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gloryextinct · 9 months

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okay so now to tie all the crowley posting together (on crowley's care and interests, on crowley being "good"). the final fight of the series happens not just because aziraphale and crowley disagree with each other (which they do, that's why they keep having the same argument over and over again), but also because aziraphale has misunderstood something extremely fundamental to crowley as a person. we as the audience know that crowley would never want to be an angel again, but aziraphale doesn't. aziraphale, like the fans, has fallen into the trap of looking completely past the demonic persona that crowley projects, and only seeing the good inside him. and yes, crowley does play up the whole demon bit out of fear and to keep himself safe, especially during s1. but only looking at the good parts of crowley is a problem because it's not entirely a façade for him. crowley is mess of contradictions, he's good but he's not benevolent, he's manipulative and cunning but also caring and passionate, he's kind but his kindness is often selfish. and s2 crowley is really struggling with all that, he hasn't yet been able to reconcile all the different parts of himself to figure out the kind of person he wants to be without a hellish influence over him. that's why he's still in contact with hell, he doesn't know what to do with himself without it.

he told aziraphale that the angel he was before isn't him anymore, and he wasn't just saying that to throw aziraphale off the fact that he was lying about killing the goats and the children. falling changed crowley, it traumatized him and he'll never be able to regain that innocence, love and joy that he once had. it's forced him to do things he never would've before and to learn new things about himself. and he does actually like some of the ways he's changed. crowley is angry and resentful and hurt about being cast out of heaven unfairly, but he doesn't regret falling and he also doesn't hate the person that falling made him into. he hates hell, and he hates his lack of freedom because of hell, but he doesn't hate being a demon. he not out here secretly wanting to be good, but being unable to (except surreptitiously) because of his allegiance to hell. crowley denies it when people call him nice or good for a lot of reasons; it's opposite to the carefully crafted image of himself that he presents to people, for awhile doing good could put him in a lot of danger, and also crowley recognizes the expectations that come with being perceived as good and doesn't want to be beholden to them. he just wants to be able to choose to be good for himself and for his own reasons, just as much as he wants to be able to choose to be bad for himself and his own reasons.

aziraphale doesn't understand that about crowley though. he doesn't understand that the reason crowley's car is black, and that he always drives it so fast, and blasts loud music is because crowley likes it like that. it's not an act, he just likes being like that. and i think the bentley is the perfect object to show that tension because it's really easy to make an argument that crowley dresses the way he does and furnished his apartment the way he did to maintain a certain image of himself. but crowley just unreservedly loves the bentley. the car's not the way it is because he's trying to seem cool and demonic, it's like that because he loves it that way.

sidebar, but i also think it's an interesting comparison to see how aziraphale and crowley both act alone in each other's spaces. crowley's behaviour is pretty unobtrusive. he doesn't like when he doesn't have anything to do so he's just in there rearranging the books with jim. we don't know exactly why, whether he's alphabetizing them to make them easier to find, or if he's moving books from piles on the floor to shelves, or sorting through new acquisitions, or if he's fixing the mess that jim's been making. the point is that he's not fundamentally changing anything about the shop, just moving it around a little bit. it feels more similar to his regular role in their relationship where most of the time crowley's not actually making aziraphale do something he doesn't want to, he's just providing him with excuses to do what he wanted to do already but felt he shouldn't. crowley is much more familiar with aziraphale's boundaries than aziraphale is of his because honestly crowley kind of lets him do whatever he wants. i don't think aziraphale changing the bentley is supposed to mean that aziraphale actually wants to change crowley, but i do think it's meant to show just how much aziraphale doesn't fully understand crowley either from genuine ignorance or because he's convinced himself otherwise for his own sense of self. crowley usually lets aziraphale get away with a lot, and i think aziraphale has absolutely no idea of what crowley's boundaries actually are. i'm sure he knew that crowley would be unhappy about him changing the car but from his perspective this would resolve in one of two ways: crowley wouldn't be happy about it, but ultimately he'd let aziraphale do it anyway because he's let him get away with changing the car before when he put the bike rack on, or crowley would grumble about it because he felt he had to but he would secretly really like it. both of those are key parts of their established dynamic. i think that if aziraphale had known that crowley would be actually be upset about the changes enough to demonically intervene, he probably wouldn't have done it. and just like with the offer to return to heaven, we as the audience know that this is something crowley will hate and object too, because crowley loves his car with its mind of its own and penchant for turning all music into queen eventually. but somehow aziraphale had missed that

in s2, crowley doesn't act all that different from how he did in s1. yes, he's much more comfortable and open in his affection and devotion to aziraphale, because after millenia he finally can be. one could even argue that he's a little less mean to other people than he was before. but otherwise, he's not all that different. so it's probably a good time to talk about crowley's façade then, the demonic pretense that he maintains. crowley is, in the show and the book, absolutely driven by his anxiety and fear. but he can't actually let himself be seen as afraid in hell, so he's had to develop ways of functioning through his fear, without letting on to how he's actually feeling. in the show, he'll get angry instead, being far more prone to cruelty than usual. in all canons, crowley really has a fake it til you make it mentality, and he's so careful about the way he presents himself to the world.

in the show especially both crowley and aziraphale have a complicated relationship with the truth, chronic liars that they are. aziraphale biggest problem is that he lies to himself constantly whenever something is difficult or challenging to his worldview. he often says things that he should know are lies, that deep down he has doubts about but that he forces himself to believe anyway. meanwhile crowley's problem is that he's had to lie about himself for so long that he's no longer entirely sure which of those lies are actually true. this is even further complicated by the fact that crowley likes putting on an act up until a certain point. as michael and david talked about in an interview, crowley's ideal date is having aziraphale drag him out to things so he can complain the whole time but he'll actually really be enjoying himself. how much of his demon act is truly him and how much is faked? this is a question that aziraphale is constantly having to ask when he's interacting with crowley, and it's an impossible question to answer because crowley isn't entirely sure himself. in s1, aziraphale was much more cautious about the way he handled their relationship, and because of that, he can come off as very cruel to him.

in some ways, i think that pre-armageddon!aziraphale has a better understanding of the balancing act that is crowley than he does afterwards. he still acknowledges that crowley is a demon while also knowing about his goodness. after armageddon though... aziraphale has had to come up with some complex justifications for why everything turned out the way it did while still not being willing to let go of some of his core beliefs. what he's landed on is that, "god is good and right, but heaven is broken because it was being run by bad angels who were going against the divine plan because they're not infallible beings," and then by extension "crowley is actually good because he stopped the world from ending, and all of the demon act is him pretending. because he's good and because heaven is not infallible, it was actually a mistake for him to have fallen from heaven." being able to openly acknowledge the problems with heaven even superficially is a step forward for aziraphale, but he has to take a step back from understanding crowley to do it. crowley falling was unfair and unjustified, but it wasn't a mistake. he fell for a reason, and that reason troubles him deeply and has directly led to him becoming the way he is in the present.

i don't really blame aziraphale for missing a lot of these important truths about crowley because crowley has never made it easy for him or anyone else. originally it was a tactic to protect himself, but after armageddon crowley's finally allowed to take off the mask and he doesn't really know how anymore. or maybe it's less of a mask and more of his face at this point. and that's the problem, isn't it? he just doesn't know. even when crowley still reported to hell, he never went in on the violence or the torture. he's disgusted by bigotry and brutality, and he always has been. he wasn't even all that good at faking interest or pleasure over it. in s2, it seems like he's also stopped doing all his usual demonic mischief, and yet he's still deeply unhappy and adrift. all aziraphale knows though is that it seems like crowley's not bothering to spread malice or tempt people anymore now that he doesn't work for hell, so maybe he never wanted to in the first place? and since crowley doesn't talk to him about how he's feeling, doesn't seem to want to talk to anyone about it, why would aziraphale have any reason to assume otherwise?

crowley spends the first 2 episodes of s2 being extremely upset for the entire time and for mostly good reasons. that begins to change though, in ep 3. crowley's suddenly got a job again, and he does so much better mentally when he's not just sitting idle. and that job isn't to tidy the bookshop, which he's mostly doing to ease his anxiety, or to babysit jim, which he's honestly deeply resentful about. the job is to come up with and execute some kind of plan to manipulate a person into falling in love. needing to plan and manipulate is already checking two big boxes for crowley, and he's clearly having a great time. and it continues like that through the rest of the series. the moments where crowley seems to be enjoying himself the most happen when he's doing more typical demonic activity. he loves lying! and scamming! and manipulating! he loves being a nuisance! he's meddlesome, cantakerous and he loves mocking. when he tricks muriel into breaking him into heaven, he should be scared out of his mind but instead he's hamming it up and clearly having a great time. he has a ton of fun watching aziraphale bribe and coerce a bunch of people into coming to his party. he loves this shit! despite how stressed he is, crowley manages to find these little moments of joy by being a mischievous little scamp.

crowley is a creative and imaginative person, and he's always been the type to fight better with his mind than his fists. for such a long time, crowley has been channeling his creativity into his demonic work and it is something that does genuinely bring him happiness. in the process of realizing that crowley is actually capable of doing good, aziraphale has forgotten, ignored or even failed to recognize the ways in which crowley is not good, despite it being equally important to who crowley is. this fundamental misunderstanding of crowley, and both of their inabilities to stop lying about everything all the time contributed to their disagreement at the end of the season

#gomens blogging

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ellenripleysbelieveitornot · 5 years

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"Angel?"

Aziraphale gave a soft hum in response as he turned the page of his book with one hand, the other never stopping its course as it gently combed through Crowley's hair.

Crowley relaxed even further into his lover's lap and closed his eyes. "Can you tell me a story?"

Aziraphale smiled. "Of course, darling. Now, let's see..." He sat thoughtfully for a moment, tapping his fingers against his chin. Suddenly, he snapped his fingers. "Ah! Yes! Now, stop me if you've heard this one before..."

Somewhere in the middle of the South Downs, nestled at the very end of an old dirt road, there stood a modest cottage.

"And in the cottage lived the world's sexiest demon."

"Hush, now. Let me tell the story."

Inside this cottage lived the luckiest being in all of creation. For, you see, this angel had everything he could possibly ever want. He had a very comfortable couch, upon which he could spend his days reading, he had a vast collection of books that was always growing and expanding, and he had even had a quaint little cafe within walking distance from his front door that served the most delicious pastries he'd ever had the pleasure to enjoy. But, none of that was enough to make him the luckiest being in all of creation. What made him the luckiest being in all of creation was not a couch, or a book, or a slice of cake. No.

What made him the luckiest being in all of creation was the person he shared it all with. You see, the angel had been blessed with a love so pure, so true, so magnificent that it measured up to nothing else; not the world's comfiest couch, rarest book, or sweetest dessert. In fact, it-

"Abeerphawe."

"I beg your pardon?" Aziraphale looked down to discover that Crowley had turned bright red and buried his face in his hands. "Oh, dear, are you quite alright?" he asked, a teasing lilt to his voice.

Crowley lowered his hands to glare up at Aziraphale. "You can't just say that shit."

"Oh, but darling, I think you'll find that I can. Quite easily, in fact."

Crowley could only make some kind of unintelligible sound in response to that.

Aziraphale smiled. "Shall I continue?"

"Hmmff," Crowkey grunted petulantly. "You said stop you if I'd heard it before. Well, I'm pretty sure I heard it before somewhere. Try another."

Aziraphale let out a huff of laughter. "Very well."

There was a time, not too very long ago, when the world seemed like it was about to come to an end. It was only thanks to the efforts of a most dashing hero in dark sunglasses who bore a striking resemblance to Jim Bond-

Crowley made an offended noise. "James Bond! I know this one, too."

In London, during World War II, there was a foolish bookseller.

Crowley snorted. "Try again."

A very hungry, very well dressed man was unfairly imprisoned during the French Revolution?

Crowley made a thumbs down gesture. "Nope."

Aziraphale sat thoughtfully for a moment. "Do you know the one about the angel at Eden?" he asked finally.

Crowley smiled. "The one where he gave away his flaming sword? Might've, but I like that one, so why don't you refresh my memory?"

Aziraphale shook his head. "No, not that one. The one where the angel met a serpent, and his life was changed for the better?"

Crowley blushed again. "Aziraphale..."

But Aziraphale pressed on. "Or the one where all it took was a smile and some light teasing for the angel to become hopelessly in love?"

Crowley looked up at him in wonder.

"Or the one where the angel spent six thousand years lying to himself and he is so sorry?" Tears formed at the corner of his eyes. "Or the one where the angel wishes he had spent every day telling the serpent how wonderful, how important, how good he was. Or the one where-"

Crowley sat up and gently pressed his lips to Aziraphale's, swallowing the regrets as they poured from Aziraphale's lips in the hopes that he could simply will them away. A broken sound escaped Aziraphale and Crowley pulled away to look him in the eyes as his thumbs softly wiped the tears off his cheeks.

"Alright, Angel, stop me if you've heard this one before..."

There was a demon who fell in love with an angel, and the angel graced him with his love in return. Even though it took them a while to get there, to find their place, it was okay because they did finally make it.

And now they had all the time in the world.

#good omens #good omens fanfiction #ineffable husbands #my fic

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meli-productions · 4 years

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Love Bug

Day Three of #ineffablehusbandsauweek by @ineffablehusbandsweek.

Today we venture into a small-town that seems pulled from a Hallmark movie: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26599846

Aziraphale paced the length of the waiting room, nervously twirling his ring and hoping that his darling was saveable - if only because he couldn’t handle thinking about the cost of replacement. Grace had been in the family for years - it’d be a shame that a silly thing like a trip into the country would put her out of commission.

But she’d been sputtering and smoking for the past few weeks - this had been inevitable.

The door opened and he'd never been more grateful to have been ready to speak because at least it hid the dropping of his jaw. The man who walked out was unfairly attractive - disheveled in a way that looked purposeful. His coveralls were tied around his waist, leaving him in a loose black tank and there were grease stains covering the lightly defined muscles of his arms and the long-fingered hands.

When he glanced up, the mechanic took a moment to stare at him - Aziraphale bit down a sigh at the sight of his molten gold eyes - and then took a step towards him.

“You must be the owner of the Volkswaggen,” he reached out a hand, then looking down at the grease, wiped it on the coveralls. “Sorry, I’m filthy, otherwise I’d shake your hand.”

Aziraphale’s mind caught up as the man spoke, “Right, yes. Is Gracie going to be okay? Is she - y’know - ascending to car heaven?”

Though he wanted to smack himself for that comment, it was worth it for the sharp smile that bloomed on the mechanic’s face.

“Nah, nothing of the sort, dove,” said the mechanic. “I’m Crowley, by the way and your - Gracie - she’s gonna be just fine. Just had a little leak that ended up making a bigger mess. Nothing that should break the bank.”

“Oh, wonderful,” said Azirpahale, shoulders dropping with relief. “I’m Aziraphale. Thank you so much for doing this so last minute. How much do I owe you?”

Crowley shook his head, “Nothing at the moment. I’m afraid to say that she’ll be out of commission for a few days at the least - the clean up’s gonna be a bitch.”

Tension returning, Aziraphale felt himself lose color, “Oh, dear. Oh, I was meant to head back home tomorrow. Gabriel will be so cross. I wasn’t meant to be away so long and, I’d only set up a room for a couple of days and now - ”

“Easy there, dove,” said Crowley, hands outstretched but just out of reach. “Take a seat, you look like you’re going to double over. Deep breaths, that’s it, dove. We’ll get you sorted out.”

As Aziraphale sat in one of the rickety, blue plastic chairs and focused on the gold eyes that were now watching him so worried as the mech - as Crowley - squatted before him and, despite the state of his hands reached out towards him. He greedily took the spindly fingers and relished in the warmth of the hand.

“There, we’ll work through it, alright?” he waited until Aziraphale nodded, then swept a thumb across the back of his hand and continued, “I’ll try to get it fixed so you’re not here any more than you need to be. And I have a friend that runs a bed & breakfast, I’m sure she can squeeze you in a room. As for this Gabriel, if he has a problem he can shove it.”

A laugh bubbled out of him and the thumb pressed against his knuckle gave a little squeeze, “I don’t want to put anyone out - and Gabriel is my brother…and boss. I was just supposed to be doing a little travel piece and now it’s become immersive.”

“ Ah, that just means that you’ll have a hell of a piece,” said Crowley. “Look, my break starts in a few minutes. How about I treat you to lunch? Least I could do for freaking you out.”

Aziraphale couldn’t believe his luck, so he just gave a nod which was answered with a bright smile.

“Brilliant. Just wait here. Let me get decent if I’m going to be seen out with an angel.”

Without another word, Crowley straightened up and sauntered out towards the workshop, hips swinging while Aziraphale’s eyes tracked the movement with wide-eyes.

Oh, good Lord.

While he waited, Aziraphale called Gabriel, bracing himself for the berating. And, as usual, his brother didn’t disappoint.

“Honestly, sunshine,” sighed Gabriel and the eye-roll was palpable through the phone. “I told you that that car was unreliable. You should’ve just taken the Lexus we offered.”

Aziraphale pouted, “That car was mother’s, Gabriel. You didn’t want it, Michael didn’t want it, but I did - it was one of her favorite things in this world.”

Another sigh, this time more exasperated, “I know, we don’t have to go through it again: I got the newspaper, Michael got the house, and you got the car. I know. Just - are you gonna be able to get the piece to me in time?”

“Yes, Gabriel.”

“Then for all I care,” the man said. “You can stay as long as you want - get a quaint little cottage there, hell, get married to that God-forsaken town. Just - get me the piece. It’s the tie-in to everything else.”

“Alright , I’ll - ” the dial-tone met his voice, “see you soon.”

He pressed the ‘End Call’ button a little harder than needed, but didn’t feel the satisfaction he thought would come from it.

“Whoa, there, take it easy, angel. Don’t want you breaking the phone,” said Crowley’s voice from behind.

Aziraphale turned, blushing, “I just - he just- ”

“I’m sure your brother deserved it. No doubt,” said Crowley, smirking. “But put the muscle away, dove, might need it later.”

Implication dripped off his words and, had his eyes not been covered by glasses, Aziraphale would’ve expected a wink directed in his direction. He was, nonetheless, disappointed that the gorgeous gold had been covered up, but pleasantly distracted by the new outfit donned by his companion.

Tearing his eyes away from the tight shirt and pants, he asked, “So - ahem - lunch?”

Crowley smiled, “I know a perfect place. I’m sure you’re gonna love it.”

A sleek, black Bentley sat waiting and Aziraphale’s jaw did drop this time at the amazing vehicle before them.

“This is yours?”

“Belonged to my grandfather,” said Crowley, preening under the attention. “I’ve kept it in great shape. She’s my little darling.”

Aziraphale couldn’t help be impressed, if a little jealous, as a pout curved his lip, “And I can’t even keep Grace alive.”

“Oh, dove, things happen. She hasn’t looked like this always, believe me. Come on, in you go, let’s get lunch.”

So as Crowley drove around the small town, the two swapped stories about cars, then family, and then into more casual topics as they relaxed - slipping into the bistro amidst laughter and hand swats.

“Oh, you are dreadful, dear.”

“Look, Bea shouldn’t have tried it - they knew what they were getting themself into.”

The server looked between them, then shot Crowley a sly smile that he pointedly avoided, “Hey Tones, who’s your friend that you took a lunch break for?”

Crowley clenched his teeth, “This is Aziraphale. He was having a rough day so I decided to distract him a little. Don’t be nosy, Ligur - that’s not what you get paid for.”

Ligur just scoffed and turned to Aziraphale, “Regardless of his grumpiness, it’s an honor to meet the person that somehow got the hermit out from under a car. I’m Ligur, Crowley’s oldest friends and I’ll be happy to get you anything you want.”

Aziraphale blushed at the attention from the newcomer, “Aziraphale, pleasure to meet you. The spinach quiche sounds good, I think I’ll have that - and a glass of lemonade.”

“Uh-huh, sure thing,” he glanced over at Crowley and asked, “and dessert?”

Crowley bit back a groan, “Ligur.”

“Not - not at the moment, dear. Thank you.”

With a little huff of laughter, Ligur turned to Crowley and took his order, leaving only after he’d ruffled the red-hair out of its perfect disheveledness. Then, pink sprinkling across his cheeks, Crowley turned to Aziraphale.

“Please, don’t let Ligur freak you out, he’s just trying to be funny.”

“Dear, it’s alright,” Aziraphale said, reaching over to squeeze Crowley’s hand. “I know all about annoying friends. Believe me, you are not being judged by the pushiness of your friend.”

With easing shoulders, Crowley smiled, “Thanks, angel. But, trust me, he’s not gonna be the worst of them all.”

It was true.

While they tried to enjoy their lunch, still joking and Crowley taking little breaks to watch the enraptured look on Aziraphale’s face as he ate, more people dropped in to catch a glimpse of their famed ‘hermit’ and his new friend.

Hastur, Ligur’s boyfriend, came in and made snide comments that only ended when Ligur upended a glass of cold water atop his head and swept him out of the bistro. Then came Anathema - the friend with the B&B.

“I have a room with your name on it, Aziraphale,” she said, clasping his hands in hers, then giving a little hum. “Your aura is so bright, querido, like a halo. Ay, que chulo,” then turned to Crowley, “tenías razón, si es un angelito mandado por Dios.”

Crowley blushed and hid his face behind his glass of water as Anathema continued to coo over Aziraphale, telling him that the room would be his for as long as he needed - or until he found better accommodations which he thanked with a bright smile and a shake of her hand.

“She’s very pretty,” Aziraphale said, sipping on his drink and watching Crowley’s reaction.

A quirk of a smile, “Yeah, her fiance thinks so, too.”

“Oh,” said Aziraphale, and a happy wiggle ran through his body. “Well, thank you for lunch, darling, but I think I’ve imposed on you for far too long.”

“No imposition, trust me,” said Crowley. “I’m my own boss and I get to decide how long my lunch break is…so you’re not getting in anyone’s way - trust me.”

“Well, if you say so.”

Anathema was sitting along the flowers of her little cottage when Crowley dropped Aziraphale off and she peeked through the foliage as her friend helped unload the suitcase. Aziraphale knew she was there, he had seen the crest of her curls, but figured that it was just another Ligur incident and should just be ignored.

“Thank you for everything, Crowley,” he said. “Now, you have my number so just let me know when Gracie’s good to go.”

Crowley nodded, “Of course, angel. And I’d say I hope you keep entertained - but I’m sure Ana will find something interesting for you to do. I’ll see you soon.”

“Mind how you go, dear.”

He watched Crowley drive away and when he turned around, he found Anathema perched over the gate - looking far too much like the Cheshire Cat to be comfortable.

“Welcome, Aziraphale,” she said, swinging the gate open. “Ven, amor, let’s get you settled. And then join me and Newt for tea, we’d love to get to know you a little better.”

The woman was intimidating and zipped through the cottage like a hurricane while Newt, a tall and quiet young man, just smiled at Aziraphale and tried to settle her down for a cuppa. Eventually, he won and the woman settled into her white-washed, wooden chair nursing a cup of lavender tea and the couple grilled him until he was hot under his collar and wishing for the earth to swallow him up.

“Don’t look like that, angelito,” Anathema said, patting his cheek as she passed into the kitchen. “We just want to make sure that you’re good enough for our little carino. Crowley’s special to us and he barely ever comes out of his cave.”

Aziraphale focused on her echoing footsteps instead of the heat of his body, “I’m not anything - I - I’m just a failing journalist from London. I’ll be out of town before you know it and - ”

Newt gave a little snort, “Yeah, that’s what Ana thought. It’s what I thought. This town has a way of dragging you into its heart and making you stay.”

“Opens your heart, too,” said Anathema, reappearing and placing a kiss on Newt’s forehead. “Just - keep the possibilities open, okay amor? You never know what might happen. But enough of that, it’s time for sleep - it’s time for good little angelitos to get ready for tomorrow.”

As dismissals go, it was the nicest Aziraphale ever got and he was ushered into his room by an apologetic Newt. He lay in the soft bed and stared at the ceiling with their spirals that he tracked with his eyes and thought of the curve of Crowley’s smile.

He wished nothing more to wrap himself in this life with Crowley and his gold eyes - but his life was in London and wishes only took you so far.

The next afternoon, an unknown number rang Aziraphale’s phone and - with only one unknown person who knew his number - he answered to the drawl of Crowley’s voice.

“Is - is she okay? Are we ready to go?”

Crowley’s silence made Aziraphale nervous, even more so with the sharp intake of air, “Okay, so there might be a little more wrong with Grace than I thought at first glance and I’m going to need some more time.”

As Aziraphale’s breath hitched, Crowley continued in a rush, “Relax, dove, breathe. I’m picking you up and taking you to lunch again - somewhere you won’t be harassed - and we’ll talk this out, alright?”

The soothing tone released some of the tension off his shoulders, “How do you know just the right thing to say?”

“Practice,” said Crowley, laughing. “I’ll be over in a few, angel. Just be ready - the last thing I need is Anathema on my ass.”

Aziraphale joined in laughing, “Of course not, I’ll make sure I’m ready.”

Anathema, like the seer that she was, was already waiting for him at the door of Jasmine Cottage, “Have another date with Crowley?”

He blushed, “Hardly a date, dear. I think that he just - just feels bad that I have such a bum car.”

“Uh-huh,” she said, rolling her eyes. “If that were the case, I should be worried about my fiance being taken away from me - his car is worse than yours. Believe me, Aziraphale, this has nothing to do with your car and everything to do with you, chulo.”

She pressed a kiss on his forehead before gliding back into the heart of the home. Aziraphale, rubbing the spot she’d kissed, kept his focus on the road and processed her words.

Angel. Crowley called him ‘angel’, and there was no way it was because he knew the meaning of his name so it had to be a - a pet name. So when the Bentley pulled up to the curb, Aziraphale blushed and hurried in.

“You seem in a better mood then when we last talked,” Crowley said, tilting his glasses to look upon him with bare eyes. “Let me guess, you told off that hardass brother of yours and now are gonna follow your dream and open up your library.”

Aziraphale stopped in the act of putting on his seatbelt to blink over at his companion, “You remember that?”

“Course I do, ‘s hard to forget such a dream,” drawled Crowley, a hint of a pink brushing his cheeks where they met the rim of his glasses. “So, did you tell Gabriel to fuck off?”

“No,” he said, slowly tracking the blush as it made its way lower into the collar of his shirt. “Not just yet. But he did give me permission to stay as long as I want - might even stay forever - with the right incentive.”

Crowley’s hand slid off the wheel as he turned, “O-oh, yeah? And what incentive would that be.”

Aziraphale, feeling bolder than he had in awhile, hummed, “Let’s start with lunch. Then I’ll let you know.”

A small chuckle was coupled with a change in gears, “Then I hope this lunch is everything you’ve ever wanted, angel.”

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maddmaddomens · 4 years

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What are the Ineffable Husbands getting up to in the year 2520?

I want a super-future story. I want to see our boys many, many, MANY years in the future.

Imagine, about 500 years post-apocalypse, the husbands are just enjoying Earth and their lives together—not without the occasional bickering match and storm out, as has been wont to happen and would definitely continue to happen after 500 years of marriage.

But they’re happy.

**more below the cut!**

There are kisses every morning and tea every afternoon.

Crowley’s garden has overtaken most of the yard. He long ago gave up trying to correct the angel’s positive affirmations, so his plants now have a lovely balance of fear and affection toward them both. They’re the best he’s ever grown.

Aziraphale miracled a separate building as a library about 200 years back. It’s not open to the public, of course, it’s just a small library for his personal collection.

Aziraphale still lives to protect and bless humans, specifically those who are underprivileged. Crowley loves to tempt crooked politicians and the uber-rich, helping them to lose money that miraculously ends up in the hands of those who need it, or cause very private political conversations to go viral (which is still a thing, though it’s much different than it is now). They protect the queer communities and the impoverished and those who are victimized unfairly. They do a lot of work with environmentalists. They even do the odd job for Heaven and Hell, when asked. After the first 100 years post-apocalypse, the Almighty decreed that neither the Guardian of the Eastern Gate nor the Serpent of Eden should ever be struck down by a force of Heaven or Hell.

They let their guard down after that. They get married. After a fabulous month-long honeymoon in Bali where they flaunt every gender in beautiful, revealing, sometimes-risque pieces of clothing (and to Crowley’s delight, Aziraphale takes to spending all of their time in their hotel room completely naked), they settle back home and allow the world to grow and change around them.

Until, one day, Gabriel and Beez show up to the South Downs cottage. Earth, it seems, is about to be hit with a major human disaster, destroying 90% of the population. (Asteroid? Earthquake? Giant Tsunami? Reader’s choice on the apocalypse...) This time, it’s not a product of the divine or infernal, it’s just nature stepping in, telling humans that it’s time to start over. Heaven and Hell have decided that Crowley and Aziraphale can better use their talents elsewhere. They are asked to move on to a new planet, and work–together, obviously– to spread the word of the Almighty and Satan on a new humanoid planet.

They are given new corporations, similar but less human looking than the ones they’re used to (I’m picturing them more...blue and shiny, but not Avatar-level weirdness?) and have to hide all their earthly possessions in what amounts to a celestial storage unit. Aziraphale is very concerned about his books. Crowley cries a little when they store the now-completely-ancient Bentley. His plants, he’s ensured, are safe on Earth and will help begin the regrowth after the catastrophic event. It’s all he can ask for, really.

They are absolutely unwilling to give up their human marriage licenses (they have to get remarried every 80 years or so, for appearances sake of course) and their wedding rings. Gabriel throws a fit, but the Almighty drops a huge storm on the South Downs and zaps him with a lightening bolt to shut him up. (She ships it.) He gives up that fight. Aziraphale and Crowley pack what they’re allowed to bring, which is almost nothing, and move on to the new planet.

Their only caveat for accepting their new post is that they must remain together. Luckily, both Heaven and Hell understand that trying to separate them is fruitless, so Gabriel had waved his hand dismissively and said “Yeah, yeah, we know, just go. No one will bother you. Just do the job.” Plus, he’d just been zapped by a Godly lightening bolt so he had pretty much given up trying to be contrary anyway.

And so a new adventure begins. Antics ensue. There are some major differences on this new planet--cars fly, animals are brighter and much larger, and grass feels different under their toes. The humanoids speak new languages and eat new, strange foods. They adjust, in time.

Figuring out all the nuances of their new corporations takes less time. Aziraphale discovers that Crowley has some sort of pearlescent, blue fins running down his torso. (“Can I touch them, my love?” “I wish you would, angel.”) He also has webbed feet. (“Not sure I’m fond of that.” “Think of how much easier it will be to swim, darling!” “You are a bastard.” “Thank you.”)

Crowley discovers Aziraphale’s tail after less than 24 hours on the planet. (“Aaah--what is that spotty thing coming from your backside?” “Do you hate it?” “Less than I should.” “It’s awful.” “It’s you, love. Doesn’t matter.” “Charmer.”)

There is a whole new world for them to discover. Aziraphale reaches for Crowley’s hand, and they set out to learn it all. Together.

#good omens #good omens au #my writing #good omens headcanons #good omens crack #it's kind of crack lbr #i basically made them aliens?#ineffable husbands #ineffable husbands headcanons #ineffable husbands fic #good omens fic #ish

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wanna-b-poet31 · 5 years

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An (I should really retitle this series) 4-part Good Omens Meta Part 5: An Angel in Recovery

~~~Hey, look at me back at it again talking about abuse in Good Omens~~~

So like real talk, I could write a whole damn book on just trauma studies with Aziraphale and Crowley. Like no joke, I’m drafting my dissertation on disability and trauma. Expect at least 2 more parts of this multi-layered Meta because I have all the thoughts. #sorrynotsorry for how long this one is.

An Overview of Recovery

One of the things I just can’t get over is the ways in which Crowley and Aziraphale’s relationship enable each other down the path of recovery from their respective abuse

I’ve been throwing around the word “recovery” pretty freely in my other installments. So, before dissecting their relationship, we need to know: what exactly DOES a recovery from an abusive environment actually look like?

Generally speaking (and I mean like really, really generally), trauma recovery has 3 goals:

establishment of safety,

remembrance or mourning of abuse,

the reinstitution of self/ sense of individual normalcy

It’s important to note that most recovery paths are non-linear and deeply personal. Meaning, no two paths are the same not even if they’ve undergone similar trauma or trauma from the same source/event. Some practitioners will cite as many as 10 steps, while others still say recovery is reached when the survivor shift from a place of unpredictable abuse/trauma to a place of safety >SOURCE <.

Aziraphale’s Recovery Needs

Throughout the series, Aziraphale is constantly threatened, subject to unsafe work/family dynamics, and forced to endure emotional abuse. Heaven’s stakes are unconscionably high, unfairly looming over the angel’s head. He constantly has to deal with the threat of falling, coupled with the constant belittling, and dismissive nature of the other Angels. His environment makes it hard for Aziraphale to recognize that Heaven is abusive. It doesn’t help that his primary coping skill is denial and repression. As long as he can’t recognize the problem, he simply can’t address the underlining issues causing his problems.

Consequently, he doesn’t acknowledge that Heaven isn’t the perfect, righteous power he thinks it is. Heaven isn’t safe. It’s violent, unforgiving, and more than willing to drop him like a rock. There is no security if something as small as asking questions, or loving Humanity (his job) is grounds for falling or permanent death. Yet, this is the place he idolizes, above even his lover best friend.

He can’t even consult other Angels to form his own sense of security in Heaven. None of the relationships we see (excepting Crowley) offer him solace, comfort or anything but abuse. If we include his human alliance with Shadwell, there’s another layer of homophobic abuse piling on his emotional abuse and physical intimidation.

To heal, Aziraphale’s recovery journey has five distinct stages: self-identification of his abuse, securing a safe space, confronting his abusers, cultivating a healthy relationship (with Crowley), and embracing his sense of self.

Abuse By Any Other Name

Aziraphale needs to come to terms with the trauma inflicted upon him by Heaven. And this isn’t to say he doesn’t notice that Gabriel is cruel to him, or that Sandalphon is about .25 seconds away from smiting everything and that’s dangerous, but he denies that these behaviors are inherent problems. Their behaviors, particularly toward him, his interests, and his loves are not respected, but he still treats them like unquestionable authorities. Admitting that there is a problem in the power dynamic, or at the very least the terms and conditions of Heaven are unjust, is the first thing Aziraphale needs to do to begin recovering from his toxic environment and toxic relationships.

Now, we do see Aziraphale push against his system of abuse, he lies to God for one thing, and maintains a relationship/agreement with Crowley for another. But his rebellions still regards Heaven above all other relationships. It is still where he claims his loyalties lay. Until he can admit that Heaven does not have his best interest at heart, he can’t undo their damage.

I argue that the first step in Aziraphale’s recovery is when he admits that he has a problem with the end of the world. It’s not a full admission of Heaven’s fault, but it is an admission that when he does not feel comfortable with Heaven’s actions he should and CAN intervene. Before, with Noah and Jesus, he watched, even though he objected and was horrified by the actions against innocence. We see this again when he seems visibly upset with “all the smiting” that Sandalphon does at Sodom and Gamorah. Despite his misgivings, he doesn’t intervene (at least not on-screen). Look at the below gif. He’s clearly pained by God’s decision, but he bites his tongue. It’s not that he doesn’t want to question, it’s that he can not question. He must soldier on.

We can see that when Gabriel brings up the possibility of “something big is coming”, he is visibly perturbed. Then, once Crowley tells him about the coming of the Anti-Christ. He recognizes that his love for humanity and his life on Earth is a tipping point that he’s unwilling to give up. But, he still does it by operating within the framework of Heaven.

The next crack happens when Aziraphale realizes Heaven is unsupportive of his efforts to save Heaven. His face visibly falls when Michael says they’ll forgive him for is an inevitable failure. He’s also upset by Gabriel who does give him encouragement, but in a tone that is clear, he thinks Aziraphale’s efforts are fruitless. Heaven makes it clear that war is more important than love for God’s creatures.

Then Aziraphale goes to Heaven, wielding information about the Anti-Christ. He knows where Adam is, he knows the beast is released, and he knows that Armageddon is days, if not hours, away. Yet, he falters. He’s all anxiety and nerves when he’s forced to talk to his so-called “side”, in a way he’s never like with Crowley. But this scene’s pièce de résistance is his choice to lie about the location of Adam. After first mentioning Crowley and all his wiles, he suddenly becomes uneasy. Gabriel asks “where” and Aziraphale recognizes that no one in the room cares about protecting humanity. Now, instead of the end of the world being his biggest problem, Angels (not yet Heaven) are. This is further supported by their intimidation of him after the break-up on the bandstand.

While this scene is certainly progress towards naming his problem, he’s not all the way there yet. He meets with Crowley, and Crowley scares him because he’s not ready to admit Heaven is intrinsically abusive the same way Crowley is. He still believes that Heaven, and the angels, are on his side, that they’re doing right. He’s mortified about the very realy possibility that if he chooses Crowley, he’ll lose his divinity. His later scene summoning Metatron shows that he believes so badly that if he can only get ahold of God, everything will be sorted. But, it isn’t.

It is only when he recognizes “hello god, it’s me Aziraphale” won’t get him shit, that HEAVEN is his problem. Not Crowley, not angels, not Hell, but Heaven is his abusive parent and he needs to pick which side he wants to be on.

So he chooses Crowley.

Sanctum Sanctorum

If I’ve said it once, I’ve said it 100 times. Heaven is an empty, cold, and unloving place. There is no joy in its walls. There is no love for the Angels who dare enter. It’s a place where the Archangel Fucking Gabriel is willing to burn his “traitor” in a fire without a trial. In short, it’s unsafe. Aziraphale is, at the very least, unsafe their. Unsafe from judgmental eyes, unsafe from intimidation, and physically separated from the rest of the angels during every meeting.

Soho, in contrast, is very different. It’s very clear that Aziraphale’s shop is warm and alive with love. It’s where Aziraphale eats, prays, loves, and lives. He knows, even before he can name his problem, that Heaven isn’t home. So he creates one, a little oasis where he can invite Crowley for drinks, he can maintain his ever-growing book collection, and center himself.

He is safe here, on Earth, because it’s of his own choice. Agency (or the ability to make choices) is crucial for coping with trauma. It empowers survivors to maintain their recovery and help give them back control over their lives. In Heaven, Aziraphale has no agency. There is no food for him to taste, no lover best friend to go on dinner dates with, no books to quench his thirst for knowledge. In his bookshop though? He has all the freedom to be as hard or soft as he pleases, read whatever he pleases, eat or drink whatever he pleases, and love whomever he pleases, without fear of discipline.

It’s VERY important to note that 1 solitary character respects his sanctuary -- Crowley. Gabriel and Sandalphon barge in unannounced frequently, belittle his work and expect him to drop everything at a moment’s notice. Shadwell breaks and enters, calls him homophobic slurs and “kills” him. Sure Crowley miracles the locks open unannounced, but it’s only when the shop’s on fire and damn it Crowley has an Angel to save.

Every other character, except Crowley, belittles Aziraphale’s love of books and food, and warmth. Where other characters barge into his home uninvited, Crowley always asks express permission (minus when he’s being an action hero) to enter Aziraphale’s inter-most place of safety. Unlike everyone else, Crowley respects and loves Aziraphale enough to help him maintain a place of safety from the abuses of Trust they both find in Heaven.

The One Where Gabriel’s a Dick And Aziraphale Says FUCK YOU to Hell

Aziraphale realizes that the line between Heaven and Hell’s abuse is a fucking thin one. They team up to actively destroy the two things he loves and has been gaslighting, attacking, or traumatizing him to do it. As a way to start coping with the tremendous loss and trauma inherent in Armageddon't he comes to terms with his abusers.

There are three distinct moments where he does this. First is to Shadwell. The idiot of a man is constantly berating him, a presumed ally, with homophobic slurs. While ultimately a small moment, it’s one that Aziraphale desperately needs to confront if he has any hope of confronting his other abusers. When Aziraphale faces Shadwell, he does it with so much style. Not just does he reclaim the homophobic slur, but he also puts Shadwell in his place for using it in the first place. Honestly, Michael Sheen and Miranda Richardson deserve Awards for their performance here.

The second biggie is when he stands up to (the bastard archangel) Gabriel. Although I don’t doubt Aziraphale could cut someone with his flaming sword, his most powerful weapon is his words. He defends Adam’s choice to not destroy the world and confronts Gabriel’s use of the “great plan” vs. the ineffable one. Aziraphale knows that poking at Heaven’s excuse for destroying humanity won’t hold up. There is no rationale for waging war except “to see whose gang’s the best”. Speaking up like that, against a director of war, is ballsy, but Aziraphale does not care. He needs to confront the horrendous way Gabriel/Heaven has treated him, humanity, and Crowley.

And who supports him through this cathartic moment? Crowley. With a single glance, Crowley interjects and comes through, supporting Aziraphale’s (actually really clever) plan to protect Adam and the world. Crowley realizes Heaven and Hell don’t actually know what they’re doing, and that Aziraphale has them dead to right. Stepping closer to Aziraphale, protectively behind Adam, he pushes until Heaven and Hell are forced to admit defeat.

It’s a beautiful confrontation. A perfect Fuckkkkk you to 2 abusive entities.

The third distinct moment is the switch. While Hell specifically hasn’t actually targetted Aziraphale, they have done something worse. Attacked his support system. So, Aziraphale returns in kind, confronting his partner’s abusers head on. And look at the absolute GLEE he takes in showing off how indestructible to Holy Water his partner is. He’s making a performance of daring all of Hell to come after them, terrorizing them like they terrorized Crowley and him.

It’s also him coming to terms with the fact that yes, it’s him and Crowley against the (divine) World. The switch is so significant for so many reasons, but the primary one is that it allows Aziraphale the ability to face his biggest fear -- Hell -- and not flinch. The Threat of falling (like from Uriel/Michael/Sandalphon) and going to Hell terrifies our loveable bastard angel. He knew that he was disposable to Heaven, but he’s indisposable to Crowley. This confrontation allows him to come to terms with the unhealthy power dynamic of Heaven and begin the rest of his life with Crowley as equals. He’s not fully recovered (recovery is a process, not a finish line) but he’s faced all of his abusers.

Our Own side

His relationship with Crowley is the only damn thing that Aziraphale can always rely on. Heaven’s love is conditional. Humans live short lives compared to Azi’s immortality. And Hell wants him dead simply because he’s an Angel.

But Crowley? Dammit. Crowley will run into a burning building to save him. He’ll run into a church to save him, and then save his books because Crowley knows Aziraphale would forget. He’ll race to France DURING A REVOLUTION, to a PRISON to rescue Aziraphale. He’s Aziraphale’s constant companion, and really the only support he can always trust.

Crowley is the one to pull Aziraphale out of his abusive environment, enable him to act in the face of injustice, and support him as he faces down his abusers. He also respects the angel’s boundaries consistently, and while he’s been accused of going too fast, he’s patient, never pressuring Aziraphale to do something he’s truly uncomfortable doing. Normally, it’s already something Aziraphale wants to do, but can’t rationalize a reason to do it that would allow him to disobey Heaven. All the way up until shit hits the fan does Crowley refrain from making Aziraphale uncomfortable, and even at the breakup scene, Crowley forces it because he knows Aziraphale has to make a choice. Him or Heaven.

But, it’s Aziraphale choice and Crowley REFUSES to make it for him.

Heaven never consults Aziraphale on policy decisions, never initiates open communicates with Aziraphale, and certainly never treats Aziraphale as an equal. Crowley does. Crowley could easily have forced Aziraphale into his car and flew to Alpha Centurai. He could have forced Aziraphale to go with him in the bandstand. He could have forced Aziraphale to do any number of things without his consent, but he chooses not to. He chooses to be the honest entity Aziraphale needs in his life. He chooses Aziraphale, just as Aziraphale chooses him.

Even when they’re arguing, they share strong conflict resolution skills. Either they choose to talk it out unit they reach an understanding or, Crowley gets some fresh air, before consulting Aziraphale again. There is one moment when Crowley calls him stupid with any real bite to it, and it’s because Aziraphale, who is so close to admitting he has a problem, and that problem is Heaven, can’t make the last leap. Crowley, for the only time in the series, really insults Aziraphale because he needs one last ditch effort to take off the blinders, preventing Aziraphale from recognizing his trauma.

And after that? When Crowley is heartbroken and rejected for the second time? He still goes looking for Aziraphale. Unwilling to let anything damage the integrity of their relationship.

Crowley’s acts of kindness and love allow Aziraphale to finally recognize his past was unhealthy. But more than that, Crowley fulfills all the criteria needed for a healthy relationship according to The National Domestic Abuse Hotline.

And A Nightingale Sang in Berkley Square

So What does this all mean? Where are we left at the end of the series? In a pretty good place actually. I said the final step was establishing a sense of self. Where was he before the abuse started? Or, if that’s impossible to know (given our data) What does he want his new normal to be?

A life with Crowley.

It’s clear that when Crowley invites him to stay at his place (if Aziraphale likes) the night of Armageddon’t, Aziraphale does because they both deserve. There’s a slight smile when Crowley offers, and like in 1941, the romantic music swells. Only half-heartedly does Aziraphale say his side wouldn’t like it, but both of them know they’re on each other’s side. Not Heaven. Not Hell. Just them.

Quite simply, he’s already told us what he wants moving forward. He wants to be with Crowley, perhaps one day the could go for a picnic, or dine at the Ritz, but always together. So, he does.

Recovery is not a destination, it’s a process. Thanks to Aziraphale’s healthy support system that is Crowley, he is able to start his recovery journey and end the series in a much healthier place than it started. Aziraphale is not “cured” by the end of the novel, but he is coping, and he is recovering. So long as Crowley’s by his side, he’s well on his way to healthy coping mechanisms, and living in a safe, loving environment with a partner who loves and respects him.

TLDR: Aziraphale is recovering from 6000 years of abuse and trauma. Crowley loves, supports, and helps heal him on his journey.

For More on this Series:

In Part 1 I wrote about how Heaven is hella abusive towards Aziraphale, but Crowley’s love facilitates his recovery

In Part 2 I wrote about how traumatized Crowley is, but thanks to Aziraphale’s love which facilitates Crowley’s recovery

Part 3 is the one where Aziraphale Has some Dubious Coping Skills

Part 4 looks at Anthony J. Crowley’s Poor Coping Skills+ the One Surprisingly Healthy One

Thanks for coming to my Ted Talk

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ineffablefool · 4 years

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If Not Now, When (chapter 19)

They snuck back into the Youngs’ house like teenagers, shushing each other and laughing quietly as they stumbled through darkened rooms. No point, of course; there was still a light on down the hall in Mrs and Mr Young’s room, and Crowley very clearly heard a cheerful “Good night, boys!” followed by a deeper sleepy mumble.

“Good night, Dierdre, Arthur,” Aziraphale called back. Very polite. Then he started giggling again, muffling it behind one hand as they climbed the stairs.

Crowley listened to that sweet high sound and let his heart fill to drowning with it.

In their room again, door closed, Crowley was all set to throw himself into Aziraphale’s arms and kiss him a few thousand more times. Certainly Aziraphale looked like he’d be okay with the idea — his breath was coming just a little fast, soft body heaving with it. Face flushed, eyes bright and crinkled in that unfairly adorable way. Smiling. Just absolutely beaming right at Crowley. Almost like he was happy to see him. Almost like he loved him.

Something huge moved in Crowley’s chest. He was pretty sure he knew exactly what it was by now. Pretty sure his wasn’t the only chest doing the thing.

Read on AO3

The tail end of Christmas Day at the Youngs' house: some talking, and a gift for Aziraphale.

In case you missed my reblog, c4th33-wolf has created absolutely lovely fanart of chapter 18!

#ineffablefool original post #ineffablefool original fiction #ifof: the human AU for some reason

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gaypowersunite · 5 years

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Alright, someone please help me.

Not to long ago I was scrolling through tumblr when I came across this Ineffable husbands fic. I usually don’t read fics because I have no self control and my attention spam is practically nothing, but this one caught my eye.

It was about Crowley screaming to God to smite him, for the love of all things good and bad if Crowley was to be treated so unfairly then smite him, so God said “fine. you want to be that way? Fine, here is Aziraphale. You are smitten.”

Pretty sure it was short but goddamn its been stuck in my head, please help me find it.

EDIT: Found it :)

A tiny smol fic - ariaste

#i beg you #j havent stopped thinking about it #i dont even remember how i found it #or who reblogged it #it just ended with God saying fine #youre smitten #ineffable husbands #good omens #please help

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anthonycrowleymoved · 5 years

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okay i fell asleep so i didn’t make it last night but i promised i’d rank Crowley Hairstyles From Worst To Best alright here goes

CROWLEY HAIRSTYLES FROM WORST TO BEST ACCORDING TO TUMBLR USER MAGGIE ANTHONYCROWLEY:

14. shakespeare hair - this hair is so bad i forgot to mention it yesterday in all of my ‘worst hairstyles’ posts because my brain blocks it out for my own personal safety. when i see it my fight or flight instinct kicks in. it’s really, really bad

13. 1800s sideburns - this is arguably his straightest look and is being judged accordingly

12. roman hair - it’s BAD fam if he needs short hair this is NOT the look that’s all i have to say about that

11. 2007 hair - i’ve said it before and i’ll say it again. it’s bad. it was bad when the first set pic was released. it’s bad now. it will always be bad. i know this is controversial but he looks like, i don’t know, he’s trying to look like the lead singer of nickleback or something. it’s bad. on the upside it’s somehow also a perfect mix of my two favorite professors’ hairstyles who happen to both be lesbians so points for that

10. eden hair - it looks like a bad wig which i’m willing to admit most of these are bad wigs but it looks like an especially bad wig f i g h t m e

9. king arthur times - probably something undoubtedly wild as has been said but we never got to see it. homophobia

8. french revolution - ok apparently this is everyone’s least favorite which is balls to the wall wild frankly it’s. fine. to quote douglas richardson: “not bad. not good, though.”

7. world war ii - he gets points for it being the hairstyle he kills nazis with and the whole Aziraphale Thing™, but alas, it’s kinda boring. it is a cool hat though

6. nanny ashtoreth - points for Gender™ but also there’s better Gender™ looks sorry

5. 1960s - he looks like if joyce byers was a beatle. iconic

4. 2012 man bun - FIRST GENUINELY GOOD HAIRSTYLE. BEST MODERN GENDER™ LOOK BY FAR. AMAZING. STUNNING. BEAUTIFUL. the fact that he only wore this for probably a year at most? criminal

3. present day bird - i recognize that this is very high ranking and maybe unfairly so but 1. i remember the first time i saw it and was so elated that he wouldn’t be wearing the Bad 2007 Look Do Not @ Me Hair™ through the whole show that when i look at it now i still have residual happiness. 2. the hair floop in the scenes at the ex-hospital singlehandedly made me realize that maybe i DO have a crush on david tennant (this was after i saw him in both doctor who and fright night, among other things), and 3. he looks like every smith lesbian i had a crush on who was painfully out of my league

2. 1970s - OOHHH YOU THOUGHT THIS WAS GONNA BE NUMBER ONE HUH ??? DIDN’T YOU HUH ?? WELL U WERE WRONG but it is very good unironically. i love him

1. mesopotamia/jesus times - put together because they are pretty much exactly the same except for the MAGNIFICENT headscarf and if i had to choose between them my Definite Number One would be jesus times but i didn’t want them to be number one and two. anyway. it seems he wore this hair for upwards of three thousand years and frankly it was one of his best decisions. crowley please bring this back thank u

i think i got all of them let me know if i forgot something

#shut up maggie #text #go tv

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cipher-fresh · 5 years

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Requiem for a Starmaker

Crowley helped build the stars in Heaven. He still thinks about them, sometimes.

“Oohh, I helped build that one.”

It was scary, admittedly, when the sun went down for the first time. It shouldn’t have bothered Crawly, he could see in the dark, but it wasn’t like being a demon constantly made the sky blue-. Colors were just more distinct for him and his eyes were fashioned to be much more efficient at taking in light to see. None of this was spelled out for him helpfully in a You’ve Just Fallen From Grace: 5 Amazing Tips to Love Your New Despicable Place in God’s Plan! brochure. Brochures that were handed out included tourism of the crater created when the Morningstar fell, and pools of superheated sulfur. Crawly had put it down after reading the first four lines, and stood in a large cavern before he was told to Get Up There And Make Some Trouble. Fortunately, he hasn’t seen very much of Hell. What he has seen was very close to the ground.

There hadn’t been a conception of anything the opposite of Holy, not until the Fall. Corporations hadn’t been a thing, everybody paraded around with vaguely-humanoid bodies, or wheels of fire and multitudes of eyes, their wings and all other manner of limb and face. Corporations worked like this, see. There was a horrible, infernal lava-filled pool in Hell (holy water water fountain and waterfall in Heaven) where the paperwork would be sent to the computer, scanned and digitized, and the Pool of Energy would churn out a body. It would rise eerily (peacefully and relaxed, in Heaven’s case) and lifelessly, much like a perfect corpse, from the bottom of the pool, where the incorporeal(1) form of the being would walk into the body and claim it.

When Crowley Fell, his body had burned in the sulphur pools, his nerves already alight from the feeling of his body being compressed into a snake- one of Her last gifts to him. It wasn’t like losing his limbs was a help, as if less of his body would be in pain- his snake form was much bigger than most other snakes of Her creation. Not only did he have the memory and constant existence of being a demon, he had slitted yellow eyes, scales on his body that he hid with long sleeves and trousers, a brand on the side of his face, a forked tongue, and constant, desperate search for warmth wherever he could find it.

Well, Crowley supposed, the warmth thing wasn’t specific to snakes, Hell was always on fire and burning to counteract the ice in one’s heart after being rejected by Heaven. Crowley specifically got spit in his, well, eyes- he wanted nothing more than to fit in with humans, to be popular, or even accepted- and he was the one cursed by God Herself.

You know how magic is often based off belief and imagination? Crowley imagined that his car was fine, so it kept driving to Tadfield. It’s kinda like that. Aziraphale had spent six thousand years on Earth in a Micheal Sheen-esque human corporation, and he didn’t view his true self as the biblical description of an angel with eyes and wheels and limbs galore, but as gayer-than-a-treeful-of-monkies-high-on-nitrous-oxide, grandfather-looking english professor from the 1890s. (Otherwise known as a human being. You aren’t healing nanogenes from an intergalactic war, so please don’t think all humans look like Micheal Sheen. It would be nice if they did, I think, though.) So, Aziraphale imagined himself, even when lacking a corporation, to look like the person Crowley called ‘angel’ and fed ducks with. All the other angels in his platoon right before they were ready to fight before The-Apocalypse-That-Never-Was had already been given human corporations and they paraded around in heaven in them. Angels (and demons!) could technically do paperwork on computers in their True Forms (ultra-fast, slim, high-tech touchscreens in Heavenly cases, nineties-esque Apple II color computers in Hellish cases.

The animals scampered when dark came. They’d gotten used to it, it had happened for three days or so, and Crawly looked up as the sun went down. He wondered, did Adam and Eve know about the Fall? The stars in the sky? Did the moon scare them? It was a full moon tonight, hanging in the air, in full view. The desert they’d walked through together, being watched by an angel and a demon, both looking solemn, and straight ahead as the angel covered the demon with his wing, the first rain opening from the first cloudy skies.

The rain had dissipated after fifteen minutes. When the angel lowered his wing, a bit awkwardly, Crawly said “I guess I’ll be, uh, off then.” he shifted back into a snake, and went to leave, before pausing-. “...thankssss.”- and slithered down the side of the wall.

And, now, here he was. The sun going down, the real darkness, nothing stormclouds could manufacture. Crawly, still a snake, looked up. Twinkling lights, they looked so close while in Eden. What was the word for those things? They were on-fire balls of gas, Crawly knew, he’d helped make them, along with nebulas and galaxies and planets. What was the word? Not...oh, Crawly knew it had an ssss sssound, sssstellar, something like that. Crawly had built so much in Heaven, and he missed it dearly. Here he was, admiring them with physical eyes, from behind an atmosphere and the void of space and insurmountable distance, but it was his creation. One of his little marks on the world. He’d done something beautiful, and he could admire it.

Crawly didn’t even get to admire his own creations in Heaven, he’d make them, then be told very forcefully to get work done on the next planet.

Turning around, his view was blocked by trees and forest. A very determined snake-demon, Crawly slithered back up to the spot where the angel had been- the angel long gone, of course, who had nipped back to Heaven, probably to tell the Heavenly Host that they needed to collectively smite a single demon who had snuck into the Garden, tempted the humans and got them unfairly punished.

Finally pulling up the rest of his sinuous body to the wet ground he had been standing on earlier, Crawly had a better view of the sky. A much better view, the sky almost illuminated blue from the imposing view of some nearby(2) nebula. Crawly wondered what it would look like if the earth rotated a bit more, the moon would rotate with it and, hopefully, if things matched up, the moon would be full, and in view of the nebula. It would be a pretty sight, such a striking white from the moon illuminating the night, the foreground in front of a stunning blue pattern, accented by all those little things in the sky. Crawly watched as some blinked into existence, some had been created at the end of the first week, and their light was just now arriving.

It felt like space was hanging over him, the Garden of Eden being grabbed from the Earth by an invisible hand and lifted into the true astral void. You couldn’t describe space as empty or black, there was the presence or a stellar celestial being or the glitzy colors of a galaxy an impossible distance away. The sight of seeing his creation nearly brought Crawly to tears.

Being an ex-heavenly being, Crawly knew that the Earth was a sphere. He understood gravity, he understood atmosphere and oxygen, he understood that the ssss things he’d made were very distant. The closest things were the sun and the other planets in the solar system, and the moon. He couldn’t see the sun, for obvious reasons, and still staring at the blue nebula, the moon wasn’t in his peripheral vision. His eyes couldn’t spot any of the planets that he knew existed nearby, a result of their orbits, and his snake eyes being more even less well-suited for looking into the vast deep of outer space.

However, Crawly knew EXACTLY what was out there. Massive spheres of gas, burning, held together by gravity and God’s Will, or something. Other planets, physical places to walk and exist on on human corporations. Not that Adam and Eve would go there, obviously, but if Crawly couldn’t visit the stars, on account of his job on Earth, not in the atmosphere. He really hoped, one day, humanity would be able to visit his stars, for him. He wanted another look at- stars! That was the word. STARS! Crawly had made stars!

And, and, Crawly had helped with everything out in space. He’d built so much of it, and he was blessed proud of it! Stars, illuminating the garden, even if there wasn’t much light in general, there was still more there because he had built them. Crawly also liked to think that they were free of Heaven and God’s ridiculous rules, even if they had been punished for it. They would be better off. He had done that. He’d freed Adam and Eve, he’d built the stars…

Please wonder. Please question. Please be curious, Crawly hoped. Adam and Eve were destined to be fruitful and multiply. Hopefully one of them would send passing thoughts to the stars.

--------------------------

1957

Public education was always in interesting idea. He’d clearly never been in a school to receive an education like he was thinking about now, but he got by, humans never questioned him about his past. If they did, he could lie very smoothly. It had never been an issue, but Crowley thought it would be good to get an insider’s information, receive a child’s education. It would be funny if there was something that the British Government decided was important enough for good patriotic kids who served for King and Country to know, but Crowley, a 6000 year old demon, did not. Incredible, it was, from the days of feudalism a few short centuries ago to today, with taxpayer-funded education for all the kids to learn their maths and times tables.

Schooling like this had existed for centuries, developing over time, but Crowley had never imagined things turn out the way they did. Hell said the United States was the Place To Be. The States gave him a sour taste in his mouth, despite promising beginnings. He’d visited twice. Once after electric lights were invented(3) and he didn’t stay long. Crowley supposed it was better than when everyone was dying of the plague and stuffing flowers by their noses to stay immune. Second, in California during the summer in 1941. He didn’t do much, just a few one-on-one temptations for petty theft and fights, but he received a commendation for Korematsu vs United States a few months after the case, several years later.

Shapeshifting was an ability Crowley had acquired after the Fall. He was above shapeshifting into a child and faking a family, but he’d still like to know what little kids learned. Corrupt them early. If he felt ambitious, he could have some sort of law in place so kids had to learn about something to help corrupt them, though Crowley wasn’t sure what. It would require a lot of effort, though, something he wasn’t feeling up to now.

Maybe he’d just find a position in a school and watch silently from a corner as a snake.

Anyway, it was the beginning of an idea. He’d have to hammer it out sometime else. And, he had other business. Not Beelzebub zzemself, but somebody lower in the foodchain had determined the States was the place to be. Things like child labor and the Great Depression had been good business. He could do a lot of work there. And that plan about ‘putting a man on the moon by the end of the decade’ had promise.

Something bibliophilic and prim kept him from being in the right place, right time to take credit for God Bless America’s sins. For the Arrangement, of course. Got to keep your hereditary enemy in check. Aziraphale had settled in London almost four hundred years ago, and Crowley liked the place. He didn’t need to go anywhere.

The events of the war still fizzled in Crowley’s memory. He hadn’t visited either of the places the americans bombed in Japan, but he had visited the country in the 1620s. He went to pay his respects after the bombs in Japan in 1947 after the war ended.

And, so, he’d headed to some school in London, miracled up an ID for one Anthony Crowley, with a PhD in childcare or something, to be a guidance counselor, just as the school year started in September. A month later, Sputnik 1 was launched.

It wasn’t like Crowley spent a lot of time thinking about the atmosphere of the Earth. Of course not. There were five layers or something, the stratosphere weather one, a couple in the middle, and then the exosphere, where the air thinned out more than 6,000 miles from the Earth’s surface. There wasn’t a specific place where there Was Air and Wasn’t Air, it just thinned out until you lacked the ability to breathe. He knew this mostly because of an education of Earth given to him in Heaven, which he recalled vaguely, and sitting in on a lecture in a university. That’s where he got the 6,000 mile statistic.(4)

He’d love to say he did incredible, in depth research by going in a plane or hot air balloon, or better yet, with his wings, but since the Fall, his wings had always bothered him. He’d learned to not have his wings out in Hell after returning from the Garden from his chat with the angel, some demon had attacked him for ‘showing off’ his intact wings. They had turned black, as standard during the Fall. He was lucky, other demons lose their wings entirely, or were reduced to little ones that couldn’t fly. Crawly was feebly going to ask someone to groom his, and in return he’d groom theirs, because discrepancies in their wings proved to feel bothersome and sometimes painful.

Vulnerabilities were bad in Hell. Crawly was taught this very quickly. Luckily, he was assigned to Actively Permanent Earth Assignment- Human Temptation and Soul Corruption, so the only one he would have to worry about be attacked by for being different was humans.

But, a space launch, something piercing the atmosphere from inside it and going out instead of the other way around was astounding. There were very few things that could say they’d broken the Earth’s atmosphere, that had started on Earth. Meteor showers and all gave the title of ‘breaking Earth’s atmosphere’ a bit less impressive than it sounds. Nonetheless, as the children chattered about the upcoming Halloween at the end of the month when they should be memorizing vocabulary words (Crowley was hiding as a snake from the ceiling, listening intently to conversation in a class of second-years), they were also getting the demon to think about Halloween.

And, suddenly, Crowley had an idea.

Crowley tried to be an optimist. His usual problem was turning from a human to a snake when he was overwhelmed or processing a lot of things, but he was already in his snake form, so he wasn’t going to do that. It was unlikely he’d accidentally turn human, because turning human required concentration. Despite that, Crowley calmed himself down in the vents above a classroom in the form of a snake, because he had wiggled around excitedly when he had gotten an idea.

He wiggled back through the vents and into Mr. Crowley’s office. A venus flytrap sat in a pot on his desk, a gift from a student who he would be a guidance counselor to this year. He wondered if she gave all her teachers venus flytraps at the beginning of each school year, or it had just been the one with sunglasses and a snake tattoo, but he liked the plant. Whether she had or not, she seemed perfect for his plan. She was that type without a lot of friends, not much to do, and could be easily swayed to something with a sparkly sign. She had already somehow found that plants were something she liked, and venus flytraps specifically. If she liked ‘scary’ plants that ate insects, she’d be a perfect candidate for his plan- acting as a substitute one day and teaching kids how to use a ouija board.

Bless, maybe he should have just become a substitute teacher. They would be given the things the kids needed to learn. He’d have to find another time and place to do it, but the substitute teacher thing was a good idea.

The girl, her name was Annabelle, was in year six, and had some odd fondness and likely a place to grow venus flytraps, unless she bought Mr. Crowley a venus flytrap. Either way, she’d be perfect to make into a student of the occult. She’d probably confide in it due to her trouble making friends and acquaintances in school. The pieces were falling together. Now, the question was, what class of hers to make the teacher take a leave of absence from? Probably whatever class she liked the least, she’d hate to see her favorite teacher replaced. They’d already been in school for a month, she must know who the teachers she’d liked most were.

Only problem was, who did she like most? Crowley wasn’t the type to put feelings in people’s minds like Hastur, the whole point of temptations is that you make something look good, and the human makes the choice. Forcing them to do something defeated the whole purpose. It wasn’t a temptation, it was a command. Crowley rather liked humans’ whole Free Will thing. He couldn’t go around putting thoughts in her mind, or changing what teachers she liked. He wasn’t even doing the substitute teacher thing, right? His train of thought was a jumbled mess.

This was going to take some work and effort. Maybe he should have just forced the Main Office in the school to include a unit about hedonism, or something.

The schedule in the school had changed during the summer, unexpectedly. Crowley had joined, and he had the schedules altered to add a study hall. Maybe he’d start a club about the occult, get people excited for the Unholy And Evil Holiday That Was Halloween, and he’d have plenty of tempted souls by the time either he got bored of school or the project was a bust. He’d wind up doing something later.

The plan was set up, and Crowley went to speak to Anabelle one of the days before the fourth of October, 1957. Although this wasn’t the only date like this, Crowley looked at his life as a series of Befores and Afters. There was Before the Fall, and After the Fall. Before meeting Aziraphale. Before realizing he could lie on reports. Before he realized he was looking for Aziraphale in the thousand years between Eden and Noah’s Ark...and After. Before Christ and After.

Before ‘Holy Water Insurance’ and after.

There was a new event, although those listed do include quite a bit more. Before humans breached the atmosphere with Sputnik 1 and After.

Sputnik 1 is usually a footnote, nowadays, no, not a footnote, it does get some mention, it marked the beginning of the Space Race, the way we affectionately refer to it as, so it’s not a footnote, but it’s otherwise hardly mentioned. Believe me, it’s worth the google.

Since our current 1957 Crowley isn’t aware of things that get more attention, he qualifies Sputnik 1 as a significant event. Maybe, one day, humans will go in their little spaceships like Sputnik, fitted for human life, like good movies from earlier in the decade, where humans travelled the stars...here the humans were, right now, with a real space probe.

Even if Crowley couldn’t see his creations without a telescope, maybe some of those cosmonauts would. Humans were smart, with maths and science, they’d figure it out. Something more pessimistic in Crowley said they’ll figure out mutually assured destruction first.

He didn’t like thinking about that.

Alone in his office, sitting in his designer chair, which he preferred to stand on dramatically instead of sit on, he put his hand to his mouth to stop himself from crying because humans were going to see the stars.

----------------------------

Summer 1958

Occult Club was a bust. Crowley expected that, honestly, but it hurt now that it was the end of the year and he’d hardly accomplished anything. Well, he says he didn’t accomplish anything- he acted as a substitute multiple times throughout the year and ignored the lesson plans, teaching kids how oujia boards worked and the pleasures of spending other people’s money. He also had an incredible Halloween, where he dressed up as dragon and tempted children to steal candy from other children. They wound up giving him most of it, so Crowley was satisfied. He had also made progress with Anabelle, who had moved at the end of the year after summer started. She had gotten interested in the occult, but also into snakes and reptiles because Mr. Crowley had a pet snake. That’s why he had the tattoo, no other reason.

The last day of school, Crowley, with no mortal possessions other than a venus flytrap he’d acquired at the beginning of the year, stayed in the building to cause trouble with other teachers who were moving their supplies. He’d accidentally convinced one of the teachers in an unexpected therapy session to tell her husband that she didn’t want kids, she’d been scared to the whole time because her husband wanted them. He wished his coworker the best and helped her move things to her car.

He waved as she drove off, and looked back up at the sky, which was dotted in stars. On the first night he’d been on Earth, there weren’t constellations. Well, they existed, but they hadn’t been identified. Crowley sat down in the grass for a little while and stared at the sky. The school was pretty far from any major city, so there wasn’t any light pollution to get in the way. Just him, the atmosphere, and his creation hanging above him.

--------------------

March 1969

Hell had never really given up on the Move to the States! Thing, and he couldn’t exactly tell them that moving to the United States was quite literally the last thing he ever wanted to do. One, humans were sinful enough, and the States were a perfect example of how humans could do horrible things, without demonic temptations. And, Aziraphale didn’t live in the States. Oh, and another reason, God had a stupid american accent and he refused to live anywhere where he’d constantly hear people who sounded as annoying and stuck-up as Her.

Reading the words manned spacecraft in big black letters in newspaper headings and on telly hadn’t sunk in when he first read them, but he thought for a couple of hours and stared at his television set when he woke up two weeks ago. Crowley, being a very odd snake-demon-man, liked to avoid the cold months by sleeping them off. He didn’t always do it, but he liked to escape the cold sometimes and ‘hibernate’ from November to February. The BBC had done a TV special recapping the events of all human activities in space, from intercontinental missiles in 1957 to the recent Apollo 8 entering the moon’s gravitational orbit.

Humans were gonna see the stars. Please don’t let me down, Crowley hoped. Humans, you’re so smart. Use that big brain of yours for something productive, something good.

Despite the bit with the apple, Crowley didn’t like to think of himself as some loving hand guiding humanity with every step. He was more like their uncle that gave them a million-pound check and told them to have fun.

So, March 1969, Crowley staring at the telly he had in his flat. Watching an odd news broadcast recapping the history of the space race, even if it wasn’t called that yet. One of his projects in 1967 was still paying off, so he wasn’t in a hurry to do any work, he didn’t need to jump out of bed and do anything. When the helpful recap by the BBC finished, he flicked through some channels. He could go and do a temptation on some unsuspecting human, but he didn’t feel like it, and it was still cold.

Something else he could do was reassure his presence to Aziraphale, show that he hadn’t killed himself with the holy water. Not that Crowley had even thought about it, but Aziraphale had been so scared. They’d exchanged phone numbers in 1941, Crowley dropping Aziraphale off, and doing everything he could to get Aziraphale to invite him inside. He’d turned the car off, got out of it, and rested his arms on the top and continued the awkward conversation they’d had in the car. It hadn’t worked, and Aziraphale gave him the strangest, most pained look, and headed inside the bookshop, closing the door.

So much for olive branches.

Of course he’d still hold a hand out for Aziraphale if he ever decided to turn up. But Crowley wasn’t going to wait for him to come crawling back. Crowley had an immortal life to live, people to tempt, movies to watch and places to be. He absolutely would be Aziraphale’s friend again if the angel wanted.

He wasn’t, absolutely wasn't going to focus on you go to fast for me, Crowley.

He’d be going slow by staying away from him, but leaving his hand out, right? Thinking about his, uh, affectionately named Driving Speed Problem was upsetting, so Crowley decided he didn’t want to think about it.

Cool! Crowley wanted a new thing to think about. Something that wasn’t Aziraphale. Clearly failing at this, Crowley walked over to his safe, looking at the numbers 4 and 0, the two numbers he’d need to hit to open the safe. The tartan-patterned holy water thermos was in there.(5)

No. I don’t want to think about Aziraphale. Maybe I should do some temptations- that got him thinking about the Arrangement.

Breathing heavily, and growling like dog, Crowley impulsively kicked over a potted plant in anger. The ceramic pot shattered, and the soil in it spilled, the recently planted seeds spilling out as well. Seeing the result of his little tantrum, the anger that had built up in Crowley dissipated like smoke in the wind. He snapped, and it was a pristine, perfect little ceramic-potted plant. The pieces disappeared and the soil was perfect now. Crowley would love to say his miracle to fix the plants also got rid of the sudden tears in his eyes or solved the problem if his little tantrum.

Very unbecoming of a demon, Crowley sighed, the weight of the world clearly on his shoulders. He wiped his eyes, he hadn’t cried much. Human corporations were cruel and swift, so Crowley’s head started to hurt. He decided, very masculinely and in a way that didn’t compromise his cool-guy look, that he didn’t need aspirin or need to try miracling it away.(6)

Ever since the Driving Speed Incident, and Crowley ‘decided’ he ‘didn’t need Aziraphale’, although he was 100% willing to be his friend again, Crowley decided to be his own demon. He had a bookshelf of books he liked, some of them gifts from Aziraphale, some of them gifts from author friends, some stolen, some purchased. Two years ago, Crowley put the books in storage, and made his bookshelf another wine cabinet. There was wine you didn’t need to refrigerate (Crowley thought) so he kept his non-refrigerating wine in the ex-bookshelf.

Books and reading were for nerds who liked books and reading. Crowley wasn’t a nerd who liked books and reading. Not very demonic.

Something that was demonic, and it wasn’t because Crowley made the stars in Heaven, and he liked outer space, no sir, something that was demonic because it might lead to WW3 and could do plenty of temptations for him, was space exploration.

The astronomy-enthusiast demon bought a ticket to Orlando, the closest city in Florida to the Kennedy Space Center that very same week. It would be his third time to America, and he was a demon on a mission. Not one to pass up an opportunity like this, Crowley very helpfully informed Hell of his upcoming trip to the States. Pencil-pushers in Hell could probably check off a box on a checklist, and Crowley had an idea. He wasn’t moving there, but a plan was forming in his mind.

Two Weeks Later, Mid-March 1969

ORLANDO, FLORIDA, UNITED STATES

The snake-demon-man should have considered himself lucky he’d only visited the warmer parts of America. California, Georgia, and now Florida. He’d always fancied the idea of visiting New York, especially since he received a commendation for the chaos caused by the Prohibition. He didn’t like the city until the country allowed alcohol again, but since the 21st amendment, he hated the States slightly less.

The point was, the three states he’d visited now, were some of the warmer ones. Despite the time being March, it was always agreeable temperatures. He’d struck up conversation with some american on the plane, and they’d said to him some meaningless Fahrenheit garbage about seventy degrees even during the winter. He resisted the urge to make fun of him for using such a poor system of temperature measurement, but he smiled and thanked the man.

Look, Crowley thought. If it is seventy degrees outside, everything is on fire. Nothing was on fire when he left the plane, but being a demon, fire still on his mind, made one of the wheels catch fire unexpectedly by the time everyone had already left. It would cause some delays and people would be tempted into Wrath. See? It all works out.

A bit sad to leave his beloved Bentley behind, Crowley had assured himself the temporary absence of it would be better than the trouble of moving it to a foreign country for a temporary visit. He stole a car from long-term parking (he didn’t feel like talking to anybody today to get a rental. The plane had drained him of energy for social interactions for things as horrible as humans.((It’s always planes that show the best and worst in humans, innit?)) Having to hear another person talk to him today might make him snap.) and so the demon made his way to Kennedy Space center.

The car he’d stolen had personal items left in there. Crowley prided himself on his ability to drive, unaware most of the work was done because that’s how Crowley expected cars to work. He would just make his car (any car, really) drive magically as he took a nap in the backseat, but he liked the freeing feeling of driving. It was a middle-finger to Hell, in a way. Today, however, Crowley did feel like taking a nap in the backseat. Well, I say backseat, more like passenger’s seat. He climbed into the seat on the left and was very surprised to see the steering wheel on the passenger’s side. Right. American car.(7) Somebody had said to him american cars were screwy.

One of the personal items left in the car was a newspaper, which Crowley read as his stolen car fermented in Orlando road traffic. It drove itself to the Kennedy Space Center, ignoring any obstacles in it’s path. Crowley miracled up a newspaper from home (London) when he finished up the american one and read curiously about the transition to the third Doctor on that show on telly he’d heard about. The american newspaper had also included a section on the cancellation of Star Trek. He’d watched it since it came out, but he hadn’t watched Doctor Who. He had heard of it, though. It was supposed to be some kid’s historical show. Sounded dumb.

Kennedy Space Center. Something Crowley appreciated about humans was their ability to decide that something was somebody else’s problem. Crowley paraded up and down the halls of the imposing white building, an ID badge for the nonexistent job of “Apollo Project Upper Transfer Manager”. He wondered if he should do an american accent, and he’d tried to do one in the men’s bathroom in the mirror, but failed utterly. He stopped after that. Crowley didn’t feel like being embarrassed by doing an accent in an empty bathroom in Kennedy Space Center, he had a job to do. Before leaving the bathroom and theatrically readjusting his tie, he tried one more line in a failed american accent, thinking about a movie he’d watched: “Get your stinking paws off me you d- oh, no, I can hardly do that.” and “You maniacs! You blew it up!” before succumbing to embarrassed laughter, dropping the accent halfway through and giving up.(8)

Movies, Crowley had determined one time, were one of humans’ best inventions.

Speaking of movies, and maybe american accents, Aziraphale could do a scarily accurate one. Crowley had suggested being ‘Not Mr. Fell’ as a way to scare off customers, in 1803, when Aziraphale got his first not-customer. Aziraphale realized he didn’t want to sell his books, and having a bookshop was counter intuitive to this sentiment, but he’d already gone through the trouble of making it a bookshop. It wasn’t like humans were required to buy books, so Aziraphale would just make sure, on the odd occasion a human tries to make a purchase, that they don’t. Simple enough.

No. Crowley was not going to think about Aziraphale. He was his own demon, about to pull off the temptation of a lifetime, sometime before the americans put a man on the moon.

“Mr. Crowley. Nice to meet you.” A man had extended his hand. Coming back to reality, standing in the middle of the hallway, Crowley shook the hand of the gruff-sounding man in front of him. Crowley had left the bathroom and stumbled around, looking for someplace important. He hadn’t had a specific idea of what he was going to do when he got to the Space center, just that it should be enough to get Hell off his back.

Another thing that Crowley liked to think, was that he knew how certain types of people were, and this was to his advantage as a demon, a tempter, a creature of sin, who was in awe of all the fancy technology in the building. It’d be a shame if a group like this wouldn’t be able to do the projects they wanted. A big group of smart minds in one place.

Maybe the terminology should have been ‘cursing’ humans, because as much as he tempted humans into doing bad things to corrupt their souls, he also often did a lot of curses- cursing the bathrooms empty of toilet paper, which pissed people off and often made them late to places when the situation was dealt with. Making them lose their keys, the little things.

The man was very polite, and he laughed at a couple of Crowley’s jokes, told him he had a sexy accent, and may have been flirting with the demon. As lunchtime rolled around, he talked about how his father had fought in both of the wars, and it felt like World War 3 was just around the corner. They did bomb drills every week at his son’s school, as if the radiation wasn’t going to get you if you hid under the table.

Every day, for the whole month, Crowley showed up at the Space Center and clocked in, 9-5. He checked into a hotel, because you can’t plan something as important as Crowley’s current idea with six hours of sleep.

Well, Crowley said he was coming up with something. He had a dumb little notebook where he scribbled things into, including doodles of planets and stars. Words like tempt people into wrath by destroying projects?? Causing power-outs -flat tires to important people??

Ideas like that. Crowley could technically do worse things to slow down the project, he could tempt some of the workers to sleep with each other and hope that a jealous housewife kills in revenge, he could plant a fake soviet spy, since americans were so concerned about their size-measuring competition. Crowley could do all manner of horrible thong and curse the project, and people would definitely sin along the way. -But he didn’t want to. Beelzebub had suggested to ‘bring more of those atom-bomb thingzzz to zzpace and drop zzem from the zzzky!”

Nuclear threat sounded promising, but a lot of effort. Although, war with nuclear weapons now would mean Armageddon, though Crowley never pictured humans doing it without an antichrist. Something he remembered from yet another brochure he’d acquired, a brochure acquired in 1000, to celebrate the (rough) last thousand years of Heaven’s snivelling and miserable existence. The Earth would exist for six thousand years, and it shall end in fire and flame. The antichrist would be sired, and probably be able to use his powers on his eleventh birthday. He’d start armageddon, Hell would defeat those harp-pluckers up in Heaven, and it would be fire and torture for all the dead human souls.

So...Crowley would know if the antichrist was born yet, right? Had Hell not told him? He needed time before the end of the world, he had to unload long-term stocks, do a couple of things on his bucket list, lots of things. Unless Hell had told him the antichrist was born and he just forgot.

Uhh...can we mark that down as a possibility? ‘The antichrist has been born, but I just forgot.’ Crowley considered the possibility of that. Low chance, he determined. He was fairly sure the antichrist wasn’t born yet.

The realization that Crowley didn’t want to do any temptations, that he wanted everything to go right, for humans to land on the moon came at the end of March. George Victor, the friend, had invited him for a drink at a bar after work. Hesitantly, Crowley accepted. The only reason being because american beer wasn’t as good as british beer. Nothing else to do with drinking or what Crowley thought about or what he reminisced about when he saw a good 200-year-old chateauneuf du pape.

Crowley’s work at NASA continued.

Some, maybe most of his time, when he wasn’t ‘working’ was spent sleeping. He’d very much liked to have slept for another fifty years after the war and working for British Intelligence had been exhausting. Not that he regretted it, but it was exhausting.

Since Florida wasn’t in the same spot as Britain, you could see different stars when you sat outside on a clear night. Maybe he should have visited the States sooner, you could see this one collection of stars that he’d never seen with his naked eye on Earth before. Crowley was lying on the top of his stolen car, staring at the sky. Did the people he’d stolen the car from want it back? Likely, they expected to have their car back when they returned home. Where were they visiting, Crowley wondered? Orlando must be their home, or at least the closest airport.

Crowley wanted to go home. A month of work at NASA and he hadn’t done anything. Along with his goal of accomplishing some sort of temptation while he was there, and getting dangerously close to telling his friend about Aziraphale and his life ‘back home in England’, things hadn’t turned out the way he wanted.

In an impulse decision, deciding he had nothing to show for himself, Crowley erased George Victor’s memory of him. George had lamented his life to Crowley, about how he and his girlfriend had gotten into a big fight, broke up, and didn’t talk for months. As much as Crowley didn’t want to think about Aziraphale- he knew he couldn’t stay away forever. Crowley drove back to Orlando, parked the car back where he’d found it, cursed cars with steering wheels on the left, and got a flight back to London-Heathrow.

Well, technically, Crowley did have something to show for himself, but he wasn’t sure it would work. George had made a comment about how landing on the moon could backfire, it might be a show of dominance to other countries at the risk of pissing them off, and the nuclear bombs might start falling again. Crowley was fairly sure that if Apollo was successful, it wouldn’t be seen like that, but there was always this fear about it.

“Maybe you’re thinking about it the wrong way. Maybe the States need to be more aggressive. America should claim the moon for themselves, put the flag on the surface or something.”

Not that Crowley thought it would go anywhere, but George Victor must’ve told somebody else before Crowley wiped George Victor’s memory. Crowley would just have to wait to see it came to fruition. He hoped not, the idea of the americans ‘claiming’ the moon seemed odd, but he’d just have to wait.

JULY 15th, 1969, LONDON

A flight back to London, of course, and Crowley had learned some stuff about astronomy during his time, which was better than having gotten nothing done. He flattened some people’s tires before he left, a fantastically demonic and sinful act.

In a bar, thinking about how a temptation had gone wrong in June, Crowley mumbled to himself and looked around the building. He’d gone to see a movie earlier that day, and it felt like the movie was screaming out to him, TALK TO AZIRAPHALE. Maybe something had reminded him of George Victor. No matter what he did, he couldn’t get the angel out of his thoughts.

Being a mature and responsible demon, Crowley hid those thoughts deep down and tried not to think anymore about Aziraphale.

JULY 16TH, 1969, CROWLEY’S FLAT

Watering your plants while irritable wasn’t fun, Crowley almost wound up talking to himself in his empty flat. He kept turning the telly on and off, seeing if there was any news about the moon launch. When the time came, Crowley sat very still, on his uncomfortable couch, and watched the broadcast. He was completely silent, snakeskin boots on the couch, hugging a pillow. Sunglasses off.

Crowley had dreams about making the stars in Heaven that night, all those years ago.

JULY 20TH 1969

Any available telly had been crowded around almost every hour since the launch a couple of days ago. Usually, any bar that Crowley went to would be filled with loud chatter, but it was all hushed whispers as the BBC reported on three tellies in the building how the mission had gone so far, showed interviews from american scientists at NASA, and had a feature about the personal lives of all of the astronauts.

Poor footage from Apollo 11 was being shown. The talking got louder as time went on. Crowley was sitting in the Dirty Donkey, a pub he wasn’t a stranger in. Impulsively, Crowley rushed to a telephone box across the street and dialed Aziraphale’s number.

“Crowley?”

“Aziraphale, where are you? Actually, doesn’t matter. Find a telly. Any telly. Just a close one. You live in Soho, there must be one in a nearby. I don’t care if you need to break into someone’s house, but you need to find a telly.”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand-”

“Aziraphale.”

“Okay. I’ll find a telly. What channel would I be looking at? I still don’t understand what I’m going to be watching.”

The demon in the phonebox took a deep breath. “Find the BBC, it won’t be hard. It’s the moon landing.”

“Moon landing?”

“Yes, moon landing!”

There’s some silence.

“I’ll find a television set, dear boy, and call you back.”

“Wait!-”

Aziraphale hangs up.

That hurt. Crowley walked back across the street, and sat down in a seat. Quiet as a mouse, Crowley watched the start of the landing at The Dirty Donkey. The nearest phone was the telephone box across the street, so he didn’t know if Aziraphale was watching it at all.

Entirely captivated by the low-res footage, Crowley didn’t acknowledge the hand on his shoulder. “Hey.”

Aziraphale.

“Mind if I join you?” This startled Crowley, suddenly looking up. Everyone in the bar shushed him, and Crowley patted the seat next to him welcomingly.

“I don’t mind at all. Sit down.”

----------------------------

1- “I’ll talk about this later. Hang tight. “

2- “Relatively. Couple of hundred astronomical units.”

3- “He hadn’t had any influence on Thomas Edison. Humans and electricity were a match made...somewhere.”

4- “ Heaven doesn't use measurements as stupid as miles.”

5- “Crowley was under the impression Aziraphale had never lied to him. There were moments like “We’re not friends!” or “I’m fine.” but Aziraphale usually said it in a way that was obvious he was lying. He would be stressed, or cold, and very unlike himself. But Crowley was 100% sure Aziraphale didn’t lie to him about important things. He had 100% certainty the water in the thermos was holy. This assumption (the first one) was wrong, Aziraphale had lied to Crowley with a straight face in the past and Crowley totally believed him. Aziraphale did feel bad about lying. Not because lying was wrong, but because he was lying to Crowley.”

6- “Crowley didn’t expect miracles to work on the headache. Therefore, they didn’t. He still tried, but he never expected it to work. Do the math.”

7- “You may be asking, if Crowley expected the steering wheel to be on the right, why didn’t the car behave accordingly? Some things are beyond demonic magic because they’re genuinely that horrible. This is a common theme in the United States. American things being ‘genuinely that horrible.’”

8- “Planet of the Apes is still, to this day, one of Crowley’s favourite movies. He doesn’t like it more than any of the James Bond movies, though. 21st century Crowley happens to like Tony Stark.”

#good omens #Ineffable Husbands #crowley #Aziraphale #I have the whole thing on a google doc and it didnt transfer that text was in italics so i had to go back and make things in italics

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goodduckingomens · 4 years

Text

The cookie heist or Anthony J. Junior is entirely too much like his father

I did it again :D

Another snabies fic with my OC, Lucy! This time featuring all of the snabies and a good chunk of Aziraphale/Crowley!

Read it HERE on Ao3.

Summary: Mistakes are made and the snabies find themselves in a horrible situation - banned from eating cookies for three whole days! The cookie jar mocking them from its shelf, they decide to plan a heist. Good thing they have an expert on their side…

Baking.

That’s what had started this. A perfectly domestic scene turned into a scene of tragedy (and comedy) because of two little snakelets who hadn’t yet learned the lessons Junior had had to learn the hard way.

“Do NOT overeat on sweets.”

Thus, an afternoon of baking ended in a visit to the vet because two out of five little snakes looked more like whimsical decorative plates. Junior and the other two had been laughing then(because really, they were fine, and it was always nice to visit Auntie Vet). Now however, the consequences of the afternoon were crashing down on them just how people thought that meteor crashed down on those funny dinosaurs.

“Children, we have decided that none of us will be having cookies for the next few days, while Joshua and Nikola have to be careful eating.”

The expected chorus of “Noooooooo” was quickly countered with empathy and sound logic reasoning. An unwarranted and unfairly brutal tool to use against children.

“The last time we excluded only one of you from something they went and abducted themselves, spawn. We all will do this and that’s the end of it. Even your Azirafather will refrain from cookies or other bigger sweets. It’s only for three days anyways.”

Only three days.

Easy to say for father, he didn’t even eat that many sweets! Though Junior had, on one memorable occasion, seen him swallow a whole cake out of spite because he was miffed with Azirafather.

Azirafather had winced slightly at those words but supported them with a stern nod.

“This is not a punishment, children. This is about support and no one feeling left out. You know that is not a nice feeling.”

They knew. And they also knew there was no possibility to argue their way out of this.

It was settled.

And their nice, fresh cookies were doomed to harden like the heart of a fair maiden wronged. (Diana said he read too many medieval romances when he used this metaphor in the presentation of his plan. But Junior knew strong images and metaphors made for a good rallying speech. And why should not let himsnelf be inspired by great works of literature?)

All of them agreed not letting any of them have cookie was unfair. Josh and Nikola said they didn’t even want to eat cookie for a long time! So, no risk. But also, still no cookie. Junior had to set this right.

You see, the thing was, by using his (admittedly bad, he knew it had been bad, he KNEW, he was all too aware) example, his parents had made this Junior’s problem to solve – and Junior had only gotten better at solving problems after his big mistake.

Don’t know what to read? Ask friends and fathers for recommendation.

Want to hear Baby shark in Bentley instead of Queen? Nicely ask Untie Bentley and puppy eyes. Especially father had been very impressed by that feat. (Completely baffled actually. He could not figure it out.)

Need a secret, sneaky plan to steal? Ask the expert.

After a quick debate everyone agreed to try.

A good thing they had a shared phone with sneaky Lucy’s number on it. Usually he mainly called or texted her pictures he had one of his fathers take for him. Typing on a smartphone surface was pretty hard for a snake after all. But today, he couldn’t risk his parents hearing him!

He put on a determined face and started booping the phone furiously.

_______________________________________

That evening Lucy got home to a flood of messages on her phone. She smiled. It was the other phone. The one she not so secretly had dubbed `Snabyphone´. (In glitter letters on its back.)

Crowley had been thoughtful enough to get her a modified phone, so the little one’s `voices´ would actually transfer during a call. As a bonus it was also absolutely untraceable, which was incredibly handy. Thus, she always had it with her – except on a job.

What she expected were some adorable pictures, or some asks about snabysitting again. That would be fun.

Weirdly enough, most of the messages were texts. And neither from the demon, nor the angel – but from the contact called `Beboop´, her contact name for the snabies this week.

With a raised eyebrow she opened the messages and started to read.

Js$nJJ!!1

unti Thif!1!!

W neEEd help

Cookieeeeeeeeee fobiddn!1!

ll sd

plan?!!?

There were several blurry photos of their kitchen and a cookie jar attached. All subtitled with increasing numbers of exclamation marks. And one picture that made her laugh out loud, of four tiny snakes doing their best puppy eyes. She saved it as new background and clicked into the other chats for more info.

The very first had her laugh out loud again. From Crowley (aka. `devil put aside for me´), it was a picture without comment. And no comment was needed.

It was of two of the snabies looking as if they’d swallowed a small plate. Or two very small elephants, depending. No other messages from Crowley.

She replied with a row of laughing emojis and a quick message.

I guess this is why `cokieeeeeee is fobiddn´? Everyone alright? Or at least smiling faces `all around´?

Clicking into her chat with Aziraphale (aka. Mr. First edition) now, she was looking for some actual information. He had finally gotten his own smartphone, after finding out how Crowley tended to write – resulting in a fight over who should text, including increasingly bad imitations of each other that left her cry laughing and gasping for air.

Just like expected, she found a brief description of the day’s events with plenty of reassurances that everyone was fine. And that everyone was on a ban for sweets now, as the two unfortunate accidental pancakes still had to recover.

A message plopped up from another chat.

Harr harr very funny.

No you won’t get me to like `dad jokes´, as far as I’m concerned I’m `father´ and I’ll damn well stay that.

Also everyone’s fine

Nope. The dad joke joke was way too fun to ever stop with it. And a little spy had told her he actually did like them. Betrayal from the own son, classic tragedy. Speaking of which…

Pleasssse ntie!!111!

Aw, it was so cute when they called her auntie. It really made it hard to say no to anything they wanted.

She thought about it for a bit. She didn’t want any of the little ones to get hurt, and the ban on sweets was probably for the best. Maybe she shouldn’t help them – but then again, Junior probably would be planning something with or without her input. Well, then she’d just have to find a way around all that, she thought, while she got out a sketchbook.

_______________________________________

A few hours later, Junior received a message!! Very exciting!

It was just a few sketches of a very elaborate and kind of messy plan, with notes scribbled everywhere. Junior could barely count as high as the number of steps was!!

The message after read:

Good luck, ask if you have troubles. Might need some reworking, so do stay in contact. But I’m sure you can do this!

Yes, Junior wouldn’t have troubles!!! Lucy believed in him, so he could think all of this through by himsnelf. Though he didn’t see what the bird listed under preparations was supposed to do. Anyways!

Now, what to do first…

The preparations took two whole days of carefully scoping out the bookshop for places to hide, things for safety and some of the material. It would have been way faster if he hadn’t been looking for some things, including the bird, that were really hard to get. He didn’t even know what an ukulele was!

After a lot of planning, replanning, starting over from scratch and scratching that again with Auntie Lucy the plan now worked with what they had managed to gather. Everyone knew their roles. Everything was set up. Now, the only thing left was to wait until late in the evening…

_______________________________________

It had been a quiet day in the bookshop, just like the last two.

Suspiciously quiet.

Crowley was on high alert. The children were taking the cookie ban way too well and he had been expecting something to come up mere hours after the incident.

But nothing.

Not even arguing or pleading or anything. And now it was almost over.

Maybe he’d have to accept that their children went by the rules now. Felt weird.

They were both relaxing on the sofa, Aziraphale reading and Crowley idly tapping on his phone, not really seeing anything he was doing in favor of surveilling the surroundings.(He should have paid some attention as it turned out later. Because he’d accidentally clicked into amazon and now had curry ketchup, a book titled “Driving for dummies”, a “mama uwu” shirt and a ten gallon bucket of lube not only sitting in his shopping cart but already paid for.) A weird feeling sat deep in his guts, as if something was just about to happen.

There!

Movement in the kitchen!

He almost didn’t believe his eyes, even though they hadn’t failed him in over 6000 years.

It was the children. The children with tiny black masks on their faces. Who was that supposed to fool?! There were no other tiny intelligent snakes roaming around in this shop, not even in the whole world.

With mounting horror, fascination and some twisted sense of pride Crowley watched as his children set up a mechanic that allowed – was that Junior? Yes it was. - to be let down gently, carried in a sock, (Whose sock was that?! It was not tartan and Crowley miracled the damn things. A mystery.) until he reached the cookie jar.

_______________________________________

The plan was going perfectly!! With the help of a clever rope construction (String actually, but very tough string.), they had managed to reach the cookie jar safe and quiet. Undetected!! Fathers would never be suspecting a thing!!

Now to phase two.

It took him a bit to pry off the lid of the cookie jar – it was heavy! Finally, he managed to slide it to the side enough to wiggle in.

Auntie Lucy had been strict about this. Break the cookie into very, very small bits or you won’t be able to transport it. He got to work, nudging the crumbs out of the jar and into the transporting vehicle for his sniblings to pull up.

After one cookie he was exhausted. It would have to be enough. He slithered out, catching some movement behind the doorway from the corner of his eye. But nothing when he looked again. Though it was hard to see far in the dark with the mask on. So, better not to waste time!

As quickly as he could he placed the lid back on the jar and slithered into the getaway vehicle. (They had debated drawing flames on it, Diana insisting it would make it faster, but ultimately decided stealth was more important than speed in this operation.) The crumbs were itchy on his scales, but that didn’t dampen his high. They had done it!! They had gotten forbidden cookie!

Now, the only part left was to wait until tomorrow to eat it. Lucy had been very strict about that. No enjoying the loot until you were sure everything went well and undetected.

They quickly got to disassembling the construction, which took a bit longer than expected because of all the safety measures. His sniblings were hissing quietly.

“AWESOME!!!”

“That was SO COOL.”

“Auntie Thief is so smart!!”

Junior grinned proudly. The best thing about his big adventure really had been meeting her. (And getting to eat new kind of chimkin nuggest! With cheeeese!) Just like the first time he swallowed a coin had been worth it because they got to meet vet! Sometimes his mistakes were the best thing.

But now! They had to hide the loot quickly and then go to bed. Being a sleeping angel child was the perfect alibi. And he was tired after all of this.

Soon the children ended up in a big, happy pile, sleeping soundly. So sound that they didn’t even notice their father creeping into their room, looking at them, briefly shaking his head at the masks that were not even hidden, and leaving again.

_______________________________________

The next day, the snabies awoke to a beautiful world, in which all was right. A stray ray of sunshine, warm and inviting had wiggled through their blinds and warmed their pile. Birds were singing the loveliest melodies. (No not a nightingale.) There was the smell of an amazing breakfast wafting through the air. And their cookie stash had stayed undetected!

They considered celebrating by eating it immediately but decided against it. The crumbs could tell on them. Also, the breakfast was smelling too good to not leave as much room as possible for it.

When they got to the kitchen, both of their fathers greeted them with a smile.

“Good morning my children! In celebration of the official end of the cookie ban, I decided to let you all indulge in your favorite breakfast foods. You all did really well, and I am so proud of you for supporting each other like this.”, Aziraphale said while serving them all.

There was everything, from full English to Crêpes, a mouthwatering feast that made more than one stomach make funny noises. Yes, surely this weird feeling in his guts was just because of all the food, Junior told himself. Not because they were lying to Azirafather.

He looked around to his sniblings, who all looked very put out and swallowed heavily. One of them had to start and dig in, or they would look super suspicious!!!

But no one was moving.

Demonstratively, Junior slithered forward to his own plate, and leaned over to take a bite. Of his favorite food. A perfectly spiced bowl of oatmeal. Oh no, Azirafather had even drawn a smiling face on it with cinnamon! He couldn’t take this. It was too much. He broke.

“WE – I STOLE A COOKIE AZIRAFATHER I DON’T DESERVE THIIIIIIIIS!”, he sobbed.

Behind him his sniblings caved in too.

“We all did it!”

“We planned for two days!!”

“We just wanted cookies so badly.”

They all crawled forward to Junior, ending up as one sniffling pile of guilt. And they hadn’t even gotten to enjoy the reason for all of it yet.

Their fathers gave each other a look and sighed.

“Stop crying spawn, we know.”

“We do appreciate your honesty in telling us now. Let’s enjoy this nice breakfast as a treat for your, albeit late honesty, and discuss the consequences later, ok?”

The little snakes all nodded, heads down. The guilty conscience and indistinct feeling of having disappointed their fathers was weighing heavy on each of them and made it hard to enjoy the food.

“Perk up a bit spawn. We aren’t mad at you. We both know that sometimes it’s very hard to follow rules someone else sets for you, especially when it’s about forbidding something you really want. It’s how I got Eve to eat the apple after all, remember? No one is mad or anything, we just need you to learn certain things and trust us on others, so you’ll grow up good.”

Fathers speech lightened the weight a bit, but it was not until after breakfast, and after a long talk about boundaries and rules and the reasons for them, that everyone felt better again. Well and the following hugs and kisses and boops helped a lot. Fathers loved them very much, no matter what.

“We know that you all feel very bad about all of this anyways, so we think that you’ve already learned a lesson, didn’t you? But still this needs to have some consequences. So, since apparently, it’s hard for you to not do things, me and father were thinking of something more active. That means you all will be doing some extra chores for a week. Does that sound more manageable to all of you?”

Grumpy noises of agreement. Extra works wasn’t too bad. Maybe Junior could offer to teach father puppy eyes for Untie Bentley!

“Well then! Go and enjoy your day children!”

As they slithered into the playroom, the start of the day was quickly forgotten, over games and fun. Until Junior went to hide for hide and seek, and hid in the same spot they’d hidden the cookie transport vehicle in. The crumbled, but else entirely untouched cookie. Which they hadn’t eaten because…

“FOUND YOU!!”, Joshua squeaked, quickly booping his snoot.

And just like that, the game continued and everything else wasn’t important anymore.

_______________________________________

At least not to Junior. Crowley, however, was in the process of `inviting´ their newest maybe-soon-not-anymore babysitter to visit this evening for a nice chat.

“I’m sure she meant no harm, dear. Just a bit mischievous, that one, but a good core. That’s why you like her, isn’t it?”, the love of his life said, hugging him from behind and almost getting Crowley to release all of this anger.

But then he added: “We will make sure she didn’t.”

Crowley grinned at this. He loved when the angel was protective over their small family. Their kiss was interrupted by the ding of the incoming message. A confirmation.

_______________________________________

That evening, after the snabies were in bed, Lucy arrived, probably looking every bit as awkward as she felt.

“Uhh, let me start off with I’m sorry?”

Unimpressed faces. Oh boy. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt like this.

“Let’s sit down and have a good chat. I’m sure you had reasons for going behind our backs on matters concerning our children, isn’t that right?”

She swallowed thickly and sat down. She’d known the angel was the one you couldn’t mess with.

“Uhh, well, you see…”, she stammered.

In the face of two single raised eyebrows (In perfect synchronity from both of them, it was as stupidly funny as it was uncanny and terrifying.) she crumbled like the cookie.

“To be honest, now my reasonings don’t seem that good anymore. I just thought that they’d do something anyways and that it would be better to help them along so the plan was safe. Thought it was pretty harmless. But I didn’t consider that I was going behind your backs and that there probably were some better solutions. Really I am sorry.”

She wilted when their expressions stayed the same. What was next? Did she ruin this?

Before she could think further, she was stopped by a small voice.

“Nuuu fathers! Don’t be mad at Auntie Thief!”

The small snake calling out was moving to climb up into her lap. Stunned, she held out her hand for him to help. Just like old times.

“It’s right, we HAD other plans and they weren’t good. Joshua thought of making a glider and jumping from shelf!!! And Lucy made it so we only got cookie yesterday and didn’t even eat until today! So we followed the rules!! So you cannot blame her for helping us against rules!”

His father took a deep breath, about to say something. Something to counter all this, judging by the still raised eyebrow.

“Junior.”

“Noooo! I asked! So it’s all my fault anyways! Like I am the reason for cookie ban!”, he cried out, panicking.

It was all his fault! And now fathers were mad at Lucy. It was not fair. He did everything wrong again. And maybe fathers would forbid Lucy from snabysitting!! He was about to start sobbing, so he burrowed his face in Lucy’s stomach, hugging her wrist as hard as he could.

A soft voice brought him out of this spiral.

“Junior, honey. Bud. Can you look at me?”

He shook his head. He didn’t want to look up. If he just stayed here nothing could happen.

“Please?”

Her tone of voice reminded him of when father had tried to lure in the stray puppy in the back alley of the shop. It had been too scared to come and get food, even though it was clearly hungry and hurt. So father had just stayed there, waiting and talking, until it was close enough to catch and bring to vet. He knew Lucy had the same kind of patience.

Things would proceed, no matter when.

He looked up at her and she smiled.

“There’s my brave little snake!”

He smiled back a bit. Yes that was him!

“Ok, now, I need you to listen to me very carefully. You are not to blame for my decisions. You are only responsible for decisions you make. The decisions of everyone else are influenced by thousands of factors, even if you are one of them. And you can’t control that. So don’t blame yourself for things other people do, ok? That’s unfair.”

That made a strange feeling well up inside him. Part of him felt lighter. But still!

“But fathers blaming you is also unfair!”

He glared at them. Azirafather looked shocked by the things happening and father had his pokerface on, which meant that he was completely overwhelmed.

“Junior, my dear…”

Azirafather’s voice trailed off, unsure.

“Junior. Do you really think this is all happening just because of you. The whole cookie ban thing.”, his father said, his voice sounding strange. Clipped. Suppressed. Unemotive.

Junior hung his head.

“Well, you said so.”

A sharp intake of breath.

Lucy suddenly cradled him in her hands, stood up and walked towards his parents.

“Well this is obviously a much needed private conversation.”

She handed him over to a slightly baffled father.

“I’m making tea.”

And with that, she left the room.

They all stared after her for a second. Then his parents focus was back on him completely.

“Junior, dear heart, none of this is because of the time you ran away. We just want to protect you all from harm, even if it’s yourselves sometimes. We get scared for you!”

“Girl’s right, you can’t blame yourself for everything. We don’t. We know that you know better now, after all this. It was just a mistake. Misjudgement. Shi- Uh shoot I should have never said that. Listen m’ sorry, just wanted to make clear that we didn’t want you guys to do something dangerous again ok? Nothing more.”

“But I make so many mistakes! I make mistakes all the time and I can’t stop and I just keep making mistakes and mistakes and mistakes!”, Junior wailed, all of the insecurities he pushed away finally coming through.

Azirafather grabbed him and held him close. Junior hid away, melting into the soft embrace.

“My dear, my sweet, wonderful boy, you are allowed to make mistakes. You even must! You are still a child after all. Making mistakes is essential to the process of gaining experience for life. So, it’s perfectly alright to make mistakes. As long as you realize they were, and you learn something for the future, it’s not a loss. And you, my sweet child, you take something away from every mistake. You gained experience and friends. It’s a remarkable skill to turn things around like that. You ought to be proud of that, really.”

That made Junior feel much better. Though he still was not quite satisfied, something else gnawing at him.

“But! I make you and father scared so often. And I don’t want to! I want you to be happy not sad.”

“Listen here, squirt, worrying about you is our job. We are gonna do that a lot, no matter what you’re doing. Don’t beat yourself up over that. Next time, just listen to us, though, maybe? And talk to us when you have thoughts like this, ok? It’s also our job to help you with emotions and stuff.”

Junior looked at his father for a long while, considering. Then.

“But father. You are not good at emotion.”

His father sputtered.

“That’s!!! You little…”

“It’s true! I heard Azirafather say it and he’s always right!”

“ANGEL!”

This is what Lucy came back to. Somehow, with the three of them bickering the atmosphere felt much lighter than before. She smiled at the tiny snake, all cuddled up and comfortable.

“I take it you guys sorted things out?”, she said, pouring tea into three nice cups.

“YES!”

“Mostly, I think.”

Aziraphale let Junior slither onto the table, towards the mugs and Lucy.

“Sounds promising! Ok then Junior, off with you. I happen to know it’s way past your bedtime. And I still have to talk with your parents.”, Lucy said.

“But! But I wanted to stand up for you!”

She booped his nose.

“You’re a snake you can’t stand up silly.”

He giggled slightly before frowning again. She interrupted him before he could speak up again.

“And I mean what I said earlier. My actions are my actions. You already did what you could, ok? And I appreciate it a lot.”

He looked at her, then at his fathers, then back at her and hung his head.

“Ok. Father, bring me to sniblings?”

“Sure.”, Crowley said, stretching out his hand for his son to get on.

They sauntered out of the room with Junior calling “Goodniiiight!!!”

“Goodnight sweetie!”

“Goodnight my dear.”

And then she was left alone with Aziraphale, both sipping their tea in tense silence.

Until Aziraphale set down his cup and looked at her with an odd intensity. In response, she cradled her mug closer. Ironic, since it had “Hug Mug” written on it in big lettering. A gift from Anathema for the snabies, who liked to curl around peoples mugs during teatime for the warmth.

“Listen. I know you didn’t mean to harm our children. That is obvious to me, and I think Crowley knows that too. But the fact remains that he got very scared seeing our children do something potentially dangerous like that.”

She set on to say something but was interrupted by Crowley coming back into the room. His saunter had a bit less pep than usual, and his shoulders were slightly hunched. The both of them watched him as he went straight for his place besides Aziraphale, grabbing his mug on the way, and sat down with unusually proper posture. The lack of weirdness from not sprawling was balanced by him chugging the very hot tea in one go, and then proceeding to look into the empty mug for a few long seconds.

Finally, when both Lucy and Aziraphale looked as if they were about to say something, he set it down.

“Don’t have the mental energy to get worked up again right now. You’re good. I’d say get better at communicating but yeah. Think we all do.”

“Dearest, are you quite alright?”

“Yeah yeah, well nah. Not when I made our child feel this bad about themselves.”

Aziraphale bit his lip, not knowing what to say. It was the same for him after all.

“Hey. Uh, I know this isn’t really my place to say, but… I think you’re being too harsh on yourself.”

Crowley’s head snapped up to look at Lucy, who looked very uncomfortable, but kept talking anyways.

“You know, kids just… do weird things sometimes. It’s not always because of the parents, or anyone really. Kids sometimes just get weird ideas into their head. It’s all part of their brain exploring things. And Junior still talked about it with you. So obviously you’re doing a lot of things right. Like seriously, when I was younger, I had this weird idea that my art teacher was obviously keeping all of our drawings to sell them to people. For like lots of money. I was imagining our paintings hung up in galleries with her name as artist and got so mad about it. Had a whole plan to get them back and get the money too. And then it turned out she was just making a nice booklet for everyone’s drawings for safekeeping.”

Crowley looked at her as if he’d seen a monkey on a skateboard. Then he snorted.

“You’re really hard to stay mad at.”

“Thanks, I know I am awesome.”, she grinned, then turning serious again.

“Really though, I do want to apologize again. I should have thought of you two too. Will do my best to avoid things like this in the future.”

That gained her a beaming smile from Aziraphale and a “sure it’s fine” handwave from Crowley.

“’s ok. Kinda want to know how you kept them busy enough for three whole days though.”

At that, a mischievous spark appeared in Lucy’s eyes.

“I thought you’d never ask!”

From her bag, she retrieved a mess of papers with neatly drawn and messily scribbled over drawings and mindmaps on them. Both of them looked at the plans, then up at Lucy’s very pleased grin, then back to the plans. Then, finally, Crowley let out a genuine laugh.

“What in the world is `emergency distraction technique: LUAU!´?”

“Well you see…”

___________________________________

A few hours of discussion of the plans later and a few good shared laughs, Lucy was getting ready to leave. She hugged Aziraphale goodbye at the door.

“Make sure you get home alright, dear girl. And do come over soon. I expect Junior will be very cross with us if not.”

Smiling she nodded.

“Of course. I could never disappoint the little one.”

She turned to shake Crowley’s hand, but stopped when she saw the weird, pensive expression on his face.

“Anything else?”

He looked up at her, frowning.

“You know, you went through the whole plans with us, but there is still something I don’t understand.”

“And what’s that?”

“Why the fuck was the mission impossible theme playing.”

#snabies #children #fic #my fic #nendrab #funny #fun #cute #emotional #a slight punch into your stomach with feels #communication fails and solving of those #lucy just fucking gets up and makes tea at one point to let them sort it out #i love her so much you have no idea #this wrote itself up to the point where it got sad and my brain was....no. no write sad. only resolution.

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