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moveslikebuckywrites · 5 years

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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Good Omens (TV) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens) Characters: Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley (Good Omens), Original Characters Additional Tags: Established Relationship, Domestic Fluff Series: Part 4 of Ineffable Outliers Weekly Prompts Summary:

A day in the life of a certain angel and demon, a little over a year after the failed apocalypse. Featuring a visit to a coffee shop and a visit to a little Greek restaurant called the Olive Grove.

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This is a prompt fill for the Ineffable Outlier’s Weekly Prompts! This week’s prompt was:

It's a typical, mundane Post-End of the World day for any set of Gomens characters. How does this nice slice of life day go for them? How do the characters react to each other doing everyday trivialities such as washing dishes, gardening, shopping/running errands, etc. etc. Try to focus on the little things in life!

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10:17AM

Crowley almost didn’t like coming back to this place.

Sure, the coffee was great (large black, two sugars, every time, without him asking), and the baristas were some of the best in London (their sarcastic attitudes being a bonus, not a drawback), but the location. Well, the location left a lot to be desired.

Because this particular coffee shop was in Broadgate Tower. Main Earth location of the head offices of Heaven and Hell.

Not people he particularly wanted to be around these days.

Sure, they had formed a tenuous partnership with their former offices. Turns out, nobody upstairs or down knew jack shit about how things work on Earth. So now, they freelance. Sometimes the old Arrangement even kicks in, and Hell will (reluctantly) hire Aziraphale for a temptation or Heaven will (reluctantly) hire Crowley for a blessing.

Kind of ironic, in that Alanis Morissette kind of way.

They’d just come from one such meeting, Heaven was hiring the both of them for some minor blessings in Wales next week. Something to do with a charity soccer game or something, Crowley never paid much attention. Spent too much time glaring at Gabriel to listen to him. He’d really just wanted to get the heav-hel-WHATEVER out of there and go get his angel some lunch, but the silly featherhead wanted cocoa.

Oh, but dearest, they make the best cocoa here at the towers, Aziraphale had said, practically bouncing, they have the tiny little marshmallows I love and everything!

That’s where the ‘almost’ came in. As anyone who knew them would gladly tell you, Crowley was powerless to resist any request from his angel.

Hand in hand in a line full of business suits to get some much-needed warmth for this December chill. He recognized a couple of the baristas (1); Rose had really come into her own, was one of the best of them by now. She was working register today; Jisel was making the drinks. Couple of new faces here and there.

One would probably expect Aziraphale to know everyone by name, it came across through his sunny disposition. Sometimes, especially mundane times like this, Crowley would be struck by just how ridiculously in love with this fussy angel he was.

Sure, they were married now. Even their former bosses knew that had happened (2). But seeing the angel’s eyes light up over his favorite cocoa from his favorite coffee shop was almost a religious experience for the demon. Or how he knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that if he squeezed Aziraphale’s hand right now that the angel would squeeze back without hesitating and turn and give Crowley that soft little smile that was reserved just for him.

He tested that theory. Squeeze the hand, he squeezes back, and there’s the smile I love so much.

It was all unbearably sentimental. Made his insides feel all gooey. Unbecoming for a demon. Not that he gave a toss about that anymore.

“Hullo Mr. Crowley; Mr. Fell,” said Rose, now masterful at the register, “Same as always for today?”

“Yes, of course my dear,” Aziraphale said brightly, “With– ”

“Extra marshmallows, of course.” Rose smiled at them and Crowley could already feel Aziraphale blessing the rest of the baristas’ day.

Rose handed Crowley his coffee and they moved along to the end of the counter to wait for Aziraphale’s cocoa; leaning against the bar top with their shoulders touching. It was ridiculous how something so small made Crowley want to melt into a puddle of snake on the floor and slither off someplace secluded to scream and blush in peace, dammit.

Aziraphale sighed, “You know, Darling, it might not be the best idea, but in some small way I’m glad we’re freelancing now.”

“You just wanted to keep getting your cocoa, Angel,” Crowley said, bumping his shoulder into the angel’s, “which really, you could do anywhere.”

“Oh, but it just isn’t the same, Dearest.” Always with the pet names. It had taken Crowley quite a while to get used to them, felt like there was a new one every day and he couldn’t keep up. Every single one was infused with so much love and devotion they nearly knocked him off his feet.

“If I’m being honest, it’s the marshmallows,” the angel said wistfully, smiling at a memory, “Remember when we went back to Paris, after the Reign was over? And we found that quaint little candy shop and they were selling marshmallows there? I swear the marshmallows here taste exactly the same as those.”

“They’re probably just some megamart brand that you haven’t tried yet.”

“I-well, I never...A megamart, Dearest?” The angel stammered, “As though I’d ever. The sheer thought-“

“I’m only teasing you, Love,” Crowley said before leaning over and planting a kiss on the angel’s cheek, “You do get so cute when you’re full of that self-righteous fury.”

That earned him an eye roll. He knew what he had to do for these little reactions he so loved (3).

Little reactions he never thought he’d have. For the longest time, Aziraphale had been just a little too far from his reach, and just a little too in Heaven’s grasp. The angel had held Crowley’s twisted dark heart in his hands ever since that first day on the wall of Eden. Six thousand years of stolen glances, stolen time; lunches here, drinks there. Always, the forefront of his mind screaming please, please, just stay a little longer, a few more minutes and maybe I’ll finally get past all this emotion that’s eating me from the inside out.

Then the apocalypse didn’t happen. Then they were together, like it was the easiest decision in the world.

He’d still had his issues, to be sure. Not thinking he was good enough, not thinking Aziraphale would want to stay with him once he saw what a mess Crowley could actually be when he wasn’t putting up the cool façade. But the angel had stayed, had chosen him over everything and everyone else. And now they were married.

He liked to tumble that word around in his head sometimes. He did now, as he gazed lovingly (gross) at his husband (husband?!) as the angel prattled on about this or that to Jisel while she made his cocoa.

A commotion broke him out of his reverie.

“What do you mean my coffee is £3.80? It was £3.40 last week!”

“I do apologize, sir,” Rose stammered from behind the register, Crowley was already on alert, ready to intervene, “But the tower management raised the prices a couple of days ago.”

“Bullshit, don’t you know who I am?” the man shouted, Rose looked like she might faint. Crowley was about to say something, but Aziraphale beat him to it.

The angel had stood up and walked back to the register and was now addressing the customer directly, while Jisel handed his cocoa to Crowley.

“My dear fellow, I do believe you’ve forgotten to do something very important today.”

“I have?” the man asked, confused.

“Yes, I believe you said something about an…anniversary, maybe?” Aziraphale says, with a bit of miraculous intent.

The man goes pale, “Oh no, I forgot, I don’t have anything for her!”

“Well, I’d suggest you get a bit of a wiggle-on then, hmm?” Aziraphale said, with what Crowley could only describe as a twinkle of mischief in his eye.

“Yes,” the man stammered, “Yes, I-I suppose I should. Thank you.”

The man left without getting his coffee.

Crowley caught up to his husband, “Come on then, Angel, did your good deed for the day?”

“No rest for the good,” the angel smirked at him, “As it were.”

It was about this time that the man slipped and fell on a freshly mopped floor, sign conveniently missing, but now appearing out of thin air. His phone flew out of his hand and the screen shattered.

Aziraphale was practically giggly.

Crowley just stared at his angel, ever surprised by him to this day. Six thousand years doing nothing to dampen that affection.

That’s my Angel, he thought to himself, just enough of a bastard to be worth knowing.

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1:34 PM

There weren’t many things in this world that Aziraphale loved more than a nice hole-in-the-wall family restaurant (4).

The feelings of love that emanated from them were nearly intoxicating. As an angel, a being drawn to love, he gravitated to these establishments. Passed down from generation to generation, some further back than others. This one was a particular favorite, for more reasons than one.

“EAT!”

“I already told you, Yaya, I’m not hungry,” Crowley told her for the fifteenth time since they had sat down.

It was always this way here at the Olive Grove. Yaya thought Crowley was too skinny, she wanted him to eat. Crowley didn’t like eating, so he didn’t want to5.

All Aziraphale could do was stare from across the table and giggle. This was his favorite part of coming here, after all. Crowley may pretend to have a devil-may-care attitude, but the angel knew deep down that wasn’t the case.

Crowley would never admit it out loud, but he had a certain love for Yaya of his own. One that was misplaced by a Mother many, many eons ago. There’s a lot to be said for taking care of someone.

Not that any of that prevented Yaya from smacking Crowley’s hand with a wooden spoon as he reached for his phone instead of a fork.

“EAT!”

“Ok, alright, fine, I’m eating,” Crowley grumbled as he picked up the fork. Satisfied with the results, Yaya gave them both a smile and returned to her own work.

“You know, love, she’s only looking out for you,” the angel said between giggles. He couldn’t help it; it was always funny to see Crowley embarrassed.

“Doesn’t bloody need to, crazy old bat.”

Despite whatever thoughts Crowley had on crazy old people, bat or otherwise, he was digging rather quickly into the moussaka she had brought him.

Crowley was always a surprise, even after all this time. Aziraphale knew his husband had a soft heart underneath that bluster and bravado. Demons didn’t do things like sing the (alleged) Antichrist to sleep. Or stowaway children on the ark. Or save books of prophecy for dithering angels who might forget about them. Or go for lunches at the Ritz and picnics in the park.

But his demon did, and oh how Aziraphale knew how lucky he was.

He’d given Crowley a million reasons to give up on him through the years. Calling their friendship ‘fraternizing’, pushing him away when all he wanted to do was pull the demon closer. That last day before Armageddon was the worst. Aziraphale still had nightmares. Of Alpha Centauri and holy water and bathtubs.

But Crowley was always there when Aziraphale would wake from these, holding him and comforting him. Crowley has nightmares of his own, the angel knows. Of bookshops and sulfur and bandstands.

Bandstands. After that day, Aziraphale truly thought he’d lost Crowley for good. How could he have said something so mean. I don’t even like you! The furthest thing from the truth he ever could have said. Fear can make someone do things they wouldn’t, angels are no exception.

Aziraphale props his chin on his hand and looks at Crowley, who is now loudly complaining that no little old bat in a hole-in-the-wall Greek place can tell him what to do (he’s finished the moussaka and moved on to the dolmas at this point). All the angel can do is sigh.

Almost a century ago, when the angel had felt their fingers brush over a leather satchel of books in the burning wreckage of a church, he knew that the thing he’d been repressing had a name. A very familiar one at that. He tried to keep it at bay for so long, but it all came bubbling over after lunch at the Ritz following Armageddon. They had been walking and their hands were so very, very close. Almost touching with every step they took. Crowley rarely, if ever, had his hands out of his pockets and Aziraphale tended to flip back and forth between worrying his in front of him and having them behind his back. He’d seen the chance and took it.

And on they had walked, hand in hand, fitting together like missing puzzle pieces. They didn’t look at each other or speak, both afraid that they might ruin the moment.

They made it three steps into the bookshop before giving up and kissing each other senseless, no time for talking then, that would come later. In hushed breaths and soft spoken I-love-you’s that had waited for far too many centuries to be spoken into the world.

He’d spent some time at the beginning absolutely terrified. To him, Crowley was so vibrant and he always seemed to be running on all cylinders. Aziraphale had been afraid, when it came right down to it, that one day Crowley would wake up and realize just how boring he really was. Sure, Crowley had always teased him about his fashion and his books among other things but being together in this capacity was so different. So new and fresh. Aziraphale was scared he couldn’t live up to the expectations of 6000 years of want.

But here they were, on their own side. With the rings on their fingers to prove it. He can’t help but stare. Crowley’s been growing his hair out long again, and it’s almost to his shoulders now. It catches the light and is reminiscent of the copper pots that hang as decoration on the walls. He’s gesticulating wildly to go with whatever nonsense he’s decided to complain about now, and Aziraphale traces the motion, focused on the gold ring that looks like wings on Crowley’s finger.

He’s not sure how long he’s been sitting there staring when Crowley stops ranting and leans in to kiss him gently, breaking him from his self-imposed trance.

“See something you like, Angel?” the demon says with a twitch of that mischievous smile. The one that he saves for Aziraphale, without the demonic intent behind it.

Which doesn’t change what that smile means for later. But Aziraphale knows how his demon’s mind works.

“Just admiring the most beautiful person in this restaurant, dearest,” and if Aziraphale is right, what comes next is–

“Ngk.”

Yes, just as he thought. He reaches across the table and takes his husband’s hand, “You do realize you’ve almost made your way through three plates while complaining about Yaya’s concern for you.”

“Well…I…ngk…uh…” the demon stammers, trying to come up with a bad reason to eat the food that Yaya gives him, “Well…um…the thing is. The thing is..”

Aziraphale lets him work through it as he eats his spanakopita and drinks his wine.

“The thing is, Angel, if Yaya keeps giving me this food…that’s less for the paying customers…then business goes under…and then the restaurant closes! See? Perfectly evil of me!” Crowley smiles smugly and takes a drink of his own wine.

“Except we do pay for our food here, if anything we’re helping the business, so that line is out my dearest.”

“Well…well…uhm…”

Aziraphale loves flustering Crowley this way, it’s always so easy to do and always good for a show.

“Sometimes you can be quite nice my dear.”

“Shaddap,” Crowley says, sulking into his chair. The demon looks over to where Yaya is taking an order and she gives him a pointed look.

“Dearest, best eat up, you know she’ll insist on you having the baklava before she lets you leave.”

“Well,” Crowley says quickly and almost inaudibly, “Be rude to let it go to waste, wouldn’t it?”

There’s my demon, Aziraphale thought to himself, sipping his wine and smiling, just a little bit a good person, whether he admits it or not.

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7:23 PM

In a little flat above a bookshop in Soho, and angel and a demon are watching TV.

Well, they were watching TV. They’d started out with Crowley resting his head in Aziraphale’s lap while the angel carded his fingers through the demon’s hair. But then Crowley had stilled the angel’s hand to kiss his wrist. Which of course meant that Aziraphale had brought Crowley’s hand up to kiss his knuckles. Which led to the demon leaning up to kiss along the angel’s jawline, and that’s how we ended up here.

Snogging on the couch while they were intending to watch TV.

A typical Monday spent the typical ways. The sun sets, and the calendar turns a page. There will be more Mondays, more Decembers. More coffee shops and little Greek restaurants. More anniversaries and holidays. More interrupted TV shows to go with interrupted morning crossword puzzles, because what can hold a candle to love? What else does anyone need?

Let us retreat and give them their privacy. They deserve it after so long being watched by Heaven and Hell alike. They don’t need to be watched by us as well.

Let us draw these curtains and slip away, and as we do, think of love. Love everlasting and love unconditional. Love that waits and is waited for. A love that is patient, and a love that is kind.

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1 - Crowley made a habit of remembering his favorite baristas. If that happened to be most of them, you couldn’t really blame him.

2 - There wasn’t an official ceremony, as it were, they just exchanged their rings in the park while book-girl took pictures from a bush. But as there had been witnesses (one purple-eyed intrusive spy from Heaven, and one very buzzy spy from Hell) it had been considered official and they had been given rounds of forced congratulations when they got called in for the next freelance assignment.

3 – And if one of these things was a minor miracle that ensured the shop always had those lovely little marshmallows from France when Aziraphale was there, who was anyone to judge?

4 – There were three. The Ritz (too many good memories), Books (too many good stories), and Crowley (there’s not enough space in the footnotes to get into why the demon ranks at the top. Perhaps there’s a place with copious amounts of stories at the push of a button that could give you a few examples, hmm?)

5 – Crowley and Yaya had done this back and forth since the first visit. Crowley knows Yaya barely speaks English, and Yaya knows that Crowley doesn’t like to be told what to do. Neither of these things stop either of them. They both love it.

#fic #good omens #my fic #ineffable husbands #aziraphale #crowley #ineffable outliers #the return of the coffee shop!#the return of Yaya!

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nightcoremoon · 6 years

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I typically don't eat very much meat on a day to day basis. usually I just eat granola, pasta, rice and beans, peanut butter and nacho cheese doritos, tomato and vegetable soup, and lots and lots of fruit. sometimes I'll have grilled cheese, eggs, and I do drink milk on a daily basis. maybe once a week I'll eat something with chicken or beef in it, but the meat I eat the most is tuna. when I'm in financial dire straights I'll eat ramen since it's a quarter each. but I have to feed myself on a very low budget, and oftentimes that calls for including meat, since my body can't digest beans well, and peanut butter can't be the primary source of protein in your life, and nuts trigger some sensory issues, and I think soy is really bad for you, and quinoa is expensive as fuck because of the flying it in and the slave labor because capitalism is evil. regardless, the point is, I don't eat that many meat and animal products in the long run. I don't subsist entirely on bacon cheeseburgers. I don't live breathe and eat an entire cow at a time. I eat just enough to keep me alive. I don't appreciate being told I'm a bad person for this.

I don't appreciate assholes who bully people on the internet for being in the same position as me. I don't appreciate self righteous pieces of fucking garbage who send waves and waves of anon hate to people who don't just let them be dicks in peace. I especially loathe the kind of person who has more respect for literal pigs than for actual human beings, comparing the lives of black, jewish, muslim, gay, trans, poor, disabled, mentally ill, autistic, and culinarily minded individuals to animals. do you realize how fucked that is? to care more about stupid fucking LIVESTOCK than about your fellow man and to let it govern your every waking moment? it's bullshit and I won't stand for it. I'm a good person. My mind doesn't let me believe it most times but I know in my heart that I always have the best interests of all humanity at the front of my mind. I respect every single human life who is not literally evil, a genocidal fascist, wants to kill me or anyone else based on something as trivial as our demographics. I was with a girl two nights ago and I was just a few steps away from having sex with somebody for the first time in my entire life which is something that the dark bits in the back of my mind have tried endlessly and tirelessly to accomplish, but she said she didn't want to do that so I didn't, and it was one of the easiest decisions I have ever made in my entire life, no matter how much I actually wanted to do it, no matter how much the intrusive thoughts told me to do it anyway. I didn't. Because I know that that's just a part of my mental illness, because I know it isn't really me saying or wanting or attempting the doing of those things, and the real me is one of the nicest people in the fucking world. So many other people tell me that I am but I disagree with them so often. I've had to work so hard to get to a point where I don't hate myself, where I can actually look at my face in the mirror and hear myself sing to the songs I love and take care of myself, things I never did in the past.

Granted, part of that has a little to do with my transition, but it's still relevant. I'm there, or as close to there as I've ever been. I still slip here and there, I still don't have a clean room, I still don't bathe as often as I need to, I still have a whole hell of a lot of sleeping problems, I still sometimes go a day without eating any food. Yesterday I passed out at work because I hadn't eaten any *real* food in a couple of days. Food is something that I struggle with, but it's the one thing that I've never lost interest in for a future career for my entire life. Cooking is very special to me and it's something that I enjoy doing when literally everything else I can do- video games, youtube, netflix, anime, books, music, I even enjoy cleaning somewhat- brings me zero joy, tastes like mashed potatoes, isn't even doable at my lowest. And I cook the most comfortably with meat, eggs, dairy, and all the things that vegans would literally crucify me for if they saw me touching it. And I refuse to feel any amount of guilt for that.

My life is worth more than that of an animal that is bred specifically for being eaten and nothing else. My life is worth more than any animal that exists. My life is worth more than a dozen, than two dozen, than one hundred cows or chickens or pigs or goats or sheep or any other edible animal. My life is worth more than the collective lives of all the animals that I already have, am, and will ever eat. And the same goes for any other human being alive on this planet who is not a literal nazi. Biblically, man was given full dominion over animals. Scientifically, man has evolved to be at the top of the food chain, but second only to wolves, bears, boars, big cats, birds of prey, giant lizards, and any other kind of animal that can, will, and has eaten humans. Either way, if predatory or omnivorous animals are allowed to eat other animals, we are too.

I refuse to bully vegans. I refuse to seek them out and send anon hate mail. I refuse to bring myself down to the level of the disgusting and hateful militant ones who say the shit that just boils my blood over. I actually have friends who are vegans. My sister is a self ID'd vegetarian who doesn't eat most animal products so she's kind of one in everything but name. I support their lifestyle choices and am not a dickhead to them anymore. And I will defend to the death their choice to reject societal norms and try in whatever small way they can to fight against animal cruelty. I try to eat only from reputable sources that don't make it as inhumane as is physically possible. The key word there is try. Some places don't have any information on how or where they get their meat from. But even if it is from someplace that sucks ass because of capitalism, I'd like to break down capitalism and rebuild it from the ground up, hopefully in a way that keeps unfair treatment from negatively affecting any living creature aside from maybe bugs because the moment vegans start chanting #ANT LIVES MATTER, I will begin subsisting entirely on meat out of pure spite.

Because spite runs me. Every time I see some militant vegans being a dickhead, I go and eat meat. I'm petty like that. It tastes amazing and it costs so much less than organic quinoa does. I won't feel bad for it. You can't make me feel bad for it. You won't. And I'll speak up if you try to make anyone else feel bad for it because some other people haven't developed the tools necessary to not internalize anon hate. The reason for this is that I love humans more than you love animals. And that makes me a better person than you ever will be. So go ahead and enjoy your cold potatoes smeared in ketchup. I want you to eat whatever you want. But if you don't in return respect the dietary choices or sometimes forced restrictions of us 'carnists' as you so eloquently put it... I sincerely hope that you choke on them. Go fuck yourselves, asshole militant vegans who tell people to kill themselves just because they eat some meat. You're a bunch of bags of dicks, so go eat one.

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