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flameraven · 5 years

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Good Omens Fic Recs Masterpost

(aka, I wanted to organize all my favs so I might as well share them) (No smut fics on this list bc that is extremely not my jam. I’m on the asexual relationship train all the way with these two. There are some very Vague Implications in a couple of these but no more than that.) UPDATE: PART 2 HERE: https://flameraven.tumblr.com/post/613697745862230016/good-omens-fic-rec-masterpost-part-two

Wingfic

Birds of a Feather - Kedreeva // Short wingfic collection

If We’ve Got Nothing, We’ve Got Us - Kedreeva // After the apocalypse, Aziraphale and Crowley find their feathers coming in grey.

With Drooping Wings - werebear // (hurt/comfort) - Crowley gets drunk, remembers some trauma, and has a nightmare. Aziraphale comforts him.

by flash and thunder fire I’ll survive - jessikast // Crowley and Aziraphale discuss wings and snakes and winged snakes. There are cuddles.

When in Rome - Kedreeva // Aziraphale teaches Crowley to read, and Crowley shares a secret.

In All Things, Balance - Kedreeva // Gabriel comes for the ineffable husbands, and the universe gets some recalibrating.

One Last Thing -TheLadyZephyr // Crowley has a bit of trouble falling asleep

The Soft Zone

A Sky Full of Stars - Kedreeva // Aziraphale takes Crowley as close to Heaven as they can get, these days.

get religion quick (’cause you’re looking divine) - brinnanza

lift your face the western way - brinnanza

Build Our Kingdom - Mackem // Crowley and Aziraphale finally go on that picnic

exhale - darcylindbergh // Crowley wakes up, and for the first time, he’s not alone

when the earth is trembling - stammiviktor // Crowley cooks Aziraphale dinner and takes him on a date

from madrid to heaven - darkavenue

An Honest Surrender - Kedreeva // Aziraphale and Crowley get married (though not in the way humans mean)

Constellations -worldinmymind // Stargazing and confessions

Shall I Stay (Would It Be a Sin?) - WinterSky101 // Aziraphale stays at Crowley’s for the night

And I’ve Waited For You - ineffablefool // Aziraphale finally catches up to Crowley

A Descriptive Study on Angel Kisses by Anthony J. Crowley -smudgesofink

Pompeii under Vesuvius -smudgesofink // The first time Aziraphale reaches for his hand and holds it, Crowley experiences a slow sort of meltdown

a picture's worth a thousand words -pyrrhic_victory // Crowley takes Aziraphale to the National Gallery and submits to the mortifying ordeal of trying to compliment him.

All This and Heaven Too - rattatatosk // Aziraphale reassures Crowley that they’re finally on the same page (with cuddles)

Never Doubt - Mackem // Crowley takes Aziraphale to see Hamlet.

I love you (it’s okay) - forineffablereasons // The absence of terror is the terrifying thing.

let us cling together -brinnanza

Ready -lady_divine_writes - They don’t touch right away.

Warm and Fuzzy -returnsandreturns // The husbands meet Newt and Anathema’s daughter

Pet Names -thisvictoriangirl

Used to Wanting -acuteangleaziraphale

Names, Pet and Otherwise - elsajeni

Crowley sees Aziraphale - acuteangleaziraphale // Crowley sees Aziraphale in the sunrise and it reminds him what it means to worship.

I’m Going Home - Frenchibi // Aziraphale can’t believe how lucky he is.

Blessings - humanityinahandbag // Aziraphale blesses Crowley to keep him safe.

Husbands - victorianfantasywatson

Coiling - forineffablereasons // Crowley stakes his claim

Snake!Crowley / Wiggleverse

You’re the Only Prayer I Need - Kedreeva / Aziraphale stumbles on Crowley as he’s preparing to shed.

let sleeping snakes lie - kythen // Crowley takes an extended nap after the end of the world

Today I Met a Cryptid -thelibrarina // an encounter with a bookseller and his pet snake.

Getting a Wiggle On - Kedreeva // Crowley attempts to prank Aziraphale. It does not go to plan.

In Which a Rose by Any Other Name Would Smell as Sweet - OlwynnDylluan // The sneklets are named.

In Which Crowley Does Not Expect a Family Outing - OlwynnDylluan // The family goes on a picnic in the park.

In Which the Kitten Does Not Get Et Because Aziraphale Is a Textual Purist -OlwynnDylluan // (Wiggleverse) Aziraphale tells the sneklets a bedtime story

In Which the Children Are Indisposed and Aziraphale Panics -OlwynnDylluan // The sneklets experience their first shed. (Also the only one of these - so far- in which Crowley is an actual snake.)

Hurt/Comfort

Pear-Shaped - smarshtastic // Crowley is hurt and goes to Aziraphale for help. (also wingfic)

In the (Second) Beginning - cherryfeather // The inevitable aftermath as all of the week’s trauma catches up to Crowley.

above us, only sky - stammiviktor // With the War looming, Aziraphale and Crowley have to confront the terrible possibility they might have to fight each other. (Don't) Say My Name - CosmicOcelot // Crowley gets trapped in a summoning circle by an all too human sort of monster.

Hell to Pay - battle_cat // Crowley’s lot do not, in fact, send rude notes.

Burnt - flamethrower // Or, How Did Crowley Survive Consecrated Ground, anyway?

Angst (With a Happy Ending)

Just One Yesterday - Kedreeva // Crowley and Aziraphale fail to stop the Apocalypse the first time ‘round, but they manage in the end.

we’re not out of the tunnel, I bet you though there’s an end - mygalfriday // Crowley thought his last words to Aziraphale were “I won’t even think about you!”

I Will Take This Weight to Hell - buttface // Crowley struggles to cope after they survive the end of the world.

how deep the sand -Handful_of_Silence // Have you read Sandman? Remember that glass bottle Dream got trapped in? Aziraphale gets trapped in something similar. It goes about as you’d expect. (Very angsty, definitely worth it though. Part 2 is significantly more comfort than hurt.)

Cry for Absolution - forthegreatergood // Crowley is convinced he cannot touch Aziraphale without causing him pain. (wingfic)

it’s high time that you love me, cause you do it so well - mygalfriday // Crowley cannot say the word ‘love’. So he shows Aziraphale instead.

it was only a kiss - pyrrhic_victory // Aziraphale has never been kissed before, and, assuming Crowley has a lot of experience, asks him to demonstrate. Misunderstandings are had.

the wonder that keeps the stars apart -nilmiel // Crowley, Aziraphale and two encounters with Holy Water, fifty years apart

This Feeling Calls for Everything (I am not) - rattatatosk // Crawly is struck speechless by Aziraphale in Eden. By Rome, he knows he's lost.

we both matter, don't we? -ToEdenAndBackAgain // After the bookshop burns, Crowley goes to yell at God

Replacement - rainydaydecaf // Hell replaces Crowley as their agent on Earth.

Outsider POV

Good Omens/The Magnus Archives - Handful_of_Silence // 6+ fic series, crossover. Generally follows the format of the Magnus Archives, a horror fiction podcast documenting encounters with unusual phenomena. Featuring eldritch!horror Aziraphale and Crowley

Adventures In Attempting To Purchase A Book From That Weird Old Soho Bookshop, A. Z. Fell & Co.

So You Need To Get Into A.Z. Fell & Co.; Now What? (A Guide For Unfortunate Bookworms)

Long Term - idiopathicsmile // Observations from the minister hired to officiate the wedding

Regulars - irisbluefic // Various outsider observances of the duo

a snake by any other name - asideofourown // a young herpetologist spots an unusual snake in AZ Fell’s bookshop and has to investigate.

Other/Uncategorized

such surpassing brightness - Handful_of_Silence // Aziraphale as Patron Saint of queer self-acceptance

it’s the light (it’s the obstacle that casts it) -Handful_of_Silence // The Patron Saint of London's LGBT Community is real, and he lives in Soho.

a very near understanding - ballentine/FeoplePeel - Aziraphale and Crowley experience some side-effects from their body swap.Hell

To Forgive, Divine - rattatatosk // Crowley didn’t mean to Fall, and he didn’t ask to be Forgiven, but both those things happened anyway. Character study on a Risen Crowley

Champions (of the World) - phlintandsteel // Aziraphale, Crowley, and the forces of Humanity face off against Heaven and Hell

#good omens #good omens fic #fic recs #good omens fanfiction #good omens fic rec #ineffable husbands

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thetimemachinejellyfish · 4 years

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Gomens AU Fic Recs!

I’ve been reading so MANY beautiful fics lately that I wanted to compile a list for myself and for others. One of my jams is AUs, so that’s what this is all about. These fics are in no particular order as they are all perfect:

Angel!Aziraphale and Demon!Crowley in History:

Like Sleep to the Freezing by WaitingtoBeBroken

Note: 18th century, Discreet Gentleman’s Club, Lots of surprises that I don’t want to spoil for you but it’s SO WONDERFUL. A healthy helping of angst, of course, and if you haven’t read WaitingtoBeBroken’s other fics, you’re in for a treat. They have written a lot of wonderful Good Omens fic.

Once More, with Pharaohs by Duinemerwen.

Note: Ancient Egypt, my friends. WITH A TIME LOOP. This fic certainly has intrigue and angst in spades, coupled with soft moments and great insight into what Crowley and Aziraphale’s relationship might have been like in the very early years. The atmosphere and attention to detail is *chef’s kiss*.

Human!Ineffable Husbands in Present-Day:

Petrichor and Parchment by @katnoggin

Note: The attention to detail this story has re: Aziraphale and book restoration is SUCH a treat. It feels like eating a Lindor truffle with my eyes =D And happily, the story is already written so if you’re nervous about WIPs, never fear! This story’s weekly updates are guaranteed.

The Best Laid Plans by @hopeinthedark1901

Note: I regularly re-read the many complete stories of this lovely author, who is currently working on the fic Ab Astris (Alternate Canon, Angel!Aziraphale and Demon!Crowley) that I rec if you’re looking for creative approaches to the Angel/Demon universe we’ve been given by Good Omens.

Ink Blots and Forget-Me-Nots by gutsandglitter.

Note: This is a beautiful ‘getting back together’ story that unfolds in a perfect way. And if you’re worried about angst, 11/12 chapters have already been posted and a happy ending is assured in the tags =D

Golden Handcuffs by @bestoftheseekwill

Note: I will live and die for academia!AUs, and this is one of my FAVORITES. The details are impeccable, the tension and slowburn of the relationship between Crowley and Aziraphale is enough to make you want to shout from the rooftops. There are also waterfalls. And castles. So think about the ambiance, friends! Happily, this author has another finished priest!Aziraphale, in-deep-with-shady-folks!Crowley story - Acts of Service - that I can recommend whole-heartedly, alongside the rest of their works.

Let’s Not by Rokikurama

Note: Speaking of academia!AUs that I would die for, this is another one. It is also one of the first AUs I read in the Good Omens fandom, so it has a special place in my heart. :) The infuriating hierarchy of academia creates such an excellent backdrop for the development of Crowley and Aziraphale’s relationship, and you can feel the very human stakes of it which I love.

Rules and Exceptions by @smartgirlsaremean

Note: This amazing AU! has teacher!Aziraphale and guardian!Crowley navigating the exciting world of parent-teacher dynamics. There is so much chemistry and tension and loveliness between these characters, with an added bonus of charming Adam and Warlock :D

Getting Sacked by @vgersix

Note: What can I say about this fic that doesn’t devolve into keysmashing. It is probably the most thoughtful, beautiful, and careful BDSM stories I have ever read, which makes it such a pleasure to read. Beyond this, the characters feel so incredibly real and the author seamlessly weaves in corporate espionage and their developing relationship in a way that is so charming and engaging.

Slow Show by @mia-ugly

Note: No list of best Good Omens fics would be complete without this gift of a fic. If for some reason you haven’t read it yet, showmance!AU. Out of this world. My descriptions would not give it justice so instead I set you loose with a link to the fic itself on AO3!

Leave the Light On by @enbyziraphale and @artist-formerly-known-as-crawley

Note: It is the FAMOUS phone sex operator!Crowley and Aziraphale AU that is rightfully getting all kinds of recognition on my dash :D This fic is a FREAKING DELIGHT, not least because it is riffing on one of my FAVORITE ROMCOMS OF ALL TIME, You’ve Got Mail. These authors are fantastic, and each chapter will get you even more excited for the eventual, inevitable collide/realization of phone!sex world and “real”!world.

The Only One I Still Know How to See by Furuba_Fangirl

Note: Thespian!Crowley and adoring audience member!Aziraphale here. I love that the play Crowley acts in is fully realized alongside the world outside of the stage - this commitment to detail makes the story so immersive. I adore it.

If Not Now, When by @ineffablefool

Note: This fic is all about the soft zone, and what I love most about it is how Crowley and Aziraphale are on journeys of loving each other and loving themselves, and the author does such a wonderful job of conveying this. I always leave this story feeling like I’ve had the best hot cocoa in the world =D

Human!Ineffable Husbands In Other Exciting Historical/World Contexts:

The Sometimes Wife by @marveliciousfanace

Note: A regency AU that is anything you could want from a regency AU, that lovingly gives us genderfluid!Crowley in regency style which is honestly everything my heart desires. Also! There is a BALL. I love a good ball scene.

sweetest words remain by @weatheredlaw

Note: A royal! AND consort!AU set in an alternate world - the kingdoms are vividly described, and this is actually the SEQUEL to another story which I recommend reading first: with all your delights. It has all the elements I love in royal intrigue stories - the tension between the king’s public and private selves, advisers being the bane of everybody’s existence, and falling in love (naturally). There are love letters exchanged. They are beautiful.

On Espionage and Prophecy by RockSaltandRoll

Note: Honestly, this fic is a damn delight. 1940s Aziraphale and Crowley, getting into the double crossing and the spies, reimagining that AMAZING scene from Episode 3 from a human perspective. The author’s historical knowledge and style is immersive, as is the developing relationship between our heroes!

Human!Crowley and Angel!Aziraphale:

A Machine For Living In (+ 2 continuations!) by pineapplesquid.

Notes: Architect!Crowley is a blessing. I learned so much about brutalism (and Aziraphale’s attitudes towards brutalism are *chef’s kiss* as you might expect). This series of fics is fantastic.

Pray for Us, Icarus by @seaskystone

Notes: If you follow Human AU adjacent fics, you’ve probably already seen this gorgeous collection of moments - buckets of tears. Beautiful. And Atalan has a canon-compliant sequel to Good Omens, Instructions Not Included that I totally recommend for anyone who hasn’t yet read it - it’s spectacular!

#good omens #ao3 #ineffable husbands #crowley #aziraphale #fic recs

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shesthewindandsea · 5 years

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make your good love known to me (or just tell me bout your day)

[Summary:

The world is filled with all sort of sensations. Crowley is learning to explore all the best ones in the South Downs with Aziraphale, even when he tries very hard not to.

Beginning Notes: Holy shit guys I did it. I literally did not think I’d see the day again when I wrote fanfiction again and put this much effort and love into it. More about it on the AO3 version here, but basically thank you Good Omens so for re-lighting my fire. Enjoy!

P.S: Huge thanks to @ineffablefool because by slowly making my way through all of their writing (if I haven’t read them all already I don’t even know) I’m learning how to insert that Aziraphale is chubby and soft everywhere and I absolutely will not have it any other way

If you listen well and close, anywhere you are, you can hear the hum of a bee as it busies itself doing whatever it is bees do. Pollinating a flower of some kind, perhaps.

“Crowley, you’re going to have to stop yelling at the poppies so much. You’re scaring off the bees.”

If you look well and close, anywhere you are, tilt your head up to the sky. You’ll see the clouds moving slowly, turning about the sky like breath on a cold winter day. The breath of God, perhaps. Only She could bide her time in such a way while She looks down.

“Aziraphale, could you push that cloud a little to the right? It’s blocking the sun— yesss, angel.”

“Of course, dear.”

Anywhere you go, take off your shoes and allow the grass to slap your naked ankles or the dirt to push itself into the grooves of your bare feet.

“Anthony J Crowley, don’t you dare track dirt into our kitchen!”

Read more on AO3 here or continue below!!!

Take a deep breath of your own and inhale the salty taste of the ocean, the bitter taste of city smog, the dry taste of soil in the forest. Smell and taste are nearly one in the same, you know. Hasn’t your mother told you to plug your nose if you haven’t like the taste of something?

“Imagine smelling a different food,” your father may say as he presses a spoonful of something to your lips.

“Come now, my dear, it really isn’t bad for a first attempt.” The angel tries to reassure the demon. The kitchen air is clogged with the smell of smoke and the acidic taste of burnt food.

“You might as well be plugging your nose while swallowing, angel.” The demon rolls his eyes, but stares down at the toe of his snakeskin boots, his cheeks pinkening and shoulders rolling in.

These days Crowley rarely wears his sunglasses. After all, it’s only him and Aziraphale so he really doesn’t have a good excuse.

“Dear, must you really continue to wear the glasses? I know they add on to your ‘aesthetic’ as you like to say, but it’s just us here.” Aziraphale was sitting on the swing in the backyard one day pretending to read his book while Crowley weeded the garden and gave a few plants a good tongue-lashing, the slackers. Aziraphale had forgotten to keep flipping the pages after a while and Crowley took notice.

“Dunno. Just force of habit, I guess,” Crowley remarked offhandedly as he knelt in the dirt. The chickens cluck in the background, eating the insects that get too close to the garden.

The chains holding up the swing rattle as Aziraphale stands up and approaches Crowley, crouching down next to him and resting his elbows on his knees.

“Dear,” Aziraphale starts and watches as Crowley pauses in his work before taking a breath and leaning back on his heels, sticking the trowel into the dirt beside him. The dark material of his jeans are covered in dirt and some has snuck its way under the cuffs of his gardening gloves, sticking to the sweat on his wrists. He swipes his hand across his forehead and leaves a long line of dirt there.

Aziraphale can’t help but look besotted. Crowley flushes under the attention.

“May I?” Aziraphale continues raises his hands towards Crowley’s face. The demon nods shakily, gulping quietly.

Aziraphale brushes his hands along Crowley’s face as he reaches behind his ears to take his glasses off.

“Ah, there you are, darling.” Aziraphale’s smile intensifies as Crowley’s eyes are revealed. If it were darker, he’s sure they’d be glowing.

As he stands, he wipes the smudge of dirt Crowley left on his forehead with his thumb and holds the folded glasses in his other.

“Just a bit of dirt. Tea?”

He misses them in moments like this, where he feels too vulnerable, too obvious. Like his eyes will reveal all that he’s kept secret for the last six thousand years. Windows to the soul is right. That is, if he has a soul.

The angel stands from his chair at the end of the kitchen table to console the demon, his hand coming to rest on Crowley’s back, soothingly stroking up and down.

“Why don’t you lower the heat next time? Perhaps allow it all to simmer and soak rather than rushing it along? I’m sure you’ll get it with enough time.” Looking up into Aziraphale’s eyes, Crowley tries not to look quite too obviously disappointed and allows himself to bask in the soft glow of his angel’s unfiltered adoration, if only for a moment.

‘Absolutely, angel,’ he wants to say. ‘You always know. I love it when you help me figure these things out. I’m completely useless when it comes to this stuff. I do it all for you, angel. I love you, angel.’

He nods and takes the comment into quiet consideration, storing it away for next time.

Any number of places can hold any number of your senses captive, like a bird in a cage, whether it’s of the pleasant sort or decidedly not.

The front door to the cottage creaks on its hinges as two figures push through. There’s no furniture and the floorboards moan under their weight after such a long period of disuse.

“Goodness, look at the kitchen! I’ve never had such space at the shop. Oh, imagine the things we could do in here!” [1] The angel is immediately drawn to the space and makes a beeline for the window over the sink, throwing it open. Very little actually distinguishes it as a kitchen, but as soon as the angel says so, the room immediately smells of steaming foods and the heat of a warming oven in the summer is felt and it suffocates the cool air from the open window. One can easily imagine the aged wooden counter top covered in breadcrumbs and flour, the angel, red in the face as he presses into dough that will no doubt soon become some kind of bread or pastry.

[1] Crowley tried not to think about the graphic implications of that phrase, even if said graphic activities were not, that is to say, his “thing”.

As much as it could be a curse, Crowley sometimes thought about what the stars might taste like up close. What they’d taste like if he could leave his human tendencies behind, spread his wings and take off into the sky. Feel the wind in-between every individual feather like a dog’s tongue licking peanut butter from the space between your fingers. The coolness of the air spreading a trail of goosebumps up the back of his neck under his hair (he’d grown it out longer again since they’d moved down here. Aziraphale ran his fingers through it more often when it was longer). The warmth and colorful fire of a nebula threatening to consume him. Allow the same feelings given to him by Her when he first began manipulating space and matter.

Now, though, with no connection to Hell or Heaven, there’s no way he could ever leave Earth, leave behind his corporation to rot. He certainly couldn’t drag it along with him. The pressure would crush the lungs as he left the atmosphere. He’d never get a new one. He’d be alone in space with his stars. No angel in sight.

Inside the cage, there’s another. And if that isn’t enough, then what is? To brush your wings against not metal but the wings of another. To dream not of a life outside but a better one for inside.

“Crowley, dear, why don’t you come back inside? It’s getting rather cold out here and you didn’t put on any shoes,” Aziraphale murmurs quietly from somewhere over Crowley’s shoulder and he feels some kind of sticky, sick emotion clog up his throat. His eyes feel wetter even without the pool of tears lingering in his tear ducts. The tenderness and delicate tone Aziraphale uses does that to him every now and again. Overwhelms him. So he just doesn’t respond and instead holds his breath, staring down at his feet. He tastes his angel’s anxiety, worry, hesitation. It bites into his tongue and rattles his teeth.

“Goodness, Crowley, you’re bleeding!” Aziraphale’s voice raises in pitch with his own emotions. Sensible shoes tap against the wood as he forgets to worry about carefully approaching Crowley and instead frets over the inky black blood staining the dock. He’s suddenly shoulder-to-shoulder with Crowley and Crowley feels Aziraphale’s eyes on him, questioning and confused. He wants to reach out, Crowley knows, but is holding himself back.

He should’ve miracled the cuts gone long ago rather than letting his blood drain into the wood, tainting it.

Aziraphale lets out a slow, soft sigh and Crowley holds in an undignified whine watching Aziraphale’s whole body move with the force of his breath. His angel is so beautiful. Big and round and soft.

Crowley stares at both their reflections, his own eyes glaring back at him.

“I thought you wanted this,” Aziraphale says sadly. It feels he’s jammed a metal fork into an electrical socket and Crowley is the one holding it, jolting him.

He wants to reply, say something. There are actually a great many things he wants to say starting along the lines of ‘I do want this. I’ve wanted this forever’ and ending with ‘I want this but I don’t trust myself. I want this so bad it hurts, but I can’t have it in this universe. Maybe in another, but we’re trapped in this one.’

Crowley is so busy rooting through all the things he could say and then deciding he could never say any of them out loud that Aziraphale starts talking first.

“Of course, I noticed when I first mentioned moving down here you seemed a bit apprehensive, but I had rather sprung the whole thing on you and you seemed so happy when we actually had everything inside. I thought it really started to feel like home. One that was just for us. No Above or Below to tsk at us. No pressing responsibility to tempt this many people or perform that many miracles. No more people even. There are so few out here that it’s practically just us. And I thought that you’d like that. After all this time, it’s finally just us. Was I wrong?” Aziraphale’s eyes meet his own in the water. He runs his eyes down every precious, round bit of his angel. All the bits that went out of fashion with humanity decades ago. Ever changing, that lot. Crowley was always able to keep up with them, but Aziraphale had trouble. Too fast, too fast.

“‘S just different.” Crowley shrugs and doesn’t give any more of an explanation. He doesn’t want to muck it up, any of it, but he doesn’t know how to fix it.

“I’m afraid you’re going to have to elaborate. Different than London? Different living together? Is it too much? I thought laying with you at night helped with the nightmares. I’ve heard you cry out for me.” Aziraphale says gently, like he’s approaching a wounded animal.

Crowley had always had his suspicions, but now he knows for sure. He almost feels guilty, like Aziraphale is forcing himself to comfort Crowley. Like it’s a responsibility or and irritant that needs resolving. He knows as soon as the thought enters his head that it’s simply untrue, but it’s still difficult to convince himself.

“I thought spending more time together was good. Better.”

Why is this so hard? Nothing he thinks to say is enough. Nothing feels adequate.

“Was I wrong?” He says again.

“For Someone’s sake, it’s not that at all, angel!” He speaks, half shouting. His angel just sounds so sad, so resigned, like it’s already too late.

“It’s just everything is different. Every taste, every smell, every bloody breeze coming off the blessed ocean. And being here with you, I don’t…” He trails off and watches his hands twitching at his side, his knees shaking under his weight, his eyes glimmer in the dark.

He shoves his hands in his pockets more forcefully than he strictly needs to. He wants to touch so badly, throw his arms around Aziraphale and hold him like a lover, sweet and tender.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale whispers and breaks the eye contact he’s held with Crowley in the water, instead looking up at him. The angel’s face is pinched in angst.

“I don’t want to break this,” he says. “I don’t want to go too fast.”

“Oh, Crowley.” It’s nearly a sob when his name leaves Aziraphale’s lips and Crowley wants nothing than to soak it up with his own. He watches as Aziraphale’s reflection reaches its hand out and puts it in Crowley’s pocket, tangling their fingers together within the confines of the fabric.

“I don’t think your capable of breaking my heart quite like I’ve broken yours.” Crowley gulps. Apparently, he’s slightly more obvious than he thought.

Too fast. You go too fast.

“I know what I said,” Aziraphale says, like he knows exactly what Crowley is thinking, “and I know how much it hurt you. Even with those ridiculous sunglasses I could puzzle it out often enough. That pout on you face, dear. All too telling I’m afraid.” Aziraphale smiles a bit. “But I’m catching up. That’s why I wanted to come here. No mess, no noise. All the time in the world to make up for my hesitance. Don’t give up on me.” Aziraphale is rubbing small circles into the top of his thumb. Crowley is doing all he can not to weep at the feeling of his angel’s skin touch his own.

Aziraphale pulls both their hands from Crowley’s pocket and Crowley finally looks up from their reflection. Aziraphale gently squeezes the demon’s hand before releasing his grip. Crowley swears he can feel his heart stop beating. Panic grips him as he scrambles for something to say, scared that he missed his chance despite what Aziraphale said. Ridiculous, of course, because the moment Crowley opens his mouth to try and spit up something meaningful, Aziraphale takes Crowley’s wrist in both hands like he’s holding a baby bird and kisses the palm.

Crowley immediately sputters a bunch of nonsense.

“Love me?” He croaks and steps forward into Aziraphale’s space before he can think about it. He knows the answer. He’s known somewhere deep down, trying to keep himself from acknowledging it.

Too fast.

But suddenly he’s completely submerged in the feeling of Aziraphale’s unwavering affection, forced to accept it. He almost feels his lungs shriveling standing so close. It felt like his heart was jumping around his ribcage.

“Of course, dear.”

“Could you say it? Please.”

“I love you.” Crowley whimpered a very undemon-like whimper and Aziraphale’s face lit up with a smile brighter than any star Crowley could’ve ever created.

“Again?”

“I love you, my beautiful beau.” Crowley bit down on a smile of his own and stops himself from completely melting under the complement, snaking the hand Aziraphale wasn’t hold over the angel’s shoulder, pulling him close.

“Again.”

“I love you, my dashing demon. My handsome serpent. Clever boy.” His smile breaks out across his face. He can’t help it. Crowley slots his nose in carefully next to his angel’s as his knees go weak and angel continues to sing his praise. The warmth from Aziraphale’s plush body rolls off in waves and it feels like Crowley is standing just beyond the reaches of a flaming blaze, just on the edges of a celestial sunbeam before it begins to burn. This warmth would never burn.

“Can I kiss you, angel?” Crowley asks softly, allowing for a serious moment and pushing down the gooey feeling in his chest. Crowley saw what Heaven was like. Empty and cold. In Hell, everyone was always pushing and shoving and touching each other. Crowley knew well what it was like to fight a crowd, everyone constantly brushing arms and shoulders, stumbling along like zombies. Certainly in no way romantic, but the touch was there. He had that. Aziraphale may want to catch up, but Heaven was in no way like Hell and that meant Crowley wasn’t going to push beyond what sensations Aziraphale could process. He had all the patience in the world for his angel.

Aziraphale’s cheeks grew pink and there was a new sort of look in his eyes. A kind of yearning Crowley had seen many times, but without this intensity. Did Aziraphale always look at him with this much love? This much reverence and kindness?

“I would like that very much,” And with that permission given, Crowley has to stop himself from moving faster than he’s ever moved in his entire life, all six thousand and some odd years of it. But he’s slow. A gentle press of their lips is all Crowley allows himself, pecking Aziraphale squarely on the lips and then in the corners. Honoring and venerating. Fond and amorous.

“Really, my dear, I can actually go faster.” Aziraphale’s words buzz against his lips and then Aziraphale is pressing a soft kiss to his lips that quickly grows in strength until he’s taking charge and pressing his chest to Crowley’s, their lips locked fiercely together. Crowley stumbles backward a step with the force of it.

Just as he’s getting the hang of it, the slide of Aziraphale’s lips against his, the press, embracing the tingle that spreads throughout his limbs, Aziraphale is moving his mouth to cover different patches of skin all over Crowley’s face, worshiping. His cheeks, his forehead, his jaw.

“Aziraphale…” Crowley sings his name like an psalm as Aziraphale pecks him on the side of his nose, feeling each bump with his pulp lips as if he was performing an ancient, forgotten ritual or memorizing to map out later. A sweet sort of ache accompanies the whole process before Aziraphale eventually rests head on Crowley’s shoulder, soft puffs of air caressing the side of his neck.

“My dear, you’re going to be covered in freckles by morning,” he hums into Crowley’s neck and leans forward to press another kiss to the hollow of Crowley’s throat. Crowley, whining under the angel’s infinite study and ardor, tilts his head to rest atop Aziraphale’s, his nose nestled in the pile of white curls there.

“Freckles?”

“Mm. Haven’t you heard the old saying? Freckles are the remnants of an angel’s kisses.”

“Ahh, well. In that case, I don’t suppose I mind.” Crowley ends the sentence with a kiss of his own left to wander among Aziraphale’s curls.

They stand there for a few moments longer, soaking up the warmth of one another before they can both admit it’s a rather chilly night and Crowley still hasn’t got any shoes on. So they head down the dock, over the rocks (for most of which Aziraphale actually carries Crowley seeing as how torn up Crowley’s feet are. Aziraphale is absolutely horrified by the whole of it meanwhile Crowley convinces Aziraphale’s shoes not to develop any holes), and up the beach to the steps of their cottage. The plants in the window tremble and the hundreds of wildflowers swarming the front steps as Crowley instills enough fear in all of them to ensure that they don’t take mark of this moment as possible weakness.

“Don’t think this is reason for you to start drooping or you’ll all end up in the paper shredder,” he says with a particularly menacing glare, all the while he has his legs wrapped around Aziraphale’s waist and his arms over the angel’s shoulders.

The lights in the front room were left on and the tartan settee in the center of it is illuminated by the light of a fire burning brightly in the fireplace. Neither of them are quite sure who was the one to light it, not that it matters.[2]

[2] The floorboards still creek the same as they did when they first moved in. Crowley would’ve miracled them silent, but Aziraphale said it gave the cottage “character and personality” so he left them alone.

Soon enough, they find themselves relaxing on the sofa and soaking up the heat of the fire. Aziraphale uses the light to read while Crowley rests his head in Aziraphale’s lap with his face buried in his angel’s tummy. There’s a rather well-crafted afghan thrown over top of him and he’s drawn it all the way up to his chin. One of Aziraphale’s hands balances his book and the other has tangled itself into Crowley’s wind-swept hair.

“I do want this, you know,” Crowley says under the crackle of the fire. The rumble of it travels up Aziraphale’s body. He hums contentedly at the feeling.

“I want to be here. With you.” He doesn’t actually know if Aziraphale has any idea what he’s saying, but maybe that’s why it feels so much easier. His angel was so open with him, so sympathetic and considerate and caring. It feels like he deserves to hear all the lovely, very undemonic thoughts Crowley has been holding onto.

“I want to wake up to you every morning in our bed. I never want to wake up alone. I don’t want you to read on the sofa. Not ever again. Not since I realized what I was missing out on. Knowing you’re there next to me, without even touching, I can sleep easy.

“I want you to help me when I bollocks up a meal. You’re so good at helping me, angel. I want to see that look on your face when I yell at my plants by the window seat and the sun room and out in the garden with the poppies and daisies and your basil. I take it easy on the basil just because it’s yours.” Crowley whispers the last part like it’s a secret that Aziraphale didn’t already know.

“You go all cool, pinched mouth, disapproving ‘round the eyes. Couldn’t miss it for a mile. And don’t even get me started on your smile, angel. I could go on for millennia about your bloody smile. Lights up the whole room, it does.” It all just rolls off his tongue so easy, once he’s started. It’s like a confession, a prayer to the one person he knows will listen. The only person he wants to hear him.

“And whatever’s here that’s left of me, if you want, they’re yours, sweetheart. All the broken bits and the good bits — whatever good bits you can find — you can have them. I’d give you the moon and the sky if I could. I’d give you all my stars.” It feels like he’s bleeding out again, a constant, steady stream trickling from his lips, but it doesn’t burn with the prickle of salt or splinters.

“All of that is complete rubbish compared to having you, darling.” Aziraphale reassures him. At some point, must’ve put down his book because while one hand combs reassuringly through his hair, the other is cupping the side of Crowley’s face that’s flush against Aziraphale’s belly, forcing Crowley to look up at him. Crowley shivers. Whether from the rapture of being the angel’s sole focus or the scrape of Aziraphale’s primly manicured nails against his scalp he doesn’t know. Perhaps both.

“I love you,” he says, with all the subtlety and grace of a new-born fawn. The demon nearly chokes on the words. Aziraphale smiles slyly.

“Again.”

“You absolute bastard.”

“Oh hush, love.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

In the South Downs, if you stop and stare over the top of a hill high enough to overlook the village, you’ll see, hear, and feel many of the same things you’d hear in similar places around the world — the bees, clear skies, soft grass, the sea breeze dragging its wispy fingers through your hair — but there are also a great many things that you’ll never experience anywhere else.

There is something about the honey produced by the bees that leaves much to be desired despite the beauty of the flowers the pollen is gathered from. Fear chokes the sweetness right out and replaces it a metallic, acrid taste that lingers in the back of your throat. That sort of fear can only be accomplished through a great deal of terror and trauma, something one peculiar resident is rather proud of.

Unfortunately, only so much can be said for the weather any English village, but once in a while, it seems like the patter of rain lasts longer in one part of the village than the other. A bustling garden needs lots of water, after all.

The grass is always soft during the summer months. It grows long enough to brush the cuffs of rolled up jeans and the ripening, golden wheat curls around your fingers. Although, one should always watch carefully rustling in weeds and listen for a hissing among the flowering flax. Neighbors in the area often report seeing a large black snake with striking yellow eyes. Get too close and you’ll find yourself spinning around, walking back in the opposite direction. Only a moment before you reach out your hand, you’ll find yourself at home sitting in that comfortable chair in the sitting room watching telly with little idea of how you got there.

The wind carries more than the scent of the oceans and the taste of salt. Hushed voices and whispered confessions of love travel alongside loose feathers and leaves. The feather is not one you’ve seen on any sort of bird in the area and leaves spread rumors they have no business spreading.

If you close your eyes, if you just close your eyes and allow yourself to be held by the warmth of the sun.

The chill of the breeze.

The phantom feeling of fingers on your shoulder blades, coaxing you to stand taller and fly higher.

The love from some ineffable, ethereal, occult heart.

If you close your eyes at just the precise time on that hill in the South Downs, its secrets will be revealed to you if you take the time to listen.

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ineffablefool · 5 years

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Some meditations on being a fat human being, in the era of Good Omens series fandom. Not n//sf/w, really (hi my name is Jack I’m ace and supremely uninterested in sexytimes), but really personal and also long, so I’ll stick it behind a readmore. I suppose if another fat human being had thoughts they wanted to tack on, they could reblog to do so, but I don’t expect this to be a particularly rebloggable thing. Just thinkin’ out loud (via clickety fingies).

I have been... okay, more or less, with how my body looks, for a while. (Minus all the things about it that make me get “she” and “her” and “ma’am” everywhere I go, with exactly three glorious exceptions in the ~4 years since I realized that those weren’t right. That is a whole ‘nother bucket of bears.) I’ve been on Tumblr over on my main account since 2013, and the entire time I’ve been immersing myself in fat positivity and in fat activism by wonderful accounts like ok2befat and bigfatscience and thisisthinprivilege. So I’ve been basically okay.

It sucks how hard it is to find clothing that I like which doesn’t completely exclude my particular set of proportions. It sucks that my saint of a boss had to literally fight our HR department to change the company policy on flights for business, because the previous policy would have forced me to fly 18 hours in an economy-class seat much smaller than I am when I visit India in a couple months. It sucks that my body is still the “oh, is this disgusting thing a dealbreaker for you” question on dating websites, and that it’s still the butt of every third Trump joke. It sucks. But I’ve gotten better over the years at the skill of seeing my body as not the problem, but an innocent bystander in everyone else’s bullshit. Clothing and plane seats and humor don’t spring from the earth to be harvested and consumed raw. People decide how to make them. People can decide differently.

Anyway. I’ve been pretty much okay with Body. Body’s fine. It’s a good pal. It gets me where I need to be, and it lets me run around in little circles pretending to be an airplane when I’m bored. I spend some time with it in partial states of undress now and then (I’m too much of a germaphobe to ever be a naturist, let’s put it that way), just so I can keep myself familiar with what it really looks like. Y’know how the horror movie monster is really scary up until they actually show it? Same thing, except fewer blood squibs.

But here’s all this Good Omens stuff.

A lot of the fandom has embraced the slight pudginess of Michael Sheen’s Aziraphale, and a lot of artists are putting that into their work. And a blessed wonderful few aren’t stopping there. They’re drawing Aziraphales that are more than just a tiny bit pudgy, sometimes that are just plain fat, unquestionably, not just “a little larger than the very thin rendition of Crowley” or “wearing a lot of layers” or “the clothes are just cut that way”. Really, really adorable renditions of fat angels who are clearly loveable and clearly loved because look, the artist drew them together, Crowley is right there and he doesn’t have that look on his face by accident.

(There are book renditions floating around too where people have headcanoned a fatter Aziraphale, but I’m still talking miniseries right now. Also, there are plenty of sort of... cartoony/stylized/silly renditions out there with fatter Aziraphales, but I’m not really talking about those either. There’s a sort of area of artwork where the style or the scene being depicted is such that my brain is surprised when any of the characters is fat, because this is a pretty drawing of two people kissing or whatever and therefore obviously they have to both be thin. Obviously. Internalized fatphobia nonsense. But that’s the kind of artwork I’m thinking when I type all these zillions of words.)

And that’s a choice, to say “I’m an artist and I’m going to draw this character who is worth being the recipient of a 6000-year-long love, and that character is fat, and that’s just how it is”. And to keep doing it in one piece of art after the other.

speremint was the first artist I noticed doing this, drawing an Aziraphale who is loved by Crowley (the sacred apple tree art still cracks me up, poor Crowley) and who is definitely fat and who is adorable, and if you’ve read the notes on any of my fics you know that she singlehandedly changed how I picture my headcanon’d Aziraphale. Then I discovered that dotstronaut and lonicera-caprifolium and toastedbuckwheat are out there too, giving me lovely art to shove into my eyeballs and extend my lifespan potentially indefinitely. I bet there’s more I haven’t noticed yet. I want there to be like a hundred more I haven’t noticed yet.

And this all ticks over into the second half of what’s apparently a manifesto at this point, boy it’s a good thing I’m a fast typist, which is the fact that in addition to being a fat human, I am also romantically and aesthetically attracted to fat humans. It’s something I’ve pretty much literally had no opportunity to ever express, because in my Real Life I don’t really admit to having feelings per se and also I am... not the type of human who is the recipient of romantic thoughts from others. Or who would ever act on my own unless the other party said something first. (Which nobody ever has since 2006, you guys. Supremely not the recipient of romance over here.)

So there’s this fandom environment where a fat character is being celebrated and loved, and I started writing fanfiction for the first time this century, and all of a sudden there’s a place for me to express feelings that I’ve been sitting on since I finally realized in about 2001 what it was about that one guy in high school that made me want to hug him, even though I also couldn’t stand his attitude.

Going through my fics from oldest to most recent, it is clear that I am getting more and more comfortable with that expression. It’s getting ridiculous. At this rate, in three weeks’ time I’m just going to be writing “Aziraphale is fat and beautiful and I just want to cuddle his belly forever” over and over again for five thousand words at a stretch.

But that means Brain is thinking a lot about how Aziraphale is fat, and beautiful, and perfect exactly how he is. And then Brain looks down at Body and is like “hmm. Same hat. ineffablefool is fat too. Therefore, [insert math lady meme here]”. And I will be, like, “okay, so if Crowley were to put his hand on Aziraphale’s belly, what would that feel or look like? How would his internal narration describe it? Well, there’s a belly right here, let’s do some science.” And then the thoughts that I start associating with the experience of my own body are completely good thoughts, all of them, because they’re going to be going in Crowley’s head. And my written Crowley is never going to be anything other than madly in asexual romantic love with my written Aziraphale, and is never going to see him as anything other than perfect, physically, no matter what he looks like.

And it’s just being a really good positive feedback mechanism, I guess is the tl;dr version. External validation (via art, via others’ fics, via comments on my own fics, btw if you’ve left any of those then you are also helping extend my lifespan, especially the people who come back to comment on each new story, yes I recognize you and I do a little happy dance every time a familiar name pops up, please rejoin me on Monday I’m going to post my dickwheelie letters fic) is all well and good. But the mental loop of “own body can be used for realistic descriptions of a fat body -> descriptions based on own body are all lovingly positive -> own body is therefore described by self as lovingly positive” is... it’s nice, is what I’m saying. It’s very nice. Last week I expressed, out loud in a group of coworkers, my desire that something be more size-inclusive. Do you even know how many deaths I would once have suffered rather than say something like that in mixed company. But why shouldn’t I say it! There’s nothing wrong with my being fat! In fact, it’s within the realm of possibility to see it as a positive thing, so let’s just all admit that we have eyes and then move on! Geez!

So those are some of my thoughts on being a fat human being, in the era of Good Omens series fandom.

now if I can just score a hot fat ace Ineffable Significant Other out of this fandom, I’ll be set

#ineffablefool original post #if you want to give me any bullshit on any of this then Please Don't #i am well acquainted with ignoring trolls on my non-GO account #and am equally capable of applying that skill over here #but if you don't have any bullshit or but-what-about-health or but-my-tax-dollars then i'd love to conversate #ineffablefool is on about fat bodies being lovely again #i don't know why i keep forgetting that tag it's a very important tag #ineffablefool does some Deep Thoughts

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ineffablefool · 5 years

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(I talk about death here, actual real-life death and the mourning thereof, and... not quite suicidal ideation, I don’t think, but a thought process that is very close. Also Good Omens spoilers I guess. Not putting it in any search tags because I don’t think it’s good enough meta or whatever on its own; I just wanted to put it somewhere.)

I want to talk about this expression. (It’s not the best screenshot of it, I just grabbed one real fast, but whatever.) It’s the one Crowley makes as he’s driving away from the bookshop, immediately after coming to the conclusion that Aziraphale is dead.

This expression struck me as being weirdly familiar, the first couple of times I saw it, and I couldn’t figure out why. It hit me eventually, though: I recognize it, but in reverse. I feel like I’ve known it from the inside.

I feel like this is the expression of never.

Long story short, I was engaged way back when, in a mostly long-distance relationship that lasted not quite five years. We had this ridiculously heart-swoopingly romantic thing going on which, cards on the table, completely informs how I view the Aziraphale/Crowley relationship in the show. Then he died with no warning.

What a thing like that does to you is it hits you, suddenly, with a whole lot of nevers. All the maybes and somedays, all the possiblys and I-hopes, they vanish instantly. They get turned by this sick terrible unfair alchemy into nevers. And there are so many of them, and every single one of them is final.

I’ll never see him again. I’ll never hold him, be held by him, wake up next to him where I belong.

I’ll never be able to tell him that I love him.

All that feels (felt to me) a certain way from the inside, a kind of incomplete numbness as your dreams change to leaden nightmare nevers, each one turning the moment you think of it, nothing left except the rest of your life now clearly laid before you as a blasted path of not-ever-again. Walking that path does not seem a thing that is at all interesting. It’s the opposite of everything you ever wanted. The choice between accepting that and not accepting anything, not taking one step further into that terrible cold future, is one you will have to reconsider more times than any loving god could ever allow.

And I was able to console myself with the idea that living in the shadow of all those nevers would only require getting through forty, fifty more years tops, and hey, then I’d finally be free. Crowley has the potential to be in for thousands.

Fortunately for my poor queer heart, Aziraphale isn’t dead. Crowley gets a second chance, the nevers changing back into maybes and somedays and possiblys and hopes. And fanfiction is a thing, so in the words I write and the words I read, these things turn into yesses, into nows, into definitelys and into of course you idiot I love you toos.

Which is very, very nice. But I still feel like David Tennant owes me a beer for what he’s done in this scene. My heart, man, my heart.

#totally okay to reblog/comment on the Good-Omens-iness if anyone wants to for some reason!#i only remember how this felt so clearly after all these years because i wrote about it a lot at the time #and i am years past the point where i'm more likely to joke about it than cry about it #which is why i can throw it in a Tumblr post about Idiots In Love #(dang it'll be 13 years this November there are Tumblr users younger than this particular event in my life)#ineffablefool original post #ineffablefool does some Deep Thoughts

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ineffablefool · 5 years

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I think an important thing to understand about me as a Good Omens fanfic writer is this: when I am writing about Crowley being in love with Aziraphale (thinking nice things, showing physical affection, whatever), and also when I read back over it later, I actively have the feeling that I am the one who is loved. It’s all gooshy and swoopy and tingly in my chest. So that’s why I 9001% cannot get off this “headcanoned fatter version of Aziraphale is beautiful and Crowley loves him, and his body because it is Aziraphale’s body, unconditionally” train. Just in case anyone was wondering!

#ineffablefool original post #ineffablefool is on about fat bodies being lovely again #just thinkin' as i add the last scene to The One With Lefty #because i completely forgot it when i did the paper draft #and there is some tender physical affection which is making me all goopy #this is also why there isn't as much emphasis on the Aziraphale-loves-Crowley in my fics #he does! absolutely he does just as much!#but i don't get that delicious serotonin rush from writing it #ain't nobody putting their arms around me over here but i can live vicariously through Aziraphale #ineffablefool does some Deep Thoughts

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ineffablefool · 5 years

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I got an ask which I have decided to respond to anonymoosely, because I can.

I just read your post about Fat Aziraphale and how it made you feel better - I'm trying to use Aziraphale to convince my wife (also fat) that really, she's wonderfully friend- and wife-shaped and people find her pleasant to look at.

Oof. This kind of situation is such a hard one to be in, for all parties concerned, because we’re all stewing in nigh-constant fatphobic garbage, and almost no fat person, no matter how good their self-esteem, can ignore that garbage 100% of the time. So the person feels bad because they don’t look the way someone else decided they should look, and the people who care about them feel bad because, well, they care. Just yuck all around.

I have Thoughts on this, and I figured I’d put ‘em on the blog. They are not specific to asker, especially since asker didn’t ask for advice. Asker can totally ignore me if they like, that’s fine. But now the Thoughts will Live on the Blog. Oh -- and I use “fat” as a neutral descriptor throughout all this. Not “plus-sized” or “larger” or the o word which I hate with the blue-hot screaming fire of an oxyacetylene torch of rage. Fat. Simple term to contrast with thin in the same way tall contrasts with short. I like simple.

(this gets exceptionally long without being the least bit organized)

Disclaimer, I am not an expert in anything except being me. But that means I’m an expert in being a fat human, and one who ID’d as female for over 30 years and still gets read as female 99.44% of the time (women get hit harder with this crap), and one who has done a lot of thinking about this whole mess. So maybe that will be useful to someone.

And I don’t know if this is ever a “convince” sort of thing. I think it’s more a “come to realize, slowly, over time, with a lot of work and hopefully support”. (Asks aren’t the best place to craft the very finest of language, so I know there’s a lot of wiggle room in the meaning of “convince” in the ask that spurred this post, but again, I’m taking this more general. ) It’s very hard to show a fat person your inner understanding of them as a whole and wonderful and important human being. This is because we get so many little reinforcements, day in and day out, that being fat is inherently bad, and that we are inherently bad if we are fat. It creates a narrative which hits us from almost every conceivable angle, and it can feel very, very convincing. (Read this 2010 post by Ragen Chastain if you want to be sad. I’m not saying her results are typical, because her work involves dealing with fatphobia, but I am saying that if any of us sat down to do this math, we are not likely to be happy about whatever result we do get.)

So it’s a bunch of little things needed to turn things around, and it’s over a period of potentially years, and it’s the fat person in question having both the willingness and the energy to put in a bunch of boring yucky work.

Positive representation is a huge part of it, though. It builds a new narrative. It gives examples of fat people accomplishing things, creating things, living and having fun and just actually being people. Of fat people being loveable, and loved, although that’s not the most important part. I focus on it in the Good Omens hyperfixation part of my life, because my hyperfixation is completely around a romantic Aziraphale/Crowley relationship, but being a valid romantic partner is not nearly as important as all that other stuff (hi my aro and ace people you are not forgotten). And I’ve seen a bunch of posts by people talking about how Sheen’s Aziraphale, and the fandom response to the character, have helped with their own self-esteem -- because it’s the new narrative. It’s not “this character is (barely, if you squint, but we’ll let it ride for a sec) fat, and therefore bad or the butt of a joke or less than the thinner characters”. It’s “this character is fat and important and loved”. Type of love is up for all of us to decide per Mr. Gaiman, but you don’t get to argue the love. Aziraphale’s appearance has nothing to do with his value as a human-like entity. He’s literally tied with Crowley for most important character, given that the show has been reframed from the book to both begin and end with our ineffable duo (plus the emphasis given by the Hard Times cold open).

Sharing that new narrative with the important fat person in one’s life can be one very small part of helping them unlearn the old narrative. If it helps, I kinda not-officially-but-it-works-out-that-way curate fatter-versions-of-Aziraphale artwork in my fat positivity tag, along with all the other fat-positive stuff that runs through my blog. (I don’t think there’s any fics in that tag besides mine, just commentary, but I can’t remember right now.)

Over on my other Tumblr account, I follow a bunch of fat-positive blogs, although I haven’t refreshed the list in a while (I just... don’t need it as much as I used to, which is fascinating, now that I think about it), and some of them have gone dormant. But I can recommend, in no particular order, fuckyeahfatpositive, ok2befat, and fatqueerlove (assuming the person IDs as/is comfortable with the label “queer”) for the more affirmation side of things (though there’s some activism mixed in); and bigfatscience, the-exercist, and fatphobiabusters for the more activism side of things (debunking bad science and fatphobic myths; speaking out against fatphobia in medicine, legislation, reporting, and wherever else it shoves its ugly head out from its troll-cave). The Fat Nutritionist hasn’t updated in a year, but she still has lots of good stuff up. thisisthinprivilege is... hard to read, sometimes, and I think it’s better for after you’re energized and angry about the garbage you’ve been taught.

(If anyone gets through this ridiculously long post and knows of other good resources for that last paragraph, by the way, I’d love to hear about ‘em.)

But it takes the fat person actually seeking out the new narrative, and shoving fat-positive content and mindsets into their eyeballs and brainpan, for there to be a real change, I think. And that’s the boring yucky work part. A lot of people find that they can’t really pull their thoughts out of the old track and into the new one without getting some help from a therapist -- and therapists are great and there’s nothing wrong with going to therapy, I see a therapist every two weeks myself -- but therapy takes time and money and energy and a therapist you can actually work with. Not everyone has all four of those things.

It’s also important to not draw any lines when trying to communicate to one’s important fat person that they are, in fact, important and worth whatever kind of love it is that one has for them. No “you’re not actually that fat” (how will they feel if they gain more weight later?). No “at least you’re healthy” (how will they feel if they become unhealthy?). No “but you carry it well” or other variations on “at least you’re not one of the ugly ones” (how will they feel if their appearance changes later?).

If there’s a line, then your important fat person always has to be careful not to cross it. Don’t imply to them that there is actually an appearance-related condition to your love for them, and they just luckily haven’t failed you yet. If there actually is such a condition, maybe sit down and have a few deep thoughts with yourself.

Plus, speaking personally, I am “that fat”, and I’m not 100% healthy, and I carry it weird and am really-weird looking. And I don’t appreciate being thrown under the bus so someone can tell someone else “at least you’re not one of those, you know, the fat people who aren’t valid and important human beings”. So nobody ever do that. Please.

Final words to my unhealthy, or really really fat, or weird-shaped or just plain ugly-by-current-common-standards fat people out there -- i got u fam. You’re all valuable and important and I love you. And you’re all doing, or going to do, amazing things, because doing amazing things has precisely jack to do with the amount or positioning of fat upon your very important and inherently worthy human self.

That’s all! If you made it this far, then you get this link to a photo of a cute bearded dragon in a hat, if you’d like to click it. I follow william-snekspeare on my other account and have commissioned him for artwork twice now and he is an absolute dear.

And I hope asker’s wife has a good body image day tomorrow.

#ineffablefool reply #ineffablefool does some Deep Thoughts #ineffablefool is on about fat bodies being lovely again #although less 'lovely' and more 'important' here because lbr physical attractiveness is RIDICULOUSLY overemphasized #ugly people are still important #everybody is important #unless they've done something with actual actions to override their importance with horribleness #the appearance of your physical form is not an action so there ya go

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