, whirling around one another to the beat of the music. They were surrounded on all sides before dancing, laughing, cheering humans, and the love and excitement of it all was infectious.

“Change!”

The celestials broke apart and found new partners, and kept dancing, adjusting to the slight differences in motion necessary, glancing over at the other to keep an eye on them, to know where they were, to check they were okay, to admire their dancing.

“Change!”

By now the whole crowd was involved in the dance, no one without a partner, and the whole room was full of movement – spinning and tucking and jumping and the occasional ambitious lift. The band responded to the hubbub, kicking the song up a gear.

“Change! Last partners!”

Crowley and Aziraphale found one another again, and danced out the rest of the song together, hand-in-hand, arm-in-arm, moving as one, loving every second.

The music finally came to an end, the band winding the song down with a dramatic finish, and then the whole room was clapping and cheering and laughing, breathless and exhausted and full of adrenaline.

“Esteemed guests, you have only one minute left of the year. Please gather yourselves on the dancefloor for our New Year countdown!”

The celestials grinned at each other, and joined the humans gathering into a tight crowd around someone who apparently had an accurate watch.

“Ten!” the timekeeper shouted, and the rest of the room joined in. “Nine! Eight!”

“Seven,” Crowley said, gazing at the angel.

“Six,” Aziraphale said back.

“Five!” shouted the humans.

“Four,” said the occult being.

“Three,” said the ethereal one.

“Two!” yelled the humans.

“One,” said the celestials.

“HAPPY NEW YEAR!”

The room was awash with hugs and kisses, humans embracing their friends in the rush of a new decade, the only two that weren’t human sharing a moment among the chaos just for each other, everyone feeling the joy in that one tiny, insignificant moment of the clock striking midnight.

And then, once the greetings were done, the whole room joined hands and sung that old, old song. And the celestials smiled, and remembered. And the humans laughed, and returned to dancing and drinking and cheering and singing. And the angel and the demon watched, and joined in, and relaxed.

This was their life now. This was their world. And it was perfect.

#advent omens #31 days of ineffables #snowball #good omens #My writing #drawlight #Aziraphale #crowley #fanfiction #swing dancing #dancing #swing dance

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