HEY whats up its 2am and i wrote fic for the first time in years :’^) !

(i’m feeling out a good omens/steven universe crossover, without having read good omens in 2 years, using my extremely vague memory of the su timeline.....many apologies & corrections are thus likely in order)

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Crawly had thought he’d slithered out of the disaster that was Eden mostly intact. Scales, check, tongue, check, wings, tucked into their usual pocket universe, and yes, he still had that healthy dash of scepticism, considerably emboldened by the experience.

Now, though, he wasn’t so sure – possibly his wits had taken a bit of a knocking, because here he was, talking to a rock.

Well, alright, the rock looked like a human-shaped person. Talked sort of like one too, though he had the distinct impression there was some sneaky translating going on somewhere at the back of his mind. But it was, undoubtedly, a rock. He’d spent enough of the last few years hiding underneath them to know.

Currently, the rock was assessing his form for arms.

“You really don’t have any?” she asked, looking more forlorn than any human-shaped rock had a right to. The conversation, though barely two minutes old, had already involved decidedly more concern towards his self than Crawly was used to – the previous record, of course, being none[1].  “But how do you hold things?”

“Like this,” Crawly demonstrated, wrapping himself around a nearby pebble. Would the rock take offence to that, he wondered? Was this the rock’s pet? Or child? He’d need to have a word to the research department downstairs. He hadn’t been briefed on any of this.

“Oh,” the rock says. “How clever!” Then her eyes light up. “Pearl is going to love you – and she told me the other forms here couldn’t speak! I can’t wait to show her,” she stands up, and Crawly takes a moment to reassess his description of her. Human-shaped, if the human in question were very big.

“Pearl!”

Instantly, as if she had just been waiting to be summoned, out of the tree-line comes another rock. Crawly’s not actually sure he can keep calling them that; it’s clearer now that he sees this one, all iridescent and broadcasting something not entirely unlike Aziraphale’s heavenly aura. They’re rocks with light coming out of them.

“Yes, Pink?” She says it with a hesitant kind of confidence, like it’s a name just newly entrusted to her and she’s very proud of the fact.

“Just look at this!” the first rock – Pink, presumably - declares and, without any warning, grabs Crawly from the ground.

“Ow- hey!” he hisses and, on instinct, bites the offending hand. His fangs go right through it.

“Well how interesting,” the rock holding him says. In his confusion, Crawly just barely makes out the absolutely furious face of the other one. He finds himself desperately hoping the angel hadn’t given her a sword. “I’ve never met anything that can’t interact with the projection before. What did you say you were?”

Now there’s a question. And she’s still holding him. Quite tightly, considering she appears to be made of nothing. He considers his options. He doesn’t think these creatures are angels – they would have recognised him, for one, and wouldn’t ask nearly so many questions - so the chances of heavenly retribution are slim. Perhaps he can intimidate them into letting him go.

“A sssssnake,” he says, then begins to draw on his powers. His fangs grow longer, his eyes a less natural shade of yellow. The sky, he fancies, goes a tad grey. “- and a demon. Ssssent to claim to soulsssss of men, to drag them down into the pit for all eternity!”

“I don’t know what any of that means,” Pink proclaims cheerfully.

“Perhaps his hiss is worse than his bite,” the little one - Pearl - says shrewdly.

So a no on intimidation then.

“Tell you what,” he suggests instead. “Put me down, and I’ll exssplain everything.”

Pink purses her lips, then looks as if for permission to the Pearl who, inexplicably, blushes. Gently, Crawly is set back on the ground. It’s a long trip. Finally he feels solid earth beneath his coils again, and he flexes against it. Funny – he’s been up top for such a fraction of time, relatively, and yet already the earth is so familiar.

“Right,” he says. “Thank you.” And he speeds off into the trees as fast as his form can carry him.

--

It’s a week later when he bumps into Aziraphale. The angel is looking out over a wide ravine, and the set of his shoulders is the same as it was the day they watched Adam and Eve depart in the rain.

“Penny for your thoughtsss?” he asks. Aziraphale startles, but he at least seems to have learnt not to reach for a sword that isn’t there.

“Crawly,” he says as his wings resettle, and the serpent is quite pleased to notice the name came quickly to him. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it. You seem to be, ah. Doing well.”

Crawly declines to say that this is because the forces of Heaven on Earth haven’t been doing much to contest that – mostly because Aziraphale is quite noticeably not doing well.

“I’ve been doing very badly,” he agrees. “Petty thievery, un-domesticating cows, that sort of thing. Not many people around to tempt yet, but I’m sure that will pick up.”

The angel has a put-upon frown and Crowley anticipates an admonishment, or maybe even a lacklustre attempt at a smiting - but then he turns back and looks down again, into the ravine.

“Not many people,” he echoes quietly. “What do you make of this then, Crawly?”

Snakes, typically, have few expressions, but demons can manage a pretty good confused interest. He slithers to the angel’s side, and follows his gaze. The ravine isn’t a river valley, as he’d originally believed – it’s more of a scar across the forest. Around its edges, trees wilt. At its base there is movement, and, forgetting his body’s poor eyesight, Crawly brings the image into focus.

Hundreds of forms. Hundreds of too-big, wrong-coloured, human-shaped forms.

Crawly blinks. He says the universe’s second-ever curse word.

“Yes,” Aziraphale sighs. “My sentiments exactly.”

Suddenly, he’s on his feet and facing Crawly. His wings, cream and beige, block out the sun.

“Begone, Adversary!” he cries, and begins to edge his halo into reality. Crawly, stunned, doesn’t move. “Your evil deeds have already befouled this land!”

When Crawly still doesn’t move, the angel pulls a face and whispers, sotto voce, “get a move on!”

From behind his wings a more powerful light is gathering. Crawly suddenly understands and, for the second time that week beats a hasty retreat into the underbrush. He doesn’t stray too far this time, though, turning to watch when he’s confident he’s out of sight – and too far for his demonic vibe to register.

The Metatron now stands next to Aziraphale.

“You have vanquished the enemy, Angel of the Eastern Gate?”

“Oh! Er, no,” Aziraphale says, “that is, I’m afraid he… got away.” The entity studies him silently.

“It is of no consequence,” it eventually admits, then seems to gather energy. “There is an announcement.”

Aziraphale nods.

“The announcement is this.”

Aziraphale nods again. The Metatron is not immediately forthcoming. There is a crackle of bruised pride in the air. Finally, it speaks again.

“This universe is a mistake.”

“Beg pardon?” Aziraphale says. In the trees, Crawly thinks something ruder, but more or less to the same effect.

“This universe is a mistake,” the Metatron repeats, “It will be rectified shortly. Personnel are advised to return to headquarters and await initiation of the intended universe.”

“A mistake,” Aziraphale repeats. “But… He doesn’t make mistakes, surely?”

“Of course not.”

“Then whose mistake is it?”

There is a long silence.

“The mistake will be rectified shortly,” at last, is all the Metatron imparts. “Prepare for the correct universe, Angel of the Eastern Gate. You might consider this an opportunity to review previous actions.”

Aziraphale pales, but before he can say anything, the Metatron vanishes. The angel sits down, heavily, on a rock. Crawly hopes this one isn’t sentient. Quietly, he slithers over to Aziraphale.

They look out at the world. He can feel reality rippling against him, and all the small ways this universe isn’t quite right.[2]

“Shame,” he says, as they watch the activity in the ravine below. “I think it could’ve been an interesting one.”

His final thought, before the metaphorical curtain is drawn, is that maybe arms would be a good idea.

-----

[1] not technically true - an angel had once kept him dry in the rain, of course, but Crawly was trying not to think about that

[2] aside from the rocks made of light, the most notable being that a considerable chunk of a certain continent was missing, which would make it very hard for an author (or two) to impose an essential cold war analogy further down the line

‘Lyssa’s thoughts

My mind is constantly on the move. The eruption of thought can be harmful, so I am going to dump them here (sometimes at least lol). I am horribly inconsistent about these kinds of things.

WHERE I AM PERSONALLY: I have come to the conclusion that the only things that I like are my job and my girlfriend. My job is so cool. The place that I work at Is so cute, and I get to talk to so many people. I thrive in the midst of social interactions, so I am glad that I have chosen a job that would provide me the means to talk to and learn from others every day. Today I sat in the office in the back of the restaurant, and I had a decently long convo with the head chef. Idk something about it is so refreshing. It also gives me an excuse to dress up and look cute. As for my girlfriend, I just want to make her smile always omg. Today she brought me a little handwritten letter, and it had hello kitty stickers all over it. It was so sweet. Then this bitch told me that she was gonna buy me hot wheels cars, and I just rolled my eyes. I was so overcome with love that I couldn’t even stand to be around her. I just wanna like give her everything. I learn so much from her. She's so smart, even though she doesn't think that she is. I want her to know that she is so much more than just the hot wheels expert lol. Idk, I am just super happy about the fact that this relationship, thus far, has been so healthy.

POLITICS AND RELIGION: So my family regularly hosts get togethers, and rosaries (what a surprise) are often involved. Typically, they take 45 minutes and pertain to Christ’s sacrifice and how it has the capacity to heal the world. They can get pretty awkward, as they frequently turn political. THAT is what annoys me to no end. is it really that impossible to allow me to worship in peace? I do not think that God and his son intended for the gospel to intertwine with the problematic nature of American Politics. This is in no way indicative of my interest in politics, as I plan on being a journalist with politically centered content, but I just don’t believe that religion and government should be involved during prayer. I believe that in doing so, the potential to pollute and corrupt ones relationship with God, rises exponentially. I remember how terrible I felt, being gay and catholic, lying in confession, feeling dishonest during prayer. I was taught that being in support of gay marriage was a sin, and that those that did were destined to burn in hell and brimstone. If God could not condone the support of homosexuality, how could he possibly accept me as a member of the community myself. After I became a victim of repeated rape in 2015, these feelings became even more intense. I felt tainted and guilty, because I had “failed” to protect the beautiful body that I was given. I was alienated by my savior and my church community. So I left. I developed a great deal of resentment towards religion because of the fact that I felt so abandoned. I wish that I could go back in time and tell that girl that one’s identity, trials and tribulations, do not have to compromise one’s faith. Romans 8:38-39, “  For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons,[a] neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, 39 neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.” NOTHING in this world has the power to hinder God’s ability to love you. Those who are seeking to convince you otherwise do not have the right to call themselves real christians. To use ones faith as means or justification to discriminate and ostracize IS WRONG. If anyone understands oppression, it is christ. he advocated the well being of the homeless, disabled, prostitutes, widows etc. Individuals deemed the scum of society were the ones that he stood by. He, as you know, died in the process. If he did not judge then, he does not judge now. a political party does not determine your worth. You are at liberty to decide where you reside without fear, and no one has the power to take that away from you. That being said, I possess some opinions and ideas that my extremely conservative family perceives to be unorthodox. I never knew that I could be hated by a group of people so much for identifying as an independent. I mean come on. In all honesty, I feel that the strict political binary that we have constructed is no longer relevant, as a lot of people have a myriad beliefs that fall in many areas on the ideological spectrum. For instance, those that consider themselves to be socially liberal but fiscally conservative and vice versa. for lack of a better way to put it, do whatever the fuck you want, so long as the things that you are in support of are backed by reliable evidence. Polarization is destroying our society. As we continue to argue and refuse to agree to disagree, we manufacture a culture of hostility and ignorance. We must take the dialectical approach, and seek to find the middle ground; open our minds and validate others’ perspectives. Due to this fixation, or rather obsession, with fighting, a lot of the pressing conflicts we are encountering today become more complex and harder to resolve. Several of these issues are calling for strong, bipartisan solutions. We need a political climate of transparency and cooperation.

WHAT THE FUTURE HOLDS: soooooo.... College is right around the corner, and it is freaking me the fuck out. The goal is to end up at Brown or Columbia, both of which I am going to tour this July. I would like to Major in Journalism and Minor in political sciences. As I have grown older, I have developed a greater appreciation for the art of writing. I mean it is the one thing that has stuck with me through all of my trials. It is a form of memory where the narrative never becomes inconsistent. You put thoughts to a screen or piece of paper, and it becomes set in stone. That is what I adore so much about it. While I do recognize that people are in a perpetual state of growth and constantly changing, I know that, for now, this is what I can see myself doing. Now, the stress doesn't come from getting into the school of my choice. I have worked incredibly hard to be qualified to attend a university of that caliber. The stress comes from not knowing which path to take. There is a job as a mass communication specialist that I could obtain if I chose to enlist ( a mass communication specialist is a journalist that reports from the front lines ). And I could go Ivy after my contract is up. The other option is taking a gap year and dedicating it to humanitarian work, and producing content for my own journal. I would obviously still be employed, but I would also be able to travel and write like I want to. What is one to do? I have no fucking clue.

WELL THATS ALL FOR TONIGHT FOLKS. MAYBE I’LL DO THIS AGAIN SOME TIME. WHO KNOWS.