#it would feel like such a natural way for Aziraphale to organize his time that he might never notice Crowley never gives him the hour

[sighed-the-snake]

Headcanon: When speaking to Aziraphale, Crowley measures time according to the next nearest mealtimes, because that orients the angel to the time of day better than a clock.

"After brekkie, we'll go--"

"Look, I know it's elevenses, but I had a late night--"

"If we start walking now we can get there in time for lunch--"

"We'll have tea first and then--"

"Before supper we could--""

"What time is it?" "It's time for after-dinner drinks."

#it would feel like such a natural way for Aziraphale to organize his time that he might never notice Crowley never gives him the hour #life is what happens between snacks #good omens #ineffable husbands #aziracrow #good omens headcanons #aziraphale #crowley

[ineffable-endearments]

I keep going back and forth on how much I think Aziraphale understood the Metatron's offer as an implicit threat right off the bat. How much of 'Heaven is the side of Good' was sincere, felt-it-in-his-marrow sentiment, and how much of it was a desperate lie, or a desperate attempt to convince himself that he and Crowley were about to be given what he wanted, or a desperate attempt to harness Heaven's power for his own purposes.

I have kind of shifted to believe, though, that maybe Aziraphale's character development doesn't have to be exactly "learning that Heaven is bad." Maybe it's OK, from a character development standpoint, if he already knows that, at least 75% of the way.

Because I actually think there's something deeper than just "Heaven isn't good" that Aziraphale has to go through: "You can't violate free will even if your intentions for people are one thousand percent good and pure and kind." This is the core reason why Heaven is "irredeemable," so to speak: its whole purpose is to "mess people around," as Adam Young would say. Even if Aziraphale could walk in there, instantly dominate the Metatron, stop the Second Coming, and dedicate all of Heaven's operations to Making Humanity Good, it still wouldn't be okay.

Like, Aziraphale needs to value free will for its own sake, rather than as a means to a Good end. This feels more all-encompassing of both the philosophical conflict between Aziraphale and Crowley and the alarming behavior we've seen from Aziraphale this past season (controlling people's mood and behavior at the ball, for example).

It's also a compelling philosophical conflict because accepting free will for what it really is is frightening. Sometimes you will watch people be self-destructive. Sometimes you will make yourself vulnerable to other people's choices and they could hurt you or your loved ones. Heck, when Crowley had a chance to give a bunch of humans the ability to kill each other to prove a point about human nature, he protected them from themselves!

But on the scale of the whole universe, for free will to work like it's "supposed to," like Aziraphale says out loud it's supposed to (just before Armageddon), it has to be absolute. Having humanity pushed into the middle of a cosmic battle between Above and Below doesn't actually enable free will or any of the other qualities Aziraphale admires in the world of humanity (and Crowley).

Forcing people to choose between two sides isn't really free will.

Heck, even if the Final Fifteen of Season 2 was merely one big miscommunication, a failed bullet catch trick, that in itself could be part of the lesson. Trying to use your power (relationship) to push your loved ones (Crowley) into doing things (becoming an angel again) you believe are For Their Own Good WILL hurt them, no matter how pure your intentions are.

Evil/cruelty in Heaven will be an important part of the main conflict, I think we can say that's obvious, but Heaven's whole...thing is moving people, humans and angels and probably Hell's demons too, around like pieces on a chessboard. The entire mission of the organization would be wrong even if everyone was perfectly well-intended and nobody ever engaged in intentional cruelty and Heaven decided not to destroy Earth after all.

So, while I really can't say I'm confident in making predictions about it, I would find it narratively satisfying for Aziraphale to go up there, immediately know what's going on, and make real trouble for Heaven while still finding lots of compelling ways to grow as a character.

And lots of ways to bumble around charmingly, too. Remember that Aziraphale very smartly figured out something he was never supposed to figure out, the location of the Antichrist, and looked like a complete ding dong (I am saying this in the most loving tone imaginable) the whole time.

[aziraphales-library]

Hello! I was wondering if you knew of any fics where Aziraphale is pampering/spoiling Crowley, showing his love in visible, demonstrable ways, etc. Thanks!

Hi! You might be interested in our #gifts, #wooing, #sick fic, and #sugar daddy au tags to find fics like this. Here are some others where Aziraphale pampers, spoils, and shows his love for Crowley...

Socks by NotEvenCloseToStraight (G)

Based off a post on Tumblr: Azira makes Crowley socks after realizing he'd burned his feet in the church back in 1941 ******************* “You thought I sssauntered into a church filled with Nazis to dance a little jig and distract you all while I pulled missiles from the sssky, is that it?” “It–it was a lovely dance, if that matters, I thought your legs looked wonderful flapping about–” Azira made an unintentionally hilarious gesture miming how Crowley had moved back then. “–very graceful, all things considered.” “All things conssssidered?!” Crowley leapt from the couch in a display much more graceful than Azira’s awkward flailing. “My feet were burning, angel! Or have you forgotten that demons aren’t allowed on consssecrated ground!”

Demon Cough by mango_enjoyer (T)

Crowley hates the discomfort of demonic illnesses and loathes their disgusting cures. Unfortunately, his reckless nature makes him an easy target for strange maladies. Even worse, Aziraphale can’t help fussing over him whenever he grows ill, which makes him feel all the more vulnerable. Crowley can’t always be the one coming to the rescue, though. Would some pampering during a time of weakness really be so bad?

It Starts with a Garden by adelaide_rain (T)

Aziraphale goes to Crowley’s apartment for the first time, and is horrified by how bleak it is. He takes it upon himself to make it a more like a home.

Rosewater by Quilly (G)

Aziraphale has just the thing to apologize after a domestic tiff.

That Time of the Semicentury by ZehWulf (T)

Crowley squints at him blearily. "And why, exactly, are you over?" Aziraphale lifts his arms to draw attention to the overstuffed reusable bags he's brought with him. "You said it's that time again and, well, I thought perhaps you might allow me to pamper you a bit." OR What if we low-key compared the experience of snake-demon shedding to having a period and let the hurt/comfort unfold accordingly?

Forsaken by VerdantVulpus (E)

Aziraphale has quietly loved his frenemy for a very long time. It had been a simple, innocent love once, but grew overtime in its abundance and complexity. It was ever present, at times bothersome or painful, other times driving him to acts of courage he didn't think possible. Always quiet, though. There was no point sharing his feelings with a demon. Demons were incapable of love. So imagine Aziraphale’s dismay to learn that not only had Crowley loved him terribly for just as long, but that Aziraphale had missed all the signs and the demon had given up hope. Now Aziraphale must organize his own thoughts and feelings and learn how to woo a demon before Crowley moves on for good.

- Mod D

#good omens #ineffable husbands #sick fic #wooing #gifts #aziraphale loves crowley #mod d

[who-dat-homeless]

Y'know most artist when do depict Crowley and Aziraphale post divorce depict them pretty much as they are in season1-2 without changes? Just.... I think that all this would REALLY impact their psych, especially Crowley as his mental state never was really good

Or maybe they will stay as they are, I'm not Neil Gaiman after all but for me it's funnier to explore them changed Like. Usually when faced with a traumatic thing Crowley goes into escapism, either by sleeping or drinking. What if that time it doesn't help? He can't fall asleep and even the faintest smell of alcohol makes him wanna vommit. He wonders uselessly through the city. Maybe for the first time after the fall he once again starts to question everything. Who he is. What is his nature. Is there any reasons left to keep up living and thing. What is the reason for anything really. Does he even has a will or is he just a tool in God's game. Were he only brought up to this world to always chase something that he'll never get. He's somber. More than usual. But at the same time he's soft. As soft as he ever was. What the point of keeping this cool, black, prankster façade if it doesn't even bring him joy, just a pitiful reminder of how he lost it all And at the same time this softens is all he's left with. The last reminder of his love.

Aziraphale is basically in hell, looking into mindless eyes. There's not a single thought behind them unless it's a want of a holy murder or a holy destruction. They all just a boot lickers looking how to be as useful as they can. They're all good, but there's not a single angel who is kind. That what Crowley was. Aziraphale understands it only now. Crowley was kind. Now he feels cold and lifeless, just a machine without organs. There's is no use of him, really, he's just a living paper signing machine. He has to listen to absolutely empty words, sometimes he has to attend a few days conference, as angels don't need rest, just to hear empty speeches of how they're productive, how they're the big family. how they need to find another ways to lick asses more effectively. He tries to change something, literally anything, he meets an iron wall of resistance and aggression. He tries to tell them how great the earth is, but for them it's nothing more but a tool that has its use. Just tools and usefulness, and don't forget to smile, we're family. There's no one who he can talk to. no one who can hear him he looks into a night sky and wonders if Crowley would ever... feel proud of him. Just for resisting. Just for trying. He wants to believe he would, but he knows he would never. He hates him now. Suggestion box is thrown away he only ever finds threats or insults there. He becomes neurotic, always on edge. He don't want to hear them anymore. He does his job, he looks for Metatron's plans and that's it He finally understands how Crowley did his paper work. He becomes weary. passive aggressive. he wants to blow out this place, but he takes 5 breaths and smiles to Metatron. as soon as he gets a chance he'll make a few new holes in Metatron's face. After all, he's got to put his license into use. Until than he waits.

so yeah i want them both totally wrecked

#good omens #crowley #aziraphale #anthony j crowley #good omens 2 #good omens season 2 #azicrow #ineffable husbands #gomens #go #ineffable divorce #metatron

[thesherrinfordfacility]

am i missing something in kinda comparing the entire maggie and nina situation to paris? 'cause there was no need to get them to fall in love. a&c might not be able to make people actually feel it, but they seem to have mind control down pat without much effort (or any moral quandaries). they could have waited for an angel to show up and just faked it- easy, certain way out. it's not like the idea of working together like that is even weird, not after the gabriel miracle.

so. either they missed it, which is plausible, and uhhh, renders this whole ask pointless, or *would* have moral issues with it (also plausible💀), or they're being completely ridiculous again, and would rather plan balls than actually make an effort to get themselves out of Mortal Fucking Peril (not that aziraphale necessarily knows it is). i think it would fit the pattern, honestly- when not having huge blowouts over *problems of their own making* (hey aziraphale kill this kid it'll be fine, aziraphale why won't you ditch earth with me, crowley why won't you come to heaven with me), the ineffables always seem to be constantly, aggressively orbiting eachother, making heart eyes and goofing off (cough end of the resurrectionists "not kind" cough) with 0 regard for safety except for the (very very sadly i can't find the -ennial word for every other century) occasional heart attack, and then just skipping right back down the aisle.

(hope this is coherent, i've been editing things a little too long to tell)

hello @aq-uatic my darling!!!💕

(bby im so sorry!!! i thought i had posted this ages ago and i went rooting around in the drafts to continue something else and realised i hadn't!!! im an idiot sorry!!!)

i think there is some context behind aziraphale's actions in particular with this scene:

we know that aziraphale has a fondness for maggie, that i'd argue goes slightly beyond the fondness he has for humans in general (and even then that's questionable at times), and he seems genuinely put out that he's not in a position to help her - to wiggle his fingers about, and make it happen for her (horrifying implications, aziraphale, but we move). so, whilst aziraphale obviously is prompted into the whole 'lets-make-these-two-humans-fall-in-love-bc-that's-totally-normal-and-okay' by holding the everyday record back in the bookshop, i think there is an element of aziraphale genuinely wanting to help her, and coming up with the ball is his interpretation of an organic way to do that (💀). but it doesn't justify the whole thing one little bit; despite the possibility of that being his intention, it's completely batshit - nina certainly didnt know, let alone consent, to anything, and maggie didn't either; they're not dolls for either of them to play around with.

essentially though, i agree - any logical, coherent, sensible thinking would have probably just helped them arrive at a solution that didn't involve warping reality and bringing a whole room of people under a horrifying amount of hypnosis. but you have two supernatural creatures who, in a fairly major way by the time of 2023 at least, have their sense of existing amongst humanity influenced by not only the clandestine, dramatic nature of their own story, but by their tendencies towards damsel-but-not-wholly-in-distress-ing and anti-hero-at-best-ing respectively. we have to barely scratch the surface to see the intertextuality between these traits of theirs, and where they might stem from stories told in certain books and movies (emma by jane austen, and james bond spring to mind).

they constantly talk in riddles to each other, in code and in double meanings - they may somewhat understand the general sense of what the other is saying, but it's not categorical and leaves too much room for error or misinterpretation (which, ultimately, it does). it's a constant dance circling each other, ebbing and flowing, pulling in and drawing back, but never coming together properly; it's a quadrille vs. a waltz.

it makes sense that they are so used to finding the most roundabout and convoluted ways to do things, and this continues into s2, because not only is it how it tends to go down in fiction, but also because that's literally how they've had to exist - not only so their closeness isn't detected, or so their true natures aren't suspected by their respective head offices, but also by nature of being literal supernatural creatures living amongst humans - sleeper agents, of a kind - and constantly having to exist without detection.

none of this makes it right, of course not - but i actually don't think they see any other way of going about things. they're so good at it, so well practiced, that (as just two examples) they run verbal rings around gabriel/metatron (book) and beelzebub chattering about the great vs. ineffable plans at the airfield, and they dance around the most straightforward solution to the maggie/nina problem. as for themselves and their relationship, they dont speak plainly to each other until the bandstand or final fifteen... and even then, i feel like its aziraphale that is maybe the first to break and speak plainly? idk:

i think it's clear that crowley is the more scared, and therefore the more cautious, in this regard. for all his objections attempting to distance himself as an angel compared to crowley's being a demon, aziraphale feels to me that he is the more inclined to throw caution to the wind. i think its because crowley understands the danger in blowing their cover a little more than aziraphale does - aziraphale on multiple occasions slips in nearly admitting their closeness (1800, end of 1827 as you pointed out, and when meeting with the archangels in heaven in s1) - and is still stuck in the safety that dancing around what should be plainly said affords them. they both - as you wonderfully put it - aggressively orbit each other, and breaking the holding pattern comes a little too late.

so no, i think your drawing the parallel between the Weird-Ass dynamic in 1793, how they handle the maggie/nina storyline, and then how they behave with each other, is very apt! but its, at this time, arguably all that they've known - acting in this way - and breaking the cycle is starting to happen, but won't pay its dividends until s3✨

#this is a new angle for me to think about and therefore not well written and you have my apologies for that #good omens #ask #s2 meta #flashback meta #crowley meta #aziraphale meta #feral domestic/final fifteen meta

[justtellher]

Stupidly Lovely Human Traditions (A Good Omens Fanfic)

A/N: Felt like writing something fluffy for our ineffable pair this Valentine’s Day as a little break from my current WIP.  So please enjoy this little fluffy one-shot that was loosely inspired by @gleafer’s adorable little comic that delighted my brain and spiraled out into it's own story from there.  You can also read on ao3 here.

It’s a stupid holiday, he thinks as he passes by yet another gaudy chocolate-and-heart window display and weaves through the crowded Soho street filled with both shops and people dressed in their Valentine’s Day finest.  

Humans had always had a weird sense of logic though for the organization of their holidays: from celebrating the birth of Jesus five months early so as not to lose the opportunity to decorate trees to the strange British tradition of random bank holidays with no assigned meaning.  So really, naming a holiday of love for a man who was gruesomely martyred and buried on the Via Flaminia wasn’t that far of a stretch. 

He barely manages to swing out of the way in time to avoid taking a dozen roses to the face as a flustered florist bustles by with a frankly ostentatious arrangement balanced precariously in their hands, and Crowley grumbles under his breath as he brushes a few lost petals off of his jacket.  Yellow roses, he notes amusedly, denoting jealousy.  He hopes the recipient isn’t well versed in the language of flowers.   

Few humans were anymore though, a loss of knowledge which greatly entertained Crowley anytime he passed by a stand selling rather confused messages of bouquets.  Now, it was simply roses, roses, roses for romancing one’s partner.  If you bought into that sort of thing, which Crowley absolutely did not.  Why did one need generic gifts given on a randomly appointed day to prove love for their partner?  To be fair, he’d spent most of his existence without having (or at least pretending not to have) any romantic feelings of the sort.  But even now that he and Aziraphale had finally gotten on the same page post the Second Coming of it all, he still didn’t see the point.  It felt cheesy and trite. 

Not to mention the utterly ridiculous levels of sappy, corny adverts, gifts, and romantic drivel that seemed to pour out of stores and his favorite television show breaks as soon as New Years ended.  Torturous and hellish it was. 

Which meant that naturally of course, humans had invented it entirely on their own. 

He shifts the bottle of wine he’d just purchased to his other hand and crosses the road at a light jog to avoid the Valentine acapella service currently delivering a pitchy serenade to a young woman seated outside at Marguerite’s.   Normally, he wouldn’t leave his flat on February 14th, much preferring to sleep through the nonsense, or he would slink over to the bookshop to badger Aziraphale into letting him lounge idly on the sofa.  The latter of which he had been successfully doing until said angel had suggested the possibility of a bottle of wine, the type of which did not exist in the cellar and just had to be procured by Crowley from the local shop.  

“Y’know, angel, you can still miracle things,” Crowley had protested when Aziraphale had looked over at him imploringly from his latest binding repair work.  

A put-out sigh escaped his partner’s lips, “Well, yes dear, but,” the angel’s lips formed a soft pout as his eyes sparkled at Crowley over the rims of his glasses, “it’s never the same.” 

And so off Crowley had gone to the wine shop, cursing his inability to resist Aziraphale’s pleading blue stare.   

Speaking of said angel, Crowley belatedly notices him exiting the shop just as he makes it to the door with a huff, unable to stop his brusque forward momentum quickly enough to avoid their small collision.  He slams into the angel with a small grunt, Aziraphale’s hands shooting out to grab his waist in an effort to steady them both with a small chuckle, 

“Careful, dear,” those troublesome blue eyes glint up at Crowley, and the angel leans up to press a soft kiss to Crowley’s cheek in greeting.  “Just stepping out for a quick moment, but you should go ahead inside.”

Crowley feels his cheeks heat slightly.  He’s still not quite used to this ease of unguarded affection they’re afforded now.  It feels surreal still, being able to love him openly.  He slides his own hands around the soft curve of Aziraphale’s waist and returns the greeting with a kiss of his own to the angel's upturned lips.  Aziraphale hums contentedly against his mouth, and Crowley’s heart gives a soft skip.  

It feels surreal still, that Aziraphale loves him back.  

“More miracle-less shopping, angel?” Crowley teases against his lips.  

Aziraphale pulls back, face flushed prettily as he smooths his hands up Crowley’s chest to give a gentle tug on his lapels (which absolutely does nothing to the demon’s ability to breathe deeply).  “Something like that,” he replies with an unfathomable smirk. 

“You do realize that’s almost as infuriating of a response as wait and—”  A sharp whack to his back cuts off his retort as another petite florist murmurs, “Terribly sorry!”, and scurries around them carrying a somehow even larger floral arrangement than the last one he’d been accosted with.  

Crowley groans, “Ergh, bloody ridiculous holiday this one.”  He gestures broadly, “Can’t even walk outside without being assaulted by sodding rose bushes.” 

Aziraphale regards him with an amused smile and an affectionate roll of his eyes, “Yes dear, you were very brave to go out at all.”

“Bastard,” Crowley mutters lovingly, and the smirk returns to Aziraphale’s lips as he leans in to press another kiss to the demon’s mouth, 

“So I’ve been told,” he whispers lowly against the corner of Crowley’s lips, and dammit that had no right to pulse heatedly through his veins the way it did.  He tilts his head slightly to capture Aziraphale’s lips properly again, but finds that the angel is already pulling back and out of his arms.  Crowley staggers slightly at the unexpected movement as his partner gives him a gleeful smile,

“I’ll be back in two shakes of a lamb's tale.”  And then he’s disappearing around the corner, leaving Crowley to stare after him as his heart rate struggles to even back out at the abrupt change in tone.  

The doors to The Dirty Donkey open with a sudden bang, flooding the street momentarily with the blaring notes of “My Heart Will Go On”, as a raucous group spills into the busy street, and Crowley finds his earlier annoyance return to him with a start.  Groaning in disgust, he fumbles for the door handle and throws himself across the threshold and into the respite of the bookshop, flinging his glasses off as he steps down the entry stair into the shop and sets them along with the wine bottle down on the nearest table.  Sighing in relief, he takes in the familiar setting around him and freezes, mouth parted slightly in shock. 

This is not the same bookshop he left earlier. 

Tables have been shifted around so that they line the shop entryway more purposefully; Aziraphale’s prized gramophone sits on one next to two stemmed wine glasses, the gentle lyrics to I’ll Be Your Mirror filtering softly through the air from its speaker. Crowley swallows thickly against the sudden lump that’s formed in his throat.  He doesn’t remember ever telling Aziraphale that’s one of his favorite songs.  

Or that the angel even knew how to find a record he considered “bebop.” 

The rest of the tables are covered in vase after vase of flowers. No one had ever actually bought him flowers, he realizes idly, as he moves regard the tables more closely. Pristine cuttings in a riot of colors fill the space, and Crowley struggles to take them all in as his lungs make a valiant attempt to remember to take shallow breaths.  Because, oh, these flowers are not just roses; his eyes burn slightly and his chest feels tight as he takes note of the various arrangements. 

And unlike most humans, Aziraphale had not forgotten the meaning of flowers. 

He trails a tentative hand over a delicate blue hyacinth. Your loveliness charms me.  Fragrant apple blossoms–I prefer you before all–fill his senses and compete with the gentle undertones of a nearby bunch of yellow honeysuckle: Devoted affection.  Muted surprise catches his breath as he notes a stunning group of red tulips–I declare my love–and he can’t control the embarrassing stutter of his heart as he moves along the series of porcelain holders to admire the pure white bouquets of lilies and daisies.  My love for you is pure and true.  A selection of elegant dahlias sends a soft shudder through his spine–Eternal commitment–as the shop door opens and shuts softly behind him. 

“I do hope it’s not too much,” Aziraphale begins nervously.  

Crowley whips around to stare openly at his angelic counterpart, a small “ngk” escaping his mouth which makes the angel smile tenderly.  Aziraphale stands before him, evening light catching softly on his white blond curls, velvet vest shimmering slightly in the sunset, blue eyes regarding him with so much overt love and adoration that Crowley finds he temporarily forgets to breathe.  

Sometimes it still surprises him.  That someone can have that much love for him.

“Just one flower was missing,” Aziraphale continues, crossing the space between them to stand in front of the still wordless demon.  The angel chuckles lightly, “Luckily it's still very popular in human traditions.”  He reaches out a hand, and Crowley finally looks down and takes note of what the angel had stepped out to buy.  

A single, perfect red rose.  Ardent love, passion. Love found at first sight.   Crowley inhales shakily as he accepts the flower with a trembling hand, and he glances back up to meet his partner’s waiting stare. 

“Aziraphale…” he manages to whisper past the torrid of emotions swirling through his chest.  He clears his throat thickly, tries to find some combination of words that will appropriately convey the overwhelming affection threatening to burst through his ribs at this unexpected gesture, “I don’t k–”

“I know it’s a silly holiday,” Aziraphale interjects anxiously, tugging at his vest as he glances down at their feet. “It’s just…,” blue eyes look back up to meet Crowley’s with a determined sincerity, “we almost didn’t get this, and I think we deserve to celebrate these little, human moments.” A hand darts out to clasp the demon’s free one with a firm squeeze.  “You deserve lovely traditions, and—”

A loving ache tears through Crowley, overriding his overwhelmed thoughts as he leans forward and captures Aziraphale’s lips in a searing kiss. Releasing the angel’s grasp, he brings his hand up to cup Aziraphale’s cheek and deepens the kiss as his partner releases a surprised breath, parting his lips under Crowley’s with a small whimper, and the demon focuses on pouring every feeling of gratitude and love that he can into brush of his lips, the sweep of his tongue.  Words were overrated, he decides as Aziraphale clutches at his lapels in response and sinks his teeth gently into Crowley’s bottom lip, sending a flood of liquid heat up the demon’s spine and pulling a low moan from his throat .  

Maybe this holiday wasn’t so stupid after all.  

Aziraphale breaks the kiss on a shaky breath, pulling back slightly, and Crowley blinks dazedly at him as the angel’s lips quirk into a self-satisfied smile, “So, I take it no need to return everything then?  Because I can always throw it all away…”  Blue eyes twinkle in mirth, and Crowley chuckles exasperatedly.  Bastard.

He’s ridiculously in love with him. 

Leaning forward once again, Crowley presses his forehead against Aziraphale’s, “Shut up, angel.” He places a firm kiss on his lips. “S’Perfect.”  Another kiss, and then he tips his head back to meet the angel’s now soft gaze once more, “I love it,” he whispers, emotion filling his voice; he smooths a thumb across Aziraphale’s cheek and watches the swirl of gentle emotions the action evokes in it’s owner’s blue eyes, “I love you.” 

Aziraphale face alights at his words, the corners of his eyes crinkling as his mouth parts in a radiant smile.  “I love you too, my dear,” his voice trembles slightly in a kind of disbelieving wonder that causes Crowley’s heart to thump painfully in his chest. 

Maybe it still surprises them both sometimes. That they finally made it here. That they no longer have to pretend not to be a pair. 

An idea surfaces in his mind suddenly, and he reaches over to lay the rose on the closest table, giving a small flick of his wrist toward the player to restart the record with barely a skip.  Aziraphale’s eyes follow his movements curiously as Crowley takes the angel’s hands in his and pulls him gently toward the center of the floor, “You deserve lovely traditions too, angel.”

Aziraphale blushes lightly as he stares at the demon who places one arm around his waist and raises their other joined hands to shoulder height. 

“Dance with me?” Crowley asks earnestly.  Aziraphale laughs with a surprised delight and places his free hand gently on Crowley’s shoulder, stepping close to him with an affectionate press, 

“I’d love to.”

Crowley smiles openly at him in return and begins to spin them slowly around the room.  

“Did you ever meet him?” Aziraphale inquires as they move, “Saint Valentine?”

“Hmmm, don’t think I was actually in Rome at the time, you?”

“No, I believe I was somewhere in China during the 3rd century…”

One song fades into another as they continue to sway in each other’s arms; soft laughter and easy conversation echoing through the shop and filling Crowley with the peaceful, warm fondness that’s been permanently etched into his soul for the many millennia he’s known Aziraphale.  A love returned and cherished now.  His gaze catches on the myriad of flowers surrounding them, each one a love note, a card written in floral script, and he smiles broadly as Aziraphale says something unintentionally witty before leaning in to meet his grinning lips with his. 

They were rather lovely after all, Crowley decides, some of these silly, human traditions.

#good omens fanfiction #good omens fanwork #ineffable husbands fanfic #good omens fic #good omens fanfic #good omens fan fiction #ineffable fanfic #ineffable fic #ineffable fandom #good omens fics #justtellher fanfiction #go fanfic #go fic #good omens #ineffable husbands #aziracrow #aziracrow fanfic #aziracrow fic #good omens fanfic rec #good omens fluff #this little fluffy oneshot just wouldn't leave me alone this evening #so here enjoy my little valentine's brain rot of these two being soft idiots for each other #back to writing my regularly scheduled feels next #chapter 4 of give me peace is almost done #I just needed fluff for vday #I blame everyone's fluffy fanart #especially gleafers who gave me the first wiggle of an idea that then became this fic #I am not an expert on flower language #I just harnessed some well researched articles via google and took my favorite interpretations shamelessly #so don't come at me

[antlerx-art]

GOOD OMENS 2 EPISODE 4 REACTION - CONTAINS SPOILERS‼️

NAZI ZOMBIE FLESH EATERS IM SO NOT READY

aziraphale why do you have to be so pretty

modern heh🤩 but not bebop🤨 HES CUTEE

OH. MY. GOD.

OH MY

NOT MOONLIGHT SERENADE

IF THIS PLAYS LATER IN THE EPISODE IN THE FLASHBACK IM GOING TO ACTUALLY FEEL SICK NEIL GAIMAN YOURE CRAZY YOURE SO CRAZY OHHHH MY GOD

okay i’m normal again

SHAX?

DONT TOUCH HIM LEAVE HIM ALONE

oh i don’t think we’ve ever seen aziraphale talking to a demon other than crowley have we?

“im a little bemused as to why crowley would risk destruction for you, you don’t seem his type at all” EHHEHHEHE aziraphale knows he is

POOR OLD FURFUR? WHAT DO YOU MEAN TICKET TO THE BIG TIME

aziraphale uhm i love you but that was VERY naive you’ll have to run her over with the car now 👍🏻

OHHH YES LONDON 1941 LETS GOOOOOOOOOOO

AAAAAAAAA its the same scene but the nazis are about to become zombie flesh eaters

furfur face reveal?

LOL THE NAZIS WENT TO HELL

ah yes nice fresh cup of fire

THE LIFT HOMEEEEEEEEE

aziraphale’s face 🫶🏻😭 “shut upppp”

“on behalf of my………..good friend here” michael sheen had an aziraphale moment in that one interview

YAY ITS AZIRAPHALE’S MAGIC SHOW

okay so furfur uses the nazis to spy on aziracrow HEHEHEH they’re gonna interrupt them during the dinner aren’t they

miracle blocker 💀

the proof being?? an almost kiss ?? i’m delusional

yummm tasty human flesh meal

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA THEYRE IN THE BOOKSHOP

“oh there’s no need to thank me that’s what……… friends……..do” AZIRAPHALEEEEEEEEEEE

“to mr fell (that’s me😊) a wonderful student”

AZIRAPHALE MOVING AROUND BEING EXCITED FOR THE MAGIC ACT AND CROWLEY PLAYING THE PUBLIC OH THEYRE SO THEYRE SOOOO

also what made crowley so embarrassed about it in the future?

“the farthing has vanished!!!!”

“you, my nefertiti fooling fellow~ are about to perform on the west end stage! if that doesn’t make you a professional conjurer, i don’t know what does” CROWLEY YOU HAVE TO PUT A ROMANCE WARNING BEFORE SPEAKING THIS IS SO ADORABLE

AND JUSSSST THW WAY AZIRAPHALE SMILES AT HIM????

oh my is this going to be the boa scene? 🫢

“natural dexterity” yeah now i see why crowley’s embarrassed

why does aziraphale have a firearm license HOW MANY LICENSES DOES HE HAVE

“you wot?”

CROWLEY’S GOING TO BE THE ASSISTANT I KNEW IT (THE HAND ON THE ARM!!!)

THEY HELD HANDS AZIRAPHALE PUT HIS LEFT HAND ON CROWLEYS TOO OOOOOHHHH MY GOD THE AMOUNT OF SLOWED GIFS PEOPLE ARE GOING TO MAKE OF THIS MOMENT

these nazi zombies are crap what was their plan anyway

HELP they’re all soldiers

THE MIRACLE BLOCKER NOOO

OOOHHH ITS NOT GONNA END WELL IS IT

shit they took the picture

i’m actually sweating

POOR CROWLEY’S TREMBLING

WOOOO IT WORKED

AZIRAPHALE IS SO GAY WITH THAT BOA STOP STOP BEING GAY YOURE TOO SWEET

“aziraphalala” me reading his name for the first time

girl put that picture on fire it’s literally in your own hands

aziraphale has stolen the evidence with a magic trick hasn’t he

HAHA YESS HE DID

OHHHHHHHHHH THE DINNER THE DINNERRRRRR

SHADES OF GRAY VERY DARK GRAY AND VERY LIGHT GRAY ITS THEM OH ITS SO THEM IM IN TEARS

do demons even have vital organs?

“CROWLEY’S PET”😨

don’t touch his bookshop.

nina break up with them that relationship is so stressful please

NAH CROWLEY TALKING TO THE BENTLEY LIKE A DOG 💀

THEYRE GOING TO HAVE THE BALL YEAAAAAAH

tagging @neil-gaiman since he said he was interested in reading live reactions

#good omens #good omens 2 #good omens season 2 #good omens season two spoilers #good omens season 2 spoilers #go2 spoilers #gos2 spoilers #gos2spoilers #gos2 #gos2 reaction #spoilers

[darkpurpledawn]

For @racketghost 's 13 days of Halloween, prompt "graveyard"

7:00

Agreed to take ‘graveyard shift’ at bookshop for the angel. Angel worried about unscrupulous collectors getting their covetous hands on his first quartos during his trip to Edinburgh. Probably third most adorable worry this year. Fourth, counting the badgers.

Promised to pull wriggling-maggots gambit on any would-be thieves, did not promise to refrain from eating leftover palmiers. Angel oddly concerned about ‘what the shop might get up to.’ Assured him working at night is nothing new, have a saying in Hell that ‘it’s always the graveyard shift somewhere.’ (Was inspiration for the signs about five o’clock, for which received award for Special Contributions in Intemperance.)

Angel left. Briefly brushed shoulders as he was putting on coat, i.e. life still unendurable disaster.

7:33

Should be preparing conference paper for annual Hell all-hands in Las Vegas, can’t be bothered. Intend to waste entire night watching tv humans make complicated desserts and posting misattributed Victorian quotations. Not going to ransack Aziraphale’s kitchen, doze off, or go looking in obscure cabinets.

8:15

Woke up as snake coiled around till amid palmier crumbs. Not good, not supposed to be sleeping. Weird dream in which dressed in white, waiting for a dog, angel had curly moustache. Moustache should not have been attractive, was. Bugger it all to Heaven. 

Made tea in the angel’s atrocious kitchen, caused eviction of mouse family when retrieving kettle, probably instigated fall of mouse civilization. Kettle one of those disgusting 1950s flower-patterned nightmares, of course. 

Checked email, heaps of bids for own illegal listings on eBay. Should be able to fulfill lust quota for month with posts selling purported toenails of celebrities. Played d*vil’s adv*cate on Twitter (not allowed to actually write that down or Office of Infernal Counsel will send a c&d for making overstated legal claims), started rumor that cauliflower is actually dehydrated human brains. 

Heard shuffling sound. Should probably go check for quarto thieves.

8:30

Could not find source of shuffles anywhere. Looked in back room, nothing unusual. All ten zillion throw pillows angel insists on burdening sofa with appear to be in place.

Have had too many thoughts about that sofa. Picked up nearest bottle and went to kitchen to drown idiocy in several teacups of whiskey.

9:00

Got bored, started poking around. Found mildew stain that appears to be accurate map of Antarctica. Considered eating preserves noticed in back of cabinet, but unable to verify that it was made subsequent to Charlemagne’s accession. Briefly entertained notion of reading a book, came to senses and scrolled through 15 articles on phone about dogs that look like famous dictators.

Continued papery-sounding noises in the background. Would not be shocked if angel has white noise machine designed to sound like someone rifling through dictionary pages.

10:00

Got bored-er. Attempted to clean grime from windows experimentally and lost nerve about ten seconds in. 

Peeked into bathroom on second floor (which have been unconditionally invited to use but have only entered once to vomit in after regrettable work event in fourth circle). Angel apparently hoarding soap from past three centuries, in least surprising development of modern age.

Washed hands to get rid of window gunk. Refrained heroically from sniffing any towels.

Heard whispering from downstairs. Neighbors? Cannot believe anyone is actually waiting around to steal first quartos from world’s unfriendliest-looking bookstore.

10:12

Finished whiskey. “Cauliflower Is Brains” trending on Twitter. Found own decades-old tie deep in sofa cushions, not that was examining these too closely.

10:50

In attempt to trace whispers, entered stacks. Began imagining scenarios in which unexpectedly holy book toppled and caused catastrophic injury. Do not want angel to return to smoldering pile of ex-demon on his unspeakably dusty floors. Also do not want to be smoldering pile of ex-demon, naturally.

Obtained gloves the angel uses for book repair from end table. Also took umbrella from its place hanging on hatstand and partially opened as defense against falling books. Probably looked like Edwardian wanker. 

Proceeded with stack-examining. Organization system unclear. Slightly alarmed by discovering volume of Galen with recent takeaway receipts seemingly serving as bookmarks for easy reference. May explain why angel still refers to all colds as ‘excesses of phlegm.’

Too difficult to navigate narrow shelves with umbrella. Abandoned umbrella, substituted trilby hat for protection from falling sacred texts. Have never looked more ridiculous, very much including all of 17th Century and that time had snakebite piercings and mullet with short fringe.

11:21

FUCKASPIDERCRAWLEDONMYHANDFUCK

11:24

Can never go back to Hell, spider might be waiting there. 

11:30

Well. That’s certainly interesting.

Section of one bookshelf protected by some kind of holy bond-of-secrecy-whatsit. Should have left alone. Could have broken it with hellfire, but am in most flammable location in known universe, decided that was terrible idea. Managed to undo holy bonds using profane combination of two parts own venom, one part hoarded soap spritzed through a salad mister.

So. 

The angel has about two hundred books and fifteen scrolls concerning how to summon and bind demons. Thought at first maybe was for professional development. Too many. Angel has copy of the Big One, the one that can force a demon to do whatever summoner requests. 

11:32

In fact, angel has all known copies.

Have only had it used twice before. Once some pissed aristocrat wanted to steal Love’s Labours Won, turned into whole thing. Second time group of students got very desperate trying to complete science fair project. Learned way too much about thermodynamics.

12:00

Theoretically should be extremely horrified that the angel has all extant copies of Big One and can summon and bind demons at any time. 

Feeling am experiencing is...not horror.

12:15

Relevant pages in the Big One crossed out in indelible ink, ‘absolutely not’ written in weird cursive angel was using four hundred years ago. Impossible to see incantation. 

Theorized why this might be throughout second bottle of whiskey. Enjoyed feelings of profound relief. Ignored feelings of vague disappointment.

Theory one: angel at one time planning to use Big One, decided not to. Reasonable theory, but does not explain why every copy is in this bookshop.

Theory two: angel bought every copy with the express intent of crossing out incantation so no one could completely control a demon ever again.

Unreasonable theory. 

Will never mention any of this unless perhaps world ends. Probably not even then. What would that really change?

#good omens #good omens fic #good omens ficlet #racket's 13 days of halloween #my fics

[aethelflaedladyofmercia]

Absence of Words (Sawdust of Words 12)

At very long last, we have a new "Sawdust of Words" story!

Absence of Words, 13.5k, rated G.

London Sunday after the Apocalypse

They've survived an attempted Armageddon and near-executions, confessed their feelings, and now Aziraphale and Crowley are ready to spend the rest of eternity together.

But thousands of years of abuse are not so easily shrugged off. If this is going to work, if they're going to last longer than a few hours, Aziraphale and Crowley will need to learn to communicate.

It may be their greatest challenge yet. -- This fic takes place immediately after the "love confession" story "Finding the Words," and is my first real exploration in the series of what 6000 years of abuse and unhealthy communication becomes when you're abruptly free of your abusers AND starting a new relationship on the same day. Spoilers: it goes badly.

(However, I assure you all - it does have a happy ending and they will get better in the future!)

I shared the first scenes a few days ago, so the excerpt below is from slightly later, 1.3k of Aziraphale settling his emotions upon returning to the shop after the extreme thrill of walking hand-in-hand with Crowley for almost an hour. Hope you enjoy!

(CW for references to Heaven's emotional abuse/manipulation/gaslighting, and particularly to the fact that Aziraphale is still thinking in the ways they conditioned him to)

--

Aziraphale pushed the door of his shop closed and breathed a sigh of relief. Home again. His own space, where everything always made a little more sense, felt a little more secure.

Despite the fire, everything was exactly as it should be. Every book, every figurine, every speck of dust perfectly in its place. Even the rug he’d moved aside to contact Heaven lay flat in the center of the floor where it belonged, as if the entire horrid day hadn’t happened.

He paused for a moment, fingers resting on a stack of books, and took another deep breath. He didn’t feel quite settled yet; a cup of tea would really help, though he wasn’t sure if he had the time to make one properly.

Fortunately, as an angel, he had other options.

His favorite tea mug already sat on the desk by his favorite chair. Perfect. A quick miracle filled it with warm black tea, a blend of leaves with a hint of roast chestnut, something a little sweeter but more subtle than sugar, and a few buds of chamomile and safflower petals to help him relax. Then he settled into the chair and took a slow drink, letting the flavors linger on his tongue.

Yes, precisely what he needed. A moment of calm amidst the whirlwind, something Crowley would certainly understand once he’d had a chance to explain properly. Five minutes and he’d be ready for whatever excitement the world threw at him, or that he threw himself into, as that seemed to be something he did now.

He wiggled his shoulders, burrowing more comfortably into his pillows, pleased at his own boldness, wondering what he should try next. He’d played football once, years ago, perhaps they could find some energetic youths and play a match. Or he could learn a musical instrument, spend a day as one of those street-corner musicians. Not that he’d ever really wantedto, but he could if he liked, and the possibility was thrilling.

Or he could do something really audacious, like run his fingers through Crowley’s hair. That possibility made a great deal of heat rise to his face as he eyed the sofa where the demon liked to sprawl.

As he did, Aziraphale noticed a few things out of place. Nothing major. The blanket, usually draped across the sofa, lay neatly folded over the arm. The odds and ends across his desk had been properly stacked. The nearest bookshelf had been re-organized so that the books ran from the smallest on the left to the largest on the right. Even this mug, he realized, hadn’t been used for at least two days and should be sitting spotless in its cupboard.

Several possible explanations came to mind, particularly that in recreating the destroyed shop Adam had put a few items in the wrong spots. But he knew Crowley had spent hours waiting here this morning. Perhaps he’d done a little tidying, then sat and made himself a cup of tea.

That brought another fascinating blend of emotions. A little alarming, to be drinking from the same cup. Not proper at all, in today’s society, though it would have been more acceptable in the past. But in modern society, there was something intimate about it. And he found he didn’t mind that at all.

Not intimate, Aziraphale thought, eyes drifting across the shelf again. Domestic. Now there was an interesting idea. Crowley making himself at home in the shop. Making himself a snack, lounging about and being rude to customers, doing his little cleaning routine when he felt nervous, helping himself to a glass of wine in the evening or padding around in bare feet after waking up in the morning…

Instinctively, Aziraphale clamped down on the whole line of thought, burying it, glancing about to see if someone had somehow noticed.

But…there was no one to notice anything. No one to worry about. Not now, not ever again.

I’m…free.

He set down the mug and pressed his hands together. He’d never really considered himself trapped in the first place. Yes, he’d needed to be careful to avoid notice, judgement, but that was his own fault for not being the right sort of angel, for failing to measure up again and again.

And yet. There was no longer any reason to be careful.

No longer any reason to lie.

That was all Crowley had asked, wasn’t it? That Aziraphale stop lying?

Honesty. Now there was his most audacious idea yet.

“I…” He put his fingers to his lips, not quite sure he dared. But he could. He could. “I…love…”

His voice hitched over the word, his mind filling with caution, with warnings not to go too far.

“I lo-love…” Why was he shaking? He could hardly be reprimanded for it now. “I love…Crowley.”

The name seemed to hang in the air, echo off the walls. This was madness, of course, he had taken no precautions. He had every reason to think Gabriel might come back, for a check-up, for some final business, and Aziraphale would — would disappoint him, and that was worse than any punishment.

Only. Only that didn’t matter, did it? What was Gabriel’s disappointment, compared to a garden, a bright sky, and Crowley leaning down to brush his lips…

“I…I love Crowley!” It came out louder and more defiant than he intended, as warmth and excitement rushed through Aziraphale. “I love him! And he loves me!”

He gasped, just a little, to hear it out loud.

He loves me.

Sinking back into his seat again, Aziraphale rubbed his eyes. The mask of calm that had carried him through the Apocalypse fell away, and now he found himself quite close to actual tears.

He’d wondered for so many years. 78 years, 3 months and 14 days, to be precise. Did Crowley love him? Could Crowley love him? Did he feel even a fraction of that powerful force that Aziraphale often worried would destroy him, destroy them both?

It frightened him, sometimes, the love Aziraphale felt, warm and insistent, brash and bold, at times quite needy. Nothing like the pure love of Heaven, patient and kind, austere and a little distant. Not something to be freely given in exchange for a smile or a box of chocolates, but something to strive for, to inspire one towards improvement, towards one’s best self.

He’d tried, of course, oh how he’d tried. Every assignment, every duty, pouring every last bit of himself into whatever they asked of him with such good intentions, hoping for a sign, a bit of praise, a brush of that loving warmth. He always failed, of course, flawed and imperfect angel that he was.

He couldn’t resent Heaven for holding that love in reserve; that, too, was an expression of love, for how could one grow and develop if everything were simply handed to one?

But it had been lonely. So very lonely for so very long.

Not anymore.

Crowley loved him, right now, with all his faults and flaws. He couldn’t say it — such was the nature of the Fallen — but love wasn’t about words. He could feel it in Crowley’s touch, hear it in his tone of voice, taste it in his kiss. And that was enough.

He treasured it so, that love, that trust that Crowley had shared with so few. It was Aziraphale he found worthy, Aziraphalehe gave them to, and Aziraphale would do anything to show they hadn’t been misplaced.

My best friend, Crowley had said; what could be more precious than that? A greater honor than Aziraphale had ever expected.

He just wished he could hear the words in a different tone of voice, one not laced with all-consuming pain and loss. Wished he could think of them without remembering how he’d sat there stupidly, a corporationless angel floating in a void, unable to offer any reassurance or comfort, unable to even let Crowley see his face. Useless, as he’d always been.

That, at least, ended today. He loved Crowley, he was with Crowley. Nothing would ever come between them again.

He wiped his eyes one last time and went to find Crowley’s surprise. And perhaps some biscuits for the road, one never knew when one’s…companion (even that word made him blush) might get hungry.

Read the rest on AO3!

Or read the whole series here!

As always with Sawdust of Words - mind the tags and CWs.

#good omens prime #good omens fanfiction #ineffable husbands #aziraphale and crowley #emotional h/c #aziraphale #anxious aziraphale #asexual aziraphale #crowley #demisexual crowley #getting together #hand holding #kissing #post-almost-apocalypse #crowley loves aziraphale #aziraphale loves crowley #crowley loves his angel #queen lyrics #the bentley #crowley can't say i love you #heave is a cult #aziraphale likes crowley's eyes #happy ending #my writing #sawdust of words #good omens #ao3 link #ao3

[quillyfied]

Mega Good Omens Fic Rec Post 4

I LIIIIIIIVE

99 titles on this list again and once again we have an extra category, and I am pumped that I finally got this one done! Got a lot of holiday overflow but suck it up bc here it comes. As a refresher, the categories are: Jaunts through History/Canon, South Downs, Post-Apocalypse, Bus Ride/Night Before/Heaven and Hell, AU/UA, Soft, Before (exclusive to this list and List 2, meaning takes place almost exclusively Before Canon, as in The Fall/Creation/etc), Touch-Starved/Body Worship/Wings, Bonus, and H/C /Whump/BAMF. Warnings for gore and explicit material present where applicable. I don’t read smut fics but sometimes more adult material sneaks in there.

Mega GOmens Fic Rec Post MASTER

PLEASE LET ME KNOW IF A LINK IS BROKEN OR IF I MISATTRIBUTED AN AUTHOR.

JAUNTS THROUGH HISTORY/CANON

1. You are a Call to Motion – @freyjawriter24 (G, the one where Aziraphale would like to dance but doesn’t. Very sweet and soft and kinda sad, follows Aziraphale through history wanting to dance (specifically with Crowley) until he finally gets to. The pining is so good, y’all.)

2. I love you because I know no other way than this – kriswithakay (T, the one where Aziraphale and Crowley use the excuse of being spectacularly drunk to get in little touches and kisses throughout history. This one is so sad and so full of yearning, the whole time you just wish they would face each other sober. It’s so quiet and beautiful.)

3. A Simple Thing – Sir_Bedevere (T, the one where Aziraphale gives out forehead kisses and Crowley is jelly about it. Continuing with the trend of being achingly sad and tender, this fic packs a wallop in that department. Forehead kisses aren’t always given at the happiest of times, after all. Also Crowley continues his stint as a pine tree and it’s painful.)

4. The Problem with Saints – Lurlur, D20Owlbear, robynthemagpie_writes, Wyvernquill (T and G, the series where it’s Catholic but funny. This series is weird and it’s hilarious and I hope there will be more, because this series goes through some fairly niche Catholic saint stories and the retelling of them featuring the Ineffable Husbands is hysterical. I don’t even want to tell y’all too much about it, just go read them and laugh with me, because they’re beautiful.)

5. When The Things You’ve Planned Need a Helping Hand – Proskenion (T, the one where Crowley and Aziraphale run into each other in the 1920s. Flapper!Crowley being a lounge singer is the centerpiece of this one, which is delightful enough, but throw in some canon-typical friction over the Arrangement and a chance for Aziraphale to come to the rescue, it’s a lovely little romp that has just the right edge of emotional tenderness to take the sting out of said earlier friction. Or add to it. Just depends on your point of view, really.)

6. The Serpent and the Lady – @summerofspock (T, the one where Aziraphale is Lady Fair and Crowley is competing in a tournament for his favor. Has female-presenting Aziraphale still using male pronouns bc that’s just what he’s comfortable with, and definitely, definitely has that Disney animated Robin Hood flavor. This fic scratches so many of my itches—Aziraphale in a dress, Crowley being a dashing BAMF, chivalric courtship, swordplay, armor, hand-sewn tokens of favor. A delicious little diversion, very worth it a++++.)

7.  Sunlight and Water – @themoonmothwrites (M, the one where Aziraphale is a flirty drunk and Crowley has to be the sensible one. M for some racy elements but not explicit. This one is fun but then takes a direct left into Feels Town, which, when coupled with @cassieoh’s art, just makes the whole experience dreadfully unfair. A gorgeous little story, and the ending is just *chef’s kiss*.)

8. Sloth – libbyfay (T, the one where Aziraphale checks in on Crowley after the fourteenth century. This one is a delight, and includes Aziraphale recommending The Canterbury Tales, as well as a back-and-forth about depression versus Sloth and a lot of talking around feelings. Must absolutely be read in conjunction with the next rec in the list, which is something of a continuation. )

9. I have an aungel which that loveth me – HolRose (NR, the one where Crowley follows up on The Canterbury Tales recommendation from Aziraphale and it gets a bit deep. A continuation of the previous rec, and oof, y’all. This one gets hella sad, which hits pretty hard after Crowley laughing his head off about the funny bits in Canterbury Tales. There’s also Feelings, which are desperate and tender and guys they don’t even kiss but it’s still breathtaking. They love each other so much.)

10. (heaven is) a place on earth – rattatatosk (G, the one where Aziraphale nearly loses his bookshop. This takes place during the deleted scene from the 1800 opening of the bookshop, and has oodles of Aziraphale building himself a home and being devastated about nearly losing it. Not a nesting fic in the traditional sense (meaning it isn’t about building a home for himself and Crowley, it’s definitely just for him), but for fans of happy Aziraphale being fluffy and content in his bookshop, here you go.)

11. No other news to report – @argentconflagration (T, the one where Aziraphale is torn up about an assignment. Y’all want Crowley interfering in angelic plans? Y’all want tenderness and holding? Y’all want Aziraphale letting himself be bested? Then stay a while, because this one is a heart-wrecker. Featuring a very sick and very devout child, and female-presenting Crowley.)

12. These Things Were Here – @MajorEnglishEsquire (T, the one where Crowley resorts to snake form to deal with his feelings. This one is long and it’s emotional; Crowley reverts down to being a snake whenever he gets especially bad assignments from Hell, and it’s about him and Aziraphale finding balance and harmony between themselves when Crowley is like this. Very sweet and very tender and very sad.)

13. Crossing Paths – @amuseoffyre (G, the one where Crowley and Aziraphale meet every few years. This is your typical “through the ages” fic but it’s Fyre writing it, and that means it has so much humor and heart and history in it it’s practically like reading deleted scenes of the show. The boys are so in-character and their love is subtle and slow-boiling but there. Highly recommended, absolutely.)

14. apples (per the author’s intention) – @lwtis (T, the one where apples is a recurring theme in their friendship. This one is hilarious and it’s heartfelt and I quite enjoyed it; the bits where Aziraphale is absolutely convinced this is a temptation of some kind are particularly juicy (not unlike Crowley’s backside in a certain pair of trousers). Crowley absolutely knows how to beat a joke to death and he does it with style.)

SOUTH DOWNS

15. up in our bedroom, after the war – @rufeepeach (T, the one where Crowley and Aziraphale need to get away to process things. In this one, they more vacation to the South Downs rather than move there, but them working through the awkwardness of Armageddon’s fighting and gently taking their relationship to its natural conclusion is beautiful and good. It isn’t urgent or desperate, just quiet and understated and organic. A lovely piece.)

16. Somewhere Alive and Green – @thetunewillcome (T, the one where they make a necessary move. This one is quiet and reflective, as a good South Downs fic should be, and though it’s short I think it’s wonderfully healing. Very good.)

POST-APOCALYPSE

17. England’s pleasant pastures seen – @squidsticks (T, the one where Aziraphale has an appointment with a book collector and Crowley offers to drive. Y’all it’s so sweet and, dare I say, uplifting, how much they love each other. Someone drops the “husband” word at some point and someone else has a joyful fit over it and I bet you can tell who does what. There’s also a lot of teasing and the kind of easy banter that comes with knowing someone for so long. V. good.)

18. you have built nests from all my bark – @mutalune (T, the one where Crowley is nesting as an aggressive courting maneuver. This fic is so much fun. Highlights include Michael thinking Aziraphale must have a special connection with the Almighty and trying to emulate his lifestyle in order to have one herself, Crowley getting irrationally jealous over it all and constructing the finest nest known to reality (including cupholders, which I now also want in all my pillow piles), Dagon looking for a very similar thing from Crowley that Michael wants from Aziraphale, and lots of delicious humor and unexpected character interactions. I highly recommend this one if you’re having a bad day.)

19. Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance – @divisionten (T, the one where Crowley and Aziraphale find out how to get around Heaven and Hell and it’s through summons. More of an anthology than a solid story, and it’s such a fascinating universe, liberally layered with overcoming trust issues and adjusting to being in a loving relationship, and it’s Good Food y’all, trust me on this.)

20. That’s Not Funny – cyankelpie (G, the one where they’re exceptionally drunk and Crowley says I Love You and Aziraphale thinks he’s joking. This one is sharper than expected but it makes the moment where they finally have everything out in the open so much sweeter. Lots of protective Crowley and very confused Aziraphale.)

21. Stars – @lyricwritesprose (G, the series that’s a spinoff of Tales of the Them that’s about Crowley and the stars, ostensibly. It’s a spinoff bc it deals with Aziraphale’s point of view, too, and their careful navigation of a complicated subject in Crowley’s history. Very soft and bittersweet.)

22. In Action How Like an Angel – PinkPenguinParade (T/NR/M, the series where Aziraphale stumbles into making some useful wards and then Crowley gets taken. Rated high for safety but the violence is truly not that bad and the sex jokes are very mild. Come for cool worldbuilding, stay for BAMF!Aziraphale, and have some extra bits of Anathema and Newt being very good and helpful friends on top!)

23. Let’s share a drink! – @nohaijiachi (G, the one where Aziraphale gets horribly discorporated and gets his body back fairly quickly thanks to quick thinking and Gabriel being easy to gross out. This one is a bit gross, fair warning, but it’s not too graphic, and it’s hilarious besides. Peak Bastard Aziraphale Hours, this one is. If you like reading about Gabriel getting messed with, welcome to the party.)

24. Metastable – MrsCaufield (Not Rated, the one where Aziraphale is having an existential crisis post-Armageddon. Featuring lots of miscommunication, some mild jealousy, and Aziraphale figuring himself out, which is always lovely to read about. Misunderstandings and two supernatural beings being grossly in love, can’t get better than this!)

25. Taking Steps – @joyandotherstories (G, the one where Aziraphale decides he wants to take salsa dancing lessons and Crowley agrees. Oh, y’all. You like pining? You like awkward touching? Do you perhaps like…faked relationships turning into real relationships? You’d best have a seat and dive into this one, because the payoff is many-layered and just phenomenal. The pride in these idiots not only learning to dance but learning to be open about how much they love each other is so good.)

BUS RIDE/NIGHT BEFORE/HEAVEN AND HELL

26. Introspection and Starlight – d20owlbear (T, the one where Aziraphale has a breakdown and is hold. I seem to have a special taste for Aziraphale breaking down, and this one is Hecking Delicious—it’s a slow break but it’s so achingly tender and emotional, especially once sleepy Crowley gets on the scene. Apologies are made and two very tired beings just hold each other at the end of it all and it’s so good.)

27. The Longest Night – @charlottemadison42 (T, the series where Crowley and Aziraphale are taking slow and important steps. Three fics in the series so far, and each one captures their hilarious and effortless dynamic so well while still paying homage to their quiet love. There are so many cool details to explore, ESPECIALLY in the bodyswap fics, and overall they are a really fun and thoughtful look at how the Night the World Didn’t End could’ve gone. OH AND A FOURTH ONE HAS GONE UP WHILE I WAS WORKING ON THIS LIST and you guyssss so much good content about Crowley’s (Presumably) Foot Thing and Shoes, omg. A treasure.)

28. Last Confessions and Hopeless Loves – @girlwholovesherwords (G, the one where they very neatly and annoyingly slot into their new dynamic. This one is so matter-of-fact and tongue-in-cheek I about died laughing, which is amazing given that it’s less than 3k words. A very good little egg.)

29. Choose Your Faces Wisely – @cheeseandonioncrisps (G, the one where Crowley and Aziraphale set the record straight on how they portrayed each other. This is a fun one based on the very good meta bits floating around (which have been bolstered by Neil Gaiman’s commentary in the DVDs I will have you know) that their performances in each other’s skins is how they see each other and how different that is from how they see themselves and guys it’s so good, I wanted this conversation to last forever and ever.)

30. and I just want to love you, to love you, to love you well – BrinneyFriday (T, the one where apologies are made and kisses are had. Guys it’s so soft. Oh my gosh you guys the tenderness is unreal. There’s Crowley falling asleep in Aziraphale’s lap and there’s deciding they’re stronger together and guys pls it’s so good just read it pleASE—)

AU/UA

31. A Curious Case of Miracles on Marlborough Street – @nihilnovisubsole (M, the one where there might be such a thing as too much of a good thing. M for sexual humor and situations but nothing all that graphic. Y’all it’s the “angels accidentally cast miracles when they orgasm” crack given the serious treatment it deserves, and this fic also wins awards for its brilliant OC angel Sabrael, Keeper of Miracles. The icing on the cake? Beautiful artistic accompaniment to go along with the brilliant writing. Just delightful, a whole entire treat. An afternoon delight indeed.)

32. Too Much of a Good Thing – @yamisnuffles (G, T, the series where Crowley and Aziraphale are both angels and things are a bit different. It’s not fair that yamisnuffles is a distinctive and wonderful artist, they have to be a good writer, too, and be terribly talented at telling a good story. Crowley’s character arc and emotional growth as a disgraced angel cursed to live as a snake for a while is fabulous, and it’s only ramping up, so jump on the train now! It’s a good train!)

33. Measures of Freedom – KazLangston (T, the one where Crowley is an acquisition made by one Mr. AZ Fell. This is one of those “turn left” AUs where they’re still an angel and a demon, they just didn’t meet in Eden. Instead, they meet because Crowley gets himself captured and Aziraphale doesn’t think it’s safe to let a real, dangerous demon loose. Their relationship is very combative and antagonistic but it softens; the emotional journey they go on from clear enemies to clear friends is fantastic.)

34. Somewhere Down Below – jane_with_a_j (T, the series where Aziraphale is captured as an incentive for Crowley to jump masters in Hell. There’s lots of hurt!Aziraphale in this one, as tends to happen to an angel captive in Hell, and an excruciating amount of pining that doesn’t so much counterbalance the angst so much as spice it up enormously. There’s intrigue, there’s a daring escape, it’s radical, folks.)

35. How it Happens – @captainqueernerd (T, the one that’s based on a comic and both are DELIGHTFUL. The fic here is an extension of the comic and so sweet, oh my goodness how sweet it is. The best bits aren’t even when they cover the comic’s events—it’s AFTER that is the real treat. I’ll hand out brownie points to anyone who can find the sentence that made me put down my laptop before I accidentally chucked it while laughing too hard.)

36. mors certissima – @northerntrash (T, the Hades and Persephone AU where Aziraphale is Hades and Crowley is Persephone and they’re all doing their best. This is a super fun one, beautifully written and lovely original lore that has Aziraphale really coming into his own as a god of death and what that means for the wider pantheon and the world. And IT’S ABOUT TO GO DOWN where the fic is at the moment, I’m pumped for the conclusion!)

37. It’s All Greek to Me (that is, Ineffable) – @ulspi (UR, the series where Crowley and Aziraphale are cast in different mythological roles in each fic. This one’s gorgeous, you guys, haunting and romantic and each fic has a distinct flavor that is impossibly good. A beautiful way to spend a rainy afternoon, in my opinion.)

38. The Princess and the Serpent – @longforgottenhymn (G, the one where Aziraphale takes Crowley to King Arthur’s court to get a nobleman off his back and oh no, fake dating becomes real dating, oh no. You think you’re ready for this fic? FOOL. This fic is going to carve you up from the inside out and you won’t even be READY for it even if you know it’s coming. This fic is going to promise intimacy and deliver in terrible, terrible tenderness. I am being melodramatic but THIS FIC. THIS FIC IS SO GOOD. This fic is not what I was expecting and it hits HARD because of that.)

39. Wicked dance – pirripipi (T, the one that’s a royal AU with incredible depth and complexity. Listen, what this fic might lack in polish it more than makes up for in flat-out interesting worldbuilding. The characterization is on point and the nonlinear storytelling is very well-handled. And that ending! So triumphant, so utterly joyful. What a joy this fic is! Just wait until you see the Garden of Eden, it’s SPECTACULAR.)

40. The sun doesn’t set on the shoreline – VinWrit (G, the one that’s a selkie and siren AU. This one feels more like it’s being told in microfiction installments and that’s certainly interesting on its own, but it reads like a horror story and it’s chock full of worldbuilding, and the characterization of Crowley especially just breaks my heart right in two. What a great little story.)

41. An Angel’s Hope – @braver-stronger-smarter (M, the one that’s a crossover with the Kiesha’ra book series by Amelia Atwater-Rhodes and it’s delicious AF. Not sure why it’s rated M, but it does deal with a war and the fallout of dealing with constant violence and death. Explains things well enough that you don’t need to have read the Kiesha’ra to understand what’s going on (or, like, if it’s been well over a decade since you last read it…), and the integration of Crowley and Aziraphale into the main plot of these shapeshifter snake and bird cultures is effortless. Can’t wait to see where this one goes (bc even if it just follows the plot of Hawksong, it’s sure to be an exciting ride). (Side note, read the Kiesha’ra, it’s a good series.))

42. By Grace – @seaskystone (G, the one that’s the little soulmate AU that could. Not very long but still highly impactful in my opinion, featuring Crowley and Aziraphale meeting in heaven and knowing right away they’re meant for each other, but canon still happens as it does. Short and bittersweet and pretty.)

43. The Ones Who Walk Away from Nevaeh – @soft-october-night (T, the one that’s the “The Ones Who Walk Away from Omelas” AU none of us ever even knew we needed but heck if we didn’t get it anyway. If you aren’t familiar, “Omelas” is a short story by Ursula K LeGuin that I absolutely believe you must read in order to get the full impact of this and what the author does with the story with regard to our two boys, it’s earth-shattering. Soft-october-night does it again, just goes and makes outstanding AUs that own my entire soul like it ain’t no thing. Completely unfair.)

44. Take the Fall (What’s a Second Time) – @triffidsandcuckoos (T, the one where Crawly does what it says on the tin. This one includes a nice helping of Crowley suffering from chronic pain as a consequence of taking the blame for the apple business, and some sweet care from Aziraphale, who is well aware it’s his fault. An interesting take and a heartwarming story (even if suffering from chronic pain is the pits and there’s no way around that).)

45. forgotten (but not gone) – @writeonclara (T, the one where their memories are taken and Crowley and Aziraphale still manage to stay away from each other for about .04 seconds. This one has some hard edges and it is a harrowing story about accepting others and yourself, and having faith in yourself and your loved one, but the way they can’t keep their hands to themselves when all the stops are pulled out is frankly hilarious and I commend this story whole-heartedly for committing to that.)

46. It’s Not the Years, it’s the Mileage – @moveslikebucky (T, the one that’s an Indiana Jones AU based on @yamisnuffles’ art. You want Aziraphale doing his best in an Indy role while still being an angel? You want Crowley owning a bar and it DOESN’T suck? You want pining and heartache and hilarity? Park it, then, folks, you don’t even need to know the Indiana Jones films to enjoy it (I certainly don’t and I am aware of this failing, thank you).)

47. or the look or the words – @taizi (T, the one where they just keep getting married and it doesn’t stop from happening. Guys they are literally married HUNDREDS OF TIMES throughout history STARTING AT THE ARK. They are literally so soft and so in love and I am beside myself right now, please love yourself and practice some self-care by reading this fic.)

48. Give me a title, I’ll give you my heart – @nohaijiachi (T, the one that’s a human AU based on fanart and it’s great. Single dad Aziraphale with a cautious past, determined son Adam who is gonna get his dad a date if it’s the last thing he does, utterly besotted Crowley who is excellent at being gentle and also a great beta reader…a surprisingly emotional and fun piece, very good.)

49. what if you fall? oh, but my darling, what if i fly? – Doggoos (T, the one where they loved in Heaven and outside interference tore them apart. I LOST THIS FIC AND SPENT FOREVER TRYING TO FIND IT AGAIN. The one detail that kept me going? Crowley (as Raphael) and Aziraphale exchange jewelry before Gabriel sticks his stupid nose in it and the jewelry is visually stunning and emotionally gorgeous. It’s emotional and it’s fraught and there’s erased memories to contend with but holy COW, y’all. They’re so in love.)

50. Snakes and Stones (the Crowley/Aziraphale Human AU) – @deerstalkerdeathfrisbee (G, the series where it’s exactly what it says it is. The opening fic for this series is where literally everyone in Aziraphale’s dorm thinks his boyfriend is made up and Aziraphale has the enormous pleasure of proving them all wrong. It has great Newt characterization and, surprisingly, Gabriel being likeable, though he has to work for it. It’s fun and a little silly and I adore it.)

51. in the arms of the ocean (so sweet and so cold) – robynthemagpie_writes, agent_of_mischief (T, the one where Aziraphale becomes a lighthouse keeper and Crowley is probably a sea monster. This is a horror story and it’s a love story and while reading it kept me awake at night, thinking about it also kept me very much awake at night. I am the world’s biggest chicken and the spoop is real, friends, but more than that, it’s the horrors lurking in Aziraphale’s past (and probably Crowley’s, I have some theories) that are the heartbreaking bit. Not for the faint-hearted, it goes hard and I have a feeling it’s only going to go harder.)

52. i’ve found a way (a way to make you smile) – @fremulon (T, the one that’s an AU of The Office. Requires no knowledge of The Office but I’m sure it helps. This is one I kept putting off and deeply regret doing so (though, on the other hand, waiting so long to read it meant that I caught up the night before the last chapter went up, so HA). Y’all, it’s so funny and so relatable as an adult stuck in a dead-end job I don’t like, and the romance between Aziraphale and Crowley is so simple and so sweet. I just love it and I love this fic and I want you to read it immediately right now.)

53. I Know Places We Won’t Be Found – FangsScalesSkin (T, the one where Crowley and Aziraphale run away together from the Garden of Eden. I have been waiting for someone to write this forever and it’s finally happening. And it’s got such fun worldbuilding, and their interactions are so cute, and I just love them and want them to be okay and to be married forever and ever.)

54. an imitation of the garden of eden – @dyslexiccrowley (T, the one that’s a D&D-inspired AU. Speaking of AUs that come out of hecking nowhere, here’s one! This one is a really fun adventure, and if you thought me turning the Bentley into a horse in several of my fics was fun, this one beats me out by a country mile and I couldn’t be more gleeful about it because THE BENTLEY IS A DRAGON. I could deffo see the dnd elements throughout but the flavor of it is so unique, I thoroughly enjoyed the adventure and the character moments.)

55. Hell is Just a Sauna – @anthonyjcrowiey (T, the one that’s a “Ten Things I Hate About You” AU. I haven’t seen the film (though I have read Taming of the Shrew and I have been on Tumblr long enough to absorb several gifsets), but this fic was still so good and managed to hook me right in regardless of that fact. I can’t wait for it to finish up, we’re on the emotional crux of the plot and it’s tearing me up how it’s been left!)

56. be mine tonight (be mine forever) – @qorktrees (T, the one that’s a literal “fake dating becomes real dating” AU. Human AU, and these idiots I SWEAR. Aziraphale needs a date for the office Christmas party, Crowley is available and bribable, and of course it ends in their ruse becoming the real deal, this is fanfiction for crying out loud. It happens so sweetly, though, you’ve gotta see this.)

57. Changes in Latitudes, Changes in Attitudes – @gigglesnortbangdead (T, the one where Heaven and Hell turn enemies into children instead of smiting. Oh, goodness gracious y’all are not ready for this one. You aren’t ready for the way being turned into a child affects an angel or a demon. You aren’t ready for the myriad ways bb!Crowley is gonna tug at your heartstrings. You aren’t ready for the way Aziraphale is when it finally happens to him. You AREN’T READY. This is precisely why you should go read it right now immediately, to see just how unready you really are. You should take care of that at this exact moment.)

58. Ineffably Yours – SecondHandNews (M, the series where Crowley and Aziraphale choose each other and keep choosing each other. Listen to me: this series is the length of several novels. I have only read the first one, after stumbling on a side-story that was really good and not realizing it was a side-story of a bigger series until I’d finished it. I am planning on reading the rest of the series, which is still updating. I am a little terrified at this titan who has managed to write over 360K words since June in this one series alone. The first one absolutely had me biting my nails and rocking back and forth in an anxious haze, and it’s so tender and so beautiful and SO NERVE-WRACKING. Crowley and Aziraphale learn the Rapture is coming and they just…kinda snap, really. Stop avoiding each other, start choosing each other, and all the twists and turns that comes with it. Just. Really outstanding work, I am an anxious mess but it’s good XD)

JUST SOFT

59. Where to Start – @freyjawriter24 (T, the one where Crowley nearly kisses Aziraphale throughout history like A LOT. Guys you wanna feel the pine crushing into your soul? You want to feel that deep ache of wanting to touch so badly but holding back out of sheer desperate force of will? Read this, prepare to have your knees appropriately weakened from the longing.)

60. A Softer Fall – @themoonmothwrites (T, the one that’s the wall shoving but soft. Bury me in this one, boys, my corpse will rest well for eternity, because holy COW the longing and the fear and the reassurances…my heart is a marshmallow now and it’s this fic’s fault.)

61. for the dancing and the dreaming – @une-danse-macabre (G, the one where Aziraphale proposes. Listen I know this entire section of the post is for Soft Fic but this is Softe Fic and I am not joking even a little bit. Crowley desperately deflecting using humor bc he is so overwhelmed? It’s more likely than you think. Read this, it’s a beautiful little shot of humor and romance.)

62. in candlelight, we dance – SaerM (T, the one where they take a shower together. I have a deep and abiding weakness for bathing fic, and even better, it’s not a sex fic! Just two ineffable partners being tender and washing each other and being together. So sweet and good.)

63. A Pile of Pillows – @waffleironbiddingwar (T, the one where Aziraphale seems to have built a nest during a weekend apart. There’s a few cute nesting fics in this here post but this is one of my very favorites; even has some wing grooming, and lots of teasing and kissing. Very cute!)

64. When the Wind Changes – Star_less (G, the one where Crowley makes faces at babies. Listen. LISTEN. You don’t have to personally like kids to go all gooey over how much Crowley seems to like kids, entirely without meaning to. It’s too cute. Someone call the Cute Police.)

65. with adorations, with fertile tears – waywarder (T, the one where there’s an emotional meltdown while watching a high school production of Twelfth Night. So sweet and unsure and awkward, this one; it’s canon-verse, Aziraphale just drags Crowley to a high school production and then proceeds to very nearly have an angelic aneurysm over trying to hold his hand. If you’ve a soft spot for the Ineffable Husbands quoting Shakespeare at each other, welcome to the party, you’ve arrived.)

66. Sleeping Angel – @whatawriterwields (G, the one where Aziraphale is asleep on Crowley’s chest. It should be noted that this writer wields tenderness like a weapon, stiletto right between the ribs to knock all that breath right out of you, which is a much more gruesome descriptor than I probably should’ve used but YOU GUYS CROWLEY TALKS TO AZIRAPHALE IN HIS SLEEP AND IT’S SO SWEET AND I CAN’T BREATHE.)

67. in so many words – @asideofourown (G, the one where Aziraphale has trouble saying “I love you.” This one made me laugh and “aww” in equal measure, but to get you to click on the link and read as fast as I did, Aziraphale says “thank you” the first time Crowley says “I love you” and I DIED.)

68. A First Christmas, Once Again – lalaland666 (G, the one where Crowley and Aziraphale get to celebrate Christmas together. This one has a fun twist on why Aziraphale dislikes the holidays and a really cute Crowley getting excited for them, and I think it’s well worth reading whether or not you find the December holiday season celebratory or not.)

69. (i love you) as you are – @asideofourown (T, the one where Crowley tries to change to be more like Aziraphale in order to keep him and it’s heartbreaking. Listen, this writer is great and more often than not draws me in bc the dialogue is so good, but this one just crushed my heart into pieces, because Crowley is trying SO HARD and he doesn’t have to but doesn’t realize that he doesn’t have to and AUGH.)

70. the commendation – @forineffablereasons (G, the one where Aziraphale’s ring is itself a commendation from Heaven. This one is short and sweet but it GUTS me every time, just over Aziraphale and how much Heaven screwed him over and failed him by making him feel like the failure. Something this short should not hurt me so much AND YET. Crowley makes it better. Obviously.)

71. the other way round – @forineffablereasons (G, the one where Aziraphale lays in Crowley’s lap instead. Listen we all love it when Crowley puts his head in Aziraphale’s lap but this writer has the right of it, we don’t see it nearly enough the other way round and HHHHGK. The tenderness. The softness. It BURNS.)

72. Every Song in Every Key – @impishtubist (T, the one with the seriously misleading summary. I mean this in the best possible way. Crowley being the one to enjoy the holidays is fun enough, but the true meat of this fic came out of nowhere and it hit me square in the squishy bits. One of the tags is “kid fic” for a little bit of a hint but I shan’t spoil it for you, just go read about Crowley being soft.)

73. shed a sweet light – @areyougonnabe (T, the one that’s not anti-holiday so much as a non-holiday holiday fic. That was probably confusing for you BUT IN ESSENCE: Aziraphale has been around too long to get too attached to any particular holiday (plus time passes so differently when you’re immortal), and attracts the ire of holiday influencers. It gets surprisingly dire, and then delightfully Jewish. Has the exact heart that every holiday story hopes for: quiet, enduring love amidst the chaos. A beautiful little thing.)

BEFORE

74. Unexpected Variables – @seaskystone (T, the one where God keeps having to reset the universe. Hands-down the most hilarious fic on the list just by virtue of God’s impending migraine in dealing with Crowley and Aziraphale, who are so incompetent and I love them so much.)

75. Astralphysiastrics – @wortlby2 (T, the one where Crowley and Aziraphale finally talk about Before. This one’s “Before” elements take place in flashbacks but given that they’re a pretty significant portion of the fic, I put it in this category anyway. Guys this one HURTS, but there’s healing in it, too, which is a beautiful balance. Ends nice and fluffy, which is a good landing after the flashbacks are done tossing you about.)

TOUCH-STARVED/BODY WORSHIP/WINGS

76. To Preen a Songbird – @tiger-in-the-flightdeck (T, the one that’s just some good old-fashioned preening, y’all. Prepare for these idiots being silly and bantering and teasing, because the back-and-forth is so good. SO good. So very, very good.)

77. Life Hurts (But Not With You) – Spider_Lilly (T, the series that’s about Aziraphale letting Crowley preen him. This one takes a pretty serious turn and talks about what happens to angels with slightly more realistic-type wings who don’t have help preening. Fair warning, there’s a bit of grossness with impacted preen glands (which are oil glands) and if you are squeamish I would tread carefully, bc it can get a bit disturbing when Crowley has to help deal with them, but if you like realistic wing care, this is the series for you. Also love. Also pining. Also they’re kind of the same story from different perspectives and the one from Aziraphale’s perspective is SO MUCH WORSE EMOTIONALLY. A good bit of catharsis fic, for sure.)

78. Descent Suspension – @onheil-ferguson (M, the one where Crowley could use some tying up. M for shibari but it’s nonsexual. Book!verse. I apparently have a thing for nonsexual BDSM and bondage, because this fic absolutely took my breath away. It’s very calm and understated and dignified, just feels quiet. A beautiful piece, for sure.)

79. The End (of the Beginning) or A Not-So-Nice or Accurate Guide to Sex on a Stick, By Anthony J. Crowley, Demon. – @fantasticallyobscure (T, the one where Crowley has been trying sex with all the wrong people. Not explicit at all, just has a lot of discussions about sex, which can be off-putting but now you know going in (if the title didn’t give it away). Basically Crowley keeps trying sex with people who have his same physical build and loses his appetite for it, until he and Aziraphale finally get their heads on straight and Aziraphale wants to try it. Some hilarious metaphors and a lot of adorable Aziraphale being jealous, which is a trip. A wonderful little romp, for sure!)

80. You Are Unbreaking (Though Quaking) – @lesbianscrowleys (T, the one where Aziraphale works through his knee-jerk reactions to being touched. A very good little snapshot of healing and working through things while communicating with your partner, and there’s a fun side-story about accepting who you are that underscores the main theme rather well. Crowley is so good and patient and Aziraphale is trying so hard.)

81. A Treatise Concerning Religious Affectations – forthegreatergood (T, the one where there are discussions of religious ecstasy versus regular ecstasy. This one involves more or less orgasming via manipulation of miraculous brain chemistry, and it’s a little bit funky, but you get in the vibe of the fic pretty quickly, I think, the writer is good about setting the tone. And it’s adversarial as all heck, this is a legitimate disagreement Crowley and Aziraphale are having and you feel every weighty second of it. It’s sensual, I think, but not necessarily erotic, and that’s a hard needle to thread and they do it very well.)

82. 451°F – @purple-suits (G, the one after the church bombing where Aziraphale wants so badly it hurts. Guys, oh you guys, the pure need in this one isn’t even really sexual but it HURTS, it is so physical and raw and achey. It absolutely put about five more aches under my skin just from secondhand need. Oh, y’all. Oh beans.)

BONUS

83. Chaos Theory – @themoonmothwrites (T, the series that’s about Adam hitting on Warlock in a bar and then reintroducing him to his old nanny and gardener. This one is 1. prime Adam/Warlock material, and 2. PRIME Warlock/facing his feelings and confronting his past and figuring out his future material. I have the weakest spot possible for Warlock Dowling and this one hits that spot like a LOT.)

84. Through the branches there’s a son that’s always shone – @jessicafish (G, the one with a contented Warlock. This one is a Halloween fic that has the softest Warlock and Crowley interaction of all time, it’s so short but it hits so hard and I must thank it for my life, really.)

85. Love, And Its Interference With The Nature of Reality – @souljellied (M, the one where Adam has a big ole crush and reality is warping for Warlock. M for some saucy makeouts at the start but it’s pretty tame. Guys if the fact that at one point the headlines in a news stand all read “TOP TEN REASONS TO DATE ADAM YOUNG” before Warlock blinks and they all change back to normal isn’t a good enough reason to read this fic then I don’t know what to tell you, it’s so delightfully tongue-in-cheek about Adam’s effect on reality and so funny and so sweet, even if it does end on a note that makes me howl for wanting a continuation.)

86. Slumber Party Summons and Aftereffects – @joyandotherstories (G, the series where Crowley gets summoned by a party of teenage girls and has a very heartfelt, productive evening with them. I dragged my feet on this story for incomprehensible reasons so DON’T YOU MAKE MY MISTAKES. The teenage girls who summon Crowley are so sweet and loveable, each and every one of them, and guys they ship Crowley and Aziraphale so hard when they finally pry Crowley’s life story out of him, with help from some memory projection witchery. It’s so good, y’all, so cute and so fresh. Just the best.)

87. Christmas Delivery – Daegaer (G, the one where Gabriel sends obnoxious Christmas cards and they are the highlight of Heaven’s holiday (to make merciless fun of). It should be noted that these Christmas cards all feature artistic renderings of Gabriel himself. I about died laughing and it’s canon now in my heart. I should not be endeared to the Archangels but here we are.)

88. and i don’t care if you don’t want me (i’m yours anyhow) – shaekspeares (T, the one where Warlock is figuring himself out at uni. This one is complex and deadpan and has such a good representation of Warlock and what he could grow to be, plus that excellent Warlock/Adam content I am always here for and Warlock having a complete meltdown over the idea that his former nanny and gardener were sent by his parents to spy on him, but not that they’re an angel and a demon. This kid has his priorities in order. Well, no, he doesn’t, but it’s fun to watch him get there. And he and Adam have the best dynamic ever, it’s full of friction and no small amount of adversarial energy turning sweet over time. This fic is physically healing to read and we aren’t even done yet. A fantastic addition to the fandom, if just for what Warlock does to the British equivalent of the Young Republican student body.)

89. Demonology and the Tri-Phasic Model of Trauma: An Integrative Approach – Nnm (T, the one where Crowley gets a therapist. I know most of you should know this, or at least have heard of it, but pipe down bc I finally got around to reading it and it’s AMAZING. If you’re a human who’s gone to a good therapist or who needs to, this story’s protagonist is phenomenal. And she’s not static in her own journey, either, she grows and heals along with Crowley, and it’s not linear or clean or simple. Like real life, it has dips and turns and bad patches, but the healing is palpable. A masterwork, truly, just real dadgum good, y’all.)

H/C /WHUMP/BAMF

90. I Don’t Want the World to See Me – @coulson-is-an-avenger (T, the one where they navigate an unexpected boundary concerning Crowley’s glasses. People who flinch every time they read about Aziraphale taking off Crowley’s glasses without permission rejoice: we have a fix-it fic for you. It’s tender in every sense of the word, and shows great boundary communication (y’know after the immediate scare is over), and all around is incredibly worth the read.)

91. Still Waking Up – @sleepymccoy (T, the one that’s trauma recovery with lots of bed-sharing and pining. Friendos if you want to feel every inch of that slow burn, you’ve arrived. This fic is careful and it’s emotionally ragged-edged and it’s just so dang pretty as Crowley and Aziraphale work through their separate issues and come to terms with what it means to them to be together with each other.)

92. Borrowed Scars – dreamsofspike (M, the one where Aziraphale finds out what Crowley goes through when he’s in Hell. M for implied/referenced rape and onscreen torture (and like some heavy petting that gets interrupted by feels). This one’s heavy, y’all, heavier than my usual fare, bc Aziraphale is in Hell wearing Crowley’s body when he finds this out so it’s pretty firsthand. Most of the bad bits are told in flashbacks but there’s also the healing part where Crowley finds out and he and Aziraphale have to have a heart-to-heart about what happened and how it’s never going to happen again. Drags you through the mud but then sets you back on your feet, a very good little number, I thought.)

93. Surviving Hell – @whatawriterwields (T, the series where Crowley’s coping mechanism is to shut down and then that coping mechanism becomes maladaptive in the new world. If you’re like me, you’re used to this writer writing the fluffiest creations known to man, so this foray into deeper territory socks like a cannonball right in the gut. Crowley’s healing process is long and it’s slow, with so much aching tender care from Aziraphale it is physically painful in a way. Can’t wait for it to update, I am INVESTED.)

94. Easier than Air – @a-candle-for-sherlock (G, the one where Aziraphale finally deals with stuff. This is a collection of panic attacks, as a warning; Aziraphale’s entire six-thousand-year life is catching up to him, living under Heaven’s eye and knowing he doesn’t measure up, still trying to be with Crowley even though knowing the danger…it’s a lot on a person, and it all kinda comes crashing down after Armageddon’t. Crowley takes care of him, talks and holds him through it all, and it’s so sweet, so freeing to vicariously fall apart through Aziraphale and be held through it by Crowley. Just. Augh.)

95. So Still I Wait – HotCrossPigeon (T, the one where Heaven locks Aziraphale in a void, basically, for three months, and then dump him back on earth for Crowley to pick up the pieces. Guys this one is part of a “hurt Aziraphale” series and it delivers. Aziraphale is his usual soft, silly self all throughout and that makes it hurt worse when he’s suffering, and downright agonizing when he’s trying to recover. Heaven is horrible to him throughout, and Crowley is so gentle and scared, and honestly I don’t know how I didn’t just keel over while reading it. This takes touch-starved to an extreme that booted it from the Touch-Starved category and into this one, because WOW. WOW.)

96. Flaming Like Anything – @thepoetoftime (NR, the one where any weapon Aziraphale holds flames. This one isn’t silly, exactly, but it is hilarious watching Aziraphale flame things like a stick and an umbrella and then absolutely CREAM his foes with them. Never stood a chance, poor souls. A wonderful read, with a surprising twist near the end I highly recommend savoring, it’s too good a mental image.)

97. Love Seeketh Not Itself to Please – @dietraumerei (T, the one where Aziraphale is hurt by a summoning and Crowley takes him to Heaven for healing. This one hurts on so many levels I don’t know where to begin. There’s the physical hurt—obviously—but then there’s the tension of our favorite reprobates being back in Heaven, and a moment where the rug is pulled that is disorienting and just…hateful, absolutely hateful, but in the weirdest, most relieving way. I cannot explain this to you, you must read it. And then sweet, sweet aftercare, because of course. I wouldn’t recommend it to you if there wasn’t any comfort in it, and this writer in particular has historically done excellently with the comfort aspect; this is certainly no different. It absolutely tickled my fancy.)

98. Cry for Absolution – forthegreatergood (T, the one where a miscommunication causes six thousand years of touch avoidance. Guys. GUYS. Crowley thinks his touch hurts Aziraphale and you know what it actually does? It actually hurts ME, personally, watching Crowley misread Aziraphale’s little gasps and flinches as pain rather than shock. Then they fight about it, and things resolve, but HHHNG. THAT PINING. THAT TOUCH-STARVED LONGING.)

99. White Walls and Dead Air – BabyHoldMyFlower (G, the one where Crowley has to physically take Aziraphale away from the plague. This one lands in this category rather than in the Body Worship/Touch-Starved/Wings category is the sheer (DESERVED) emotional vitriol Aziraphale has bottled up in him, the anger at God and Heaven, and how ragged he is from trying to stay ahead of the plague but just not being able to. Crowley helps, because of course he does, but this fic is the emotional equivalent of being put through a wringer. It’s exhausting and it’s beautiful.)

#good omens #good omens fic recs #mega gomens fic rec list #i guess i'm just gonna keep making these until i die #or until my gomens interest wanes #whichever comes first #phew what a big baby this post is

[anotherwellkeptsecret]

Unfinished Business

(An unfinished ficlet about 6,000 year old idiots learning how to kiss.)

Crowley drained his glass. “Have you?” he asked, punctuating his query with a blithe, “Ever?”

“Ever what?” 

Aziraphale knew exactly what. And Crowley knew he knew exactly what, going by the way his eyebrows were slowly inching up his forehead like twin, fuzzy caterpillars whose souls had shuffled off this mortal coil and were beginning their ascent into the afterlife. 

Aziraphale snapped his book shut as fussily as possible, which was pretty damn fussy. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said. 

“You do,” Crowley rebutted. 

Shit. 

Aziraphale spun on his heel. He busied himself with tucking Moby Dick back where it belonged on his desk with the other Melvilles. He could feel Crowley’s gaze bore into his thoracic vertebrae while he stalled, trying and failing to soothe the heart pounding in his chest for no good reason. He flattened his palms against his lapel; a little pat-pat to make sure they were lying neatly. 

“No,” Aziraphale finally admitted. Followed by a defensive, “Have you?”

“Nope.”

Oh. 

Well, that was a surprise. 

Azirapahle glanced at Crowley over his shoulder, assessing. Both of Crowley’s arms were akimbo on the back of the sofa, legs sprawled artfully and--dare Aziraphale think it--invitingly. His ankles crossed and the gleam of his snakeskin boots lambent in the dim light of Azirapahle’s shop.

“I thought that sort of thing was…” Aziraphale twiddled his fingers in an approximation of something or nothing at all. “...a part of your lot’s milieu.” 

“I don’t have a lot. Neither do you.”

“You know what I mean.”

Crowley smirked. “I rather thought kissssing was more of a heavenly affair.” He tilted his head to one side. “Love...” he drawled with a curl of his lip, like the very word was in itself divine, and perhaps it was. “...’n all.”

“Ah.” He had a point. But...

“You don’t have to kiss someone to have sex with them, angel.”

Aziraphale could feel himself turning red. The avatar of his body was betraying him altogether. “I-I know that!” (He hadn’t.) “Sex isn’t always governed by lust, you know.”

“Mmm, was never really my thing.”

Aziraphale blinked.

“Lust,” Crowley specified. 

Aziraphale blinked again.

“Icky.” Crowley smacked his lips, frowning. “Humans. They leave gobs of themselves everywhere. All those fluids and hair and skin!”

“You’re a snake,” Aziraphale reminded him, exasperated. 

“Well, yeah. But that’s…” Crowley shrugged. “...snakey, innit?” 

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. 

Crowley sprang to his feet. He jabbed a finger at Aziraphale, a devilish lilt to his voice when he crooned, “You’re curious.” 

“I am not!” Aziraphale lied. Badly. He scampered away, collecting a stack of books from one organized mess and sorted them into another organized mess on the other side of the room.

Crowley trailed along behind him with his hands stuffed in his pockets. Or as stuffed as they could be in his tight, leather trousers. He followed Aziraphale from one shelf to the next, twisting and turning around a pillar here, a marble bust there, more and more amused by Aziraphale’s bluster and fluster. “You are!” he sing-songed. “I saw you making goo-goo eyes at the lovebirds in the park.” 

Aziraphale blanched. He tripped over a step ladder he never really used anyway. Stupid. Why did he even own such a thing? It wasn’t like he needed it. “I was making eyes, as you so eloquently put it, at the love they were emanating, not--” He tripped again. This time into an entire bookcase, which was something he needed. So focused was he on preventing the impending avalanche, Crowley effectively trapped him against the shelves by the cunning use of what Aziraphale knew to be called leaning. 

“Oh, dear,” he murmured.

Crowley watched him avert his eyes to the ceiling, the floor, and back again. He waited until Aziraphale deigned to look at him. Approximately one minute and ten seconds, which wasn’t that long in the great scheme of things, but a rather ridiculous amount of time not to look at the person standing in front of you. “Do you trust me?” Crowley asked when their eyes finally met.

Aziraphale was offended. Did he trust Crowley? Of course he trusted him! A thousand times--six thousand times--yes! Aziraphale meant to say as much, but ended up squawking instead. And that was rather embarrassing. So he nodded. But he wasn’t happy about it.

“Say it.” A flash of teeth. Equal parts commanding and pleading, which must have inadvertently spirited all the oxygen out of the room because it was suddenly difficult to breathe. And necessary, besides.

Aziraphale swallowed thickly. “Yes.”

Crowley edged closer. Invading his personal space. Not that he’d never done that before. Personal space was all very relative to beings who can will themselves as small as a microbe at any given moment. But still. Right then and there, the air between them hot and humid, it was quite invasive.  

One beat. 

Two.

Neither of them moved.

“Alright?” Aziraphale asked, tentative.

“Yeah--no--” Crowley stammered. He cleared his throat. “I’m fine. Fine. Are you…um...?”

“Fine?”

“Fine, yes.”

“Yes.”

This was absurd.

“You started it,” Aziraphale mumbled.

“I--no--nyrk--look! You wanna do this or not?”

Aziraphale pursed his lips. “I suppose. If it’s you.” 

“Right. Okay, then.” Crowley bullied himself flush against Aziraphale’s chest.

They were nose to nose. Still familiar territory. They regarded each other, a little cross-eyed, and Crowley pivoted ever so slightly to his left so their noses not only touched at their tips, but slotted side by side. Which was very much new. And nice. Soft and warm and they could feel each other’s pulses hammering away uselessly, but somehow unavoidably.

Aziraphale shut his eyes. He wanted to see, but Crowley’s features had gone all blurry. He wasn’t sure he could will his vision to adjust because are those Crowley’s hands on his waist? He licked his lips, nervous, and made the most outrageous yelp when the tip of his tongue met flesh and sweet Jesus and his barefoot apostles. 

Aziraphale had sampled the most exorbitant wine, the most delectable foods the Earth has to offer. No fruit, fermented or otherwise, compared to the brief taste of Crowley’s lip. Whichever one it had been. Sweet and firm and delicious. 

“Sorry,” Azirapahle gasped. It had been an accident even though he liked it.

“No, it’s…” Crowley’s hands kneaded fretfully against his waistcoat. “...do it again.” 

“Okay.” Aziraphale stuck out his tongue. A bit shy. A bit overwhelmed. A bit what-the-Hell. And so he probed, just there, and licked with unrestrained indulgence.

Crowley’s spine went ramrod straight. “Aziraphale,” he spoke the angel’s name like a benediction. And then, “Aziraphale!” Scandalized. Delighted.

Aziraphale squinted open one of his eyes. Then the other. “Did I do it right?”

Crowley had the most annoying and sinfully crooked smile on his face. “You made an Effort!”

“Oh.” Aziraphale sighed irritably. “I had to!”

Crowley was looking at him the exact same way he did when Aziraphale told him he’d given his flaming sword away six thousand years ago. 

“The fit of my trousers just wouldn’t do without the Effort, dear.”

Crowley blatantly stared at Aziraphale’s crotch. “Is it functional?”

“Not sure, really.” 

Crowley gawked at him. 

“It’s simply for aesthetics, mind you. Would you rather I didn’t…?”

“What? I--no--of course! It’s--it’s fine, yes.” 

“Do you have…?”

“Sometimes.”

“Is yours functional?”

“Sometimes.”

Aziraphale was pretty sure he was Falling because his veins felt like they were on fire.

“Would you rather I didn’t?”

“It’s fine.”

“Good. Shall we?” Crowley swooped in close without waiting for a response. Their noses knocked and their mouths pressed firmly together over their teeth, but Aziraphale’s tongue was back where it belonged and Crowley positively melted into the sensation. Sighing, sinking firmly into the spit-plush of Aziraphale’s mouth (before remembering himself), and standing back up to his full height. And, oh. That was rather delicious, that friction, their clothes rucking up and up and yes. Crowley managed to restrain himself, allowing space between their lips once again, and he reveled in the sensation of Aziraphale tonguing right where he used to have a soul patch in the 1590s. Nothing until this moment had made him want to revisit that particular facial hair trend.

“Hath ith?” Azirapahle asked.

“What?”

Regrettably, Aziraphale’s tongue retreated back into his mouth. “How’s this?”

“Great,” Crowley all but sobbed. “Keep going.”

Aziraphale didn’t have to be told twice. Not when it mattered. And his natural curiosity got the better of him. After probing the same spot with his tongue five or six or twenty times (He lost count.), he pursed his lips for just a little sip. He privately thought that Crowley never truly learned how to use his human legs, his hips the fulcrum of his languid and snaking gait. But, standing? Crowley had that down to a science. Contrapposto, mostly, a holdover from the Renaissance, his body striking an S-curve that would put The David to shame. It was an art form, really, so it came as a shock when Crowley’s knees betrayed him altogether.

Aziraphale caught him around the middle. “Are you alright?”

The question was barely posed before Crowley regained his footing and pinned him up against the bookcase hard enough to send a few volumes toppling to the floor, saved in the nick of time by a quick snap of Crowley’s fingers.

“Do that again,” he demanded, almost frantic. 

If Azirapahle thought there had been no space between them before, he was sadly mistaken. Crowley nuzzled their mouths together, curtailing a desperate whine with an explosive sigh the moment Aziraphale sandwiched Crowley’s philtrum between his lips and suckled just so. 

“Oooh.” Crowley almost sounded in pain. “Fuck me.” 

Aziraphale pulled off Crowley’s lip with a wet pop that seriously did things to Crowley in places he didn’t even know he had. “W--really?”

“No! I mean, yes! But no. Later. Kissing now.” Crowley bit down on Aziraphale’s bottom lip and tugged. Not quite sipping, but just as good. If not better. And there was Crowley’s forked tongue drawing him in and further in. His teeth sharp in the best possible way, followed by a massive slurp that had Aziraphale’s eyes rolling back in his head before Crowley released him. 

Aziraphale boggled, wide-eyed and panting. He was surely going to discorporate. “Oh, my God!” 

“Don’t bring Her into this.”

Both of them glanced overhead.

No, best not to call upon the Almighty in flagrante. 

“So that’s what all the fuss is about.”

“I’d say so, yeah.” 

Aziraphale was on him in a flash, drinking greedily at his lips, one after the other, and Crowley absolutely refused to wait his turn nicely. Because he wasn’t. Nice, that is. Not even a little bit. That was the good thing about being a snake, he thought, unhinging his jaw just enough to devour Azirapahle’s mouth and they both moaned in unison at the feel of hot, wet heat and breath and slick and fuckfuckfuck!

A sudden gust of wind, a loud FWHUMP. The sound of a lamp smashing to the floor, maybe.

Crowley’s wings were fanned out behind him. He was gasping for breath like it was something he needed to live, fingers wound tight in Aziraphale’s coat. “Fuck,” he said. 

“We need to slow down.”

Crowley snarled, “Any slower and I swear I’m going to literally explode.” 

#ficlet #good omens #aziraphale #crowley #i wrote this a while ago #i probably won't finish it #but anyone's allowed to complete it #go for it! #my writing

[aziraphales-library]

hello, i was wondering if you perhaps knew of any fics that involve crowley and anathema being friends? ive just always felt like they would get on well, they're both similarly odd and prone to ranting about the sizes of animals brains

thank you so much for all the work you all do btw!!

Hi! Here are some fics which feature a friendship between Crowley and Anathema...

You've Got a Funny Way of Making Friends by ellbie (T)

Anathema swirled her drink in her glass. “Then what?” “Er, then… I don’t know. I didn’t see him again until the Great Flood.” “Well, when did you start, y’know…” Anathema waggled her eyebrows. Crowley flustered. “Mind your own business, witch.” “Hey, you’re the one that agreed to talk to me about all this stuff. You can’t be mad that I’m asking questions.”

Friendship is Demonic Magic by Shadow0kana & whtbout2ndbrkfst (T)

After Crowley interrupts Aziraphale and Anathema’s phone conversations one too many times, Aziraphale suggests the two have their own meetups to discuss what they have in common. Cue monthly coffee dates between a witch and a demon who can passionately discuss (debate) anything from Halloween to Astronomy to Hamlet… while also conspiring to form a book swap aimed at getting Aziraphale to read anything written after 1950.

The Nice and Accurate wedding of Anathema Device, Witch, which went just as expected by Nenchen (G)

Wedding planner Anathema Device is the Number One. She can organize anything for a wedding, flower arrangements, catering, a marching band or an emu. The name Device is a guarantee for a picture perfect wedding - and the perfect pictures will be taken by her top wedding photographer, and best friend, Anthony J. Crowley.

Both of them see weddings mostly as business, until Anathema meets Newt, Love of her life, walking natural disaster extraordinaire, and very much not a person it’s possible to have a perfect wedding with.

Which is perfect since Anathema frankly never wanted one for herself. She just wants a fun party, good food, and all of her friends to attend - including Crowley. For whom this might just as well be the apocalypse because no, he is not allowed to work on her wedding. Strictly invited only as a guest, Crowley finds himself at a loss. What the hell do you do at weddings? Well, if you are Crowley, the answer is some James Bond-like action, some worrying about fly swarms and their sources, having a lot of emotions, drinking some very funny wine, putting your foot in your mouth and just maybe meeting someone to share all of that with. Oh, and there’s always cake, isn’t there?

Healing by AppleSeeds (M)

After Crowley sustains an injury, his friend Anathema persuades him to come with her to the spiritual centre she regularly attends so that he can receive some spiritual healing. Crowley doesn't expect the healer to be quite so attractive, and certainly not that he'll end up developing a crush on him. As their sessions together progress though, Crowley starts to wonder whether Aziraphale might actually have feelings for him too.

Thrown for a Loop by MickyRC (T)

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a man in possession of a large amount of yarn will be assumed to be a knitter.

It is a truth universally acknowledged among crocheters that this is annoying as hell.

In his many years crocheting, Aziraphale has never been one to let that assumption stand. But faced with an opportunity to join a knitting group run by a very sweet new shop owner, he decides to play along. Even if it means he has to pretend he wants to learn how to knit. Even if it means he has to hide his skill with a crochet hook.

It’ll be worth it to get to know Crowley better. Probably. Hopefully.

(It will.)

secondhand smoke by PaintedVanilla (T)

you're second hand smoke, second hand smoke i breathe you in, but, honey, i don't know what you're doing to me mon chéri

the year is 1990, and anthony crowley is looking for a church in london that might be tolerable. the one he winds up attending isn't exactly such, but he decides to stick around for one reason. said reason happens to own a bookshop that crowley begins to frequent, much to the surprise and delight of anathema device and newton pulsifer, who seem quite convinced that crowley could use something else to focus on besides gardening, their campaigns, and visits to tadfield.

- Mod D

#good omens #ineffable husbands #anathema #crowley & anathema #human au #friendship #mod d

[grigori77]

2019 In TV - My Top 10 Shows

This past year may have sucked balls in a lot of ways, but we certainly never got short-changed when it came to our TV.  There was an absolute WEALTH of truly cracking TV around, both on regular networks and on the various on-demand platforms, and so here is my pick of the best, my absolute favourites of 2019.

10.  WATCHMEN

Lost co-creator Damon Lindelof brings us a blinding sequel to comic book legend Alan Moore’s legendary graphic novel with a delightfully trippy, ruthlessly efficient rug-puller that seems pretty tailor-made for HBO.  Old faces return in interesting ways, while there are some cracking new “masks” on offer, particularly Regina King’s Sister Night and the always-brilliant Tim Blake Nelson as morally complex antihero Looking Glass (in some ways very much the show’s own answer to Rorschach).  It never goes where you expect it to go, and refuses to give easy answers to the questions it raises, effortlessly paving the way for more next year ...

9.  THE BOYS

Amazon offers up its own edgy, thoroughly adult superhero property with this darkly funny antiheroic gem based on the cult Garth Ennis comic, expertly adapted by Supernatural creator Eric Kripke.  Karl Urban dominates as Billy Butcher, the foul-mouthed, morally bankrupt “leader” of a makeshift crew of mercenaries, hitmen and psycho killers devoted to “taking care of” superheroes when they inevitably go bad.  Season 1 ultimately serves as an origin story, showing how the team come together, laying quality groundwork for the incoming sophomore tour that promises to open the already fascinating world out significantly.

8.  PREACHER (SEASON 4)

More Garth Ennis, namely this blinder of a closing season for AMC’s consistently impressive adaptation of his best known series for Vertigo comics.  Surprisingly epic, deliciously subversive and constantly, darkly hilarious, this thoroughly non-PC series from showrunners Sam Catlin, Evan Goldberg and Seth Rogen (yes! I Know!) certainly went out on a high note, providing its loyal followers with perfectly-pitched bow-outs and sometimes heartbreaking goodbyes for all its players, especially its dynamite leads, Dominic Cooper, Ruth Negga and, in particular, Joe Gilgun as unapologetic bad boy vampire Cassidy.  A worthy end to one of my all-time favourite TV shows.

7.  THE WITCHER

While it’s clearly taken its look from the wildly successful video games, Netflix’s second most ambitious long-form offering of the year takes its lead from the fantasy book series by Polish author Andrzej Sapkowski that started it all.  With its somewhat episodic set-up and decidedly twisted narrative timelines, it take a few chapters to get the hang of it, but there’s plenty to draw you in, from the exotic world-building to the frenetic action and compelling collection of richly crafted characters.  Henry Cavill is the titular hero, lovably grouchy mutant monster-hunter Geralt of Rivia, but the real scene-stealer is co-star Anya Chalotra as roguishly self-serving mage Yennefer of Vengenberg.

6.  CARNIVAL ROW

One of the year’s two big sleeper hit TV surprises for me was this inventively offbeat allegorical Amazon fantasy series from The 4400 creator René Echevarria and screenwriter Travis Beacham. Orlando Bloom and Cara Delevigne are the star-crossed lovers at the heart of this intriguingly dark and dirty murder mystery thriller set in Victorian London-esque city-state the Burgue, in which humans struggle to co-exist alongside a struggling disenfranchised underclass of fae (fairies, fawns, centaurs and the like).  The racial turmoil undertones are writ large throughout, but this is far more well-written and lavishly appointed than you might expect on first glance, and almost ridiculously addictive viewing.

5.  LOVE, DEATH + ROBOTS

My other big TV surprise was this wonderfully bizarre sci-fi anthology series of animated shorts from Netflix, mostly adapted from an eclectic selection of short stories from a wide range of top-notch literary talent including Peter F. Hamilton, John Scalzi, Marko Kloos and Alastair Reynolds (a particular favourite of mine).  As you’d expect from the brainchild of Deadpool director Tim Miller and producer David Fincher, this is edgy, leftfield stuff, frequently ultra-violent and decidedly adult, and the wildly varied nature of the material on offer makes for a decidedly uneven tone, but there are some absolute gems on offer here, my favourite being Suits, an enjoyably simple tale of salt-of-the-earth farmers on an alien world utilising clunky mech suits to protect their settlement from rampaging giant xeno-bugs.

4.  THE DARK CRYSTAL: AGE OF RESISTANCE

The show with the biggest cinematic wow factor in 2019 had to be this long-awaited prequel series to Jim Henson’s classic fantasy movie masterpiece, created for Netflix by, of all people, Louis Leterrier (yes, the director of The Transporter, Now You See Me and Clash of the Titans, if you can believe it). The technology may have evolved in leaps and bounds, but there’s a wonderfully old school vibe in the delightfully physical puppet effects used to bring the fantastical world of Thra and its denizens to life, so that it truly does feel like it’s based in the same world as the film.  This was EASILY the most visually arresting show of 2019, packed with exquisite character, creature and set design that perfectly complements the awesome work done by Henson and Brian Froud on the original, while the writers have created a darkly rich narrative tapestry that makes Thra seem a more dangerous place than ever.

3.  THE UMBRELLA ACADEMY

I was a HUGE fan of My Chemical Romance frontman Gerard Way’s magnificently oddball alternative superhero comic, so when I learned that Netflix were adapting it I was a little wary because I knew how spectacularly hard it would be for ANY showrunners to get right.  Thankfully Steve Blackman (Fargo season 2) and Jeremy Slater (The Exorcist TV series) were the right choice, because this perfectly captured the outsider nature of the characters and their endearingly dysfunctional family dynamic. Ellen Page, Tom Hopper (Black Sails, Merlin), David Castañeda and Emmy Raver-Lampman are all excellent as the more “functional” Hargreeves siblings, but the show is roundly stolen by Misfits star Robert Sheehan and Nicky, Ricky, Dicky & Dawn’s Aidan Gallagher as nihilistic clairvoyant Klaus and the old-man-in-a-child’s-body sociopath known only as Number Five. Consistently surprising and brilliantly bonkers, this was definitely the year’s most wonderfully WEIRD show.

2.  STRANGER THINGS (SEASON 3)

Writer-director duo the Duffer Brothers’ ultra-nostalgic 80s-set coming-of-age sci-fi horror series remains the undisputed jewel in Netflix’s long-form crown with this consistently top-drawer third season expertly maintaining the blockbuster-level standards we’ve come to expect.  This year the cross-dimensional shenanigans have largely been jettisoned, replaced by a gleefully nasty through-line of icky body horror that would make major influences like David Cronenberg and Stuart Gordon proud, as perennial teenage bad boy Billy Hargrove (the fantastically menacing Dacre Montgomery) becomes the leader of an army of psychic slaves under the control of the Upside Down’s monstrous Mind Flayer.  The kids are all brilliant as always, Winona Ryder and David Harbour really get to build on their strong-yet-spiky chemistry, and the show is almost effortlessly stolen by Joe Keery as one-time golden boy Steve Harrington and series-newcomer Maya Hawke as his nerdy new foil Robin Buckley, who were very nearly the cutest couple on TV in 2019.  Another gold standard season for a true gold standard show.

1.  GOOD OMENS

Sadly, legendary author Terry Pratchett died before he could see the adaptation of one of his most beloved novels (and one of my all-time literary favourites too) see the light of day, but at least his co-author Neil Gaiman was around to bring it to fruition with the aid of seasoned TV director David Mckinnon (Jekyll, Doctor Who, Sherlock), and the end result sure did him proud, perfectly capturing the deeply satirical voice and winningly anarchic, gleefully offbeat and gently subversive humour of the original novel.  David Tennant and Michael Sheen could both have been born to play Crowley and Aziraphale, the angel and demon nominally charged with watching over the young Antichrist in preparation for his role in the End Times, even though they would both much rather the world just went on quite happily the way it is, thanks very much. This is about as perfect an adaptation as you can get, the six hour-long episodes giving the surprisingly complex story time to breathe and grow organically, and the result is the most fun I spent in front of my TV this year.

#best TV 2019 #watchmen #the boys #preacher #the witcher #carnival row #love death + robots #love death & robots #the dark crystal age of resistance #The Umbrella Academy #stranger things 3 #good omens

[lineffability]

Not With A Bang

The Bentley’s old engine purred, the same way it always had. The sound died away in the air-less space all around. Swallowed by silence and nothing. (Sound-less deep-dark empty-full nothing-space.) It was the first time in a long time that it had been taken out for a spin.

It would never feel asphalt again.

In the backseat, a book by Pamela Zoline. The Heat Death of the Universe. Aziraphale had found it weirdly appropriate.

Beneath them (far, so far beneath, so very out of reach), a burnt wasteland. Beneath them, Earth.

Up here, just them. It had always been just them. Here they were, the angel and the demon who had been here since the beginning: with front row seats to the end of the world. A real end, this time.

It was a Sunday afternoon—it would have been. Weekdays had long since ceased to hold any meaning (but they’d kept count).

Earth had become uninhabitable centuries ago (millennia? they hadn’t kept count of that—small time was sometimes much more easily measured than the greater scale of things); regardless, her true natural death would have lain millions of years ahead, still: the sun expanding and swallowing her up, hot-crisp fire, red and yellow and white and blinding, and incinerated organisms, cells, atoms; not even ash left to tell the tale. The sun, dying, dead, the solar system, too. That was the way it was prophesied by scientists, back in the day. And they would have been right.

But she had not died a natural death the first time (they say you die twice, right? The first time when you cease to live, the second when someone utters your name for the very last time—well, for Earth it was the other way around. Nobody had uttered her name in a long time, yet she was still alive. In a way.); she would not be granted a natural death the second time.

Perhaps that was a mercy.

A sun flare would do it, a little hiccup in the nature of things, a little irregularity barely noticeable (the humans would have been able to foretell it, to measure it with their clever instruments ahead of its occurrence though not much, had they still been around). A bit of fire in the vast nothing that would light up the darkness temporarily and would soon die out and be gone. And the earth with it. Millennia, with it. Histories.

The Edda, the Oddyssey, Milton, Platon, Nietzsche and his Dead God, the Bible, the Quran, the Torah and their live God(s), Recipes, Family Trees, Galileo Galilei, Rumi, Shakespeare, Fanfiction, Love Letters, Neruda, Confucius, Contracts, whispered nothings and screamed everythings. Testaments. (Who could ever count them all? Could have counted. Not anymore. All gone.)

Many lives had been lived, on this speck that once had been green and blue. (That was now brown and red and black and boiling, from the inside out and the outside in.)

Back then, when even the world’s leaders had had to admit at last, with grim faces, that the point of no return had long been left behind, somewhere in the 3rd Millennia AC, and then a little or long while later, they’d stopped counting from the past to the present—700 After Christ, 1492 After Christ, 2019 After Christ—they’d started counting towards a point in time. 3, 2, 1, to death. To the end. That had been after the official announcements, the accepting. The world had known long before. They had known before the rivers dried out and water had to be rationed, and then the food, too. Before people started dying and wars broke out. But they had done nothing. Not the people, not the governments.

Anyways, too long ago now. Long gone.

They didn’t speak, neither the angel nor the demon. Their minds were filled with memories.

They were here to say goodbye to an old friend. The one who had started it all, who had given the first life. The one on whose soft skin they had met, and lived and loved. The one whose skin was now hard and scorched and old, but not old enough to want to die.

The Earth was so very alone, in its last moments.

It filled them with a deep sadness.

(God had not spoken to the humans since Noah’s time. She had not spoken with the angels since the end of the world. The first End, the one that had turned out not to be an end at all. It had been a beginning. But every beginning has an end, in its turn.

And every end yields to a new beginning.

She had not spoken to anyone since the death of the last human on earth.

Was she watching now?

Ineffable Ineffability. Ineff-fucking-ability.)

There were tears in Aziraphale’s eyes. Crowley was wearing his sunglasses, so it was hard to tell. (His sunglasses, after all this time. They still had their purpose. The sun, and the glasses. Funny thing.)

And then the flare: a flash, an eruption, a light, light and heat, expanding, e x p a n d i n g, reaching, touching, burning, burning—

It had started with a Bang. It did not end with one.

It sounded like a whimper.

“This is how the world ends,” Aziraphale mumbled, quoting a long dead poet, one amongst so many long dead poets, so many long dead humans. “Not with a bang, but with a whimper.”

“He knew, huh?”

“I guess so. They had a penchant for knowing, and guessing, and prophecising, did they not?”

“Funny, ingenious creatures,” Crowley agreed.

They remained silent, after that, watching the Earth dissipate, and holding hands.

Earth had not been inhabited for millennia, was turning into a nostalgic memory more than a real thing. Now that it was truly gone, one day not too far from now, it would turn myth.

But myths need to be told, and remembered. Who was there to remember?

“Where to next?”

“Which of the colonies do you fancy?”

“Mars? The Pleiades?”

“The Pleiades? Don’t be ridiculous, angel. They just got there; you wouldn’t enjoy a life without luxuries. We’ll save that one for later.”

“Fine, then. Alpha Centauri?” There was a twinkle in the angel’s eyes.

Crowley grinned. “Sounds like a plan.”

The end of the world? Yes. The end of humanity?

Oh, they’d shown long ago that it would take more than that.

The Bentley drove on, through endless space, and endless possibility, towards the future.

#good omens #ineffable husbands #ineffable partners #inefficable #my writing #my omens #good omens fanfiction #the last fic i write was about the beginning #now this one is about the end

[lady-divine-writes]

Good Omens - I Was Given Four Rules to Follow ... I Broke Every One: Chapter 2/3 (Rated PG13)

Summary: When Warlock Dowling is summoned to the old South Downs cottage of Aziraphale and Crowley to help clean out their attic, presumably after their deaths, he is given four rules to follow.

... He breaks every single one.

Notes: So here's the chapter where we really lean into that post-accident imagery. Again, it's not gory, but it may be unsettling. Please be warned. Also some very mild thoughts of suicide on Aziraphale's part, the typical 'why don't I off myself to be with me husband instead' sort of inner monologue.

Read on AO3.

I drove back to The South Downs in the Celestial Blue Fiat Crowley had gifted me last anniversary completely on autopilot. I never really used the thing, to be honest, so I was astonished I hadn’t run off the side of the road, especially when the thought was ever in the back of my mind. I kept the windows down, breathing in deep the brisk air and trying not to think too hard over what I was about to do. Or what I could do instead, the possibilities ranging between getting on with my life - sell the cottage and travel the world, forget about everything that had led up to this point … or driving straight off a cliff.

Of course, if I was lucky, fate would decide for me, and I would catch pneumonia driving in the freezing cold with the windows down and only a thin jumper for protection.

I put the radio on and cranked the volume. I caught a replay of The London Symphony Orchestra performing Holst’s The Planets as I tried to focus on everything and anything besides my dead husband waiting for me, lying naked on our bed, packed in ice with several brand new swamp coolers blasting on high to keep decomposition at bay. I thought it best to stow him out here in the middle of nowhere for the time being instead of at our flat in Mayfair - less a chance of anything going wrong, of the swamp coolers drawing suspicion (seeing as it had barely broken seven degrees Celsius over the past month), or (if this worked) people who knew my husband to be dead seeing him walking around, and asking questions.

Accepting that that was a possibility led me back to the question of why was I doing this? Why was I so set on bringing my husband back? Why didn’t I leave him be, allow him peace? Why didn’t I take the opposite route, off myself, and go be with him instead? Had to admit, it was a lot more natural than what I was intending. But there was a simple reason for that.

I’m a coward.

A bloody coward.

I don’t know what awaits us after death. Not truly. I’d been raised a Catholic, and I hold strong to many of those principles still (mostly out of guilt inflicted upon me by my dear old mum). According to the teachings of the church, a Heavenly kingdom would be ours after death … but not if I killed myself.

Suicide was an unforgivable sin.

If I wanted to see my husband again, this might be the only avenue available to me.

I didn’t want to wait, rely on “faith” that we would be together again, and risk being wrong. I was tired of playing guessing games with my future.

I felt like a massive ball of contradictions flying down the motorway at felony speeds, both exhilarated and terrified at the venture I was about to embark on. The old woman wasn’t wrong. For as blisteringly angry as I got with her, that was the worst part. I was tampering with the laws of nature. I knew that. I loved Crowley more than anything, more than my own life, but Crowley was dead, and in the eyes of the universe, there should be nothing I can do to change that.

But apparently there was.

I’d found it.

And I was going through with it regardless, even if it scared the shit out of me.

I’d not told another living soul about this. I had a pretty good idea of what might happen if I did. I didn’t require an intervention, and I didn’t need institutionalization. I wasn’t crazy. I was grieving, searching for the same solutions that dozens of people have probably thought of but would never admit to. But other people - people who knew me as the eccentric book seller of Soho who didn’t actually sell any books and who once rented a live python for the sole purpose of roaming the store in order to keep uni students away at the start of the school year - might not see it that way.

I had also entertained the possibility that this might be a scam - a way to extort five thousand pounds out of a grieving widower willing to pay anything to have his husband back. Except that the old woman – possibly a hundred or so years older than God – put on a convincing act of being afraid for the paltry sum of five thousand (paltry considering what the granddaughter had said about their financial straits - tens of thousands in mounting debts, interest on bank loans that have ballooned into larger sums than their principals, and the shady men who dropped by most nights to ‘browse’ even though they bought nothing but always broke something in ways that implied mishaps more sinister).

They probably could have gotten twenty thousand out of me easily.

I switched off the radio when I turned off the motorway. It wasn’t like the music would disturb anyone. I lived miles away from my closest neighbor. But it seemed disrespectful to keep the volume so loud.

Disrespectful to the dead.

I love our cottage, fell in love with it the first moment I laid eyes on it, but that was back when it was about to become a home.

Now, it was a tomb.

What would our property agent think - that kindly, middle-aged woman who kept making moon eyes at us every time we snuck a kiss - if she knew I was harboring a corpse in my bedroom? The expression of shock that would erupt on her pinched face nearly made me laugh. But the overwhelming pitch blackness of the cottage sapped me of anything even remotely similar to glee.

When I had left earlier in the day, I had neglected to keep any lights on. It seemed fitting to have the place dark while my husband’s body lay within. But I wished I had left one light on at least, or put a torch by the door. My cellular phone battery had died somewhere along the way so it was of no help whatsoever.

As I opened the door and peered into the living room, I held my breath, half-expecting Crowley’s naked corpse to meet me at the entryway. I chided myself for being an idiot, though how ridiculous was it really? A day ago, when I went searching Soho shops for that horrid incense Crowley used to love in the hopes of keeping his favorite scent alive in the house, I would have agreed that the concept of life after death was ludicrous.

That was until I stumbled upon a teenage girl who promised me the secret to bringing Crowley back.

“Cr---Crowley? Crowley, honey? I’m home, my dear,” I called out, hoping that he wouldn’t actually answer. I was thirty steps away from walking out of my comfort zone and into a world I would rather not know existed, so Crowley coming back to life on his own would tip me over the edge into insanity.

I reached out a hand and turned on the light. My living room, warm and comforting, decorated in muted blues, cinnamon browns, and subtle creams, welcomed me. There was nothing out-of-place here.

Nothing dead.

I continued to the bedroom, switching on lights as I went. With every step, I had to convince myself to keep going. I originally pictured me racing into the house, eager to get this started. But with reality staring me in the face, I wasn’t sure. But I didn’t have the luxury of waiting to see if I would eventually change my mind. Crowley’s internal organs, especially his brain, were decaying fast, regardless of how much ice or air conditioning I piped into the place.

Soon the choice wouldn’t be mine to make.

Twenty steps brought me to the threshold of my bedroom where I stopped, staring at the closed door. I reached down and patted the bottle in my pocket, feeling the lump through the linen of my trousers. Touching it gave me the strength I needed to move my hand to the doorknob, but I halted once more with it hovering when I heard a small creak – like a foot stepping lightly on the hardwood floor. It was the house settling, I told myself. That was what Crowley always said when I woke him in the middle of the night to the sound of odd creaking and whining.

“It’s a mid-century house,” he’d say. “The floors contract in the cold and expand in the heat.”

“So what your saying is …?” I quipped.

“... the house talks in our sleep,” Crowley had replied without opening his eyes. “Now go back to your reading so I can get some sleep, too.”

“Just the house settling,” I muttered in my best rendition of Crowley’s accent, plucking the explanation from my mind and saying it out loud to make it real. “Nothing else alive in the house except for me.”

Still, I couldn’t bring myself to open the door.

I heard the creak repeat, closer this time.

I swallowed so hard, everything from my jaw to my stomach ached.

“Crowley? Are you there? Are you … are you waiting for me, my dear?”

Of course he’s waiting for you! I scolded myself. He’s waiting for you to grow a pair and get this over with.

I sighed, allowing the rush of breath in my deflating body to give my hand momentum, touch the doorknob, and open it like I had hundreds of times before.

This time was no different.

Yup. Maybe if I kept telling myself that, it would feel real.

I turned the knob and switched on the light without thinking about the sight that awaited me on the bed. My eyes flicked up … and my stomach fell to the floor.

There was Crowley, right where I had left him, lying in bed, eyes closed. He looked asleep and, from this distance, normal except for a few cuts and bruises on his face. The accident hadn’t banged his body up that badly, not from what I had noticed, though I didn’t make it a point to look at him for too long.

His neck was why not.

His broken neck from the whiplash that had killed him instantly.

He’d been leaning forward in his car seat, looking at street signs, stuck on a small, offshoot road that the GPS on his phone had apparently never heard of before. He had cautiously entered the intersection when a pickup flew through out of nowhere and slammed into him from behind. Crowley jettisoned forward and hit the steering wheel.

Being a classic car, restored to original condition, it had no airbag.

I blinked back the tears that leaped to my eyes at the thought of the accident that took my husband from me, at the fact that the driver of the truck, being sloshed out of his gourd, walked away from the same accident with only blacks and blues. The police caught the bastard a few miles down the road when his engine stalled.

He claimed he didn’t stop because he thought he had only struck a deer.

“H—hey,” I said, trying to get comfortable with the idea of talking to my husband again. “I went out shopping today, and you’ll never believe what I brought home.”

I could see my own breath as it met the air in the room, like walking into a gigantic meat locker, making what I was doing that much more morbid. My knees knocked but I clamped them together to keep them mobile. I reached the bed, and my casual, conversational tone disappeared, the words wavering as I spoke them.

“I think … this might … help …” I hiccuped, side-eyeing my husband’s body. Crowley’s skin appeared waxy, coated in moisture from the frigid air, and the color wasn’t right. I knew that soon blood would pool and Crowley’s unnaturally pale skin would turn black so I had to hurry, but every muscle in my body screamed for me to turn and run.

I touched the bed, and I’m ashamed to say, I whimpered.

I can do this, I can do this … I chanted to myself. I reached out and let my hand brush Crowley’s fingers. I tried to recall their warmth, the way Crowley’s touch made me feel loved, desired. Whole. I wanted that back, and I wasn’t going to let anything stand in my way. I knelt on the bed, crawled over to Crowley’s body, and leaned over his serene face.

“I’m going to get you back,” I whispered, cursing the fear in my voice. “If I have to claw my way into Heaven and drag you back with my own two hands, I’m going to get you back.”

I pulled the blue bottle out of my pocket. I held it to the light and gave it a swirl, watching the liquid spin around the belly of the glass and then settle into a shimmering mass. Crowley’s life was sitting in the bottom of that bottle. All I need do was give it back.

I yanked out the stopper and brought the bottle to Crowley’s lips.

“Bottoms up, love.” I pecked a kiss to his cold skin and then tipped the contents into his mouth. I expected to see Crowley’s throat move as he swallowed, his eyes snap urgently open, but they didn’t. The potion didn’t act instantaneously the way I’d assumed then. He was still dead … but not for long.

I remained kneeling at Crowley’s side, staring into my husband’s face, heeding the ancient woman’s words to be the first person Crowley saw when he opened his eyes. I knelt and knelt for over an hour, thighs cramping in the freezing cold. The sharp prickle that comes with poor blood circulation assaulted my skin, the thought that this was an elaborately planned and executed hoax becoming more a likelihood as time passed.

The sun started to light the grass and hills outside. I could barely see the early morning rays seep in beneath the blackout curtains, but there they were nonetheless - evidence of a brand new day. Still, there was no change, no sign, nothing on Crowley’s face that might give me a reason to hold on. I struggled against exhaustion, grasping at thin straws of hope, but with each passing minute, I was failing.

It had been a dream – a wonderful dream.

But I had to wake up and face facts - my husband wasn’t coming back to me in any form.

I’d been most grievously had.

I stretched my limbs - one leg, then the other. Then I lifted my torso, bending my arms and flexing my hands. I crawled backward off the bed, raising my arms above my head, listening to my spine snap and pop. I looked at Crowley again, peacefully expired – one last look before I made plans for his burial.

I was beginning to feel it was about time.

I walked to the dresser and opened the top drawer, looking for my pajamas. Before I did anything, I needed a nap or I would drop dead on my feet.

I winced at the ill-placed pun, but chalked it up as part of the healing process. Gallows humor. I could never appreciate it before.

That probably wouldn’t change.

I rummaged through the drawer, looking past perfectly suitable shirts and lounge pants but for what, I didn’t know … until I found it.

A journal.

I have lots of journals, to be honest. Writing is a passion of mine, along with reading. In their pages, I have documented everything that has ever happened to me in excruciating detail - as if anyone would ever be interested in that sort of thing. As if reading about my pains or my triumphs would help anyone. I don’t find myself to be remotely (as the kids put it) relatable. I have no desire to be famous, and the circumstances of my life (mainly my marriage to Crowley) have made me wealthier than I could ever possibly enjoy in my lifetime.

But not today.

Today I felt numb to everything around me, and not just because of the intense cold. Nothing seemed to matter. I left my pajamas in the drawer and hopped back onto the bed. I might have been cavalier about it, but there was nothing here for me to fear. What lay in bed beside me was a body, nothing more - flesh and blood rotting from the inside with no unique soul to keep it all together.

Make it worth something.

I opened my journal - this journal - to the first empty page where a blue ballpoint pen had been shoved into the spine, waiting for me. For how long …  I can’t remember. I picked the thing out and uncapped it. I put the tip to the paper, but I didn’t start writing right away. I hadn’t written in a journal in weeks. Where should I start? Do I pick up where my last journal entry left off, no matter how long ago that was? Even if it ended on a happy memory, like me and Crowley going to the cinema, having dinner at The Ritz?

Making love in the backseat of his Bentley?

Or do I forget all that and start a few minutes ago when I finally decided to give up on the possibility of my husband coming back? A couple of hours ago when the old woman almost refused to sell me the potion? Or that horrible night, when the police showed up at my door with apologetic looks and horrendous news?

While I juggled those thoughts, trying to decide, the world around me began to awaken. Birds sang their melodious songs in the bitter cold. The wind outside knocked against my window. A tiny critter scritched inside the walls, which would have had me running for the traps, but not today. Whatever you are, little creature, you have been granted a stay of execution.

Nothing would be dying within my home today.

The sun rose higher and the room got brighter. To my surprise, it heated up a little, and the ice cubes on the bed began to melt. I heard them collapsing in their piles, some having turned to water, making way for others to fall. The bed dipped as I shifted my legs beneath me, my crossed limbs having fallen asleep in their bent up positions. I cleared my throat, the sound rumbling in my chest, though the voice didn’t sound entirely my own. My ears had been ringing during the drive home and for most of the night, so I imagined I must have caught some kind of cold.

But as I reasoned out all of this, going about my task, my heart realized a truth that my mind hadn’t.

When my mind caught up, it went blank.

My blood turned to ice, secondary to the chill in the room, helped naught an inch by the invading sun. I didn’t think I could get any colder, but I did. That inside out feeling returned as another started to register.

I no longer felt quite so alone.

I lowered my journal, glancing up from the blank page to find Crowley, rolled onto his side, staring at me with wide, emotionless eyes.

#good omens #good omens fanfiction #ineffable husbands #tricketyboo2020 #ineffable lovers #crowley x aziraphale #aziraphale x crowley #aziraphale #Crowley

[wholesome-revelry]

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

(Nominally a sequel to this)

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

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

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

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

Ex-Catholic, Dr. Blackwell thinks sagely. 

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

They’re--

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No Queen,” says Sunglasses immediately. 

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

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

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

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

“Of course.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How long,” Sunglasses repeats.

“You know how long!” hisses Bowtie.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Six thousand--” Bowtie starts, resolute.

“What,” says Dr. Blackwell.

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

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

“Yes,” says Bowtie decisively.

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

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

Her head hurts.)

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

“Sounds perfect!” says Bowtie.

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

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

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

Imagine, she thinks. Just imagine.

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