#cross' ineffable plan

[the-ineffable-cross]

Y'Know how Crowley was friends with Leonardo Da Vinci?

Well, I hold dear in my heart that Aziraphale was friends with Michelangelo, but Michelangelo knew Aziraphale was an angel.

(He was chill about it. Aziraphale helped him with the historical accuracy of his paintings <33)

I JUST- IT WOULD MAKE FOR SOME REALLY FUNNY SCENES AND STUFF

"What's this?"

"Paint."

"OHHH-"

I CAN'T STOP THIS HEADCANON

BUT ALSO, LIKE, WHAT IF MICHELANGELO CREATED HIS SCULPTURE ANGEL BASED ON AZIRAPHALE??????

TELL ME YOU DONT SEE IT.

But like... what if after Aziraphale goes back to heaven Crowley goes and just looks at it.

Just goes all the way to Bologna, Italy to see his friend (read: one true love) again.

He doesn't care that it's in a church

He just wants to see Aziraphale again.

And silently, Crowley is thanking Michelangelo for this statue.

#cross' ineffable plan #good omens but renaissance edition #crowley x aziraphale #aziraphale and crowley #good omens aziraphale #crowly x aziraphale #aziraphale x crowley #archangel aziraphale #aziraphale #aziraphale fanart #aziraphale good omens #crowley and aziraphale #supreme archangel aziraphale #crowley good omens #anthony j crowley #good omens crowley #crowley #go crowley #go aziraphale #michelangelo buonarroti #good omens #good omens 2 #good omens angst #good omens brainrot #neil gaiman #these fucking ineffable dumbasses

[moineauz]

may i request a ticket for mosaic the memento with boothill?

𝄞⨾𓍢ִ໋ THE HOUSE OF MUSICA PRESENTS... 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐐𝐔𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐓 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐈𝐍𝐆ノ𝐌𝐎𝐒𝐀𝐈𝐂 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐎 — boothill !

synopsis: lovers that collect each other, piece by piece and display it in peculiar ways.

side comments: tysm for requesting!! I definitely had fun with this and boothill in general. I took the concept quite literally hehe.

extra: gn reader, angst & fluff, mentions of marriage, established relationship word count: 1, 184

When eyesight failed, you turned to the wind's caress, the hum of incessant chatter, and the mechanical click of Boothill's shoes like a heartbeat made of flesh and bone.

Penacony thrived and bounced with promise and prose that night, as it has every night; brimming with the convivial spirit of a cocktail. While morphing desire into the tangible.

Nevertheless, Penacony is a pest: a jewel sowing songs of seduction, Time spent in Penacony rots the living flesh.

"You're thinkin' too much again."

Languidly, you turn your head towards the man leaning against the door frame. His limbs slacken as a tender grin pressed onto his face. It was as beckoning as a blast of dust and powder. A soothing grace found in jagged cliffs.

"It's Penacony," you begin scrupulously, "It's difficult not to think of-"

A small nail bolt hits the ground, a ring reverberating throughout your hotel room: a sour psalm. Your eyes observe the nail as it spins toward the tip of your boot; halting it in its path.

Boothill scrutinizes your eyebrows and how they crease, your placid countenance replaced by blunt displeasure. You cast a faint sigh, rolling your wrists until you discerned a click. A practice Boothill has inscribed into your skin it seemed. To Boothill, your faint, pervasive sighs are like wisps of smoke billowing in feeble puffs. It is the kind that Boothill could keep within the biting palms of his hands like a cloud of mist rolling over a slumbering horizon.

"Boothill," you chide askance, the nail now tightly wrapped under the guileful length of your fingers, "You're falling apart, again."

Boothill emits a delicate laugh; carrying through the thick atmosphere of your hotel room like fog being pushed to the side. "Oh? It's Nothin' to worry bout'," he exclaims, his grin acute and unrelenting like a child.

You scoff, your face solemn. "You're a fool then."

Boohill raises an eyebrow and crosses his arms. "A fool?" he begins with a tone of toying inquisition, "And what kind of fool would I be then?"

"The kind that never listens," you seethed as you turned your back and rummaged through your satchel. The click and ring of colliding components rebound from the disquieting walls. "Tell me, is it that difficult to keep your gun down?"

Instead, Boothill's legs carry him to the side of your bed; hoisting himself up before lying down on his back, his right hand gingerly tapping against the plating of his chest. One beat after another, one rise of your chest like sundown, one click before the drop.

The room grows reticent as does Boothill's incessant chatter. You considered him like a fly; one swat never ceased his lingering. His buzz and wagers compelled you to an ineffable cusp of undoing. He tugged at your hair, sauntered over your plans and tenderly pressed his treasured gun against your skull like a prayer of undying fidelity: the kind that reaches from the mounds of soil, dust and dirt. A skeleton crawling on the face of the Earth.

However, you kept the bones of that same serrated skeleton in your coat pockets. When the night yielded its youth, you traced your glided hands over its ridges like one recites verses in a destitute, ceaseless pursuit for solace. You hauled the bones of your dead on your back, straggling through sand dunes and sun. Thus, you ensured the bones would never corrode or break. For safekeeping, you thought.

"It always surprises me," professed Boothill, his body still limp on your bed, "That you carry every part of me in that damn satchel of yours."

He then scoffs, amused, "It's ridiculous."

A subtle, witty smile unwinds on your lips before you exasperate, "Well, I find it more ridiculous that a full-grown man needs his spouse to cover his boo-boos."

"Ha!" exclaims Boothill, a smirk unveiling itself, "And what's so wrong bout' that?"

You simply hum at this question, still absorbed by the sensations of various metal pieces grazing against your skin. "Boothill," you betokened "Which wire is thinner? The one on the right or the one on the left?"

Boothill promptly glances at the side table, "The one on the right."

You reach for the wire on the right, no inkling of doubt smearing the page of your chest.

Boothill never pressed his knee down or slipped a circular piece of metal on your finger.

On the contrary, you professed your devotion while uncoiling the vast forests of his wires found in his spinal cord and replacing the plating of his shins. Like a doll being unwinded: its button eyes stitched concurrently to become whole.

Boothill pondered the concept of marriage and discerned it to be ludicrous. However, there was a peculiar charm found in the title "My spouse" like windchimes that crash and sway, casting their dreams into an afternoon breeze.

He reminisced how you ripped his chest open and raised his metal heart in the plane of your hands like an offering. He entrusted you.

You dismantled him with each screw and wire; rerouting and disconnecting nerve after nerve, daring not to draw a breath in fear of failure. His entire being rested upon the pull and press of your fingers and the thrust of your arms. Boothill observed beads of sweat trickling down your forehead and the tentative purses of your lips. He could recount the strands of hair that brushed against your cheek and the bitter pit of envy and spite that grew in him like a weed. The wind could stroke your cheek and the Earth could wrap you fold upon fold until you became the foundations of life itself. Nevertheless, Boothill comprehended how insatiable he was. He envied how the folds of death seemed to embrace you closer than he could ever offer you.

The vibrations of your proposal still ring in his head and run up his spine with the zeal of electricity and the parting words of tenderness. Thus, how could he ever say no?

"I'm almost done with your leg," you muse, your eyes bouncing from Boothill's reposed face and the length of his leg.

"Why'd you ask to become my spouse, ( Name )?"

You blink, the movements of your hands paused while the clock continues to cast its familiar tick-tok. "Don't call me that," you remarked indifferently, your hands promptly resuming their work.

"Then what do I call you?" drawls Boothill, his eyes fixated on the tenacious shifts of your expression.

You emit a half-amused scoff before avowing, "Don't ask questions you already know the answer to."

"Alright then," teases Boothill, "We can play it that way." He pauses, then prompts, "Why'd you ask to become my spouse, doll?"

With that simple phrase, you gingerly place your tools down and lean forward. The poignant warmth of your breath skimming over Boothill's smooth cheek. A blinding smile tugs at the corners of your lips and the placid facade carved in your face broke with brilliance like the yolk of an egg. The corners of Boothill's eyes pooled with awe.

"Because I was tired of carrying pieces of you in my pockets."

general masterlist. request page for event.

#( the house of musica ⨾𓍢ִ໋ ) #—stellaronhvnters. #honkai star rail #hsr x reader #hsr #honkai star rail x reader #boothill #boothill x gn reader #boothill x reader #boothill honkai star rail #boothill x you #boothill angst #boothill fluff #hsr boothill

[shinybearnerd]

"Notes of Chaos"

Hi everybody!

Since Good Omens season 2 is almost here, I wanted to share some of my ff with you.

The pairing is not between Crowley and Aziraphale, even tho there may be one of them in the future. They are so cute together and I ship them, but I think I'm not that good at capturing their ineffable love. Idk, I hope it makes sense...

This is my first time publishing a smut ff. I'm a little nervous lmao.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy this! Let me know if that's the case!

Pair: Crowley x Gn!reader

Words: 2,6k

Genre: Fluff, smut +18

Story: After the Armageddon, Crowley has been kicked out of his apartment and now he's living in his Bentley. You and Crowley are good friends, so you propose he stays at your place for the moment. He accepts, even tho he's reluctant. Days pass and you and the demon are coming to get closed and closed until one night, at a party...

-Engish is not my first language. So I'm sorry if there are any mistakes-

Every person that has known y/n would describe them as someone that has an infectious smile and bright eyes that light up even at the littlest thing.

They had always been fascinated by the idea of supernatural creatures, and as soon as they learned that Crowley was a demon, they were drawn to him in a strange and intriguing way. Despite their human nature, y/n was open-minded enough to accept Crowley for who he was.

Ever since the demon had entered their life, they had discovered an unexpected complicity with him.

After weeks of living together, Crowley had become accustomed to y/n's company and their eccentricity. Though at first, he'd been reluctant to accept their offer of hospitality, he'd gradually come to trust them and realized that he couldn't have found a better person, apart from Aziraphale of course, to share time with than them.

One evening, Y/n enthusiastically approached Crowley while he was immersed in one of the many blogs about plants that the demon followed. <<Hey, some friends are planning a party this night. Five minutes from here. Would you like to come with me? >> asked, trying to hide the excitement.

Crowley lifted his eyes from the phone and looked at Y/n, considering their proposal. Initially, the prospect of a party didn't seem very appealing to the demon, who preferred to spend the evenings alone or with a few people he felt comfortable with. But then, a thought crossed his mind: perhaps, this would be an opportunity to get closer to them.

After a short pause, Crowley nodded. <<Yeah, sure. It'll be fun.>> Y/n eyes immediately lightened up as they embraced him enthusiastically. <<Crowley, you'll love them! And I'm sure they'll love you too!>>

In the evening, the two walked towards the meeting place. Crowley followed Y/n. As they passed through the neighbourhood, the lights of the adjacent houses cast a welcoming atmosphere on the whole street.

When they reached their destination, the music and the sound of laughter greeted them. The party was on an elegant terrace, above a very chich club, with upbeat music and some people already laughing and dancing.

Crowley noticed that Y/n was like a fish in water, in the midst of people, while he preferred to remain cold. Still, Y/n's presence offered him a sense of comfort he'd never experienced before.

<<Come, Crowley, I want you to meet my people!>> They insisted, gently taking his arm and leading him.

The demon found himself in a various circle of people: there were artists, musicians and people with eccentric clothing.

And if before he felt out of place, at that moment he felt at home.

He left himself carried away by the festive atmosphere and found himself laughing and joking with guests who weren't Luna or her friends. Maybe it was the alcohol. Yes, it was definitely the alcohol.

As the evening wore on, Crowley realized how gorgerous and charming Y/n looked as they danced lightly. He was beginning to love the way their eyes sparkled with a particular light when they talked about something that fascinated them or when they talked to their friends… The way their nose crunched when smiling or laughing…

The hours passed, and the party continued in its fervency.

Crowley and Y/n found themselves sitting against the railing of the parapet. The bright colour of the lights created a magical and intimate atmosphere in some way.

There was no need to talk much. They seemed to understand each other even without many words. <<Crowley>> Y/n said, placing their hand lightly on his. <<Thank you for coming with me tonight. It's nice to have you here.>> The demon smiled. A sweet one that he rarely showed to others. <<Yes. I'm happy too. It was a... pleasant evening.>>

They were smiling at each other when suddenly the DJ spoke, telling everybody that the night was almost ending and that he was putting on the last songs.

Immediately, Y/n took Crowley by the arm, dragging him into the dance floor. The demon didn't know whether to feel bothered or amused by their gesture. He chose the second option.

The music was loud, but that didn't seem to bother Y/N, who danced carefree and sensually, as if there was no one around them.

Crowley found himself mesmerized by their presence. His ancient and mischievous soul recognized Y/n's attraction and excitement, and the thought made him smile. He even thought that they would have been a heaven of a demon.

He let himself go to the music, allowing Y/n to lead him on an intoxicating experience.

The evening had revealed a side of them that Crowley had never seen before: a wild and charming person, capable of awakening new sensations in him.

With an amused smile, Crowley followed Y/n's movements, letting the music surround them both. He no longer cared about the outside world or his worries. The only thought that mattered to him was sharing that moment with them.

At one point, they moved even closer to Crowley, their bodies almost touching. The heat and electricity between them seemed to increase. It wasn't just the music that moved them, but a mutual attraction that was growing more and more.

In a playful tone, Y/n whispered in Crowley's ear over the noise of the music. <<You know... we could wreak some havoc together! That would be fun.>>

Crowley smiled, realizing that they were playing with him, but at the same time seeing a small spark of truth in their suggestion.

<<We could, but you know, I've spent millennia wreaking it… Maybe I need a break, gorgeous.>> he replied winking behind his black glasses.

Y/n laughed, looking down as they resumed letting the music wrap around them. Trying to hide their blushed cheeks.

Something in hearing their laughter snapped in him and, without them realizing it, the demon slipped behind, grabbing them with one hand, which he held on their stomach, and pulling Y/n towards himself, continuing to dance.

Although Y/n seemed to never stop laughing, they felt their breath short for a few seconds. Crowley's touch made them shiver, but not in the way they expected. It was an electrifying sensation, a combination of awe and pleasure.

They turned to him, meeting his leering gaze, and their heart started pounding even faster. <<Crowley.>> they whispered, almost out of breath. The demon answered them with a knowing smile, moving closer. << Sounds to me like you need some guidance, Y/n. I can help you with the pacing if you like.>>

Y/n smiled. And immediately after they let themself be completely caught up in Crowley's grip. They felt his strong, warm hands on their skin as his rhythm joined in an intense, sensual dance. The heartbeat quickened the breathing of both mixed.

As they danced together, Y/n felt the heat of Crowley's body against theirs, a magnetic energy that seemed to grow stronger and stronger. It was as if their souls touched, opening the door to a deep and mysterious understanding. The more they danced, the more Crowley closed them, letting themselves be overwhelmed by their aphrodisiac smell; the more Y/n grinded and danced against Crowley. There were no words, just the music enveloping them, and their emotions melding together.

Y/n felt like they were in a trance, fascinated by the way the demon treated them. His touch was electrifying and everything they needed in their life.

Crowley, on the other hand, was surprised about how Y/n could push his emotions so high. In every movement, in every touch, he felt the pull of their power, humanity and irresistible energy. He had gotten used to being cold and calculating, but with Y/n, everything seemed different.

They continued to dance, letting themselves be guided by the music and the intensity of the moment, until they felt the demon's crotch behind them, letting out a sigh of pleasure. Which didn't go unnoticed by the demon, who gripped them closer. He leaned closer to them, leaning into Y/n's ear, grinding more. He spoke with a husky and amused whisper. <<Do you like dancing with me, my dear? >> Y/n moaned softly. << Yes...>>

Crowley's hands trailed up Y/n's hips as his sensual movements made them feel alive like never before. It was as if the whole universe was concentrated at that moment. The demon's hands squeezed them tighter, their bodies moving in unison. The dance floor felt like their kingdom, where they could express themselves without fear or judgment.

The music surrounded them more, leading them into a whirlwind of emotions and desire. Every movement, every touch, was filled with passion and mystery. Suddenly, it stopped. But, even though the song ended, the connection between the demon and the human was still strong.

They stopped to stare into each other's eyes, not saying a word. The short breaths were due to the movement and desire they felt towards each other. Crowley was breathing heavily too, looking at them through his glasses with an impenetrable gaze.

<<Follow me. >> he ordered, breaking the silence.

Y/n didn't have to hear it again. They let the demon grab their wrist and followed him, slipping through the crowd that had resumed dancing.

As soon as they got out, Crowley pushed Y/n against the nearest wall, approaching them with an intense expression in his eyes. Their lips met passionately, hungry for each other. Each kiss was a promise of pleasure and togetherness.

As Crowley brushed his hands against Y/n's skin, the contact ignited a fire that spread throughout their bodies. They felt the heat emanating from the demon, an intense and overwhelming feeling that made them want him even more.

Y/n's hands hooked on the collar of Crowley's jacket, pulling him closer. They could feel the hardness of his muscles against their body, and the energy emanating from him made them shiver with excitement.

Their breaths mingled, quickened by the desire that burned them from within. There was no more room for inhibitions, just the will to indulge in an uncontrollable passion.

As the kiss deepened and deepened, Crowley moved his hands over the curves of Y/n's body, exploring them with desire and reverence. His fingers traced lines down their back, leaving a trail of fire on their sensitive skin.

Y/n moaned in pleasure, responding to Crowley's touches with smooth movements of their body. It was as if they were in perfect harmony, dancing to an ancient tune of passion and desire.

The pressure of the demon's body against theirs intensified, and Y/n could feel their arousal spreading now. It was an explosion of sensations, a shiver that shot through their spines and spread through their entire being.

As the kiss broke off, leaving a line of saliva that united them, their gazes met once again. There was a promise of lust and affection in those golden eyes. An intensity that made their heart beat even faster. <<Crowley...>> whispered Y/n, their voice full of desire. The demon smiled at them. A smile full of mischief and affection that only they could see. Y/n bit their lower lip, their body vibrating with a desire that was impossible to ignore. <<Crowley, please... Fuck me.>>

Without saying a word, Crowley took Y/n's face in their hands and kissed them again hard and passionately. It was as if they were two souls on fire, consuming each other. Crowley's hands moved impatiently, exploring Y/n's body with uncontrollable hunger, starting to free both of the encumbrances of pants/and dresses.

Their breathing was irregular, their moans mixing in the night air with the muffled noise of distant music. It was a symphony of desire, a crescendo of sensations that carried them higher and higher.

The demon picked them up, pressing them against the wall, and Y/n wrapped their legs around him, welcoming him. Crowley began to playfully rub his hard erection against Y/n's core, who moaned impatiently. A sly smile was on his lips. <<Crowley... please!>> <<You know what to do, sweet cheecks.>> replied grinding harder against them. Y/n tightened their grip on the shoulders of the demon, who watched them in amusement. <<Crowley-… fuck. Please, fuck me hard. Ruin me! Ruin other people for me. >> With a sudden movement, Crowley thrust all of him hard, causing them to let out a strangled cry of pleasure. <<Fuck. You're so deliciously tight! ...Can I move?>> <<I'll kill you if you don't!>>

Their bodies moved in unison, dancing in a timeless, erotic choreography. Each movement was a promise of pleasure, a celebration of the intense connection between them. The more the demon moved, the more the human felt they were about to come.

As Crowley's trusts quickened, Y/n understand that he was close too. They could hear him gasping and grunting in pleasure, feeling Y/n's core squeezing him just in the right way. He tilted his head backwards, moaning and grunting into the free air as he had his way with Y/n.

<<Oh, my- fucking god! Yes, baby! Just like that!>> The blasphemy and the tone of their voice were his last straw. His movement quickened more, while his pushes became harder.

They soon came together: Crowley feeling his cock sweetly being milked by his lover's soft walls, and Y/n feeling his warm seed coating and filling them.

With their bodies still vibrating with passion, Y/n and Crowley remained embraced against the wall, wrapped up in each other and seeking the breath and the sweetness in each other's embrace. Their skins touched delicately as if they wanted to keep every spark of that magical moment.

With the accelerated beat of their hearts in the background, they exchanged an intense kiss, full of gratitude and complicity. Their warm skins pressed together as heavy breathing filled the air around them. It was as if time had stopped, leaving room only for the present, just for the two of them.

Crowley continued to support Y/n in his arms, his golden eyes fixed on their y/e/c. His hands caressed them delicately, almost as if he were touching a precious work of art. They felt every touch of the demon on their skin, an electric hiss that made them shiver with pleasure. He seemed fascinated by every inch of the human's body as if he were exploring an unknown and fascinating world. Every nuance, every curve, seemed to be etched into his mind like a symphony of beauty.

<<You're so gorgeous...>> Crowley whispered hoarsely, the words spoken with worship and adoration.

Y/n smiled, feeling loved and wanted in a way they had never experienced before.

<<And you are extraordinary. >> answered softly.

Their gazes met again, and deep in Crowley's eyes, Y/n could read a mix of emotions: desire, passion, but also a vulnerability that made him even more fascinating.

The demon's lips explored their necks, leaving a trail of hot kisses. His sensual bites on their skin made them quiver with pleasure, blending sweet with spicy in a symphony of sensations. Y/n's hands tangled in his red hair, pulling him even closer. They felt his heart beat in unison as if they had become one soul.

They lost track of time. It was just the two of them, immersed in a world of their own, a world of desire and pleasure that enveloped them like a whirlwind.

Suddenly the kissing stopped and Y/n felt Crowley's strong arms wrap around them while his head was buried against their chest. As if he wanted to protect them from the whole world and at the same time, wanted to protect himself.

They welcomed him gently, feeling the warmth of his body next to theirs. Making the demon feel loved. In the silence of the night, their breaths calmed. <<What a way to provoke havoc... >> he remarked, amused. Y/n chuckled. <<We should do it more often. >> The demon turned his gaze to look at them. A smirk full of love and devotion on his face. <<Yeah, we should.>> He brought his face closer and kissed them passionately, keeping their head in place with his hand.

<<I think it's time to go home...>> suggested Y/n with a smile. << Yes, I think so too.>>

He carefully set them down, asking if they could stand on their own. Once Y/n felt more comfortable, they dressed each other again and then left the party together. Crowley's arm was placed over their shoulders.

#crowley good omens smut #crowley #good omens crowley x you #good omens #good omens crowley #crowley smut #crowley x reader #anthony j crowley #fluff #smut #good omens crowley x reader #crowley x y/n #x reader #reader insert #gn reader

[aziraphales-library]

Hello dear mods!! This is kind of a random, oddly specific ask but do you have any fics where one of our lovely Ineffable Husbands uses really cheesy pickup lines?

I’m a sucker for cheesy pickup lines, and I’ve come across one or two in the wilds of ao3 and they were hilarious and adorable.

Human au/other aus or just regular Angel and Demon are perfectly fine!! Thank you!! <3

Hey! Here are some fics with pick up lines for you...

If I told you you had a nice body, would you hold it against me? by involuntaryorange (T)

After several months of mounting frustration, Crowley turns to the internet. Humans seem to have figured out relationships, he reasons; or, at least, they’ve figured out how to get into them, and that’s the part he needs help with. An hour of googling and two rather nice bottles of pinot noir later, he has a plan. a.k.a. the one where Crowley decides to try out some pick-up lines.

Did it hurt? by madlysanecatlady (T)

An exercise in shitty pickup lines.

do him! by orphan_account (T)

Crowley is an astronomer who does a side gig as a stand-up comedian on Fridays. One Friday he sets out to introduce a new segment to his routine, a bit where he makes fun of the audience's expense. Though when he's asked to make fun of a gorgeous man, he says something brash and regrets it, and then later goes to introduce himself and apologize to the kind man. - “Hello there!” Crowley said, chastising himself for being too loud when the man jumped. “Oh, hello. Er, may I help you?” The man said. “Uh, yeah. I’m Crowley.” He said, reaching his hand out to shake. “Aziraphale,” the man said, taking it. “I just wanted to apologize for making that joke, it was wrong of me to cross a boundary like that. I was simply caught in the moment and I thought you looked pretty. I didn’t mean to make you so uncomfortable that you had to run out.” Crowley said.

Wingman by writeonclara (T)

“Do you understand what will happen to you if you don’t smash your demon buddy? And since you’re”—Gabriel paused to search for the proper adjective to encompass all of Aziraphale’s Aziraphaleness, then settled on—“you, God commanded me to help you. And buddy, you need all the help you can get.” Or: Gabriel’s assigned to be wingman for Aziraphale to keep him from Falling. He’s about as good at it as you’d imagine.

The Pumpkin Patch by AppleSeeds (T)

Aziraphale visits a pumpkin patch and meets Crowley, a farmer with a fondness for cheesy seasonal pick-up lines. After a while, he starts to get the impression that Crowley might actually be flirting with him, and tries to work up the courage to reciprocate.

The Steps to Courting an Angel by ReginaPapilio (G)

Crowley entrusts his love life to a "Love Guide" upon finding it in Aziraphale's bookshop. Now he just needs to follow it until the angel is finally his, but things don't go his way that easily.

One Night In Bangor (And the World's Your Oyster) by Atalan (E)

"All right, I know I'm going to regret asking this," Aziraphale says. "What exactly does this wager entail?" Crowley grins like the cat that not only got the cream but has absconded with the entire cow. He grabs the bottle and swigs straight from it despite Aziraphale's tut of disapproval.  "The pot goes to whichever demon can get an angel into bed by the end of the evening."  AKA The Fic That Tumblr Made Me Write. Heaven and Hell share a corporate party once per millennium. This time someone's had the bright idea of issuing a challenge to the demons of Hell. Crowley has no intention of missing the opportunity; Aziraphale's just enough of a bastard to make him work for it.

- Mod D

#good omens #ineffable husbands #flirting #pick up lines #getting together #mod d #humour

[teabreakpancakes]

Temptation Frederick Kreiburg x GN Reader

Genre: Smut

power bottom reader, overstim

Doe-eyes trailed down the composer's body, face heating up at the sight of his tiny waist. Just before they could get caught, they turned away, going back to the cipher machine they were decoding. Please don't come here please don't come here please don't they pleaded internally, on the brink of having a cognitive malfunction.

Of course, the gods decided to be cruel to the survivor, delivering to them the cause of their impending "doom"—or perhaps their blessing in disguise. Granted, each conversation they've had beforehand was pleasant, consisting of them exchanging answers and questions regarding each other's lives, however, there was little chance that the composer saw them as more than a friend; Sir Kreiburg often invited you over for tea and such but that was it really.

As the vague scent of ceylon tea approached, you wiped the nervous expression off your face, facing the cipher machine's keyboard. "Hello there" he greeted with a small smile, joining you in decoding the last cipher. You had every intention of remaining silent, but out of courtesy, you decided to greet the older man with a curt, "Hello Frederick".

Considering the fact that you were being a coward by avoiding looking the man in the eye, you had missed the confusion draping over his pale face. Have I done something to displease them? the composer debated internally, eyebrows furrowing in contemplation. Grunting slightly, he stabs his tuning fork into the machine ungraciously, displaying his irritation. You flinched slightly at his rough treatment of the cipher and his tool, What was that about? is he mad? you wondered, worry creeping up your features.

The silence between you two was thick enough to be sliced through by the time the machine was primed. A soft squeak was drawn from your lips when Frederick placed a heavy hand on your shoulder. Doe e/c eyes clash against his warm grey ones; he leans down, leaving miniscule distance between your lips. "You are to meet me in my room after this match, I simply won't tolerate letting you off without a conversation about what I could have possibly done to displease you" he said with a low voice, brushing his hand against your arm as he took off towards the nearest exit gate.

Crimson slowly crawled up your neck, reaching the tips of your ears. You lift a slender hand to cover your mouth, leaning against the cipher machine with shaky irises. What was that about you trembled, unsure of whether or not you should go along with what the composer told you.

As the Cowboy took a hit, you popped the cipher, instantly activating Borrowed Time for the survivor. With that, loud cheers of approval echoed through the peculiar formless intercom that delivered messages between the survivors.

The pit of nervousness building within you only grew in size, so much so that you opted for the other exit gate, the one across the map—facing Frederick so soon would've resulted in an ineffable outcome that you wouldn't wish upon yourself, avoiding your early "doom" sounded like a much much more pleasant route.

In front of the handsome man's door is a survivor metaphorically rooted to the ground.

Your hand hovered over the brass door handle, hesitance lacing your very being. A part of you felt like bolting towards your room, or even better, jumping out the damned window. You felt deeply unwilling to have the conversation you've visualised over and over again on repeat while making your way towards the exit gate.

Groaning, you tug at your soft locks in frustration, turning on your heel before attempting to leave—only for the door to swing open. Frederick arches an eyebrow at you, "You weren't planning on leaving were you?" he inquired, leaning against his door frame with his arms crossed over his chest. Animated sweat beads form on your temple as he stared you down. You shook your head, gulping nervously as he gestures for you to enter his room.

"Make yourself at home, would you like some tea?" he hums, gazing at you curiously. Slowly, albeit awkwardly, you take a seat on the couch in his chambers, slowly relaxing into the soft material; facing him, you nod, smiling. He nods, smiling as if to reassure you before preparing the tea cups and the teapot.

Mindlessly, you began to fumble around with the fabric and accessories attached to your clothing. After a few minutes, Frederick returns with a tray of sweet treats, along with the tea. He sets down the contents of the tray before placing the tray beside the coffee table. Pouring you and himself a cup of tea, he turns to face you, to which, you do the same, just without the grace in his movements.

"Please, do try the cookies, I baked them earlier" he raises the plate towards you, looking at you expectantly. You reach for one, and before you're even able to take a bite, he shoots a question towards you. "Why have you been avoiding me?" he asked, the upset tone in his voice making you feel guilty.

He faces you with that gaze, that gaze that made him look so much more fucking attractive. You sigh and close your eyes, taking a bite of the cookie before downing it with a gulp of the aromatic tea.

"You see, darling, I..." you trail off, opening one eye. "I have feelings and thoughts of you, lascivious thoughts and passionate feelings I can't bear to voice out". You eye his expression: his dumbfounded stare and the way his mouth gapes.

You let out a small amused chuckle, attempting to stand up from the couch. "Wait, I never said you were allowed to leave" Frederick seized hold of your arm, stopping you in your tracks. The older man's eyebrows were furrowed as he stared at you, his mouth opening and closing in rapid succession as he tried formulating words.

"I don't.. I don't see how that's a valid reason to be cold to me!" he frowned, lips pursing in a thin line. Your shoulders shake slightly, muted giggles gradually turning into full blown laughter. "But it is?, I'd hardly imagine that a man of your etiquette would like for someone to stare at you with only the most indecent and lewd thoughts filling their head" you grinned, tilting your head to the side as a teasing glint filled those shining orbs. "Unless, you'd actually want for that to happen, is that the case Sir Kreiburg?~" you purred, placing your hand on his chest—closing the distance between your faces until your breath fanned his lips.

His cheeks heated up, his adam's apple bobbing up and down as he swallowed due to nervousness. "A, And what if I do?" he responded, gorgeous warm greys beginning to cloud whilst his hands melded into your hips. A soft giggle left your mouth, your eyes becoming half-lidded, "Really now? then.. you wouldn't mind then if I did this then?" placing one hand on his shoulder, you push him down to sit on the couch, climbing on top of his lap.

Frederick has practically turned into a tomato at this point, staring up at you with wide eyes—those pretty eyes that stare up at you with so much anticipation, pleading you for something. "You're much naughtier than I assumed.." you muttered under your breath, playing with a strand of his soft ashy locks with a dazed look, lifting it to your lips—"I happen to like that" you leaned down, hovering a centimeter away from his lips. Frederick grew impatient, pulling you down by your neck, locking your lips together heatedly. He pulled you into him, simultaneously pressing himself up against you.

Frederick moans into your mouth as you ground down on his hardening member. He lets out a sound akin to a whine as you pull away, chasing after you lips—your kisses are wet and sloppy, regrettably, you have to forcefully pull away to take in oxygen. "Calm down darling, I'm not going anywhere" you chuckled breathlessly, a tad bit lightheaded. Frederick is breathless, whining as he rutted up against your ass.

"Needy aren't you? has it been a while since you've been presented the chance to get off?" you question with a sultry voice, bordering the lines of jealousy. As if aware of everything you're feeling, he leans against your chest, "Yes, but it's also because you're the only one I want" he smiled innocently, akin to how a puppy would act cute for more treats, except, his goal is to quell your jealousy.

Leaning down, you press your lips against his ear, "I'll make sure I'm the only one you want and need by the end of the night". He shivers, anticipation bubbling at your promise.

Off comes his jabot and his coat as you search for every sensitive spot on his neck; you thoroughly enjoyed each sound he'd produce as you slowly stripped him of all his clothing. He tugs at your own garments, fumbling with the buttons of your shirt; his fingers glide over the expanse of your exposed skin as he strips you.

Soft lips latch onto every bit of your skin they can access, leaving marks in their wake—you sigh in pleasure, carding your fingers through his soft locks. He suckles on your rosy bud, lavishing it with licks and kisses.

His cock presses against your clothed nether regions, it's sensitive head flushed and dripping pre-cum. The sensation of his length rubbing against your sensitive sex made you terribly impatient.

"Honey," you called out, the natural lilt of your voice drawing his attention. Frederick blinked, staring up at you with eager eyes, still sucking on your nipple like an infant. "P, Pardon me for my language but, will you please fuck me already? I don't think I can handle not feeling you inside me anymore" you pulled him down with you fell atop the fluffy pillows on the bed, him landing on top of you.

Gasps of pleasure, guttural groans, and occasional whines bounce against the walls of Frederick's room. He supports his upper body weight with his forearms, gazing down at you as he thrusted into you. The sound of skin slapping skin mixed with the lewd squelch of the lube made it all the much lewder, and yet Frederick believed that the mixture of all those noises, your noises, was the best piece his ears have ever been blessed with; no other sound could top the ones you made.

Your hands crawl up his back to the base of his hickey-covered neck, before finally cupping his face. One of your thumbs swiped at the sweat beading on his forehead, before gently beckoning him to lower himself for a soft kiss. He obliges eagerly, and despite how distracted he is by your soft lips, the pace of his hips never stagger, not even once.

"I, I'm close" Frederick gasps out, speeding up, lifting your hips up to make it easier for him to reach the deepest parts of your insides. The way you wrap around him so deliciously nearly made him delirious with pleasure, he was sure that his eyes nearly looked like they were about to roll into the back of his head with each thrust really.

"Me t, too..!" you moan out, resting your forehead against his shoulder, not even attempting to muffle your high-pitched cries of pleasure. Your nails dug into his back but it simply did nothing to deter the man from making you reach your climax; he reaches down to your sex, touching your sensitive areas, hips still hammering into you. "Cum for me, please" he pleads, kissing the soft lobe of ear. As if bewitched, you do exactly as he pleaded, orgasming messily around his throbbing cock. Frederick continues to pound into you, reaching his own climax but he doesn't stop there, he grinds into you gently, easing you both from your climaxes.

He lays down beside you, pulling you into his embrace, basking in the afterglow of an intense session. He strokes the back of your head, "I love you.." he whispers, kissing the crown of your head. You smile tiredly against his chest, "I love you too Frederick" you respond, resting your head on his pectoral.

#lawless.writes #idv.writing #idv x reader #idv x gn reader #idv frederick #idv frederick x reader #idv smut #idv composer #idv composer x reader #idv frederick x reader smut #idv composer x reader smut #identity v smut #identity v x reader

[actual-changeling]

i think it's funny that whenever i post something about aziraphale not caring about individual humans—only humanity as a concept—the ONLY counter argument everyone always throws at me is 'he gave his flaming sword away'.

mate.

that was six thousand years ago. LITERALLY fresh out of heaven, to the only two humans in existence, who were the entirety of humanity at that point.

let's look at what he's like in more recent years, yes?

ah yes, telling a person living in an alley that her girlfriend is going to hell with a smile. what a kind person. and the wonderful follow-up which sounds like it is straight out of some conservative, capitalistic asshole's mouth.

and fun fact, someone like that has said THOSE EXACT WORDS to me at some point.

crowley asking the real questions here like always

but hey, that was 1827, maybe he was just having a bad year. or decade. or century.

what about the present day? see, crowley is terrified of gabriel and hates his guts, but do you know what he does? he answers his questions very patiently. he is kind. once he realises gabriel isn't pretending he makes him hot chocolate and tries to help him remember, he empathizes.

aziraphale's patient is non-existent. he yells at him immediately, gets frustrated with the most simple questions, refuses to interact with him and leaves crowley with him after crowley told him "what i NEED is for him to be nowhere near me". how considerate. but hey, maybe he was just having a bad time.

job! he was kind in job, right?

except that he doesn't care about job losing his house, his farmstead, all of his animals being slaughtered and only has a problem with the children dying; which he then tries to rationalize away with his fucking "that's not what god wants" shtick.

meanwhile crowley already has plans to protect the animals AND the children AND job and sitis as best he can.

the flood? perfectly alright to drown everyone, including innocent animals and children! it is god's plan, and what do a few humans mean in god's great big ineffable plan, huh?

then again, he doesn't show much empathy for god's son either when he's being nailed to the cross. french revolution and people being beheaded? oh yes, sure, dreadful—anyway i'm just here for the crepes, the dying humans are just background noise, let's not do anything about that even though it is literally my fucking job as an angel. but noooo. he got peckish and then had lunch. what a fucking hero.

'accidentally' killing a dove because he just had to shove it up his sleeve for a magic act.

someone getting shot and dying? because i was careless? don't care. anyway.

armageddon and all of humanity dying? don't care either until i realise what i personally would lose and then i suddenly give a shit.

centuries upon centuries of aziraphale piling up money and he rather terrorizes poor people than entertain giving them a single dime. crowley has to remind and talk him into it, and as thanks he gets dragged down to hell and tortured.

aziraphale is dripping kindness, isn't he? and all of this doesn't even take into account the ball—human puppet show for his own amusement, this is supervillain shit and you know it—or all the other times he ignored human suffering so he wouldn't be personally inconvenienced.

and ALL OF THAT does not take into account how fucking horribly he treats crowley before time even existed.

aziraphale is not unkind. on a big scale, he cares about humanity, he cares about being nice, being good. he wouldn't intentionally harm someone, but he does not care enough to not be careless—he IS careless, and does NOT care if it kills creatures or humans.

his own personal wants and comfort trump everything else, and that is canon, it is text, it is fact. if you have any canonical examples of aziraphale being genuinely kind simply to be kind, not to be selfishly altruistic, please do add them, i'm serious! if you think i'm wrong, prove me wrong. everything i just listed exists in canon, so please, do the same in return.

giving his sword to adam and eve six thousand years ago does not magically erase everything that came after and it does not give him a free pass to behave however he wants, no matter the cost.

#alex talks good omens #good omens #crowley #aziraphale #good omens season 2 #go2 #aziracrow #crowley x aziraphale #ineffable husbands #ineffable wives #ineffable spouses #ineffable divorce #the final fifteen #good omens meta #getting ready for the hate in 3 2 1 #it's a monday and i'm being overly sarcastic but i'm fucking tired of everyone always yelling at me and giving only one example #as if that invalidates everything i say #just fuck off instead of harassing me babes

[fluffbyday-smutbynight]

When in Rome...

Lately I've been rotating the Rome scene in my mind like a rotisserie chicken. It's a very short one -exactly 1 minute of screen time- and yet it feels pivotal in showing the evolution of Aziraphale's and Crowley's relationship. It also includes some interesting references, and it just feels... different from the other flashbacks.

I've been thinking about it so much that I had to go back and rewatch the flashbacks leading up to it. Take my hand (take my whole life too) as I take you on a journey...

3004 B.C. - Mesopotamia

Aziraphale is the one breaking the news to Crowley: God, displeased with the humans, is going to wipe them out with a flood of catastrophical proportions. But fret not! He immediately downplays it: it's probably just the locals. And Noah's family and the animals on the ark are going to be fine. And then God will give them a "rain-bow"! Whatever that is, it's the promise it won't happen ever again.

That... doesn't sit too well with Crowley. "Not the kids! You can't kill kids!" he points out (does he mean human kids or goat kids? Probably both), and he scoffs at the rain-bow thing.

But quick comes Aziraphale's rebuttal:

You can't judge the Almighty, Crowley!

... perhaps too quick, like a line he's been fed and he internalized. Like he's subconsciously trying to justify God's actions to himself, more than to Crowley.

As it starts to rain, the crowd around them stands unaware of their own imminent fate.

2500 B.C. - The Land of Uz

Aziraphale learns, very much to his disbelief, that despite Job being a good man, his fate has been determined by a bet between God and Satan.

Here, he gets both to see Job's despair first-hand, and to exercise his own free will.

He teams up with the "enemy"; he lies to Gabriel; he gets a taste of self-agency and a taste of the oxrib (aka worldly pleasures). He gets to do the right thing and save the kids (human and goats alike), learning in the process that his and Crowley's conditions are not too dissimilar: they both feel lonely.

By the end of it, Aziraphale is sure he will get punished by God.

And then... nothing happens.

33 A.D. - Golgotha

Aziraphale and Crowley witness the crucifixion of Jesus.

"Your lot put him on there." "I'm not consulted on policy decisions, Crowley."

Unlike with Job, Aziraphale has no say and no power to stop what's happening. Despite that (and in contrast to the flood scene) he empathizes with Jesus: asking if Crowley knew him; recoiling as he watches him being nailed to the cross; acknowledging that all it took was him saying "be kind to each other".

Notice how the events shown in the flashbacks get progressively close and personal.

From the undefined crowd at the flood, to Job and his family, to this "very bright young man": yes, God has honoured the promise to not wipe humanity out ever again; that doesn't make the smiting/destruction/suffering any less painful and unjust.

There doesn't seem to be any logic, nor compassion, to God's decisions. There doesn't seem to be any immediate consequence, too, to going against them (if you're clever enough about it). I think that -as much as Aziraphale wants to keep believing in God's ineffable plan- he must feel, in some capacity, that it's all rather... pointless.

I think that here, in front of the grueling, graphic death of a single man, Aziraphale's moral journey reaches its (first?) breaking point.

In fact, where do we find him next?

"8 years later" (41 A.D.) - Rome

Aziraphale and Crowley meet again very shortly after - relatively speaking, at least (even the scene's title card highlights that: just "8 years later".)

This time around, there's no grand event happening: it's seemingly by chance, they run into each other in a tavern. Well, Crowley is there for "a quick temptation", which is not out of order considering the setting: Caligula's Rome, *the* time and place for decadence and dissolution. And Aziraphale?

He's just... there.

Well, in a scrapped scene from the script book he said he was there to "influence a boy named Nero, get him interested in music". But that didn't make it on screen - though maybe it's still relevant, as you'll see in a moment.

Thing is, he's been there for a while. Unlike Crowley with his odd-looking attire, Aziraphale blends in with the locals and with their customs: wearing a rather pretty tunic; toasting with a "salutaria"; playing a Roman board game by himself. Drinking wine and planning to check out "a new restaurant".

...if he's even talking about an actual restaurant, that is. It's all in this post (check out the comment section too) - but to sum it up: the first thing Aziraphale does is inviting Crowley out (actually, tempting him!) to try "Petronius' new restaurant". Petronius, the notorious "master of elegance" at Nero's court. And by "master of elegance", we mean he was in charge of everything concerning luxury, aka making the court's parties as lavish as possible. Petronius, who was described as a hedonist and an excess seeker. Aziraphale has heard "he does remarkable things to oysters". If that doesn't sound like tongue-in-cheek for some pleasure other than just food, I don't know what does.

In short, it looks like Aziraphale is on vacation, and a rather enjoyable one.

I think he's had about four thousand years to let everything sink in: where Heaven and Hell stand, God's plans and what they mean to humanity (and I'm not even considering what we didn't see: the first war, or Sodom and Gomorrah, or any other horror he might have witnessed).

I think that after Jesus' crucifixion, he was like: fuck it, where can I take a break from all this? Where's *the* place I can most indulge in... being as much human as I can get to be?

And of course he ended up right there. And as the saying goes... when in Rome, do as the Romans do.

I think Aziraphale is having his hot girl summer, and not even God knows what he's been up to.

#good omens #good omens meta #well “meta” might be a generous term lol. musings? #aziraphale #crowley #oh how I wish the Rome flashback showed us more #to be expanded on/continued? possibly ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[drconstellation]

"Not Even At Gunpoint!"

Future Echoes of the Past #3

I didn't plan this meta. Well, maybe...just a tiny, weeny bit...I had been keeping a parallel in mind for a while...but not in this context. But it was kind of one of these moments:

Lets start at the beginning.

@beebopboom has been exploring the three magic tricks that appear in the S2 opening sequence recently, and speculating how the third one might appear in S3, and I've been exploring the paintball fight scene at Tadfield Manor in S1E2 and how that relates to the Great War in Heaven that formed Hell, and the events around the Fall. The two topics intersect, as you have echoes of the Bullet Catch magic trick from the 1941 minisode in S2E4 appearing not once but at least twice at Tadfield Manor.

But...then I realised, there's more than one pointed gun. Way more.

I'd always liked this throwback line from Crowley in S2E1, when Nina asks him if he is a bookseller as well:

Who would want to be a bookseller when this could happen to you?

Shadwell, turning up at the book shop in S1E4, disturbs Aziraphale contacting Heaven through the portal (a modified Solomon's magic circle) under the oculus, and breaks in to confront him. The historical implications of Aziraphale's lines here are that before homosexuality was decriminalized in the UK meeting places for such people were often disguised as respectable looking book shops. Which makes Nina's question in S2E1 and Crowley's denial to her all the more...loaded? Ah, well, you can't fool Nina, now, can you?

Anyway, mah point is...Shadwell literally has Aziraphale at gunpoint, er, fingerpoint here. Loaded fingerpoint.

But then, this isn't the first time Aziraphale has had a gun pointed at him. He had one pointed at him in the church in 1941 by the Nazi agent double-crossing Greta. His biggest fear, as always, isn't actually "dying," or standing in front of the guns, its the paperwork that he knows will go with getting a new body from the Ineffable Bureaucracy.

Crowley turns up to rescue him, because he "didn't want to see [him] embarrassed." With a bit of equivocation between the two of them, all the time while at gunpoint from Greta, they team up to save each other.

This was even before we got to the Bullet Catch - his "show stopper!"

Back to Tadfield Manor.

As they enter, Crowley is lined up in the crosshairs.

Er, wait a minute...

Only Crowley is shown this way here, not Aziraphale. He's a target. I'm starting to ask what point in time this is referring to - the present or the past? Both. Yeah, why not both! The work I did in this previous meta in this series showed that Crowley was considered a target for early removal by the other demons-to-be prior to the Fall.

Then they are both shot.

I pointed out Aziraphale gets shot by blue paint, representing Heaven, but its a colour we don't see used again by any one in the fighting to come. But what I didn't talk about was WHERE he got hit - in the back. That's synonymous with treachery. Heaven has stabbed Aziraphale in the back, so to speak. wow. Nice - not.

And Crowley? He gets hit in the heart - just like the Norman/Lucifer parallel on the Yellow Team does a short while later during his "fall" scene - with the red paint, betrayed by the Red Team who represent the management in Heaven.

Seems the Ineffable Bureaucracy wanted both them out of the way during the Great War...it get more and more interesting each time I look closer at it...

So was Aziraphale ever in the crosshairs? Yep.

And, as @vavoom-sorted-art points out, this is a time Aziraphale chooses to pick a weapon, and to fight. He didn't want the simple, safe deception trick with the ropes - he wanted a weapon. He really is much more the warrior than Crowley. Aziraphale, I think your nature as a principality is showing!

Firing that gun made Crowley sick to his stomach, and so did this metaphorical loaded gun - the Book of Life.

As soon as he found out from Beelzebub it was a real possibility of being played he went back to protect Aziraphale. Crowley hates fighting - watch how often he will try shut it down as quickly as possible or try to escape it when he can. To him everyone has free will, and the person picking the fight with the other is imposing their will on them. That's 'not on' in his books.

Aziraphale, on the other hand, is still reacting with his ingrained Heavenly instincts - that he should follow his morals because they are 'right,' and more sophisticated weapons add weight to the moral argument. He thinks. Maybe. (Yeah, keep working on that doubt, angel.)

Az: Impressive hardware. I've looked at this gun, its not a proper one at all. It just shoots paintballs. Cr: Don't your lot disapprove of guns? Az: Unless they're in the right hands. Then they give weight to a moral argument. I think. Cr: [laughing] A moral argument? Really? *tosses gun away* C'mon. [Heads into the Manor.] [later, after Crowley changes the paintball guns to real guns...] Az: But there are people out there shooting at each other! Cr: Well -  Lends weight to their moral argument. Everyone has free will, including the right to murder. Just think of it as a microcosm of the universe.

I'll think I'll end this here and leave you with a small montage of the aftermath of all this gun play - everything going up in flames and smoke.

Bring on S3!

If you didn't follow the links in the meta, and want to read the first two in this series, they are here:

#1: The Great War of Tadfield Manor

#2: The Newton/Crowley Mirror-Parallel in S1

#good omens #good omens 2 #aziraphale #crowley #good omens meta #good omens analysis #not even at gunpoint #loaded gun #bullet loaded #miracles blocked #in the target #aim for my mouth shoot past my ear #stabbed in the back #shot in the heart #tadfield manor #you've got the wrong kind of shop #going up in flames

[springofviolets]

Where the Cliffs Meet the Sky

A submission to the @goodomensafterdark Ineffable Smut War!

CW: Rated M for implied sexual content, spicy talk, non-graphic sex, mild angst/relationship conflict

Word Count: 2085 (Chapter 1); 7010 (total)

Summary: Crowley plans a meaningful trip to celebrate the one year anniversary of being openly in a relationship with Aziraphale, but things just keep going wrong. How will our hero cope?

A canon compliant (through S2) South Downs cottage origin story, with a heaping dose of fluff, some humor, and a sprinkling of spice on top.

Excerpt:

Sure enough, two quick trips from the drive to the front door to carry in their belongings was all that had been needed to thoroughly waterlog their outer layers. Two suitcases and a staggering number of holadalls bursting at the seams now lay at the front of the cross passage. They’d planned to be here for a week, but Aziraphale had brought enough books to keep the average person entertained for three months as long as all they did was read nonstop. Why he would pack as such for what was promised to be a romantic getaway, Crowley couldn’t even begin to understand.  Together they sloshed inside and left their wet shoes at the mat laid along the flagstone pavers of the entry.  “Fire, then — shall I, or shall you?” Aziraphale enquired, surveying the interior. “I’ll do it, you have too many layers to strip off before you can safely walk inside this house,” Crowley grumbled as they unbuckled their trousers, shimmied them off, and then threw their shirt to the floor along with everything else.   Aziraphale set to work on his thousand buttons, perhaps going a bit slower than was strictly needed so that he could peer around the corner of the cross passage partition. From where he stood, he had the perfect perspective to admire the sight of Crowley in nothing but their pants as they set to work on warming up the house, the old-fashioned way.  “You know, it’s funny. I haven’t done this in seventy years, but I did it nearly every day for the full six-thousand prior to that. Who else on earth has more practice than the two of us?” Crowley mused as they commenced to stack the firewood with the dexterous ease of someone who had, indeed, spent literal millennia doing it. A click of their fingers and within seconds a roaring flame in the fireplace flooded the room with heat.

Continue reading on ao3

This work would be a mess without my marvelous beta readers @azeutreciathewicked, @the-literal-kj, AngieWords, @playdohangel, and @secretlywingedphantom

#good omens fanfiction #good omens fan fiction #good omens fanfic #good omens fan fic #aziracrow #ineffable husbands #ineffable spouses #ineffable smut war

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

Hey I would like to request a good omens Crowley x reader angsty sad fic where they are pining over him but he loves aziraphale and they don’t want to interfere. Kind of Laufey’s song Let You Break My Heart Again vibes. Thx!!❤️

"Why couldn't I have what THEY had, [y/n]?! Maybe it's...it's all part of God's great ineffable plan! As if fallin' weren't enough...y'know? Why not allow him to walk outta my life and crawl back to the other angelss, too? Keep fuckin' me over, I suppose. This must be karma, I swear.."

"Crowley.." You began, only to stop as the demon on the other end of the line continued his drunken sorrowful ramblings.

He was still clearly hurting, and you were his only company left.

The only one who knew about him and Aziraphale and everything they've done together for the past 6,000 years.

You've been around for a thousand or so, not aligned with Heaven nor Hell, but living as a simple immortal being.

However, only very recently have you learned that they've in fact known each other since the very dawn of Creation.

So their history goes way back.

It's no secret that Crowley's been pining after the angel all these years, forced to pretend he hates him just because he was on the "opposite side".

But he was sick of doing all of that, and finally got the courage to tell him how he really felt. He begged him to stay, to stop taking sides, and to think about just them for once.

In the end, Aziraphale still chose the side that shunned him for conspiring with a demon, halting Armageddon, and hiding Gabriel on Earth...all because he was offered a higher position of power and couldn't so easily let go of Heaven.

Not as easily as Crowley could. He couldn't understand that, or why Gabriel and Beelzebub could go off together and they couldn't.

Now you were here, having to comfort the very same demon that you've fallen in love with yourself.

It felt like such a selfish desire, knowing that you haven't lived nearly as long as either of them. You weren't there at the beginning of Everything. You weren't there at the Garden of Eden.

You could never fully understand their deep-rooted bond.

There's no way he would ever see you in a remotely similar light.

Even still, the heart wants what it wants..even if it's unobtainable.

"Listen, Crowley.." You tried speaking again. "I'm next in line, do you want anything?"

Perhaps that was rather poorly worded, as you heard a sniffle and what sounded like him holding back a sob. "I just want him to come back.." His voice broke.

There was that feeling again, constricting your human heart with pain.

It was such a fickle organ, you often thought. It kept people alive, yet when put through emotional toil..it felt like it was killing them, and they wanted nothing more than to rip it out of their chest to be rid of the pain.

But right in this moment, you felt like that because deep down...you wish he instead said that he wanted-

"W-Wait..you're..at that café 'cross the bookshop, right?" You heard Crowley mumble. "I'll get the usual..assuming she remembers. Actually...don't bother-"

"It's fine, Crow. It'll be my treat. I'm getting something, too...not that we actually need it. But we both enjoy it, right?"

"...right." He chuckled depressingly. "Fine. I'll be outside."

That was a surprise, although when you briefly glanced outside the window of Give Me Coffee or Give Me Death, you noticed the Bentley parked next to the sidewalk. You sighed, hanging up the phone before you stepped up to the register, smiling at Nina.

"Hello, Nina. I'll have my usual..and Mr. Crowley's, too. Six espresso shots, was it? And one of those [favorite flavor] pies, pretty please." You pointed to the menu.

"On it." She nodded, already getting to work on your order. "You know, I haven't seen that chap around in a while. How's he holding up? I heard he took it pretty hard."

"Yeah." You muttered, recalling how you've talked to her about your own feelings for Crowley.

You weren't expecting a human to solve the relationship woes of immortal beings when she herself was going through her own issues.

She worried that her and Maggie's little "intervention" caused the demon and angel to split up, but you didn't blame her. And neither did Crowley, although he was torn between wishing he didn't kiss Aziraphale and wondering if he'd regret not doing that at all.

He hasn't been back at the coffee shop since.

"Well, do you plan to tell him anytime soon?"

You nearly choked on your own spit. "N-Nina...I..I can't just do that. He clearly doesn't see me that way. He talks about him every day and night. I've stayed up past midnight consoling him, letting him stay with me the moment I learned he's sleeping outta his car. But...it's him he loves, not me. And I can't interfere with that..it would be wrong."

"Then...what's your plan from here?" She asked with a raised eyebrow.

"..I'm not sure anymore. I guess hope that one day..I'll stop falling in love with him. Maybe his angel will come back and everything will be as it was."

"Sounds like wishful thinking at this point, but I'm sure things will work out. Maybe he'll move on."

"I doubt it, but time will tell."

"Right." After finishing the drinks, she set them down into a cupholder, before giving you the pie as well. You paid and bid her farewell before heading out of the café and to the Bentley.

Inside, you saw Crowley sulking, lost in thought until you knocked on the passenger's window. He sat up with a start, fixing his glasses when he realized it was you. "S-Sorry."

The door opened, and you slid inside, passing him the tall cup with tons of espresso shots. "It's okay. So..where did you wanna go today?"

"I was thinkin'..St. James Park. Feel like I've been neglecting the ducks for far too long."

You blinked. 'Wasn't that..his and Aziraphale's thing-?'

"Yeah, I know..it...was our thing." He responded as though he read your mind. "'s just..been so lonely without him to chatter to. I hate siting all alone on that bench. But it's not like I can just walk Upstairs and tell him to screw all of them, right?"

"Sadly..no." Shaking your head, you glanced over your shoulder at the plants he's shoved into his backseat. Closest to you was a venus fly trap that had spots and other flaws, looking rather frail and wilted and sad.

Not too different from how its owner felt.

You smiled sadly and stroked the top of its head with your thumb, feeling it cease its trembles. Its mouth closed as it seemed to...purr?

How cute.

"Well would ya look at that...ya even treat the bloody things the same as he did.."

You tensed, looking back to Crowley and frowning upon seeing the tears sliding down his cheeks. But he was quick to wipe them away once you noticed them, yet a sniffle still managed to escape him.

"I'm sorry, I don't mean to keep doing stuff that reminds you of him.." You set a hand on his back. "Do you...want me to drive?"

"No, it's fine.." He shook his head, sniffling loudly one last time before he managed to pull himself together. "Let's just..go."

You nodded, taking a sip of your coffee and a small bite of your pie, before you reached for the radio-

However, you forgot that the Bentley was sentient, instead turning it on for you and playing a song that nearly made you choke once again.

"--All I've had is coffee and leftover pie. It's no wonder why. Ooooh, still you take up all my mind. I don't even think that you care like I do. I should stop, Heaven knows I've tried..."

Even Crowley froze as he listened to the lyrics.

And not because it wasn't a Queen song.

"One day, I will stop falling in love with you."

Neither of you spoke a word, instead staring at the dashboard with looks of sadness upon your faces. You thought he would've changed the song by now, but...when you looked over, you could see his glasses now resting on the bridge of his nose.

His golden irises have almost completely taken over the whites of his eyes.

What little you saw of them..

Were growing redder and glossier.

"Some day, someone will like me like I like you."

You felt your own eyes start to sting, too, so you looked away and opted to pet the venus fly trap that was nuzzling your hand, clearly asking for more much-needed affection.

Sentient plants were easy to comfort.

If only your demon friend could be the same way..

If only you could show him that you wished to be more than just friends..but this simply wasn't your place to tell him that.

Not here, not now...and possibly not ever. For as long as you lived on this mortal plane.

All you could hope was that one day, the feeling will pass.

If Aziraphale came back, things might be better. You wished the idiot would at least check in with you both once in a while so you knew he was alive.

If that's the last time you hear from him, well....you weren't sure if Crowley would ever want to try loving again after what he's suffered through. He poured his heart out, only for it to get broken and stomped on before being left all alone on Earth.

He couldn't go through that again.

And you didn't wanna say anything about how you felt for the centuries you've known him. He could very well perceive that as you trying to replace him and ruin this friendship.

The wounds in his heart are still clearly fresh..and they likely will be for a long, long time.

For now, you'll just be by his side and be mindful. Perhaps he'll eventually realize how you felt about him...but you doubt it.

"Until then, I'll drink my coffee, eat my pie. Pretend we are more than friends. Then of course, I'll let you break my heart again-"

Crowley's hand suddenly shot towards the button, the car filling with an abrupt silence as he shut off the music. Then he switched between several Queen songs, eyebrows furrowed as none of them seemed to suit his current mood.

If Queen didn't make him happy anymore...he was seriously in emotional distraught.

But eventually he settled for "Somebody to Love", and you smiled, wiping your eyes as you leaned back in the seat. "Good choice."

He nodded absentmindedly, before finally driving off to the park after adjusting his glasses.

No further words were exchanged. You didn't even scold him for speeding down the tightly-knitted roads of London. That's the last thing he needed right now.

Especially since you picked up that habit from Aziraphale.

But even as Freddie's voice reverberated through the Bentley, you two couldn't stop thinking about the lyrics of Laufey's song and what it meant to both of you.

Yet the people it reminded you of...were completely different.

#ough i listened to this song on repeat while editing this </3 #hurts like a bish #clanask #good omens x reader #good omens 2 spoilers #crowley x reader #ineffable husbands #immortal reader #angst

[leftduck9986]

The Whickber Street Bees and Their Queen

Hello Tumblr! Testing, 1,2,3. Making the leap from Reddit, with thanks, to Kimberleyjean.

I understand that by now it should go without saying, however, it is with due diligence that I make sure to say, DO NOT ASK OR TAG NEIL GAIMAN IN FAN THEORY.

To begin, a look at the tv and book quotes re Bees -

S2E6, Crowley to Muriel: "Angels are like bees. Fiercely protective of their hive if you're trying to get inside. Once you're in, well, I mean … is it even faintly possible that an unauthorised demon might be just wandering around in Heaven un-escorted? (…)"

Originally, in the book, it's humans:

Sometimes human beings are very much like bees. Bees are fiercely protective of their hive, provided you are outside it. Once you’re in, the workers sort of assume that it must have been cleared by management and take no notice; various freeloading insects have evolved a mellifluous existence because of this very fact. Humans act the same way.

∢ ∢ ∢ ∢ ∢ ∢ ∢

There was a scorcher of a summer day a few weeks ago, 40 degrees Celsius outside! After spending the day keeping as still as possible, I had a nice cool shower in the evening, unfortunately it was right before the southerly arrived and with it the 90% humidity! Already sweating more than during the day, I was not a happy bee! 'Twas a thought that got the ball rolling and I began with having a bit of fun mulling over and re-working the bee quotes:

Humans are like bees - they don't like getting w- well, let's say instead that they don't like getting their clothes wet! So humans will shelter under an awning if there is one, or whip out the brolly.

Yeah, okay … … the brain eventually latched onto something to expand upon:

There's also the protective nature and strength-in-numbers aspect that has me hopeful there are plenty of good "bees" on Whickber Street, part of The Ineffable Plan.

And what do bees/humans do when they recognise ROYALTY?

(No research done at all for this - I'm only thinking of that scene in the movie, Jupiter Ascending, where Mila Kunis' character is surrounded by bees. Some fun for anyone who likes to make Good Omens memes?)

∢ ∢ ∢ ∢ ∢ ∢ ∢

S2E1 "Present Day" begins with a great sweeping shot of London from above, moving into Soho (as in the soundtrack) and seeing the flow of movement from this view - the imagery - suggests to me, that:

The Bookshop is the hive;

Immediately outside, a circling ring of Whickber Street "Bees";

The next level out, cars that are circling the block;

The arrival of others - two cars with boots open, behind which are the parked scooter and motorcycle and directly behind that, a street booth with, seated inside, three (or more?) potential persons of interest;

The outermost ring of pedestrians on the opposite side of the road, (often crossing back over from the street trader stalls and circling back past the pub throughout the season).

It's the busiest activity - for the show, not irl for Soho from what I've seen reading other discussions - but would suggest that while it's sunny and relatively dry, this is a normal day of buzzing about (or is it?).

Until Gabriel's arrival.

What we're shown of his journey to the bookshop is very short - a mere two blocks - less than that - for the traffic to come to a stop so quickly, pulling over to the sides and for the pedestrians to crowd the footpaths, so as to allow for a clear walkway for Gabriel down the middle of the street. No one yells at the naked man to get out of the street, nor does anyone offer to help him to the footpath. Not one person asked the naked man where he was headed, so that they might offer him directions.

They block off access beyond the bookshop on both sides, by filling in the spaces between cars; others close in from behind Gabriel, herding/shepherding so that he won't be inclined to double back.

It seems to be a well-coordinated effort. An assisted delivery!

∢ ∢ ∢ ∢ ∢ ∢ ∢

Gabriel ("Me" pre-"Jim") tells Aziraphale, "… my arms were aching 'cause I had to carry that box for so long (…)" - not because it was heavy, but, you know, holding one's arms in the same position with a bit of static tension for anything upwards of a few minutes is bound to make one's biceps burrrrn.

Headcannon (hc): the cardboard box contains only the fly, but the fly had "the thing" from Heaven and now contains Gabriel's memories. Not currently on board with the idea of a detour to drop off "the thing" elsewhere - more leaning towards Gabriel getting off the lift one stop too early or too late (if he ended up pressing the lift button to Hell as well), maybe taking the stairs for the rest of the way to Earth, or emerging from the same unseen place that Saraqael, Uriel and Michael did in episode 2.

Gabriel still somehow remembers just enough to get himself straight to Aziraphale. Then, during their conversation in the bookshop does he become increasingly forgetful and distracted, but not before revealing some key information:

Aziraphale: "Then… why did you come to my shop?"

Gabriel: "I don't know. I just thought I should.

You know what it's like when you don't know anything at all, and yet you're totally certain that everything would be better if you were just near one particular person?"

(…)

"Anyway, that's how I felt that so long as I came here the Something Terrible might not happen to me."

(…)

Aziraphale: "Please, tell me about the Something Terrible."

Gabriel: "(…) I just know that it's incredibly awful and that that's why I had to come here and give you the thing."

I'm understanding that:

one particular person = Beelzebub (but only in hindsight - I did initially think Gabriel meant Aziraphale the very first time viewing);

the Something Terrible = mind erasure: identity, precious memories of Beelzebub, fellow angels (suspecting that he feels something greater than workplace rapport for them) and knowledge of this very important thing for work, that needs to be given to Aziraphale in case of an emergency;

the thing = not necessarily the same item as "the angle", which could also be inside the fly. The thing, possibly being the real reason he is being ineffably assisted to the bookshop.

∢ ∢ ∢ ∢ ∢ ∢ ∢

It may or may not be so with bees, but humans respectfully make way for royalty (or the higher-ups, or - thinking of Shax speed-walking through Hell - the incredibly intimidating. Both.)

Anyway, these "bees" of Whickber Street are either excellent everyday people who don't crowd across intersections and if they see a person in the street, will pull their cars over to the sides, for the person's safety, but will also be jerks and whip out their smart phones to film and photograph a naked man without actually being helpful - well, hang on, are they really filming?

A moment to talk about the prop phones: There's one shot (14min30-34sec) where we can see that the phones don't even have active screens - and one person who really wanted their face shown on camera! (reflected in their prop phone). If these were modern day human people with real smart phones, how quickly would "naked man in Soho" grow to trend on social media? How earthly/native are the fellow Angelic Beings Who Walk The Earth - do any of them (or demons more likely, come to think of it) keep up with internet "news"? Entertaining for a moment, the thought of the inactive screens being more to do with divine intervention in order to protect Gabriel's identity and location, what about the one person who is actually using their phone AS A PHONE?

Presenting: Earth's contact to the Coordinator of the operation, Escort the Queen to the Hive:

[placeholder name] "Mary" as per this hc: her son, passing through Soho, stands to her right, his own frame of negative space to make him stand out, his hand almost permanently glued to his face for the rest of the scene!!! His Significant Other, who will stay with his parents for the next week or so, is hanging out with his Dad down the road, being all shepherd-like with the other bees behind Gabriel.

Notice how, "Mary" is on the phone with someone, not (visibly) speaking, just listening. Then she and her son (as per the above hc) have front row 'seats' (standing room only) to the show behind Gabriel. Her hand holding the phone falters upward when it seems that Gabriel has been denied entry to the bookshop, but then once he's been reluctantly invited in, "Mary" is the first to leave the scene, signalling to everyone to resume their usual buzzing about, as if to say, "he's in. Aaaaaaand we out!"

So, The Whickber Street "Bees" - are they mostly humans, just being human, but for some inexplicable - ineffable - reason, their phones weren't quite able to capture a clear image of the naked man? I'm leaning more towards it being choreographed, miracle-wise.

And who is the coordinator of operation, Escort the Queen to the Hive? Currently thinking that it's the same 'person' who sent Gabriel the thing in the cardboard box. As to who that could be - a few come to mind.

Thank you so much for reading,

See you in the new year!

∢ ∢ ∢ ∢ ∢ ∢ ∢

DO NOT ASK OR TAG NEIL GAIMAN IN FAN THEORY

#good omens 2 #good omens 2 theory #good omens 2 meta #good omens 2 Whickber street background extras #good omens 2 cardboard box #good omens 2 bees

[the-ineffable-cross]

Remember how Crowley pretended to be Aziraphale at the end of Season 1? Remember how Gabriel told 'Aziraphale' to "Shut your stupid mouth and die already!"?

Well, this was Crowley's reaction:

YOU CAN TELL HE WAS NOT PLEASE BY GABRIEL TELLING HIS BEST FRIEND TO GO AND DIE BUT HE COULDNT EXPRESS IT AT THE TIME

And so when Crowley and Gabriel talk in Season 2 and Crowley says:

That this man is so pissed and Gabriel from telling Azi (read: Crowley's one true love) to die and is very much enjoying getting to yell about it

#Cross' Ineffable Plan #i think in season 3 we are going to have something like this happen again but someone will tell Crowley to go and die #and Aziraphale will go batshit because HEY we all need some batshit crazy Aziraphale #Crowley the protective boyfriend fr fr #these fucking ineffable dumbasses #good ineffable omens #innefable husbands #ineffable husbands #ineffable divorce #ineffable idiots #crowly x aziraphale #aziraphale x crowley #aziracrow #azicrow #aziraphel #aziraphale #anthony j crowley #crowley #good omens 2 #good omens rant #good omens

[hikarry]

I'm studying the Charlemagne Empire in college atm and, boy, am I brewing some Ineffable Husbands scenarios

Imagine Aziraphale as a bishop and Crowley as a Count or even a Countess

"Crowley? Apologies for the intrusion but your maid let me in and told me you were here." Aziraphale opens the door to the dinner hall. He is met with Crowley, indeed, but also her husband and a handful of maids, serving lunch. "Oh, apologies."

"Bishop Aziraphale!" Count Attaway gets up from his chair quickly and bows slightly, walking towards the angel. "How may we assist you? I mean," He shakes his hands quite nervously. "It's a pleasure to have you here, of course."

Aziraphale smiles and waves his hand in a silent request for the man to calm down.

"Everything is alright, Count Attaway. I actually came because-"

"I needed to confess." Crowley smiles gently, completely ignoring her husband that now stared at her, to instead pin down Aziraphale. She got up, pushing past the Count and walking up to Aziraphale, bowing quickly. Aziraphale opened his mouth to talk, but Crowley looked down at him. "Shall we?"

"-Of course."

They both leave the Count and the dinner hall behind. Crowley was walking quickly on her high heels, careful not to step on her dress. It was a ordeal for Aziraphale to be able to keep up with her, to be honest. Maybe he should cut on the pork? Or maybe he should have worn something lighter?

Following her through the known corridors, they finally got to the Countess chambers. Crowley opens the door and hurries inside.

"Move, move, move, move!" She holds him by the forearm and pulls him inside, closing the door behind him and leaning her back against it.

"You're certainly in a hurry."

"Observant." She distracts herself by pulling hairpins from her hair, long curly ginger locks falling from the complicated updo they were in before. "Is this the moment I kneel in front of you, oh my mighty bishop?" Aziraphale gasped. Crowley snorted, pushing her finally loose hair to her back. "What? Wouldn't be the first kneeling in front of you, would I?"

"No. Not at all." Aziraphale tries to look everywhere but at her. "But you make it sound-"

"Dirty?" She starts walking towards him, and Aziraphale starts walking backwards. "Sinful?" They keep going, more into the bedroom. "Tempting?" Aziraphale's hips bump against a desk and Crowley traps him with her arms in each side of his body against said desk. She lifted an eyebrow, waiting for an answer, that trutfully never came. Not that she had given him enough time to process. Before he noticed, she was already a few steps away, taking off her shoes. "I'm dying to change into male again. These shoes are way too uncomfortable and the dresses are way too warm for this weather. Why must men always get the better wardrobe? Sure, women's are prettier, but it's not worth it at all. Have you tried to ride a horse while we-"

"My dear." Crowley stops rambling and looks up at the angel. "You had something to tell me?"

She crossed her arms over her chest, visibly biting the inside of her cheek,

"Yeah, so. I've been pretending to be sick for like three months now and I'll soon kick the hellish bucket."

"You what?"

"I'm gonna die. Pass away. One foot in the grave. Yes? Keep up, angel."

"I am listening, I just don't know why do you need to do this so suddenly."

"My assignment is over and I got a new one. I need to get close to Charlemagne. Nudge him to the dark side. Help him build the empire."

"Oh...So, you're going back to the capital?"

"Yup. I plan to be dead by tomorrow and as soon as that's over and done with I'm out of this place."

Aziraphale changed his weight from a foot to the other, clearly uncomfortable.

"Hum. Right. Why did you feel the need to inform me?"

"Because!" She takes a few steps to close the distance between them. "We could work together, angel. You know, lend a hand when needed? I might need you for this assignment and-"

"I am not helping you gaining a soul to Hell, Crowley!" He pushed her gently away, opening a passage so he could put distance between them once again. "Out of the question!"

"Aziraphale. Angel. You're not listening-"

"There's nothing to listen to! I'm not helping you. Ever! Its outrageous you even consider I would ever say yes to some...some nonesense like that! Ah! An angel? Helping a demon?" He ran his hands down his face. "It just doesn't happen. Can happen. Will never happen." He fixed his colar, speaking fast. "Yes. It was nice seeing you, but I'm going back to the monastery. I actually have serious work to do."

"Angel-"

"Good day, my lady."

The angel leaves the chambers, closing the door strongly behind him. Crowley takes a few deep breathes, trying to control the poison that was starting to run through her veins. She ran her hands down her long hair and closed her eyes for a moment. If Aziraphale didn't want to help, he wouldn't help. Maybe it was better this way. Perhaps a few more centuries away from each other would make her start disliking Aziraphale, like a good little demon should. The good little demon she would certainly never be.

#good omens #crowley #aziraphale #ineffable husbands #aziracrow #anthony j crowley

[demon-in-the-details]

I have more Things to Say. In my previous post I talked about my predictions for Aziraphale. Now here's my prediction for Crowley:

Crowley will become the Grand Duke of Hell

I would not have initially guessed at this, however when Michael Sheen tweeted out and called Crowley the thin dark Duke it made my ears perk up. I know that was supposed to be a reference to David Bowie and the “thin white Duke,” but I think that is plausible deniability. The actors know where this story is going. (I wonder if Sheen got A Stern Talking To from Gaiman).

We know that Neil Gaiman is trying to stick to a plan for a sequel that he and Terry Pratchett hashed out decades ago right after the book Good Omens came out. At the time the demon and the angel were just two friends who worked together to stop Armaggedon. In the book nothing happened to them for what they did, they were not punished. It would be an interesting plot point for them to both be recalled to heaven and hell, then put in positions opposing each other. Former friends pitted against each other. 

Then it became clear that fans saw the angel and demon pairing as a love story. Gaiman ran with that in the first season, and everyone loved it. It ramps up the stakes even higher. Now instead of just friends forced to be on opposite sides, we have star-crossed lovers who desperately want to be together getting set up to battle one another. That only happens if Aziraphale becomes the Supreme Archangel, and Crowley becomes the Grand Duke of Hell. This also gives Crowley some power and insight into what is happening, instead of just being a sad sack wandering around Earth moping over Aziraphale. Crowley will still want to protect him. He can’t do that in his current situation. I think Beelzebub telling Crowley he “could be a Duke of Hell” in return for bringing her Gabriel is foreshadowing. 

Gaiman said season 2 was a bridge to get the characters where he wanted them for season 3. After the body swap plot line was added they needed some maneuvering to get them back into heaven/hell. He wants it clear that they are in love, then wants them torn apart and put on opposite sides like the original plan he made with Pratchett. It is deliciously heartbreaking. The love story between Gabriel and Beelzebub was to get them out of the way so Aziraphale and Crowley could step into their roles. The powers that be will think they set the two up to go head-to-head to the point of mutual destruction because they have broken each other’s hearts, but of course our ineffables will have something up their sleeves and it will all turn out okay.

“But we already did the Archangel/Duke of Hell pairing with Gabriel and Beelzebub!” I hear you say. Yes, and who loves putting funhouse mirrors all over the place? Neil Gaiman. 

#good omens #good omens 2 #good omens fandom #good omens theory #crowley #demon crowley #good omens s2 #good omens season 3 #good omens tv

[naturallyteal]

A dream fanfic by NaturallyTeal ~ 8th Day

Summary:

The Secret Dream Diary of a Good Omens fan (anonymous, he) who contracted a severe case of the fandom-typical brain rot from watching S1 & S2 too often, reading too much fanfic on AO3, and spending altogether too much time engaging on tumblr, digesting gifs, fanart and meta.

He dreams about Good Omens every night.

Short dreams, daily.

~~~

8th Day: Cluedo

I dreamed I was on a scavenger hunt on the set of the Edinburgh cemetery in 1827, looking for the next *Clue*. I was lost and had no idea what the next *Clue* must look like, what it could be. Neil’s voice was suddenly in my head, sounding like Discworld’s Death: “ASK JIM!” He boomed. I looked up at the statue of Gabriel, and he wasn’t holding a cross. He was holding a board game, still in it’s box.

It looked like Cluedo, but it was called Innuendo.

[previous day] [next day]

I’m planning to post one _short_ dream daily, for 20 days. If you like, subscribe on AO3!

There’s also a “mailing list” (tagging in the replies) here on tumblr, let me know if you want on it! 😇😎

Credit: This dream was probably inspired by the following metas about Gabriel‘s statue with and without the cross:

https://www.tumblr.com/fuckyeahgoodomens/746643409358487552

https://www.tumblr.com/youryurigoddess/746598664424865792/gabriels-missing-cross

https://www.tumblr.com/kimberleyjean/735817555656261632/gabriels-ineffable-statue

#whatever i like best #good omens fanfiction #good omens brainrot #good omens dreams #daily #shorties #gabriel good omens #jim good omens

[cobragardens]

Self-Therapy in the Form of an Open Letter to Neil Gaiman and My Fellow Ineffables

Dear Ineffables, and Dear @neil-gaiman

I want to talk about Good Omens for a sec, ok? You are not obligated to listen! But if you want to listen, I have a Thing I need to say. And it's important to me and I have a Tumblr, so you can see where this is headed.

I know Crowley and Aziraphale's relationship, book and show, is primarily about the absurdity and tragedy and miraculousness and contagiousness of being human. I know it's about wanting friendship and cake instead of victory and ashes, and I love that. I know it did not start out as an intentionally or unequivocally queer story, and I know that neither the queerness nor the Christianity is the main theme of S1 or the book. And I think those are all good things: one of the big strengths that makes Good Omens so remarkable and so charming is its lightness of touch.

But Crowley did not start out as a demon, and Aziraphale did not start out as a butter-smooth liar, and they are neither of them the angel the other knew, and there are reasons for that. And S2 starts discussing those reasons, and now Crowley and Aziraphale have shared a very human kiss and have started a more overt phase of their ongoing conversation about what they are to each other. So one of the things we need to talk about is what it’s like to love the wrong person in a world like the world of Good Omens.

And I feel like I have some (very small) amount of expertise in this field. I do not have the skill as a writer to tell you what that was like to grow up Christian and deeply in love with my (also female) best friend in Colorado Springs, Colorado, the evangelical Christian Mecca of the United States. But I did it--or, rather, it happened to me--so I'm the person who has to write about it now.

It was Before Ellen. Homosexual sex was against the law in around half of U.S. states. Only one state (Rhode Island, which I am not convinced actually exists) had a law prohibiting discrimination against LGB people in housing, services, or employment. One U.S. state—my state, Colorado—amended its state constitution to prohibit prohibiting discrimination. Same-sex marriage did not exist. Same-sex couples could not adopt children. Being any flavor of queer could cost you custody in family court of any children you did have.

Queer young-adult novels did not exist. Movies and tv shows with queer characters did not exist unless they were serial killers or dying of AIDS. Safe-sex education did not exist, the LGBTQ section of the bookstore did not exist. Social media did not exist, the Internet was in its infancy (I was typing up papers in AppleWorks on an Apple IIe), smartphones did not exist. Porn was in magazines your friend’s older brother or uncle kept under his mattress.

The guy everybody in school thought was gay got beat up daily. The girls I'm not sure about. I only ever saw two girls/women who were out before I was 28 and met an openly lesbian woman in a university class.

In Colorado Springs, bumper stickers for Colorado for Family Values and Focus on the Family, both headquartered in the city, were common. Crosses and ichthys decals proliferated. There were only a few “God made Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve” stickers, but “Marriage = One Man + One Woman," or the same message in Ladies and Gents toilets symbols (with a pair of ladies and a pair of gents crossed out) were a regular sight on the backs of cars every day, every drive, my whole life there.

This was a world where there was one very specific God, who has one very rigid Plan, and whose Agents and Enemies fight each other for the eternal souls of every human being. And every player on the board was clear about this.

I was 12 when my dad and I met two women on a hiking trail and, after we all said hello and they three had chatted a bit and the women had walked on, he asked me if I had "gotten any spiritual witness about them." He told me he suspected they were lesbians.

I was 14 when I burst into tears and shouted at my dad when he spoke viciously of the two gay men who had come into his place of work earlier in the day. He called them “flaming” and “faggots.” I told him we were Christians and we were not hateful about people in that way. I didn’t know what the word faggot meant, not for sure (I picked up the meaning of flaming from his imitations), but I could tell it meant they were people who did awful things, and that he hated them.

I had never seen my dad like that before, hating someone. I had never heard him speak that way about anyone.

I was 16 when I rode in the back seat of our next-door neighbors’ Ford Focus on the way to Bible study and listened to the handsome Christian newlyweds up front discuss how awful it was that gay and lesbian couples were now allowed to adopt children in the state of New Jersey. It was bad, they said, that children could find homes with queer people “because children learn from their parents.”

I was 17 when 2 straight men beat and tortured Matthew Shepard and left him tied to a split-rail fence on the side of a road 3 hours north of Colorado Springs as a warning to the rest of us. A scarequeer.

A joke in poor taste, you may feel, this little pun. It is a pun, but it's not a joke.

One of Shepard’s murderers used the gay panic defense in court. In the U.S. the gay panic defense is one of reduced responsibility: a man cannot be held fully legally responsible for murdering another man if he claims he thought his victim was gay and making a pass at him. Because, under U.S. law, it is considered common for men to go temporarily insane and murder men they think may be gay and making a pass at them. I have rewritten this paragraph five times and that is the absolute least bananas I can make this sound. It is real and it is still a thing.

I was also 17 when Pastor Luis, the head of my church, preached in sermon about a member of the congregation who had fallen in love with another woman. He told us firmly: "She is no longer a lady. She is a lesbian."

He refused to counsel or marry them, services he insisted upon performing for the heterosexual couples among his congregants. He said he told the woman and her fiancee that they and their sin were not welcome in his house of God. He told us, the ones left, that we were not to contact the ejected woman or continue any friendships with her.

It was a small church, only about 60 people. Pastor Luis looked right into my eyes and held the eye contact with me (other peoole turned to look) when he said, "And if you don't agree with that, you are not welcome here either. You can leave now and never come back."

I did. For 10 years after that, I thought God had told Pastor Luis about me. That Pastor Luis had gotten the same "spiritual witness" off me that my dad had gotten off the 2 women we met backpacking. That he somehow knew—that any Christian might know if they listened, if they sniffed carefully enough. The smell of evil, I thought, must linger on me.

I was 18 when I got my first tattoo. My parents were relieved when I told them that’s all it was. "We thought you were going to tell us you were pregnant, or gay," they said.

I was 19 when a trans woman at a coffee shop told me about how she'd been fired as a substitute teacher from the biggest school district in the state. She didn't pass, so she dressed as a man when working. One day she made the mistake of wearing a women's button-down shirt (with the buttons on the left, not the right), and someone noticed and complained.

I was also 19 when my boyfriend's parents became concerned that he might be gay. (He had gotten his ears pierced and dyed his clipper cut pink while away at college.) As Christians his parents were against premarital sexual activity of any kind, including masturbation or sexual desire, so my bf couldn’t tell them how he knew he wasn’t gay, and for over a year they wouldn’t believe him. His mother bought some books from Family Christian Booksellers, the biggest Christian publisher in the U.S., about how as a Christian she should respond to her child’s queerness.

Throw them out, cut them off, and do everything you can to make sure your child starves and suffers, said the books. (I read them all.) Hunger and homelessness were the goal, they advised, but any misery you could cause was helpful. Turn other relatives against them, don't let them take their belongings when they go, cancel phone contracts and insurance plans.

When your child asks for help because they can't support themselves, you can force them to leave their beloved and drop their friends in exchange for survival, said the books. They will either eventually see that you and God are right and loving, and repent of their sin, or you will catch them lying to you and sneaking around, which is proof that homosexuality and other sins go hand in hand.

One book acknowledged that cutting them off would endanger teenagers and young adults and leave them vulnerable to rape, murder, and human trafficking (though it called being trafficked "prostitution"). But Christian parents acting in the name of God's love would not be responsible for the harm their kids suffered, it said: the children were bringing whatever happened to them on themselves as a natural consequence of living a sinful lifestyle.

In fact, said the book, being attacked or abused could be good for your children: if they suffer enough they may realize it’s their gayness that has caused all their problems and repent of their disgusting unacceptable love and desire.

In the United States, LGBT children represent 40% of homeless youth under 18. "Family conflict" is the number-one cause of LGBT youth homelessness.

I was 22 when the pastor of my boyfriend’s church received news that one of his congregants was engaged in a same-sex affair. Extramarital affairs were very common in his church—three of the deacons were cheating on their wives with other (also married) congregants, and my bf’s parents had been swingers —but this was the first and only time the pastor ever called a church member to the altar, outed him by described his sin to the congregation (c. 350), and demanded the man apologize to everyone and ask their forgiveness. The pastor told him that if he did not apologize he and his wife and children were not welcome to continue attending.

I was 23 when I heard that same pastor’s sermon on avoiding sexual temptation. Give up affection if it causes you to sin, he said. Scoop out your own eyes, cut off your own hand. He instructed men only to hug other men side-along, one arm around their shoulders, lest a real embrace cause them to feel sexual desire for another man. (No mention was made about how women should hug, or that women might ever feel sexual desire at all.)

I remember listening to this pastor's sermon and thinking, I know something about this man that he does not know about himself.

I was 24 when I went with my boyfriend to Pulpit Rock Church, seeking answers from the sermon they advertised on their signboard about sex and sexuality and gender. My boyfriend loved wearing women's clothes. Transgender and cross-dressing were just starting to replace transsexual and transvestite as the accepted terms for the things he might be. Nonbinary and genderqueer were not words we had. He wasn’t sure yet which thing he was; the thing he was was still, for us, unspeakable.

"Men are created to be men and women are created to be women," preached the pastor at Pulpit Rock. "Men and women are different in a way that can't be explained, and they fit together in a relationship in a divine way. A man and a man or a woman and a woman may love each other, but they'll never have the spiritual connection of a godly relationship that a man and a woman can have. We don't have to understand it, but we shouldn't question it, because that’s the way God made it."

Then he talked about how he and his wife could both make French toast (or maybe it was pancakes), but the way his wife made French toast was female somehow--ineffably--because she was a woman, even though the French toast was the same. My bf and I left in the middle of the sermon.

I was 25 when Ted Haggard, best friend of Focus on the Family founder James Dobson (of “Spongebob is teaching our kids it's ok to be gay” controversy) and pal of George W. Bush (the POTUS who pursued, in his own words, "a Crusade" in Iraq with the U.S. military to fight the influence of demons "Gog and Magog[…] at work in the Middle East"), was publicly outed. Male escort and Mike Jones—whom Haggard hired to sell him meth and give him happy-ending massages—recognized ‘Pastor Ted’ as the leader of Colorado Springs evangelical megachurch New Life Church, a nationally famous preacher who denounced the evils of homosexuality from his pulpit, and Jones, a big damn hero, tipped off the press.

I had heard Pastor Ted preach twice. New Life Church was a lot like Heaven in Show Omens in that it had a lot of open space and bright fluorescent lighting and smiling well-groomed people in it, as well as several giant digital screens floating in the air to either side of its dais on which the face of the straight-passing white man bringing his people the word of God was projected as he spoke. This latter feature also resulted in a slight resemblance to a Hitler rally, but there was more medium-stained oak in play than either Hitler or Heaven would find tasteful.

I was 26 when I acted as an informal lettings agent for one of my landlord's other apartments and the young Christian woman living downstairs asked me refuse shelter to any gay or lesbian people because she didn't want to have to live in the same building with them.

When I asked her how I was supposed to know whether someone was gay, she said, “Well you can just tell, can’t you?”

I was 30 when I came out to my Christian parents. Having read the Christian parenting books, I was hugely relieved when they didn't throw me out of their house, where I was living after college (and a few major depressive episodes and two global recessions). I was relieved that they wanted to continue to have a relationship with me at all, in fact.

"I still think it's a sin, though," my mother gently reminded me. My father has refused ever to discuss it at all.

I was 31 when I moved to the UK. I've spent 11 years trying and failing to scrape a living in the Thatcher-hollowed market towns around Manchester, under the fucking Tories, through fucking Brexit, through fucking May and fucking Boris and that weird little cabbage Liz Truss, in order to stay out of Colorado Springs. I can't get medical care on the NHS and I can't work or leave my apartment bc I can't get medical care and I can't heat my apartment in winter on Universal Credit and I’ve been threatened and assaulted by doctors and raped by a nurse and I’ve tried suicide a few times, and I'm in some smallish danger of dying here in Britain's left armpit, but I am not in Colorado fucking Springs today, am I. So that's something at least.

I was 41 and living in the UK for a decade when a homophobe with Christian parents shot up the only gay venue in Colorado Springs, Club Q, murdering 5 people and shooting 19 more. I'd been to Club Q a few times, on dead nights, when I lived in the city. The shooting was 24 years after homophobes tied Matthew Shepard to a fence and left him dying as a warning to the rest of us.

I never told my best friend I was in love with her.

Instead I had anxiety dreams in which my subconscious warned me I wasn't safe. In one dream, Not Yet appeared tattooed on the back of my hand as I looked at a female classmate who was dating another girl. I had to wear gloves to hide the rainbow that had appeared, indelible, on my ring finger.

My first kiss was with a (Christian) boy.

I knew what I felt for my best friend was effervescent and golden and breath-stealing. I knew I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her, knew I wanted to live with her in a little house in the Pacific Northwest in the mist and the trees and make her coffee with a Turkish press anytime she wanted it and cuddle her on the closed porch and gripe about the wool in her sweater prickling my arms when I hugged her. I knew her eyelashes made her eyes look like they had stars in them and that she had the lushest curves and most perfect skin I had ever seen, and that when she smiled or laughed the shape of her mouth made something in me ache like tuning forks must ache when they're struck and made to sing.

I never told my best friend I was in love with her because I didn't know those were the words for what I was feeling.

Not until years later, after she had left my life. I had been told (frequently) by a Higher Authority that queer love was disgusting and ruinous and sinful and ugly and twisted and inferior, not this perfect fragile thing as soft and trembling-alive as a bird in my hands. Why would I think this was queer love?

I didn't catch the worst of it. I wasn't chained to a bed or forced to drink water from a dog dish, like the foster parents of the gay kid in class did to him. (The school asked him to give a talk to our class so they'd bully him less, so he told us about his life as the teachers looked on. He was 12.) I wasn't sent to conversion therapy like one classmate. I didn't spend most of my childhood in Bible School like other devout Christians' children; my family read the Bible a lot, and prayed together, but my parents weren't regular churchgoers. I was so, so lucky.

It destroyed me anyway.

The thesis of my essay runs thus, fellow ineffables: A happy ending for Crowley and Aziraphale is necessary.

It is necessary not just because Bury Your Gays is an overdone trope and an act of homophobia in the hands of straight writers; not just because Good Omens has been crafted with such loving care in both book and show incarnations to be optimistic, even sunny, against a backdrop of Orwellian, cosmic, and Kafka-esque horror; not just because casting miracles of the magnitude of David Tennant as Crowley and Michael Sheen as Aziraphale happen once a generation and it would be a shame and a waste not to write more magic for them to chew on; it is necessary because, in most places here in Shitworld, there are real people having the experience Crowley and Aziraphale are having, and not all of us are able to make happy endings for ourselves.

We don't have ethereal/occult powers or authorial control, so we need stories to show us how to love and when to fight and why to fucking bother. And the harder those things are to see in this world, the more we need those stories. And the more we need people with influence and audience and privilege telling them, not just all us little Tumblr rats and AO3 and Pillowfort perverts.

Crowley and Aziraphale exist in a fascist universe run by the ultimate Authoritarian—not Big Brother, but Big Father. There is nowhere for them to go, not even their own minds, where it is safe for them to love each other openly. I am completely prepared to believe someone in those circumstances could go 6,000 years without realizing the love they feel for their best friend is the kissing kind of love. I know someone can go a whole lifetime without saying it.

The hosts of Heaven and Hell will take away even the words for love when they can. We need people who don't just wield words but the power of the word spreading the message "There is a way to make this work. There is a way to exist. You can make a new world."

Mr Gaiman, I know from reading some of your other work that a big part of your whole Deal as a writer is an ongoing enthusiasm for the immense, even mystical, power stories have to shape individual and shared realities—sometimes to doom people and lock them into a destiny, but as often to let them escape their fate by imagining and conceiving a new way of living, or of living with each other, where none was possible before.

Hate and hope are the result of the stories we tell each other--I know you know this because I know you know that in saying it I am referencing a story you wrote. Like the hate, that hope only exists if an author says it does. And real people’s hearts, real people’s lives, are made and broken by listening to the wrong stories or hearing the right ones.

Crowley and Aziraphale are your characters, and Good Omens is your story to tell. You have written a setup in which, if you want these characters to be able to love each other, you (they) will have to create a world where that is possible. Please write us a romance. Please put enough sweet in with the bitter that we can survive it.

We have such faith in you because you have shown your readers and your audiences that you deserve that faith. Please choose your phrases wisely. ❤️

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