#no angels dining at the ritz either i suppose | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

new-endings · 4 years

Text

you wear white and i'll wear out the words ‘i love you’

( in which crowley struggles to find the right time and place to propose)

He’d known Aziraphale’s ring size since Rome, though the need for this knowledge wouldn’t arise until millennia later. Far better than tossing apples at him centuries prior, which Crowley was sure wouldn’t have been well-received by the angel.

He had the ring itself since the tradition was popularized and changed the stone, the metal, and the inscriptions at least twice every decade. He’d known Aziraphale’s favorite flavor of cake, the very swoons and swells of romantic melodies that made his angel’s heart sing with joy and float with love. He’d known that Aziraphale had long wanted to travel East since before its industrialization, though London remained his home and heart, and, not long after the entire mess of the Armageddon’t—

Crowley knew, with absolute certainty, that Aziraphale loved him, loved earth, and loved their life together.

And Crowley, with absolute certainty, wanted a life together with Aziraphale.

The thought had been lurking in the darkest crevices of his heart, ashen and burnt, where most secrets seeped in its cracks. Of course he’d known he loved Aziraphale—he’d known his own heart since Rome. But the very possibility of having that love actualized—much less returned—had been such a preposterous, laughable, impossible thought that…

To even wonder, to even wish, would have wrought him nothing but pain.

But that was something that Crowley couldn’t help. When the wretched emotion had made itself known, had seeded and rooted itself deeply within Crowley’s heart, there was no going back. And now, many millennia later, it was no longer just the torturous squeeze of thorns driving deep into Crowley’s chest at the thought of a life with Aziraphale—

It was waking to the sight of his angel (yes, his) in his ridiculous nightgown and equally ridiculous little glasses perched on his adorable nose as he flipped through the pages of a love-worn novel in Crowley’s bed; it was meeting for lunch without his angel ducking at the sight of every American in a gray, luxurious business suit; it was being able to hold his angel’s hand as they strolled through St. James park to feed the ducks, recycling old banters and trying new, honest conversations (“I thought you looked rather ravishing in that fancy little petticoat of yours. Still not a good idea to wear it during a revolution, though.” “Oh, thank you dear. I rather thought you—you—good lord, your hair back then reminded me of two somersaulting weasels.” “You really are a bastard, aren’t you?” “I’ve learned from the very best, I’ll have you know.”); it was kissing him good morning, hello, be right back, and goodnight.

It was a possibility. A very, very real possibility.

Now…now all Crowley had to do was ask.

---

Crowley prided himself in his brilliance. It wasn’t just the Pride either—he knew he had more creativity that likely all the forces of Hell combined—

(still didn’t hold a candle to Aziraphale’s wit when his angel set his mind on something, but that’s a discussion for another time.)

Which was why he had every bit of confidence that when he enacted his master plan, it would surely sweep his angel off his feet.

…Granted, if he had a master plan to begin with.

Because lo and behold, Crowley, who had been squirreling his angel’s preferences and tastes, ring size, suit size, shoe size—never actually thought he’d be able to use this information in the most important way possible. And thus—

He was scrambling.

He threw idea after idea out—We could go to Rome; take him out on our first date again—wait, did he even know that was our first date?, forged bloody mood boards from digital inspiration on social media—Ugh, this all looks terribly tasteless. This looks nice, but I know for a fact that Aziraphale hasn’t gone swimming since the 1800s for some incident or other—and nearly broke down and ran to the bookshop to propose right then and there just to get it over with.

But no.

His angel deserved better than that.

“We could have a picnic…dinner at the Ritz,” Crowley mocked, turning over in despair. “Go—Sata—SOMEONE-DAMNIT. Why didn’t I propose then…It would have been perfect.” He let out another groan. “Right, right, great thinking there, Crowley—just drop the proposal to your best friend after he was cut off and nearly killed by his abusive family and workplace, real romantic.”

He sighed, peeling himself off the ceiling where he’d somehow ended up. It was getting late and damnit, he promised to take Aziraphale to that play tonight, didn’t he?

Crowley, once upright, glared hard at the ring on his desk. It had been taunting him for the past month and he knew the niggling thoughts at the back of his mind, the compulsion to open it up, scrutinize it, to once again deem it worthy enough for his angel, wouldn’t let up until he saw it where it belonged: on his angel’s marriage hand.

Crowley snatched the box and, with some difficulty, pocketed it.

(He was actually surprised these pants came with pockets.)

Fine. If inspiration won’t come to him, then he’ll come to inspiration. Humans always went on and on about knowing when the time was right or what have you. Sure, it might be more…spontaneous than he’d like…

(Crowley liked plans. Plans kept him and his angel alive since the dawn of their arrangement, even when they didn’t always pan out the way he wanted them to)

But, as his angel showed him back at the airbase, sometimes a little spontaneity was just what he needed to get the job done.

He could have proposed at the theater. Hamlet had been Aziraphale’s favorite because Crowley made it into a smashing success just for him. It would have been romantic— a reminder that there wasn’t anything Crowley wouldn’t do to make him happy. But instead, he just watched on with half-amusement, half-embarrassment as his angel cheered and encouraged the actors, rather loudly, from their seats.

(“Angel, darling, love of my life, you’re going to get us kicked out if you keep that up.” “I-I’m the love of your life?” “Obviously, but also, not the point.”)

He could have proposed at their bench at St. James Park: right where they used to meet in secret and business and thinly veiled ventures to simply be in each other’s company—a reminder of how far they’ve come and a promise for what’s to come. But instead, they just fed the ducks, Crowley listening on with not-so-silent affection as Aziraphale berated himself for feeding them bread for years when it turned out it had been bad for them all along.

(“I brought peas this time!” “Angel, I’m sure the ducks would have appreciated any old thing.” “Yes, well, I still want it to be good for them, Crowley.” “All right, fair enough.”)

He could have proposed at the Ritz, gotten them a nice hotel room to ah…freshen up (after making a mess out of each other), enjoyed their meal and basked in the romantic atmosphere— a reminder of the first day of the rest of their lives after freeing one another and paving a road ahead where they could be together, belong together at last. He could have even put the ring in his angel’s dessert—if the ring made it out intact. But instead, Crowley dined and wined with the most perfect being (for him) created in all this universe, and basked in that lovely, perfect moment, all worries, anxieties—and the ring—forgotten.

(“I love you, Crowley.” “I…I…oh—fuck—” “It’s all right, Crowley…” “I just…sometimes…” “It’s okay, love…” “I’ve wanted to hear you for so long—” “You’ll hear me every day, Crowley.” “Angel, I love you, I’ve been in love with you for—forever, it feels like.” “I know, Crowley. I know…and I’m ready to hear it now.”)

He could have proposed in so many different places, so many different times, and in so many different ways—all romantic, all with grand, sweeping gestures, and all matter of symbolism and meaning behind each instance.

And yet, the primordial, primitive, snake-brain of his—decided that now would be the time.

“Ah—ah—angel, angel,” Crowley gasped, writhing against the delicious friction as Aziraphale maddeningly teased his Effort from within the constricting confines of his trousers.

“Yes, dearest?” he smiled, looking quite at home on his knees on the Persian rug of the bookshop’s backroom.

“You right bastard—ah!” Crowley choked off a scream as Aziraphale mouthed his clothed cock, warm, wet heat so close yet so far from where he needed it most. He fruitlessly attempted to shimmy out of his jeans, buck into that lovely, inviting mouth, and give his angel a taste of what happens when you press a demon’s buttons in all the right ways.

“I know virtues aren’t your specialty, Crowley, but you really should have some patience,” his angel tsk’d, eyes gleaming with mischief and Crowley fell impossibly deeper in love with this incorrigible, chaotic ethereal being.

And that. That was exactly what his snake-brain was waiting for. “Oh, fuck angel—marry me—”

Then that heat was gone. It took maybe a second or two for the words that had just tumbled straight out of his mouth to register, but before Crowley could internally agonize in horror at his abso-fucking-lutely shite timing—

“I—I’m sorry, could you repeat that?”

And what was Crowley supposed to do? Back out? Deny he said anything? Nope, not this time, not on his life.

Not anymore.

“Marry me,” he wheezed out, the embarrassment not quite catching up to him as he miracled the box to his hand (and thusly relieving some of that extra pressure in his trousers), and presented it to Aziraphale with all the grace of a boneless octopus.

(wait, octopodes don’t have bones do they?)

Best case scenario, Aziraphale disregarded the fact that Crowley just popped the question right before a well-anticipated blowjob. Worst-case scenario, he would have berated the demon for the abso-fucking-lutely shite timing. But instead, he was met with: "So," Aziraphale started, brows furrowed with confusion from between Crowley's legs. "That bulge in your pants doesn't just mean you're happy to see me?"

“Angel,” Crowley sighed, valiantly attempting to keep calm despite the gnawing anxiety at his chest; great, the gears were still turning in his angel’s pretty little head from the shock. “You know I’m always happy to see you on your knees for me, but I believe I asked you a question.” He waved the box in front of him and then it all clicked into place.

Crowley could tell by the bright sparkle in those sea-storm eyes and the sweet, bashful smile on his lips. “Then shouldn’t you be the one on your knees? Or—one, rather, I think is the human way of doing it now.”

“Oh, right,” Crowley muttered, wobbling as he stood from his favorite couch in all of Aziraphale’s shop. As tradition dictated, Crowley got down on one knee, opened his mouth to say, “Aziraphale, will you—”

And was immediately met with, “Yes!”

Crowley tumbled backwards onto the couch, and armful and lapful of his ecstatic angel, and finally engaged.

“Oh…it’s so lovely, Crowley,” Aziraphale cooed, holding up the ring to the light.

Crowley hummed, lacing their fingers together, and— yes he was right all along, he should have never doubted his tastes to begin with.

The ring was perfect on his angel.

“I love you, Crowley,” Aziraphale murmured, pressing soft kisses to his cheeks, dimples, and chin, and if the rest of their lives could be even just a fraction of how perfect this moment was, Crowley, for the first time in a long time, was looking forward to eternity.

“Even if you did propose right before I was to initiate fellatio,” Aziraphale giggled.

Crowley sighed, feigning annoyance despite the way his heart (not quite-so-ashen, and not-quite-so burnt) thudded painfully with love. “You could not have said that any worse.” He pulled Aziraphale close, smothering the giggles at his expense with a tender, loving kiss. He drew back, smirking at the lovestruck look on his angel’s face, plain as day, unguarded and open for Crowley to see. “Besides, could you have done any better?”

“Well, I certainly could,” he teased.

Crowley raised a brow, a challenging smile on his lips. “Oh really, now? C’mon then, let’s hear it.”

“All right, then!” His angel cleared his throat. “I would have, for one, proposed on October 21st—”

“Day the Earth was created, not bad,” Crowley admitted.

“And on that day, asked you to come away with me to a little trip—”

“Ooh, going on a little trip, are we?” The demon chuckled. “Where to? Tadfield? France? Rome?—”

“The Garden.”

Crowley felt his breath catch in his throat. Aziraphale gave him a small, triumphant smile, and continued. “Of course I still have access to it, dear. I was one of its guardians after all.” His angel admired the ring once more, voice soft as he continued, “I would have brought a picnic of course, and suggested, if you hadn’t already—”

“To have it on the wall,” Crowley whispered. “Where we first met.”

“Where our journey began,” Aziraphale added. “And I would have—I would have let you know that never in my wildest dreams would I have thought, back then, up there on that wall, that I would have found…the person that my heart belongs to.” He looked back at Crowley, eyes wet and smile wobbling on his sweet mouth and Crowley wanted to just take this lovely, lovely being in his arms and never let go. “And that through this long, long journey since Earth began, I’m ever-grateful that all my roads lead back to you.”

“Angel…”

“And then, I would get down on one knee and ask you,” he turned to face Crowley, a tear or two slipping down his cheeks, “Oh? My what’s that in your ear?”

Crowley furrowed his brow. “Wha—oh, no, angel, not one of your—”

“Ooooh, what’s this?” But before Crowley could swap his hand out of his way, something bright, gleaming, and poorly concealed in his angel’s hand caught his eye.

Any and all teasing of his fiancé’s failed sleight of hand fled Crowley’s mouth at the sight of the gold band between his fingers. He must have looked quite the sight, gaping mouth and nothing coming out, but Aziraphale only chuckled.

“You always did go faster than me, Crowley,” he murmured, placing the band right on his demon’s marriage finger, smiling at the perfect fit it made. “But that’s all right.” He pressed a soft, gentle kiss to his fiancé’s lips. “All my roads lead to you, after all.”

#ineffable husbands #ineffable partners #good omens #crowley #aziraphale #crowley x aziraphale

75 notes · View notes

sourb0i · 3 years

Text

Somethin’ Stupid || 1968: Aziraphale

Comments and kudos are always appreciated here!

The previous record Aziraphale held for worrying was thirty-two years, just after he and Crowley reached a formal Arrangement.

He’d fretted and dithered about potential corruption, or worse, getting caught and Crowley being punished on his account. Their argument over holy water demolished that streak and left the remains in the dust. Not only were his fears about getting caught renewed tenfold, they were added to by fears of Crowley hurting himself- either intentionally or on purpose- and leaving Aziraphale responsible for the death of his closest friend. The fact that he could even admit that to himself now did not help matters in the slightest, let alone all the things he wouldn’t admit to himself. Precisely one hundred-five years after their row, Aziraphale caught wind of one of Crowley’s schemes and made up his mind on the spot. If Crowley was so determined to throw himself in harm’s way, Aziraphale could at least ensure he pulled him back out again, as Crowley had done for him so many times over the years.

“What are you doing here?” The surprise in Crowley’s voice was obvious. Usually it was him seeking Aziraphale out, and not the other way around. But this was too important. He couldn’t wait for Crowley to come sauntering ‘round, not with his life at stake.

“I needed a word with you.”

“What?”

“I work in Soho. I hear things. I hear that you’re setting up a caper to rob a church.” Aziraphale paused. One last chance to talk Crowley out of it— he’d always been the more rash of the two of them. “Crowley, it’s too dangerous. Holy water won’t just kill your body; it’ll destroy your body completely.”

Crowley sighed, and Aziraphale knew he’d failed. “You told me what you think a hundred and five years ago—”

“And I haven’t changed my mind. But I can’t have you risking your life, not for something dangerous. So…” With trembling hands, as though it might spill over any second despite the tightly-screwed cap, Aziraphale offered up his thermos. “You can call off the robbery.” Please. “Don’t go unscrewing the cap.” He knew Crowley wasn’t after holy water just for decoration, but still. For the past hundred-odd years, visions of dark sunglasses sitting in steaming black puddle had plagued him relentlessly. If that vision should come true, especially now, Aziraphale would have no one to blame but himself. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to bear that responsibility.

With equal delicacy, Crowley took the thermos. “This is the real thing?”

“The holiest.” Sure to destroy any demon, even wound Lucifer himself, with just a drop. The thought made Aziraphale feel sick.

“After everything you said?” Shock flitted over Crowley’s face, accompanied by something more just hidden in the shadows of his glasses. Aziraphale swallowed down the urge to lunge for the thermos, to take it all back, and nodded.

“Should I say thank you?”

When Aziraphale could very well be handing Crowley his own demise? He couldn’t even meet his eyes properly. “Better not.”

“Should I drop you anywhere?” The question sounded like a desperate attempt at their casual banter. Too desperate to succeed, really.

“No, thank you.” The last thing Aziraphale wanted to do was spend another second in the proximity of Crowley and holy water together. Although the anxiety of leaving, of wondering if something had happened and the water had somehow spilled, might be even worse. Perhaps worst of all was the look on Crowley’s face— as if Aziraphale had told him he could pour the whole thermos right over his head.

“Don’t look so disappointed,” Aziraphale said. Pleaded, really. “Maybe someday we could have a picnic. Dine at the Ritz.” He knew, or at least he thought he knew, what Crowley was really asking. For the majority of their existences, they’d met on the pretext of the Arrangement. It hadn’t all been purely business, but the charade of it had let Aziraphale bury anything deeper. With the Arrangment, he could keep shovelling over all the things he shouldn’t think, all the things he shouldn’t feel, no matter how hard they tried to claw their way up. That task had become exponentially harder since the second world war, but perhaps someday he could let them emerge into the sunlight.

“I could take you anywhere,” Crowley offered, and he seemed on the verge of pleading too. For what, Aziraphale could very easily imagine. Whether it was true was another question altogether. “Anywhere you want to go.”

For a single moment, all the things Aziraphale wanted to say clawed their way onto his lips. “I would like that very much, my dear. You know you could take me anywhere; all that matters is that I’m with you. I love you, you see, and the very idea of being on this Earth without you is terrifies me to my very core.” If he said these things, though, all his hard work would be undone. He’d be putting them both in danger- more danger than even holy water could bring. Angels weren’t supposed to love demons, and demons weren’t supposed to love angels. They were long past ‘supposed to’, but even their current territory was safely familiar compared to the daunting ordeal of being known, and then being loved anyway, and then perhaps losing the person who had gone through that ordeal with him. So Aziraphale stifled his wild, rebellious words, and buried them with an excuse. “You go too fast for me, Crowley.”

The look on Crowley’s face was more than Aziraphale could bear, nearly unearthing everything he worked so hard to hide. Aziraphale fled, leaving the demon alone with a thermos of holy water, all Aziraphale’s worst fears, and a prayer that none of them would be exposed to Crowley.

#good omens #good omens fanfiction #go fanfic #aziraphale #crowley #ineffable husbands #fluffy #fluff and angst

8 notes · View notes

jimvasta · 4 years

Text

Messrs Fell and Crowley at the Ritz

Aziraphale and Crowley think they’re blending in well, but they stand out, especially to the people who meet them regularly.

“They came in again today, the gay couple I told you about, the goth and the gent. They’re lovely. The goth can be really abrupt and a bit loud sometimes, but when his husband isn’t looking he always leaves a generous tip.

I know we’re not supposed to pry, but I know for a fact the gent is Mr Fell, I’ve been into his bookshop and I’m certain it’s a front for something. Selling rare and antique books makes money but not enough for him to be eating at the best restaurants in London virtually every night. As for the goth, the rumour is he’s Anthony Crowley, grandson of the world war two mobster, not someone you cross. Him having a lot of money, that I can understand.

They’re absolute proof that opposites attract, I know that much.

When I first started serving their table I was terrified of them, I thought they were some sort of religious nuts. They always talk about Heaven and Hell, miracles, blessings, temptations, all of that sort of thing, but it’s really code.

Mr Fell is angel and Mr Crowley is the snake, or the wily serpent. I’m sure they’re talking about business deals and it’s serious stuff. They act relaxed and casual but they really aren’t. I can tell when people are entertaining for business and these two may be a couple but they talk shop when they’re dining and it shows.

As I say, I used to be terrified of them, but honestly the way they swan around and their absent-minded good deeds completely make up for whatever horrible business they get up to. Whoever’s lives they ruin, they don’t do it to working folk like us.

There was something strange about them today though, Mr Fell ate only half what he normally does and Mr Crowley didn’t drink as much, but they looked so happy and relaxed. The whole atmosphere of the place was positive, it was as though they swanned in and ordered everyone to smile. Maybe I’m biased towards them, but they’re so wonderfully quirky and not as strict or stuffy as our other regulars.

They always order the best wine and champagne. Alf, our section’s sommelier, knows to make sure they get the special recommendations. We get plenty of wine snobs, but Mr Fell is a genuine connoisseur, he knows exactly what he’s talking about. Today was a champagne day, not just any champagne either, the best, even Alf was surprised, but they’ve never not paid up instantly, they get whatever they want. Then Mr Fell told me to surprise him with an afternoon tea selection. He’s done it to me before and apparently I’ve never disappointed because he always gives me that soft smile when I bring his order to the table.

Mr Fell’s card went through without any issues, as always, and a few minutes later they left. The moment his back was turned Mr Crowley whipped some money out of his jacket and placed on the table, giving me a look before he went. I think it’s silence money, he knows how much I overhear, but it was a lot today, more than I’ve ever had in one go even from my biggest table.

I shouldn’t say anything, even to you, but I have to say something to someone and you always were a good listener.

Anyway, Grandad, that’s today’s story, I hope you liked it.” He stood and leaned in to gently kiss his grandfather’s forehead. Visiting time was almost up and the nurses did not like family overstaying their welcome, even when he was the only family who kept coming back.

It was a year since his grandfather had a massive stroke and they said he would never speak again, but that did not mean he could not understand or hear anything. He was a career butler so he understood the life of being in service.

“I’ll drop in tomorrow for a bit before work, bye.”

“Goodbye, my lad.”

#good omens #aziraphale #crowley #minor miracle

67 notes · View notes

wanna-b-poet31 · 5 years

Text

Gabriel’s Gaslighting

One of the most concerning things (to me at least) about Gabriel is how sickeningly effective his abuse is. The most prevalent, and insidious tool in his abusive toolbox is gaslighting.

So that everyone’s on the same page, the National Domestic Violence Hotline says gaslighting:

“may seem like just a harmless misunderstanding at first. Over time, however, these abusive behaviors continue, and a victim can become confused, anxious, isolated and depressed while losing all sense of what is actually happening. Then, the victim may start relying on the abusive partner more and more to define reality, which creates a very difficult situation to escape”

In VERRRRRY broad terms, it means that the abuser is trying to reshape the perception of their victim’s reality. This can be done a variety of ways:

Trivializing: Making a victim’s feelings feel insignificant

Withholding: Pretending not to understand why a victim is worried/concerned and refusing to listen for a better understanding.

Countering: Purposefully questioning the victim’s memory when they know the victim is telling the truth/correctly recalling events

Blocking/Diverting: Changing topics to make the victim question their experiences/feelings/thoughts

Forgetting/Denial: or pretending to have forgotten what actually occurred or denying things, like promises or appointment they made to the victim

And, the main way Gabriel wields his verbal weapon is through trivializing Aziraphale’s worries/needs/feelings so that they seem unimportant. Through gaslighting, Gabriel can control his perception of reality and consequently control his actions. And let me tell you there is a fuckton of overt and covert gaslighting happening throughout the show.

Gaslighting Aziraphale’s Love of Food

Aziraphale is, at heart, a lover of food. He finds genuine joy and pleasure from eating, and in many ways, it’s an intimate part of who Aziraphale IS. Crowley takes note of this, and on more than one occasion has gone out of his way to get food, even if we (the audience) have no evidence that he ate food himself. Although, Book!Crowley explicitly eats with Aziraphale, purposefully ordering desserts to share. It’s tender, sweet, and clearly shows the mutual respect the two shares.

We can see in Aziraphale’s second scene just how much Aziraphale loves food.

Look at the calm smile, look at the relaxed features. This is an entity who unabashedly happy about his sushi.

But, we see a sudden emotional shift when a Wild Gabriel appears! Notice how the smile is long gone, and his glance at the food is hesitant.

Gabriel then asks: “Why do you consume that? You’re an angel” with palatable judgment. Harmless right?

Although the question could be seen as simple “interest”, Aziraphale instantly starts making excuses, hiding an integral part of who he is from someone who is supposed to support him and love him unconditionally. More, Gabriel later insists that eating is “sullying the temple of [one’s] body” and is purposefully condemning Aziraphale’s actions.

By bringing attention to the “you’re an angel” Gabriel is drawing a line in the sand, defining what it means to be an Angel, and creating a world where Angels, at least good angels, don’t eat, lest they “desecrate” their holiness. You can see Aziraphale’s face IMMEDIATELY fall.

We, the audience, can see this is untrue. There’s no reason to believe food is harmful to supernatural entities, and more importantly, it brings so much unbridled JOY to Aziraphale. So why point it out? Why deliberately trivialize our favorite Angel’s feelings like that?

Control.

All traces of joy from the first GIF are gone. Instead, he responds in genuine confusion, and he looks like Gabriel thinks him crazy. He is pleading with his eyes as if to ask Gabriel not to hurt him for indulging in his loves.

By pointing out Aziraphale’s choice to eat, >not to mention enjoying eating< Gabriel’s putting the power in his own hands. He is twisting Aziraphal’s perception of reality so that he is the ultimate authority on what the principality should/not do.

This does not mean Aziraphale stops eating (we see him dining at the Ritz with Crowley hardly a day later), but it means that he’s made to feel guilty for his passions, making excuses to avoid further belittlement. He notably hides his love of food from all other celestial beings (besides Crowley).

Speaking of, contrast Crowley’s treatment of Aziraphale’s love of food with Gabriel’s. He actively invites Aziraphale to get lunch, even if he is not particularly passionate about it, because of Aziraphale’s love of food, not despite it.

Gaslighting Aziraphale’s Books

In my meta on Crowley and the Bookshop, I talk about how Crowley is the only character in the whole damn series to care about any of Aziraphale’s interests. However, the scene alluded to in the gif above shows us that, in 6000 years, Gabriel has either never seen a book before in his life -- which is unlikely given the reports they have to send and the fact that (in a deleted scene) he’s visited the bookshop previously -- or he doesn’t care enough to learn about what Aziraphale is doing.

>Like he actually manhandles Aziraphale’s books. That’s got to be as violating as being intimidating and pinned to the wall of his bookshop<

Like, I know the scene is meant to be comedic, Sandalphon helpfully providing “pornography” as the kind of scandalous reading material that would allow them privacy, and Gabriel just kind of rolls with it as Aziraphale looks (rightly) confused and put out. It is exactly because of Aziraphale’s discomfort that this scene troubles me.

Look at the gif below, sure, he’s “smiling” but look at how it doesn’t reach his eyes in the same way sushi does. He has some uneven breathing and a tense posture that SCREAMSSS anxiety. More, if you go back to watch the scene, the concerning way the smile immediately falls the second Gabriel’s attention is off of him.

Although Aziraphale’s reaction is certainly due in part to the surprise appearance of Gabriel, Aziraphale’s face betrays clear discomfort that extends beyond his fears about his feelings for Crowley being exposed.

Gabriel's implicit dismissal and mistreatment of his books reinforce the idea that in this world, Angels don’t think books matter. But by extension, then neither does Aziraphale.

This distortion of reality is one solely of Gabriel (and perhaps Heaven)’s own creation. Dismissing the book’s value is particularly harmful because the bookshop is such a large part of Aziraphale’s life. It is perhaps one of his most beloved possessions which he independently spent a prolonged amount of time (at least 200 years) protecting and curating his book collection.

Crowley picks up on the sheer intensity with which Aziraphale loves his books and has an emotional and physical breakdown, presuming the only way for Aziraphale’s books to be on fire, the Angel must be dead.

Gabriel doesn’t care.

The consequence is not a diminished love of the bookshop, but rather, a fear of expressing interest around the people he’s “supposed” to care about and are supposed to care about him. He starts lying to avoid the put-downs and reality twists. This interaction shows that Gabriel’s presence makes Aziraphale a less confident, less relaxed entity.

Gaslighting the War

Okay, so Aziraphale lies ALOT, but we know for a fact that he’s told Gabriel his intentions to try stopping the war.

The archangel knows the general gist of Aziraphale’s plan to “prevent” the war. Aziraphale has made his intentions excruciatingly clear. However, besides blatantly lying to him about Heaven’s position on saving the world, he trivializes the very real concerns Aziraphale poses. It’s not just that he thinks Aziraphale can’t stop the war, it’s that Gabriel deliberately misleads him, allowing him to believe that if Aziraphale successfully climbed his mountain, he would be accepted by Heaven. (He’s not)

Then, in the above GIF, he dismisses Aziraphale’s transparent, clear plea for help.

CONTEXT: This is how Episode 4 opens. Aziraphale has found the Anti-Christ, met and rejected Crowley’s offer to fly off to Alpha Centauri at the Bandstand, told the love of his life his best friend that he doesn’t even like him and is in full out freak mode. Then, apropos of nothing “runs” into Gabriel and is in dire need of support to stop the end of the world. He NEEDS a lifeline, now that he thinks Crowley is fleeing Earth, never to see him again.

He firmly asserts that humanity is worth saving and that they COULD do it, (they’re Heavenly after all), but Gabriel does not give a single flying fuck about Aziraphale's feelings.

Instead of answering Aziraphale’s prayers, Gabriel reinforces his own interests (see: the never-ending war) and changes the conversation to focus Aziraphale’s “gut”. The glance in the below GIF is unnervingly condescending.

Look at how “disappointed” Gabriel appears glancing up to meet Aziraphale’s eyes before pointedly looking to Aziraphale’s belly. It is if, with his eyes, Gabriel is insinuating Aziraphale’s appearance is a personal failing and a somehow more important problem than stopping the end of the world.

The pivot from Aziraphale plea “we need to stop the end of the world” to “you’ need to lose the gut” is classic “Diverting” from the situation. It deflects from his own manipulative behavior and leaves Aziraphale to constantly second-guess himself. It puts the power squarely in Gabriel’s hands because the topic is no longer rooted in Aziraphale’s valid concerns or feelings.

Gabriel leaves the scene, with a more distraught (which, really how was that even possible) Aziraphale than the one he ran into. And, we hear Azirgaphale say he’s soft, in a hopeless, joyless voice that’s full of self-doubt. It’s a heartbreaking moment because of how powerless Gabriel (and Heaven for that matter) has made him feel, and how lost without Crowley as his lifeline he is.

However, Gabriel’s gaslighting comes to a head once Aziraphale is pushed passed his breaking point.

Aziraphale Want(s) To Break Free

After the altercation in the park, Aziraphale:

is “dumped” (again),

is attacked by angels, (presumably sent by Gabriel?)

is discorporated,

is verbally yelled, berated, and belittled for being a “bad angel”

realizes anything demons can do, he can do better

possesses 1-3 people

reunites with Crowley

“helps” save the world

Needless to say, he’s been through some shit.

However, he doesn’t encounter Gabriel until after the armageddon has been thoroughly avoided (read: his concerns have been validated, he’s taken steps to address his issues, and he’s reformed relationships with people his abuser pushed him to second-guess).

When Gabriel reappears, he has every reason to believe that his gaslighting will work to “control” Aziraphale. Because, while he may now be aware of Aziraphale’s friendship with Crowley, abusers will do anything to get the desired power dynamic (with them controlling all of it, and the victim none), and why abandon his most effective tool?

Just one thing though.

Crowley.

Crowley absolutely does not gaslight Aziraphale. Instead, he seeks to understand and validate his Angel’s concerns. Sure, occasionally they’ll fight, or push each other’s buttons, but Crowley never tries to manipulate of control Aziraphale. He remembers and encourages Aziraphale’s passions, actively seeks to participate in joint interests, and the sole act of saving Aziraphale’s books because he knows just how damn important those books are to his angel.

He’ll even go as far as to prioritize Aziraphale’s needs/comfort above his own. Is Aziraphale chained in a prison during the Reign of Terror? Sure, let’s just appear to rescue him. Aziraphale is getting double-crossed by Nazi bastards? Let’s just put ourselves in danger and walk on the consecrated ground and be to rescue him and his books.

It would be a bit of an understatement to say that Crowley cares about Aziraphale and wants to promote his wellbeing.

At the Airfield, Gabriel has never interacted with Aziraphale with Crowley around (deleted scenes notwithstanding) and able to support him. The simple act of having a support system there definitely boosts Aziraphale’s confidence and gives him the strength to make an actual choice.

Intervene.

He chooses to walk up to Beelzebub and Gabriel and ask, if they are sure of their reality, because, now Aziraphale sure as hell does. He knows where he stands and who he stands with. He is no longer under Gabriel’s control.

Never before has Aziraphale had a single honest choice. Sure, he made the choice to enter the “arrangement” with Crowley, to raise the (wrong) anti-christ, to lie to God. But these choices are rooted in self-preservation and self-defense. Also, he’s not transparent about these choices to Gabriel.

Once Armageddon is averted, and Aziraphale’s chosen to side with Crowley, to jump out of Heaven if need be for humanity, there is very little holding Aziraphale back. And, Aziraphale is finally being lifted up.

Gabriel tries to intimidate Aziraphale into submission, to tell him the questions he’s asking are insignificant, and that his opinion doesn’t matter. But, Aziraphale no longer is blind to the gaslighting, and pushes on. Crowley, in turn, backs him up and they support each other (and Adam) as they defy their respective abusers.

Once Gabriel’s control over him is broken, and his support system (Crowley) is reinstated, he can finally, openly and unabashedly love his passions.

I mean, just look at this happy face! He never smiles so honestly around Gabriel (or Heaven).

TLDR: Fuck Off Gabriel

Thanks for coming to my Tedtalk

SOURCES:

Many of Gabriel’s actions seem to leave Aziraphale feeling worthless, and powerless in their dynamic. If a person in your life makes you:

constantly second-guess yourself.

ask yourself, “Am I too sensitive?” multiple times a day.

often feel confused and even crazy.

always apologizing to your partner.

can’t understand why, with so many apparently good things in your life, you aren’t happier.

frequently make excuses for your partner’s behavior to friends and family.

find yourself withholding information from friends and family so you don’t have to explain or make excuses.

know something is terribly wrong, but you can never quite express what it is, even to yourself.

start lying to avoid the put-downs and reality twists.

have trouble making simple decisions.

have the sense that you used to be a very different person – more confident, more fun-loving, more relaxed.

feel hopeless and joyless.

feel as though you can’t do anything right.

wonder if you are a “good enough” partner.

The National Domestic Violence Hotline has some valuable resources for you to get any help you need.

352 notes · View notes

dickwheelie · 4 years

Text

Day 29: Secret Admirer

For the @ineffable-valentines prompt list!

Boy oh boy. I cannot believe I was able to post a fic for this prompt list, on time, every day for an entire month. For me, that’s huge. I tend to be a slow writer and I rarely finish the stuff I start. Not every fic was amazing, or very long, but by gosh, I sure did finish them, and I had so much fun doing it! Huge thanks to @mielpetite for making this list and reblogging all the entries throughout the month, they’ve been amazing. Thank you also to all the lovely folks who commented/reblogged/liked my fics, you gave me the motivation to sit down every day and write something, even when I wasn’t feeling it. Much love to all y’all.

If you go to the #ineffablevalentines tag on tumblr, you’ll see the other entries, and if you go here on my blog you’ll see all of mine. Okay, enough chat, please enjoy my final fic of the month, wherein to no one’s surprise, there is more letter writing.

__________

To the proprietor of A.Z. Fell & Co Booksellers, Downtown Soho, in case there’s another one knocking about somewhere—

I saw you in the shop the other day and couldn’t help but stare. You were gently ushering someone out the door without a single book in their hands, and I couldn’t help but find your tenacity admirable. I myself was careful not to remove any item from the store when I left, but I’m afraid I may have left one behind. I was wondering if you might have seen it, so I can come back to fetch it. You see, it’s terribly important to me. It’s my heart.

Love,

Your Secret Admirer

Aziraphale chuckled through an unseemly blush as he refolded the letter and placed it on the top of the stack that had been slowly growing on his desk for the past month. Every day of that cold, miserable February, a letter had arrived at his doorstep, with no return address and no name of sender. They were—and there was no beating around the bush about it, really—love letters, very obviously meant for him, from an anonymous so-called secret admirer.

At first, Aziraphale had been rather confused, but had kept the letters anyway, intending to show them to Crowley and have a good laugh. However, as each day passed and each new letter arrived, Aziraphale found himself quite charmed by this secretive writer. Clearly, they were a regular customer of some kind to know Aziraphale so well. They made all the right jokes, said all the right things, made references to all the right literary figures; either they had discerned Aziraphale’s tastes with perfect accuracy, or they had much in common with him.

Some of the letters were extremely lengthy; others, like today’s, were only a short paragraph or two, recounting the admirer’s feelings for him. Some were maudlin and prose-laden; some were humorous and sweet; others still were almost salacious in tone, never saying anything too outlandish but bordering on the cusp of it, hinting at things and implying things that made Aziraphale blush absolutely scarlet. All of them were quite flattering, and left Aziraphale’s mood brighter for the rest of the day.

Aziraphale had been charmed by humans before, and even been romantically pursued by some of them, but never before had one so captivated him with the written word. (This, of course, did not include works of literature. That was a very different kind of captivation that involved less blushing.) He’d never had a secret admirer before. It was all very thrilling and romantic.

Not being able to write back was a bit frustrating, but Aziraphale supposed it was for the best. Though he was quite flattered, and had reread some of the letters more times than he’d like to admit, at the end of the day, his admirer was only a human who only knew him as a bookseller.

Besides, Aziraphale was already taken. Speaking of which, he ought to get himself ready to meet Crowley for dinner; their reservation was at eight.

I ought to tell him about the letters, he thought as he went about selecting a bowtie. Crowley ought to know, after all, that he had some competition. Aziraphale laughed aloud at the thought. After dinner, he decided, he’d bring Crowley back to the shop and show him the pile of letters.

And so he did. Aziraphale poured them both a glass of wine and brought Crowley into his study, presenting the pile of papers as though it were an ice sculpture.

“Terribly sorry I didn’t mention these to you earlier,” said Aziraphale cheerily. “I suppose I didn’t want you getting jealous that I had a secret admirer.”

“Jealous? Me?” said Crowley wryly. “Never.”

“Well?” said Aziraphale, when Crowley didn’t make a move towards the desk. “Go ahead, read some of them. You have my full permission.”

“Hmm. I dunno,” said Crowley, making himself comfortable on one of the armchairs on the opposite side of the room. “Seems like your private affair, to me.”

“Nonsense! Here, I’ll read one to you.” Aziraphale selected one at random from the middle of the pile, unfolded it and cleared his throat. “Oh, this is rather a good one.

“My dear bookseller—

“I’ve read every Wilde I can get my hands on, but apparently even your shop doesn’t hold the book which may contain a description vivid enough to capture you. In my experience, none do; not Whitman, not Keats, not Dickenson. The most complimentary of love poems do not contain a subject more appealing to me than you are. I’m afraid there may not be words in the English language or any other to describe your radiance. Compared to all the other authors and poets, who am I to attempt such a feat?

“I must try anyway. You, of all the beings of the Earth and Heaven above and Hell below, deserve to know your own wonder. Compared to you, my perspective is lowly, to be sure. Still, was it not Wilde who once said that we are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars?

“Endlessly Yours,

“Your Secret Admirer.”

Aziraphale had to pause to surreptitiously wipe at his eyes. That one had been particularly moving when he’d first read it. “Now, wasn’t that just lovely?” he said after a moment. “They know my tastes so well.”

Aziraphale glanced over at Crowley to see his reaction, but to his surprise, Crowley was smiling. A small, rather sweet smile, not at all jealous or mischievous. “Yeah,” Crowley said, “it was alright.” He put out his hand. “Can I have a look?”

Aziraphale handed him the letter and Crowley perused it, his expression much more pensive than Azirapahle would have expected. After a minute or two, Crowley said, “Yeah, not too bad, really. Not much I’d change, on this one. Just that the references to Heaven and Hell were probably a little too on the nose. And I’m pretty sure I used ‘complimentary’ incorrectly there.”

“Oh, really?” said Aziraphale, taking the letter as Crowley passed it back to him. He gave it another quick once-over. “No, I think ‘complimentary’ with an ‘i’ is correct. If it was an ‘e’ then it would be wrong, as in ‘complementary’—wait a moment.”

Aziraphale looked back up at Crowley so quickly he could have given himself whiplash. “You said I. ‘I used it incorrectly.’ Crowley. Did you—”

Crowley grinned, and crossed the room to press a kiss to Aziraphale’s brow. “Happy Valentine’s, Angel,” he said. “Well, happy February. The fourteenth went by and I had more I wanted to say, so I just sort of kept going.”

And suddenly, it all made sense. Who else, after all, could know Aziraphale so well? A human, with limited time on the planet, observing Aziraphale from afar, could never reach such an intimate understanding of him, and what he loved.

“Oh, my dear,” said Aziraphale. He glanced over at the pile. He was already planning a late night of reading through them all again, this time with the proper demon in mind. “Do I even have to say it?”

Crowley stuck his hands in his pockets and bobbed his head from side to side in a pantomime of thinking. “Well, considering it look me bloody ages to draft these all up, and write them by hand, and train the mice to deliver them, and stop myself from bragging about them to you every day for the last month—”

Aziraphale interrupted him with a kiss. “All right then,” he said, laughing. “Thank you, secret admirer.”

Crowley beamed. “Ah, it was no big deal, Angel.”

***

On February first of the following year, Crowley woke up to find an envelope sitting on his bedroom windowsill, outside his flat. It was addressed to “The handsome gentleman on the fifth floor,” and there was no return address. Inside was a letter, written on very old parchment and with very expensive ink, which read:

My dear,

Forgive me for my boldness, but I happened to see you in the Ritz the other day (you were with a rather good-looking gentleman in white, a very lucky man, if he had the privilege of being your dining companion), and you seemed to me to be the most dashing person in the room. Nay, in all of London. I found myself thinking about you for the rest of the evening, and I just had to draft up this letter to tell you exactly how lovely you looked that night. Though you wore dark glasses, I could occasionally catch a glimpse of your eyes behind them, and their beautiful golden color, and I found myself nearly speechless every time.

In all of creation, I have never found a being so wonderful to gaze upon. I imagine that if I were to, hypothetically, take the place of your ever-so-fortunate dining companion, and have a conversation and a drink with you, I would also never find someone so fascinating, so caring, so clever as you. I imagine if I were lucky enough to know you so well, your wit would be as dazzling as your eyes.

With the Greatest Affection,

Your Secret Admirer

Scrawled at the bottom of the page, in a much hastier hand, was a postscript. Crowley read it, cackled uproariously (which helped to hide his blushing), and went immediately to phone Aziraphale, intending to explain to him the point of having a secret admirer.

P.S.: Please do let me know if you received this! The doves are not very good with street directions, unfortunately. I am working on it with them. Much love! —A

Crowley also intended to tell him that he bloody well loved him, too.

#ineffablevalentines #good omens #ineffable husbands #crowley #aziraphale #gwyneth writes

38 notes · View notes

sylwritesstuff · 4 years

Text

007) Fire (836)

Part of the Light to Dancing 100x100 List.

Rating: PG13 (language)

----

“So! With one act of treason, you've... averted the war.”

“Well, I think the greater good-”

“Don't talk to me about the greater good, sunshine, I'm the Archangel fucking Gabriel.” In the chair, Aziraphale's body sat up a little straighter. “The greater good was we were finally going to settle things with the opposition once and for all.”

Silence reigned, another angel crossing to him and ripping the ropes away from his wrists. “Up,” Uriel snapped.

And, rubbing his wrists, Aziraphale's body rose, expression calm as can be. The demon inside, however, had a racing mind. What were they doing in Hell? If he had all this hellfire before him, then... What was it the other way 'round? Eternity in a deep pit? Holy water? Facing the fire was simple enough for him to deduce now, but it still left Hell a secret. He straightened his jacket and his bowtie.

“Don't suppose I... can persuade you to reconsider?” He smiled nervously, but put a little oomph into his voice. Aziraphale was a Principality and Crowley knew how he sounded when he was offended. “We're meant to be the good guys, for Heaven's sake.”

Gabriel spread his hands. “Well, for Heaven's sake, we are meant to make examples of traitors. So. Into the flame.”

“Right. Well.” Aziraphale's blue eyes took in the column of fire, then looked back at the trio of angels watching him. “Lovely knowing you all. May we meet on a better occasion.”

“Shut your stupid mouth and die already,” Gabriel commanded, smile painfully fake. The demon inside Aziraphale nearly leapt out and ripped out his stupid throat. How dare he speak to Aziraphale like that.

Instead, he smiled nervously, swallowed, and stepped into the column of fire.

Of course, nothing happened. And nothing happened to Aziraphale in Hell either. He seemed rather proud of himself, really, and Crowley was proud too. Once their bodies were their own again and after they'd dined together at the Ritz and after days had passed without any further interference from their respective offices...

Well, Crowley couldn't get it out of his mind. The way Gabriel had looked. The way he'd spoken. Crowley remembered him before the fall and he hadn't seemed nearly so pompous. So what if he was an Archangel? Michael was the only one who'd made it into the bloody Bible, so how dare Gabriel get all on his high horse? Wanker.

He strolled into the bookshop, ignoring the Closed sign and the locked door. Aziraphale popped out from the back almost immediately. “I'm so sorry, but we're- Oh, Crowley! Hello, my dear. I wasn't expecting you.”

“Why is that you're a Principality, but those bloody Archangels still talk to you as if you're beneath them?”

“Oh, Crowley.”

“At least other demons talk to me exactly how they talk to anyone else. Including each other. There's some mutual respect there.”

Aziraphale clasped his hands together, smile soft and eyes warm. And it only made Crowley angrier.

“You don't deserve to be disrespected like that. I've got half a mind to go up there and punch Gabriel in his stupid fucking face. Introduce him to some bloody hellfire.”

Aziraphale stepped closer. “I would prefer it if you stayed here.”

Crowley ripped off his sunglasses, golden eyes furious. “I would prefer it if you never had to see any of them again. They don't deserve an angel as good as you. No one does. And I think-”

“You do.”

“Wot.”

Aziraphale stepped closer still and, before Crowley knew what was happening, his cheek was kissed. “You deserve me, and I believe I deserve you. So that's enough talk about going to Heaven on a suicide mission, my dear.”

Crowley blinked at him, waiting for his brain to kick in. Aziraphale just smiled at him, sweet and a little nervous. “You kissed me. Just now.”

“I did. Was I not supposed to?”

“Well, I...” Most of the gold receded in his confused surprise. “Ngk.”

“That wasn't a yes or a no.”

Crowley stepped forward before Aziraphale could step back, grabbing his waist and hauling him close.

“Oh, my.”

It was all Aziraphale managed before his mouth was taken, plundered in a way he'd never experienced before. Crowley knew that, but wondered if he'd imagined it. Someone who read and loved books so much must have an incredible imagination and Crowley wondered how much of himself had been in mind.

When the kiss ended, Aziraphale tipped his head back and blinked at him. “Well. You...”

“Yeah.”

“Oh.”

Crowley smirked, releasing him. "Get used to it, angel."

“Only if you won't be returning to Heaven anytime soon. Even though I do appreciate your attempts to defend me. It's very sweet.”

Crowley hiked him up to his toes. “Do not call me sweet.”

Aziraphale blushed, but smiled. “Precious, then.”

“Careful, angel.”

He giggled in Crowley's face. “What will you do if I'm not? I highly doubt you'd hurt me.”

No. No, he wouldn't. “Shut up,” he muttered and kissed him again.

#one demon loves one angel #good omens #good omens fic #ineffable husbands #fanfic #fanfiction #my writing #007 #fire #light to dancing #100x100

5 notes · View notes

misterspectacular · 5 years

Text

From Eden - Good Omens Music Video

youtube

So this song is about someone who's in love with another who is unattainable. It's honestly a very sad song about pining and longing and suits Crowley because that's exactly what he's dealing with in the series.

I wanted to first break down the song and explain it as it was intended (at least as far as I see it) before I get to explaining why it fits Crowley and Aziraphale and why I used certain scenes with the lyrics. I’m going to use “him” and “her” just to make it easier to understand, but I don’t think it necessarily had to be about a man and a woman.

Babe There's something tragic about you Something so magic about you Don't you agree?

(Basically this guy is in love with someone, who's both tragic and beautiful.)

Babe There's something lonesome about you Something so wholesome about you Get closer to me

(This guy sees how lonely she is, he's lonely too. He sees what a wholesome person she is, is drawn to it, and wants her to get closer to him, wants to get closer to her. Wants to be in her company, etc)

No tired sighs, no rolling eyes, no irony

(I feel this is him asking her not to do these things, but she does, and he wishes she wouldn't)

No 'who cares', no vacant stares

(Same as above)

no time for me

(And then the last bit takes a turn and it's where he comes out and says that she has no time for him and he's obviously sad about this)

Honey, you're familiar like my mirror years ago

(He can relate to her, sees himself in her, from a time before)

Idealism sits in prison

(Idealism: the practice of forming or pursuing ideals, especially unrealistically. Basically saying that he fantasizes about being with her, and maybe she does too, but they can't act on it. So it sits in prison)

chivalry fell on its sword

(Chivalry: courteous behavior, especially that of a man toward women. Basically this guy is thoughtful and attentive and considerate toward her, but it does nothing for him anyway. It fell on its sword - bit him in the arse, so to speak)

Innocence died screaming, honey, ask me I should know

(this part isn't made entirely clear right away, but we later find out in the song that this guy and the woman he loves are having an affair. I feel this is what he was referring to when he said the innocence dies screaming, because she is being unfaithful to her other man. And he is familiar with this loss of innocence, maybe because he's cheating too, or there could be some other reason - perhaps he just feels that he is generally a sinful person)

I slithered here from Eden just to sit outside your door

(He sees himself as sinful and wrong. He slithered to her from Eden, just to sit outside her door, just to waiting for her to love him)

Babe, there's something wretched about this

(the affair, cheating)

Something so precious about this

(he loves her all the same, she's beautiful to him)

Oh what a sin

(self explanatory)

To the strand a picnic plan for you and me

(to the strand, I saw that as meaning it's a strand from the rope that's in hand, which is mentioned below. Basically they have a plan to go on a picnic and it's adding to the strands of this rope)

A rope in hand for your other man to hang from a tree

(Basically, the other man knowing she's cheating on him with this guy. What would happen if he did know, which in a literal sense would be hanging himself, but could also be metaphorical for just being distraught)

Honey, you're familiar like my mirror years ago

Idealism sits in prison, chivalry fell on its sword Innocence died screaming, honey, ask me I should know I slithered here from Eden just to sit outside your door

(same as above)

Honey, you're familiar like my mirror years ago Idealism sits in prison, chivalry fell on its sword Innocence died screaming, honey, ask me I should know I slithered here from Eden just to hide outside your door

(same as above)

So now that I explained what the song was intended to mean, I can take it and explain how it fits with Crowley and his relationship with Aziraphale.

Babe - “Didn't you have a flaming sword?" There's something tragic about you - "I gave it away", "You WHAT?" "I gave it away!" Something so magic about you - *Crowley staring in awe* Don't you agree? - "I do hope I didn't do the wrong thing", "Oh, you're an angel, I don't think you can do the wrong thing", "Oh thank you, it's been bothering me"

(For this part, I wanted to show how Aziraphale is indeed a bit tragic. He's so worried about doing the wrong thing, he's quite pitiful. And despite all this, he DOES do the things Heaven doesn't want of him, and Crowley loves that part of Aziraphale. I feel because he's able to relate to it, and he sees that Aziraphale is not your regular angel, that he's different, like him. Doesn't really fit it.)

Babe There's something lonesome about you - *comes into Globe Theater, Aziraphale smiles* Something so wholesome about you - *smiles at Crowley for the Hamlet miracle* Get closer to me - *Crowley coming closer (wall of Eden)*

(Aziraphale is lonely, I think it's clear that Crowley is the one who excites him, his one true partner through the centuries. He's always very happy to see him when he comes around. I used the smile he makes at the Globe Theater because you can see so very clearly how pleased he is to see Crowley, and it's for no reason other than that he enjoys his company. Crowley’s not there to save him or anything, he’s just THERE, according to Aziraphale. Aziraphale also has this wholesomeness to him - I mean obviously, he's an angel. And the way he smiles at Crowley is nothing but wholesome. He lights up entirely.)

No tired sighs - *that sigh during the globe theater scene* no rolling eyes - "oh, good lord" no irony - "get thee behind me foul fiend"

(Irony is basically when someone says one thing but means the opposite, which is exactly what Aziraphale did when he told Crowley to "get behind him" and referred to him as a "foul fiend". Just after, he then tells him "after you!")

No 'who cares' - "heaven will win, it’s going to be rather lovely"

(When Aziraphale acts like he doesn't care about the end of the world which would ultimately be the end of he and Crowley's relationship because they'd be separated, both going back to their sides, Heaven and Hell)

no vacant stares - staring ahead

(on bench, won’t look at Crowley)

no time for me - *leaving (during knight scene), Crowley upset*

(Aziraphale rejecting his offer of the arrangement, turning and leaving)

Honey, you're familiar

(Aziraphale is familiar to Crowley, he's what he is, just the opposite. They're in the same position just on opposing sides. I felt showing their wings would be good way to emphasize that.)

like my mirror years ago - Standing on wall of eden

(This is obvious. Crowley used to be an angel, years ago. I also threw in David Tennant as King Richard because he looks like an angel there and somewhat similar to Crowley, I thought it'd be fun to do a cross-fade with that)

Idealism sits in prison - "I’ll give you a lift, anywhere you want to go"

(Crowley wants to take Aziraphale somewhere, to spend time together, but Aziraphale won't allow it.)

chivalry fell on its sword - "you go too fast for me, Crowley"

(Despite his offering to drop him off, being chivalrous, Aziraphale only declines.)

Innocence died screaming - "I’ll be damned"

(I thought this scene was perfect. Aziraphale's fallen for Crowley, quite some time ago. And you can see how excited he is about the two of them being Godfathers. And not only did he just give in to Crowley's plan, to stop Armageddon, which is against what Heaven wants, but he comes out and says "I'll be damned" which works nicely with the lyrics.)

honey, ask me I should know - "not so bad once you get used to it", Aziraphale's loses smile.

(Crowley's already fallen)

I slithered here from Eden - *slithering*

just to sit outside your door - *Aziraphale won't agree with Crowley. Zoom out, them on wall of Eden*

(Not only is he literally slithering to Aziraphale from Eden, being the serpent who tempted Eve, but this is also metaphorical. Aziraphale won't agree with Crowley, he won't let him in, so to speak. He is rejecting Crowley in so many ways, and so Crowley is forced to either wait or just deal with the fact that Aziraphale won't give in. Just to wait outside his door, perhaps you could even say this "door" is Aziraphale's "walls". Fitting that we see the wall of Eden in this case.)

Babe there's something wretched about this - "It's over"

(Instead of using the "cheating" idea for this part, I used the whole, Aziraphale refusing to give in, idea. And breaking up with Crowley. That really was wretched.)

Something so precious about this - *blowing away stain, Aziraphale smiles*

(Self explanatory)

Oh what a sin - *watches after Aziraphale*

(Crowley's always sinning, but I was thinking more of Aziraphale during this scene, because he's the one that's not supposed to, but he is. He's in love with a demon, there's nothing more sinful, according to Heaven.)

To the strand a picnic plan for you and me - "one day we could, I don't know. Go for a picnic, dine at the Ritz"

(Literal. Couldn't be more perfect. You know a song's right for the pairing when there are lyrics and scenes that fit together like this.)

A rope in hand - Aziraphale handing over holy water

for your other man to hang from a tree - Gabriel looking at proof of their meet up

(Heaven is basically what Aziraphale is cheating on with Crowley. It's always stood for that in the series, subtextually. So of course I showed Aziraphale handing over the Holy Water that he stole from Heaven, and Gabriel finding out Aziraphale and Crowley have been meeting up and have a thing.)

Honey, you're familiar - going to heaven/hell through escalators

(Again, shows that they are the same, as is common with all opposites. It's how yin and yang works. Two sides of the same coin. A coin, but different sides of that coin. Opposites are never really different, they're actually exactly the same, just one's on THIS side and one's on THAT side.)

like my mirror years ago - "You were an angel once", "that was a long time ago"

(This song is literally perfect for them)

Idealism sits in prison - "we're hereditary enemies!"

(Aziraphale continues to reject Crowley)

chivalry fell on its sword - *handing over books* "How long have we been friends?" "Friends? We're not friends!"

(He always does things for Aziraphale. He's not only saved Aziraphale, but he's saved his books as well, and after all of this, all the favors, Aziraphale only denies that they're friends. Chivalry fell on its sword, indeed.)

Innocence died screaming - *Aziraphale in trouble with angels*

(Aziraphale 'cheating' on Heaven with Crowley, is the reason his innocence dies. He's at risk of falling because of his 'affair' with Crowley. This was the theme throughout the series, and in the original script, there was going to be a scene where he's falling for Crowley and there are some neon signs behind him, looking like a halo, that's flickering on and off. As he falls, he FALLS. I love how they did that. Falling in love with Crowley means falling from Heaven.)

honey, ask me I should know - "I didn't mean to fall"

(He's already fallen - could say from Heaven and for Aziraphale, as well)

I slithered here from Eden, just to sit outside your door - waiting outside of bookshop "well that was a thing"

(Couldn't be a better scene, especially considering in the book, it says that Crowley suddenly ‘’felt very alone’’. And he's also literally waiting outside his door, after Aziraphale basically told him to leave. I don't think Crowley had intended to leave, he got out of his car for a reason. I think he'd planned on going inside with Aziraphale up until the angel made clear that he wanted him to go.)

Honey, you're familiar like my mirror years ago - "we have a lot in common, you and me", "I don't know. We may have started off as angels, but YOU are fallen."

(So perfect. This shows us that Crowley feels he and Aziraphale are similar. Familiar. Like his mirror years ago, both started off as angels. This also shows us that Aziraphale is still rejecting Crowley.)

Idealism sits in prison - "We can go off together!", "we are an angel and a demon!" bandstand scene

(Crowley wants to run away with Aziraphale. That's the idealism. Aziraphale refuses, that's why it sits in prison.)

chivalry fell on it's sword - "We have nothing what so ever in common, I don't even like you!" "You do!"

(Crowley offers to take Aziraphale away with him, only for Aziraphale to say he doesn't even like him.)

Innocence died screaming - Aziraphale watching Crowley after he saved books

(This scene was also meant to be one that signifies Aziraphale's falling. There's a poster based on the scene, where the wings of the burning bird are placed perfectly behind Aziraphale, to make it look like his wings are on fire. AKA he's falling. And then the books are in the middle of them, and Crowley's off to the side. His falling in love with Crowley is his falling from Heaven, same idea.)

honey, ask me I should know - "I only ever asked questions!"

(same as before)

I slithered here from Eden - driving to bookshop

just to hide outside your door - puts on his sunglasses outside of bookshop

(I wanted to kill everyone, so I had Crowley "slithering from Eden" [driving to Aziraphale's burning bookshop], just to "hide outside his door" [put his glasses on, trying to be cool, trying to hide from what he's feeling, outside the bookshop once he's left and thinks Aziraphale is dead. In the book script, it's actually written that he was trying to hide from his feelings and trying to stay cool about the whole thing, in typical Crowley fashion]).

And I ended it with him talking about his being a demon, not meaning to fall, because his being a demon is the main reason why he and Aziraphale couldn't be together in the first place and also why he probably thinks Aziraphale was killed (for meeting up with him in secret, which they wouldn't have had to do if they were both still angels and wouldn't have been an issue if he hadn't fallen. I don't think a lot of people realized that the reason Crowley brings up his fall after something bad happens with he and Aziraphale is because he believes that's the REASON for it; his being a demon, his falling. If he were still an angel, it'd not been an issue.

It's not a music video that I felt should end happily, because the song doesn't end happily. It's a sad song. Like I said, it's about wanting someone you can't have.

But it ends just before Aziraphale returns to Crowley, which is really the moment that everything gets better.

When I made this, I had to take some clips and remove the music from them, which ended up distorting the dialogue somewhat, but you can still hear what they're saying for the most part. I also had some scenes that couldn't be edited very well, so I had to leave them, and then I couldn't put the music too low or too high for certain bits. It was tough to get that audio where it is, hopefully it won't be too distracting.

I saw that a few other people made music videos for this song and this pairing but I wanted to have my own shot at it. Enjoy!

#good omens #ineffable husbands #aziraphale x crowley #crowley x aziraphale #music video #from eden

12 notes · View notes

justthingstbh · 5 years

Text

Synchronise the beat of our hearts

Chapter 1: The smell of Carnations

Heaven and Hell had laid off of them and Aziraphale started to get a little bored. Yes, of course, he was extremely happy that it all worked out rather splendidly, but without a job, Eternity could get boring.

Well, Eternity alone would get boring. But he wasn’t alone. Crowley was always close but never close enough. Not for Aziraphale’s liking anyway.

They did spend more time together now, dining at the Ritz, seeing one of their friend Will’s plays, there were so many things that occupied their time.

And one of them came by mail to the bookshop one morning. Aziraphale had been dusting, when the letter fell on to small doormat.

With a few quick strides, Aziraphale was at the door and picked up the envelope. He didn’t often get mail, not since telephones and smart phones had been invented. Before that, he had gotten an abundance of letters, mostly from authors that he had befriended, some poets, some playwrights and, even though he would never tell anyone this, some lovers. He used to keep them all, stuffed away in boxes, organised by year and person. That all changed with the invention of texting. Letters had gotten almost obsolete, except for banks and advertisers.

This letter didn’t look like one from a bank though. The paper was thick, cream white and ordained with small black flowers in the bottom right corner, just under the address.

As he let his eyes glimpse over the address, his brow furrowed in confusion.

To A & A. Crowley

Whoever this was from obviously thought that they lived together. If Aziraphale had for a few moments just relished in the idea that someone on this earth thought they might live together, might even be a couple or married, then he would keep that his little secret.

He carefully cut open the letter with a letter opener that Crowley had gifted him around two hundred years ago, the thick paper tearing just perfectly against the sharp blade. The blade set aside, he pulled out the sturdy cardstock.

It was the same cream colour and on it, in black shimmering letters, adorned with beautifully drawn black roses stood the following:

Together with their parents and all their ancestors

Anathema Device

And

Newton Pulsifer

Request the pleasure of the company of Aziraphale and Anthony Crowley to celebrate their marriage at Bartley Lodge Hotel, Lyndhurst Rd, Cadman, Southampton. SO40 2NR, UK on Saturday, the 25th of August 2020 at 1:30 pm.

The reception will also be held at the Bartley Lodge Hotel. Accommodations are available.

R.S.V.P by the 30th of May 2020.

Aziraphale’s entire face was painted in such a soft expression after reading the invitation that nothing could ever be compared to it. This soft expression fell from his face when he saw a small letter that still remained in the envelope.

He pulled it out and this was different than the thick, proper cardstock that he was just handling. It was a normal piece of paper, on it words in soft handwriting that definitely belonged to Anathema.

Read on Ao3

Hello you two!

I hope we don’t catch you off guard with this but we have a small request. In my family, there has been a tradition for multiple hundreds of years. On your wedding day, you dance the normal couple dance, but when the chorus starts playing, eight people join you on the dance floor. These people are to be considered the most important people in your life. And well, we both decided that not only did you two stop the literal Apocalypse with us, but we have also grown very fond of you over the last year. Therefore, we wanted to ask, if you may join us on the dance-

That was when Aziraphale dropped the letter, ran over to the telephone and dialled Crowley’s number without even thinking about it. He didn’t have to wait long until the demon drawled a sleepy “Morning Angel,” into the phone that was almost immediately cut off by Aziraphale saying:

“Morning, my dear. Get to the bookshop at once, will you? Something happened. We need to talk about it. Now, Pip pip.”

With that he hung up, leaving a perfectly confused demon standing in his boxers at his desk, holding his landline in his hand.

Crowley was dressed in seconds, Aziraphale had sounded worried over the phone and to be perfectly honest, Crowley was just a tad terrified. What if heaven had come back? What if Aziraphale could feel that something had changed in heaven? What if they were looking for them?

So Crowley grabbed his glasses and ran down to his Bentley, getting in and arriving at the bookshop precisely 7 minutes and 45 seconds later. Way quicker than it should have been possible, not with following the traffic laws at least.

He threw the bookshop door open, prepared for the absolute worst, only to find the sun shining in through the windows, showing the small pieces of dust flying in the air. The sun hitting the angel from behind, illuminating his entire presence with an almost heavenly glow.

He looked beautiful, Crowley thought. Something he would never admit to in front of Aziraphale of course.

“Angel? What’s wrong?”

That was when the other man turned to look at Crowley, a soft smile painting itself on his face. “Crowley, dear. Well, maybe you should read it for yourself.” He smiled out, walking over to Crowley, handing him the ornate invitation and the letter, walking back to his desk after he did so, bending over to write down something on a piece of paper.

As Crowley's eyes flickered over the invitation his lips curled up slightly. He had never been invited to a wedding before, well never one that he could actually go to, due to most of them being in churches.

He sat the invitation down and started reading the letter, his lips slowly losing the upwards curl. He also didn’t finish reading the letter, putting it down even earlier than Aziraphale.

For a short second, he didn’t say anything, until his mouth suddenly let out a small: “But I can’t dance.”

Aziraphale turned to him slightly. “I can’t either, dear. Except when they let me dance the Gavotte, but I think that is rather against Anathema’s taste.” He turned back to the small paper on his desk.

“Also, I picked chicken for you on their RSVP, I know you’re not a big fan of fish.”

“Thank you, Angel.” He mumbled absentmindedly. He didn’t even like to eat, but if he did, it was never fish. He just hated their texture. He thought while sitting down on a small chair that fit Aziraphale’s interior design but hadn’t been there a few seconds ago.

“And we are one of their most important people?” Crowley asked, a little dumbfounded.

“Seems to be the case.”

“And they think we are married and you took my last name, that is actually just my first name?” he whispered just loud enough for Aziraphale to hear.

The angel turned red at the comment, not looking up from the letter he was writing.

“I suppose so.”

“Huh.”

Aziraphale signed off the letter with an extravagant signature, letting the fountain pen roll out of his hand carefully after he capped it. “I just wrote our reply, explaining that we sadly can’t take them up on the offer, due to our sheer incompetence when it comes to the art of dancing.”

Crowley scoffed and with a small snap of his finger, the letter was in his hands. His delicate fingers ripping it in half, while Aziraphale just stared at him, mouth agape and brows raised.

“I’m not letting you tell those two that even though we had more time on this earth than anyone else we don’t know how to dance.” He moved over and sat down on the desk. “Also they sounded quite excited to have us in that tradition and we shouldn’t break their heart, right angel?”

Of course, this wasn’t the reason why Crowley decided to rip the letter. Yes, some of it came with his pride, thinking that if they knew that he couldn’t dance he wouldn’t hear the end of it. Mostly though, it came from the idea of holding Aziraphale close to him, only them in a moment, accompanied by music, expressing everything that Crowley was too dumb to say. He imagined being twirled around by Aziraphale, their feet moving in perfect synchronisation, working together to accomplish perfect harmony. Something that was basically already their entire friendship.

He would never know that Aziraphale thought of the same things when he said: “Well I suppose we can’t let them down, poor Anathema would hate us and I don’t want to get on her bad side.”

Crowley’s lips turned up, his eyebrows arching just a little, as he stuck out his hand towards the angel. “May I tempt you to learn how to dance with me, angel?”

Aziraphale almost let out a soft snort at that. His eyes growing soft, his smile changing from careless to fond. If his eyes quickly slipped to look at Crowley’s lips as he took his hand to shake it, nobody would tell.

“Temptation accomplished.”

------

Dancing was hard. That was Aziraphale’s first thought when they showed up to their first dance lesson. They had chosen to learn a Waltz, mostly due to the fact that in all the marriages that Aziraphale had attended over the years, (and he had attended a lot, comes with being a creature of love after all), it was the one that was normally sought after when people asked for couple dances.

The second thought that crowded Aziraphale's mind was that he wished they were learning the gavotte or anything else that didn’t force him to be this close to Crowley. Holding his hand in his, while his own hand settled on the small of Crowley’s back. It was too much.

But it wasn’t just the physical contact, it was how Crowley understood the steps easily, moving with him gracefully, while Aziraphale stepped on the others toes more times than he could count.

This was inherently too much for him to handle, so when the dance instructor came over and adjusted their positions he was inherently grateful for her bickering.

She moved their hands carefully, turning their heads. “You two keep staring at each other, that’s not what you do in a Waltz.” She called over the other instructor and they showed the two that their backs were supposed to be straight, Aziraphale’s hand wasn’t supposed to be on the small of Crowley’s back, but on his shoulder blade and that they should keep a bigger distance between their bodies. “A waltz is all about looking majestic. It’s not about the romantic appeal of holding your partner close to you, but more about the sheer beauty and elegance that moves you over the dance floor. Now, try again.”

With their positions adjusted, Aziraphale could actually get through the step patterns without stepping on Crowley’s feet, his eyes always trained behind Crowley instead of his eyes, that were obstructed by the sunglasses. It helped, to actually be handled around by their instructor. Otherwise, Aziraphale might have never been able to stop staring at Crowley while they danced and that just made dancing hard in a very different way.

After that, they learned quickly, after about a month they managed to almost glide over the dance floor. Only now and again moving too fast or too slow for one another.

It was after a rather good lesson that their instructor, Madame Seyleit came over to them. A proud smile on her face. “You two learn quickly, I’m honestly quite proud of you.”

Madame Seyleit was a pretty short woman, but just from looking at her, you could tell that she had the muscles to beat up people twice her size. She carried herself with such grace and purpose that no matter where she was, she looked like she belonged. It looked like she was the one in charge.

Crowley bowed his head at her compliment, actually flattered by her words. “Thank you very much, we try our best, don’t we, Angel?”

As his head moved to the side to look at Aziraphale, who was smiling proudly and nodding along, he missed the way that Madame Seyliet smiled as she saw the two.

“I’m rather glad that you are doing so well, and I-” she looked onto the floor for a second, clearing her throat. “I have a small favour to ask of you.”

When both of them just smiled at her with expectancy in their eyes, she continued. “You see, we have an annual show, presenting what you can learn in our dance lessons and the two people we had for the Waltz can’t make it, because Catherine got pregnant. So I wanted to ask you two if you would mind learning a choreography and presenting it at the show next month?”

Her smile was careful, fragile. It was the smile of a woman begging these basically strangers to help her with something so important to her that they would probably never understand.

Before Aziraphale could even think about it, Crowley had already accepted. “Of course we can help.”

As they talked Aziraphale took to looking at Crowley’s face. Looking at the demon that was nice and kind, but would never admit it. The demon that would help out this woman that they barely knew, just because he knew that is what Aziraphale would want to do.

Crowley was the only person, the only being that knew Aziraphale for what he really was. And Aziraphale was the only person that got to see the good that poured out of Crowley in waves so strong that even dams wouldn’t be able to contain it.

“So, that seems like private lessons to me?” Crowley inquired.

“Yes, you two would be taking over their Choreography to At Last by Etta James. It’s a wonderful one and you two would be perfect for it.”

And so, the two agreed. Not knowing what they were getting into.

-------

“Keep your head higher, Crowley.” Madame Seyleit cut in from the side and if Crowley didn’t have as much respect for the woman as he did, he would have left hours ago. Having Aziraphale guide him across the dance floor was also definitely a pro to the staying department.

They had been practising for around two hours and if Crowley said that it was coming together easily, he would have been lying to himself.

It wasn’t even the steps that were confusing or the choreography in general. It was the pure and utter irony that finally, after all these years, he had Aziraphale in his arms. Closer than they had ever really been before and this woman, this woman who thought that they were both humans. Not just humans, no she thought they were married. This woman had the audacity to play Etta James’ “At last” while they danced and every time Crowley let himself listen to the lyrics, he had the feeling he would combust.

“Crowley!” came from the sidelines again, interrupting his thoughts and making him stumble over his own feet.

“Shit,” he hissed out as he fell backwards, but before he could fall, Aziraphale caught him in a soft embrace.

“No need to worry, I got you,” the angel smiled out as he pulled Crowley upright.

Crowley’s face was slowly adjusting its colour to match his hair, seeing the tender smile on the angels face. That tender smile that Crowley so desperately wanted to kiss. So before he could do anything stupid, he pulled away. Thanking the angel for catching him, before he turned to Madame Seyleit.

“Yes? You had a note?” he asked carefully. He wanted to do right by her, right by his angel. He just wanted to not fuck up, once in his life.

“Yes, dear. Your posture.” She smiled and walked over, putting a hand on the small of his back, guiding him back towards Aziraphale.

She took the angels hands and placed them on Crowley, before pulling them off again. “Actually Aziraphale, would you be a dear and grab us some bottles of water from the front? You two must be horribly thirsty.”

Aziraphale quickly nodded and made his exit and as soon as the door was closed Madame Seyleit looked back to Crowley.

“Dear are you alright?” her voice was softer than it was when she barked orders at them. It was gentle, it was the kind of voice that you would use to speak to a baby bird.

When he didn’t answer, she continued. “See, your posture, for some reason you are carrying yourself differently today. Normally you carry yourself, knowing that the whole world looks at you, and normally it looks as if that makes you the happiest person alive, so what is wrong today?”

She moved closer to him and he turned his gaze to the floor. “See you can’t even look at me and normally you don’t have a problem with that either. Did something happen between you two?”

Crowley shook his head with a soft smile. “No, nothing happened.”

“Then what is it?”

“You see,” he started, looking up and over her shoulder. “Even if the whole world is looking at me, it doesn’t matter.”

“Why not?”

“Because he isn’t looking.”

“Oh Crowley, dear.” She put her hand on his cheek, forcing him to look at her. “If you think he isn’t looking, then you aren’t paying attention.”

After that, Crowley’s posture never slacked again.

------

Nervous wasn’t even a word for how Aziraphale felt. Maybe anxious would fit better to his current situation, or maybe tense. Whatever the best word for it was, it felt bad. Very bad.

It didn’t help that the person that normally helped him through his anxiousness wasn’t here. Crowley was somewhere on the other side of the stage, hiding in the darkness beyond the bright stage lights. But he was there, somewhere. Aziraphale could feel him, feel the demonic presence that surrounded Crowley every second. He could smell the slightest hint of what one could describe as a burnt-out campfire. His presence was present in the smallest corners of Aziraphale’s mind, calming him in a way no human ever could.

He watched the couple before perform a gorgeous salsa. They twisted and turned on the dancefloor in motions too quick for his brain to even comprehend, two people so in sync, that not even an earthquake could bring them out of their step routine.

He prayed to everything that he ever held holy that Crowley and he wouldn’t fuck this up. They had practised too long and too hard for it to now go wrong.

Just as he straightened his lapels the song of the previous couple ended, both of them shimmering with sweat but smiling from ear to ear. They had done a remarkable job, the angel let himself think before the anxiety kicked back in. It was their turn now, their turn to show what Madame Seyleit had been trying to teach them for two months.

He took one final deep breath and walked to his starting position. He didn’t dare look over towards Crowley, he would only freak himself out more.

So when Madame Seyleit walked onto the stage and announced them, his heart fell down, out of his body and onto the stage. Only metaphorically of course, just because he didn’t need a heart, didn’t mean he had to be impolite.

The violins started playing and Aziraphale’s body moved on instinct, his feet carrying him over the stage just like the thousands of times before.

And oh, he was lucky that his body knew what to do because when he saw Crowley his brain stopped working.

The demon before him, who was mirroring his actions perfectly was wearing a deep black dress. It was tight around his upper body but spread out downward. The edges of the dress were a deep red, a perfect match to Crowley's hair, that he had miracled long for their performance. His curls falling over his shoulders and framing his face.

His beautiful eyes were obstructed by his usual glasses, which was the only thing that was so normal and familiar about the demon, that it calmed Aziraphale's mind immediately.

He twirled Crowley in, catching the demons other hand in his and he couldn’t stop himself before he whispered a soft. “You look stunning.” into the demon's ear before he twirled him out again.

At last

Their bodies moved on instinct, their muscles so used to the routine that they barely had anything to do with it. It felt almost like breathing, so natural, so normal.

This close to Crowley, the presence in the angel's brain tuned out everything else. His entire mind was filled with the smell of smouldering embers, with the power that was hidden underneath that lean human body.

But it wasn’t just fire that he could smell on Crowley. Crowley hadn’t smelt like a normal demon for years. His scent was interrupted by the smell of something, that Aziraphale couldn’t quite pinpoint.

My love has come along

He sent Crowley to twirl twice, before catching his hand and pulling him back to him in a fluid motion. That was when the smell hit him again and then he remembered it.

He remembered how it had been all over him in 1892. He remembered the floral scent that reminded him of cloves, the scent that was almost a spicy floral. Carnations. Crowley smelt like carnations. He probably had smelt of carnations for centuries, but it was the first time that Aziraphale was close enough, perceptive enough to actually realise it. The first time he let himself realise it.

My lonely days are over

At the line they separated again, Aziraphale letting go of Crowley’s hand and moving beside him as the demon turned once, twice and then once more.

As Aziraphale walked beside Crowley, the scent wasn’t as strong and his entire body was begging to have him back in his arms. To have that scent fill his nostrils.

Was this how Crowley felt? Aziraphale moving, his motivations twisting and turning every century, breaking so many rules but not the one that he needed him to break?

Before he could follow that thought further, Crowley was back in his arms. The carnations in his nose and the fire in his brain.

And life is like a song

They twirled around faster, moving in perfect synch. At that moment, Aziraphale was happy that their dance required them to look away from one another, because at the words, those words by Etta James that he had heard a thousand times, he finally understood.

He finally understood all the love songs. Of course, he knew that Crowley loved him, he could feel it, smell it, scent it. He was a being of love after all, but did Crowley know?

Did he know how much Aziraphale loved him back? Did he understand that with every perfect harmony in every cheesy love song, Aziraphale’s mind filled with that campfire scent and the scent that he only now really pinpointed.

Did Crowley understand that he didn’t save this world for the humans, but only for him? Did he understand that stopping the apocalypse had been an entirely selfish act on his part? Did he realise that Aziraphale only went against heaven because he didn’t want to have to fight the demon that he slowly had been falling in love with for thousands of years?

At last the skies above are blue

But were they? Where their clouds finally gone? Could Crowley see clearly?

Had he ever seen the truth?

He let go of Crowley’s hand, both of them, moving carefully, moving their arms in small wave-like motions before their hands found each other again.

My heart was wrapped up clover the night I looked at you

Their hands found each other, just like they had. Hundreds of times, over the span of six thousand years and then, suddenly thousands of times over the span of eleven years. They had grown so much closer. They had bled into each other, they always had.

Crowley bringing out the demon in Aziraphale and Aziraphale bringing out the angel in Crowley.

I found a dream that I could speak to

Wasn’t that just what Crowley was to him? The angel asked himself, stealing a glance at the demon in his arms, the red hair reflecting the lights. The copper in it almost blinding the angel.

But that wasn’t the only blinding thing about Crowley. The most breathtaking, the most blinding was the soft, careless smile that the demon was wearing. He looked at peace.

Aziraphale couldn’t remember the last time that Crowley had looked to carefree. So vulnerable.

It hit him at that moment, Crowley was everything he had ever wanted. He was his dream come true. His dream that he could speak to.

A dream that I can call my own

The angel's smile faltered slightly. That was the problem, wasn’t it? He didn’t know if he could call Crowley his. They had never talked about it. Aziraphale had never really considered talking about it before.

I found a thrill to press my cheek to

Aziraphale’s motion stayed the same, but they had turned sad, had turned confused. The smell of carnations was still plaguing his mind. Holding him close, keeping his mind from wandering to anything other than the demon that he loved.

A thrill I've never known

Aziraphale turned Crowley into his arms again, swaying from side to side until the demon let himself fall, Aziraphale holding him and spinning them carefully.

You smiled, you smiled oh and then the spell was cast

Aziraphale tried to remember, tried to pinpoint when he first smelled the carnations. They had a distinct smell, so it didn’t take him long to remember.

The wall. Eden. The smell had been faint back then, a single flower beginning to blossom, but it was there. It had always been there.

And here we are in Heaven

Aziraphale guided Crowley back onto his feet, and for the first time, since they started to dance, he met his eyes. He could see the faint yellow glow behind the glasses.

And as he left a soft smile curve his lips, the smell of carnations became the only thing that he could smell.

It brought back memories, ancient Greece, the Virgin Mary, and most recently Oscar Wilde.

It was the smell of undying love.

For you are mine at last

He twirled Crowley one last time. Regretting that the dance was over so quickly.

But as the crowd applauded and Crowley took his hand to bow and then guide him off stage, the smell of carnations stayed. Faint, but there.

It had always been there.

Wherever Crowley was, the smell was close behind. A constant companion.

A companion that Aziraphale had begun to love.

And he wasn’t talking about the flowers.

But he could never tell his demon. He couldn’t risk losing him. He couldn’t risk losing his dream. So he kept quiet, enjoying the carnations in silence.

Knowing what they meant, but being too afraid to actually confirm his suspicion. By all means, the smell could be coming from him. Did Crowley even know what Carnations mean?

Had he ever worn a green one in his buttonhole? Or was this all wishful thinking on the angels part?

He would never know unless he asked, but sometimes living in uncertainty, was better than living with pain.

Only because you know someone loves you, doesn’t mean they love you in the same sense as you loved them. What if Crowley loved him in a different sense?

That’s what the Greeks had been going on about right? Different kinds of love. What if Aziraphale had fallen, in such a different sense, that he didn’t notice that Crowley had only stumbled?

No, he would rather be in pain, being able to be close to his demon, than potentially messing this up.

He could deal with an eternity of pining, he couldn’t deal with an eternity without Crowley.

#chapter one of this mess #My writing #Crowley #Aziraphale #Ineffable husbands #Good omens

11 notes · View notes

fallwithmemydear · 5 years

Video

youtube

I’ve been listening to this lovely song a lot lately, and it recently struck me how remarkably similar it is to the story of Aziraphale and Crowley. It fits so perfectly, in fact, that I’ve decided to analyze the song, line by line, as if it’s being sung by Aziraphale and is from his perspective after the events of the book/show. (I suggest that you listen to the song first before you read my analysis of it, btw.) So without further ado:

ARMY OF ANCIENTS - GOOD OMENS ANALYSIS

An army of ancients could rise from the ground/And tear every nation apart: Obvious reference to Armageddon. The army of ancients rising from the ground is a direct allusion to the hellions and demons below, but I also take the army of ancients to mean an army of angels, too. Considering the style in which the word is sung, it could easily be mistaken for “angels.” And in Good Omens, it’s clear that the angels from which Aziraphale came use somewhat morally gray methods to accomplish their means. They care about winning the war no matter what, and damn the consequences; thus their ascension from the so-called ground, the bottom, Hell.

And I’d still be sitting there counting my cards/Wondering when will it start?: Aziraphale is used to a certain way of life - his comforts, his luxuries, his home - after six thousand years. “Counting my cards” is a reference to a game, one that likely involves gambling. The entire Arrangement with Crowley is definitely a gamble: there’s always a risk that they’ll get caught by their respective Head Offices (and they eventually are).

However, cards could also be referring to the sort of activities Crowley has successfully tempted Aziraphale into over the past millennia - going out for lunch, drinking copious amounts of wine, and maybe even gambling as well. If we go with this interpretation, then Aziraphale is saying that despite the apocalypse, Crowley and I will remain. The line about “wondering when will [Armageddon] start” can also be perceived to mean that Aziraphale is wondering when the real war to end all wars (the one Crowley referenced at the end of Episode Six; “Heaven and Hell against all of us”) is coming.

The oceans and forests could collide into one/And muddy this world in a spark: This references Adam coming into his power. The oceans represent the unknown, the ethereal, the ineffable: myths and conspiracies that Adam reads about in Anathema’s magazines. And the forests represent the world as we know it - a concrete of Adam’s world, anchored in reality; the Them’s hideaway in the forest, where he feels safe and free. The collision of the real with the unreal (as Adam subconsciously makes the unreal a reality) signals that Armageddon is here, the world is ending. The line “and muddy this world in a spark” is a further extension of this metaphor, and refers to the ruination of the world brought forth by the “spark” of Adam’s mind.

And I’d still be sitting there twiddling my thumbs/Wondering when will it start?: Aziraphale does nothing while the so-called apocalypse is happening. This could be a reference to the overall futility of Aziraphale and Crowley’s work during the eleven years leading up to Armageddon (as they influenced the wrong child and all of their work was in vain). Or it could be a reference to his knowledge that there is nothing he can do to stop it.

How did the fox get the raven to crow?: This has to be my absolute favorite line. The fox, typically known as a wily trickster throughout fairytales, represents humanity, and the raven is Crowley, with pitch-black wings. The fox got the raven to crow - change his name from Crawley to Crowley, hide his demonic, inhuman appearance, shade his snake-eyes behind sunglasses. The fox got the raven to “change” its very nature for its sake.

Why, at the creek, did the dog lose the bone?: This, to me, is Aziraphale questioning how he and Crowley lost hold of the true Antichrist, and fixated on Warlock (the wrong boy) for so many years. But it could also be him wondering how Adam managed to win the hellhound over and take him as his pet in a small little dog form. This one is more open to personal interpretation, I think. All of the questions in this song are direct references to either fables (written by Aesop) or biblical passages.

The man could come back on his fiery throne/To measure the feathers and hearts: The hypothetical “man” here has to be referring to a divine being. Whether Aziraphale is talking about Satan or God, however, is I think up to interpretation. “Fiery” would imply that he’s talking about Lucifer, but the act of measuring the feathers and hearts is a reference to Ancient Egyptian myth, where when mortals died, their hearts would be measured on celestial scales against the Feather of Ma’at (who was the goddess of justice) to determine whether their actions made them worthy of passing on to paradise, or Heaven. A being maintaining justice, however, could be God. Regardless of who this being is, Aziraphale says they “could come back,” so it definitely can’t be anyone who walks the earth.

And I’ll still be whistling Dixie alone/Wondering when will it start?: “Dixie” is a song very commonly associated with the south (specifically in the United States) and the Confederacy of the American Civil War. This connects with Aziraphale’s supposed “roots” as the southern pansy, as he’s dubbed by Shadwell. And he’s still wondering when the real war is coming.

I don’t want to wake up/I don’t want to move: This is where the song shifts from its previous pattern. Aziraphale is saying he doesn’t want to wake up from his life of comfort and pleasure; he doesn’t want to leave Earth. He wants to stay and keep enjoying the luxuries (mostly foods) he so wholeheartedly enjoys.

I’ll skip the sermon and stick to the booze/I’m sorry: Aziraphale denounces his faith - he’s on his and Crowley’s side, not Heaven’s - and says he’ll stick to his comforts. He’ll keep drinking with his demon and dining at the Ritz and feeding the ducks in St. James Park. And he apologizes, because of course in a way, he is denouncing himself. He is denouncing what he was created for. He’s announcing his moral grayness and his love for Crowley, the importance he places on staying with his demon above all else - even the greater good.

Well, I’ll take what I want in the dawn’s early light: Aziraphale will take what he wants (often used as a sexual phrase) in the very early morning - again, sexual implications. It can be assumed that Crowley is what he wants, and he no longer has any qualms about making it clear what he wants.

How did the fox get the raven to crow?: Again, how did humans manage to make Crowley change himself - change what Aziraphale loves about him?

Why did the hen pick grains in the snow?: After a fair amount of research, I can’t actually find the exact fable the song is referencing, but I can derive its meaning. Picking grains in the snow seems like a futile, almost pointless task; perhaps Aziraphale sees himself as the (mother) hen, and is asking himself why he and Crowley went to the seemingly pointless trouble of trying to influence the “Antichrist” (Warlock) for so many years, in an attempt to balance him out and raise him to be completely neutral. (The answer, of course, is simple: because Crowley suggested it, and because Aziraphale is absolutely #whipped. So is Crowley.)

Why did the brother bury his gold?: I’ve seen this recorded as “coat” instead of “gold,” which would be a reference to the story of Cain and Abel, in which Cain kills and buries his brother. As God supposedly clothed Adam and Eve in “coats” of animal skins, it can be inferred that the brother in the song buried not his own coat, but Abel’s.

The man took the rats, but the kids came along: Direct reference to the story of the Pied Piper. I think this could also be an observation made about Adam’s “enchantment” (read: control) over the rest of the Them during his little rampage. The rats could be a reference to Adam’s “new friends,” or the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse - some pretty nasty people, if you ask me. Easily comparable to rats.

Why did the mouse help the beast with his thorn?: Another of my favorite lines. This has to be Aziraphale recounting back to the first time he ever helped Crowley, by covering him with his wing and protecting him from the first rainstorm.

Does this town know how to make soup without stones?: A barely-there last line, whispered as the song fades out. Another reference to a folk tale, but I think it can be read as more of a joke in Aziraphale’s case. The original story details a group of villagers all pitching in to help some travelers make “stone soup,” and then all sharing the end result (sans stone). However, I think Aziraphale is saying it in a way that implies he is just a little selfish - just a bit of a bastard - and he doesn’t want to share what he has. He wants to keep it to himself. And I think in this case, he’s talking about Crowley again.

TL;DR - Aziraphale is very much in love with Crowley, and is still biding his time, waiting for the real apocalypse to come.

#meta #good omens #ineffable husbands #video #aziraphale #liv rants #my song analysis #song

1 note · View note

lexicalbehemoth · 5 years

Text

home is where love is

Fandom: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett Rating: General Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens) Characters: Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley (Good Omens) Additional Tags: Developing Relationship, Post-Apocalypse, One Shot, Character Study

Summary:

After the Armageddon-That-Wasn't, Aziraphale and Crowley have a talk about the future, and Aziraphale confesses to some truths.

[ Read on AO3 ]

Aziraphale, for all that he never fails to remind that he’s of angel stock, knows Heaven isn’t where home is. This is, of course, after spending a couple millennia with humanity; it’s inevitable, isn’t it, to change? Perhaps it’s true that he’s gone native, even though it was something that had been said to him while in Crowley’s form. Perhaps he’s changed for the better (or the worst, depending on who’s asking), though it doesn’t change what he is at his core. He’s still an angel, wings and grace and all, even though his superiors are unsure after his little (or as much as one can call deceiving his superiors and letting a demon into Heaven little ) stunt.

But one gets an inkling, after a while, when one is with humanity often. When one grows to watch over them, to be with them, to try and be like them- one learns that the world and all Her creations are not so black and white as Heaven and Hell make it out to be. Home, for one, no longer means his place of origin.

Home is where he feels safest, if he abides by humanity’s varied definitions of home. Home is walking through St. James’ Park and finding his counterpart waiting for him, a story or two in mind to share of the latest thing humanity has done, be they foolish or remarkable. Home is letting Crowley tempt him to a spot of lunch down at the Ritz, miracling up a reservation for two because it’s his turn for a treat. It’s only fair, after all, as Crowley is often the one to do the treating- which is, in truth, something of his own influence.

Crowley does so like to say that he’s the one doing the tempting around his angel, but Aziraphale knows better.

(He wonders if Crowley knows it, and just lets him get away with it?)

“Did it give any other hints before the final prophecy, that book?”

Aziraphale blinks purposefully- it’s not as though he actually needs to blink, despite the human appearance of his form. He clarifies, “The Nice and Accurate-”

Crowley waves a hand. A server comes as though summoned, swiftly filling up his then-empty wine glass. “Yes, that. Or was it up until the Armageddon’t? Don’t suppose there was a sequel for that?”

He smiles in amusement, patting at his mouth with his napkin. It’s been a bit of a thing with him, lately, coming up with names for the Armageddon-that-wasn’t. He answers, “If there were, I wouldn’t know. The only one mentioned in existence was The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, Witch, and even then, it was difficult to find; it’s no wonder we only came across it because of her descendant. Were you thinking that there would be something there, for the events after the Armageddon-that-wasn’t?”

Crowley hums that little unsure hum he does whenever he wants to say something, but is finding it difficult to do so. “Maybe. Wouldn’t put it past her, seeing as she was able to prophesize that last bit we did.”

“Perhaps it was more a hint, my dear? There being free will and all.”

Crowley perks up at his words mid-drink from his glass, a pleased smile growing on his face as he sets his wine aside. Aziraphale supposes it’s a testament to all their time spent together that he’s able to categorize this look, as it were, among Crowley’s other expressions- and even call it a smile, having realized that it’s the closest approximate term versus a smirk. Crowley says, sounding both unreasonably proud and sarcastic, “Why angel, are you implying that even occult and ethereal beings could have their free will to take action, without it being detailed by The Great Plan?”

Aziraphale lets the server that passes their table fill up his wine glass once more, giving him a smile of thanks. Then he takes a drink, deliberately letting Crowley wait, before putting down his glass and saying, “Well, it’s not that much of an impossibility, is it? I’m here with you, after all.”

Crowley hums, not saying anything more.

“An angel and a demon eating together, regarding each other as best friends,” Aziraphale goes on, smiling pleasantly despite the tiny, disgruntled noise Crowley makes for a flash of a second. “I wouldn’t think it was in the regulations for either of our previous sides to befriend someone from the other side.”

“Previous, huh,” Crowley says, swirling his wine a little, looking away from him. “I’d have believed myself saying that, but I didn’t think we’d reach a point where you’d agree. You’re particularly stubborn, for an angel. Or should I say,” he turns to Aziraphale, smirking, “as expected of an angel?”

“Well, it��s true that this is our side, isn’t it? Earth and its creatures,” Aziraphale replies, before taking a slow drink from his own glass of wine. “You and I, together. The End That Wasn’t certainly proved its point about the demarcations going beyond my side and yours.”

Crowley gives him a Look. Aziraphale doesn’t have to see behind his sunglasses to know, because the mere turn of Crowley’s head, the way he tilts his chin to him, is familiar enough. Crowley says, “I’m surprised it only took you six millennia to reach that conclusion.”

Aziraphale huffs at the teasing. “Really now, my dear…”

Crowley chuckles, shaking his head. He finishes off his glass of wine, before saying, “I’ve been telling you that since before the End Times That Weren’t, angel. I’ve been giving you question upon question on that blasted Ineffable plan, and neither of us have ever reached any absolute answers- even your answers to me were vague and half-baked at best. Don’t even try denying it.”

“I,” he begins, intending to argue, before sighing and shaking his head. “Yes, I suppose that’s true.”

Crowley tips his glass to him, before taking another drink. Once done, he says, “What now, then? Any plans for the unknown future?”

He hums, pressing his lips together in thought, as he’s sure he often does. Crowley would probably know- he sees Aziraphale’s face more often than Aziraphale sees his own. He answers, “Not entirely sure, really. I suppose we’ll just have to see what the future holds for us.”

Crowley looks away from him, face turned to his empty glass of wine. Likely, he’s thinking it’ll hide the growing smile on his face when he’s not looking towards Aziraphale, but it doesn’t, not really. Aziraphale, for all that he knows he comes off oblivious to Crowley with certain matters, is a bit more observant than Crowley likely thinks him to be. It’s just easiest, is all, to play at a certain kind of ignorance when it benefits him.

He’s said he’s soft, but Crowley?

Crowley is even softer, though he manages to pass as tough to anyone else who doesn’t know him well.

Innocently, Aziraphale says, “That is fine, isn’t it?”

“What’s fine?”

“I assumed we’d be doing less of that thing we do, where we coincidentally meet in places,” Aziraphale explains, setting aside his own empty glass of wine. “And, instead, meet up because we can. With Heaven and Hell letting us off for now, as it were, I feel we can afford to chat without the ruse of being adversaries, thwarting each other for the end times at hand…or not in hand, as it so happens.”

Aziraphale has a feeling Crowley is blinking at him behind his sunglasses, and he smiles.

“I…huh?”

“We could have that picnic,” he offers, reminded of his promises from before everything, before the Not-A-pocalypse, and before the dinners at the Ritz. “We’ve already dined at the Ritz a number of times, haven’t we? But I don’t recall us having done that picnic…though I suppose that may be because it’s easiest to just let other people prepare our food for us. Do you suppose it’s proper to buy food from restaurants and take them out for a picnic instead of dining the usual way? One usually expects to prepare one’s own food for this, if I recall correctly…”

“Wait, wait,” Crowley says, waving a hand as though telling him to pause, which he does. “Wait, angel. A picnic?”

Aziraphale smiles brightly at him. “Why, yes, a picnic. I recall I suggested it, along with dinners at the Ritz, some years ago.”

“ You go too fast for me, Crowley. ”

There’s a lull in their conversation for a moment.

Aziraphale watches as Crowley swallows- more for the human meaning it implies, than an actual need for it. Even though Aziraphale can’t see his eyes, he can see the hard way his lips are pressing together, chin jutting out, eyebrows furrowing, hand clenching on the table.

Oh, he owes Crowley so much more than a picnic, doesn’t he? It’s only fair, just from the look of him.

“I’d apologize for making you wait for so long,” he begins, hands clasped over his own lap, head turned to him. “But I’m sure I could do better than an apology, my dear. Humans say such a thing, don’t they? Actions speak louder than words.”

“Ngk,” says Crowley.

Aziraphale’s gaze goes soft, soft, soft at the way Crowley is gawping at him. Oh, how patient has he been, to be caught off guard by this? It’s like he hadn’t expected Aziraphale to catch up with him at all- which is a fair judgment, given how stubborn he can be, but still.

“Dearest,” he says, reaching out, wrapping a gentle hand over the nearest hand Crowley has on the table. “I’ve got one more favour to ask of you, if that’s alright?”

“A favour,” Crowley croaks out, as though he’d intended for it to be a question but failed to do so out of shock.

“I’d like a little more of your patience,” he says, thumb stroking over the back of Crowley’s hand. Crowley has lowered his head now, staring at their hands together, and Aziraphale can’t help a smile. He goes on, “Because there’s a lot I ought to catch up on with you, I’m sure. You’ve got…well, six millennia over me, isn’t that right?”

“Didn’t think you’d notice that,” Crowley mumbles, still staring at their hands. “Given how you could notice how loved Tadfield was, and not…”

“Hard to notice something that’s always there, isn’t it?”

Crowley frowns in that way he does when he thinks Aziraphale is being unreasonable, but also, “why do I find myself liking you anyway?” He says, “So…you’ve been able to feel it, all this time. And you never said anything?”

Aziraphale gives a tiny shrug of his shoulders, gaze turning to the side for a bit, before turning to their hands. Sotto voce, he says, “I wasn’t ready to confront it, then. I knew you wouldn’t push either, and…I suppose it’s a flaw of mine, to have abused your patience as I have.”

“Even ethereal beings can be imperfect,” Crowley says dryly, teasing. He turns his hand, palm upwards, curling his fingers into the spaces between Aziraphale’s own. “Though, I shouldn’t be surprised about that. We’re of the same stock, even if I am fallen.”

Aziraphale smiles fondly at him. “Thinking about it that way, I’d say you’re kinder than most angels would be.”

Crowley sighs, less motivated as is in defending his status as a demon. Perhaps that’s what happens, when you actively go against your employer by way of impersonation and utter deception. He says, “It’s a major flaw of mine, I know. Doesn’t make me a very good- terrible?- demon.”

“It’s what makes you so easy to love, really.”

It’s a pity that Crowley had finished his wine already; it would have likely been a memorable scene had Crowley gone for a drink and coughed the way he just did at Aziraphale’s words.

“You could warn a demon,” Crowley says, looking entirely like he doesn’t know what to do with his face. Is he happy? Embarrassed? Annoyed? Or perhaps all of the above, going by the way he’s struggling against a smile on his lips. “What would your employers say, angel? Consorting with a demon like myself.”

“Oh, I think they’ve known for a while,” he hums. “What was it that Uriel called you? My boyfriend?”

Crowley’s expression does another, dare he say it, Ineffable Thing. He says, “Your what .”

Aziraphale laughs.

“A bit juvenile, if I do say so myself,” he says lightly, rubbing his thumb over Crowley’s own. “But I think, given the stunt we pulled, that they’ll leave us alone for now.”

“No, go back to that boyfriend bit-”

“I think we’re quite done with lunch, don’t you? I’ll call for a server.”

“ Angel. ”

#ineffable husbands #good omens #fanfic #a/c #good omens fanfiction

0 notes