#muriel and Crowley comforts
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Aim for the mouth, Shoot past the ear- Because nothing lasts forever
part 1 to an aziracrow fic I’m working on. This part is pretty angsty, and takes place about a month or two after the events of season 2. 705 words, and written while half-asleep- not proofread at all
part of a series!!
part 1 >> part 2 >> (unfinished)
spoilers for good omens!!!!
It had been a long day. A very, very long day. After 6,000 years of pining, Crowley had finally confessed to Aziraphale. Aimed for the mouth. But he missed, and shot past the ear. Now he’s there. Sitting in the bookshop. It almost felt like a graveyard now- it just wasn’t the same without his angel.
“Mister Crowley? I made you some tea!”
Said a familiar voice, walking over to reveal Muriel, happy as always. “I made the sha-momma-lay kind this time!” They said, grinning ear-to-ear.
“Chamomile. Its- its pronounced Chamomile, Muriel.” Crowley murmured, kindly taking the cup of tea the angel had held out to him.
“Sorry. I’m still learning all of the human words.” Said Muriel, their smile weakening sheepishly for a moment before growing again. “But I finally learned what entomology means!”
Crowley’s looked up at them, mildly curious as he sipped his tea. “Oh? And what’s it mean?” He said, more in the way of a parent being taught what the word ‘elk’ meant than actual unknowing.
“The study of insects and bugs!” Said Muriel, still beaming down at Crowley. “Wow. That is.. so interesting.” Murmured Crowley, holding one of his knees to his chest as he quietly drank his tea.
It was quiet like that for a moment. Then it wasn’t. “Do you have a favorite insect or bug, Mister Crowley?” Muriel said, sitting down on the floor next to Crowley’s seat with their knees pulled up to their chest.
“..Moths, maybe..?” He muttered in response, throwing his head back against the chair.
Then quiet again.
The quiet always made Crowley think. And when he thought, it would always lead back to his angel.
Maybe he could just sleep through it. He shifted into a small, black-and-red snake, curling up and getting comfortable. And then he slept.
He didn’t dream much.
When he did dream, it was blurry and he couldn’t make out enough to make sense of anything, but he knew the feeling. The grains of damp sand under his feet. The smell of salt catching on the air. His wings outstretched, stretching. His arms doing the same.
And then.. a light. An unmistakable light. He reached, and reached, and chased, but suddenly he couldn’t breathe. He felt pressure and currents and harsh cold all around him and he realized he was drowning.
The light was gone.
Then he woke up. He was still in his snake form, and so he slithered off the same chair he started on and explored. He was looking for Muriel. The only comfort he still had.
It didn’t take long to find them, though they were asleep. Was that good or bad? They had become human enough to need- or at least want- sleep. Either way, Crowley slithered up onto the desk their head was laying on, curling up beside them and simply watching.
He didn’t want to go back to sleep. He gazed over to the clock on the wall- it was around midnight. He then noticed it was raining. He slithered off the table, shifting back into his humanoid form. He took a deep breath and put on his sunglasses, approaching the door.
How long had it been since he went outside? He had no clue. But he was sure it had been a good long while. And he missed the rain.
So he opened the doors, stepping beyond the threshold of the bookstore. Stepping beyond his final safety.
And stepping into the rain.
And that rain burned, at first. It felt too clean for him- too pure. But then his own tears began to fall, and he realized that those were far more pure than the rain, and it began to cool his burns.
He stood in that rain for a while. He didn’t want to move. He didn’t want to go back inside, and he didn’t want to go any further.
He just wanted to stay. But he couldn’t forever. Nothing is forever.
So he stepped back inside, seeing Muriel standing there. They wrapped their arms around Crowley, clinging tight. He didn’t know how to feel at first, but eventually grasped onto them, choking out a stiff sob.
And they stayed there for a while.
But nothing is forever.
#sorry this was so angsty#crowley#crowley x aziraphale#aziracrow#muriel#muriel and Crowley comforts#good omens#good omens 2#good omens 3#wooo I wrote this at 11pm#randompajama writes
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hi tumblr ive returned with another father child duo to be publicly cringe about
#can we as a fandom accept them into the grunpy man accidentally adopt whimsical sunshine child trope#muriel is showing him pictures of ducks to comfort crowley and he is pretending like it isnt working#good omens#good omens fanart#crowley good omens#good omens crowley#crowley fanart#good omens crowley fanart#good omens muriel#muriel good omens#good omens muriel fanart#neil gaiman#go2#go2 fanart#muriel good omens fanart#go crowley fanart#crowley go fanart#ineffable husbands#aziracrow#aziracrow fanart
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Crowley and Muriel
i went for a different look, mainly cuz idk how the fuck to draw their hair. like what... slay tho. they rock it.
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What water slides off
A/N: Attention, please, this is super spoilery. So do not read this if you haven't already watched season 2 of Good Omens. I won't say much more, except that this is a hurt/no comfort fanfic, with a small amount of fluff in the form of a sweet memory.
Nina and Maggie were having a cup of evening tea in the closed coffee shop.
Crowley had watched them closely over the span of the last weeks. There was something quite charming about the way Maggie tended to smooth out the crinkles from her skirt before entering the door to Nina’s shop. He liked how breathless her smile got get when they talked to each other. The way a rosy blush illuminated her cheeks, when Nina sent her the tiniest smile.
It felt good to watch them. At least, that way, he had something to do. Someone to check up on.
It hadn’t stopped raining since Aziraphale had left.
An odd and cruel joke played by nature. He could have tried pulling himself together, doing his utmost to lure out the sun behind the grey clouds. But he wasn’t really feeling up to it. And he didn’t actually mind the rain.
He hadn’t spoken to anyone since his last remark to Aziraphale, three weeks prior. Not even to his car. The Bentley itself had quieted down a lot. Crowley could have been surprised about the lack of Queen music blaring out of the radio. But he wasn’t even noticing it.
Through his dark glasses, he watched Nina and Maggie chat about their day. They were comfortable with each other. Excited and a little nervous, but slowly realizing how well they fit together, how well the other seemed to understand what they were feeling and thinking. With every passing day, they were getting less tense, less scared.
The rain was dripping from his glasses. He could easily have stayed inside the car. But he was barely taking notice of the water soaking him to the core. He didn’t mind standing in the rain. He didn’t mind anything anymore.
He could stay until Nina and Maggie would leave. Then he would probably go back to his flat, water the plants, sleep, wake up, drive back here, get out and stand in the rain again.
When you were basically immortal and very much alone on your own side without… anyone, what else was there to do? He wasn’t working for Hell anymore, he was certainly not partaking in the upcoming heavenly plans and he no longer had an angel to upset, console, dance and drink with.
The pain was new to him. The constant throbbing inside his chest. It wouldn’t vanish when he turned into a snake, it wouldn’t vanish when he got high on Laudanum, it simply. Wouldn’t. Vanish.
He hadn’t expected this. Well, he hadn’t expected most of what had been going down, this last month. But this state of being… He had only felt worse at two other instances of his existence. And they were both linked to- no matter.
Humans at least knew that their chest-throbbing wouldn’t be eternal. Their earthly existence had to end at some point. But Crowley? He had been here for a very long time. He would still be here for a very long time. Unless Heaven or Hell sought to end it all and actually managed to go through with it real soon.
Who knew what they would make Aziraphale do. Who knew what kind of mental reboot they had in store for him. Maybe Crowley got lucky enough to appear on a sort of Wanted list. Some paper that would suggest his instant discorporation.
Who knew. Maybe it would be Aziraphale’s own signature at the bottom of the paper.
The rain stopped all of a sudden. Not the actual rain, though. It simply didn’t drench him any further. A shadow was blocking out the little bit of light that the day still had to offer from above. Surprised Crowley raised his head, taking his eyes off the two women in the coffeeshop.
The suit of the person standing next to him appeared to be of an impossible shade of bright white. They were holding an umbrella of the same colour over his head. A look of concern was directed at his face.
“Mister Crowley? Are you… are you aware of the rain?” The angel cadet asked. Crowley recognized Muriel who had taken over Aziraphale’s bookstore. He didn’t react to their question, merely remained in his position, one arm on the Bentley, the other stacked to his side, the hand stuffed int his jeans pocket. He looked at Muriel through his dark glasses, not showing any signs of interest in their comment. Their appearance had surprised him nevertheless.
“Uhm, I thought- I thought it might be nicer to maybe- not get wet. So, if you want, you can keep the umborella.”
“Umbrella,” Crowley corrected quietly, almost inaudibly. The movement of his vocal chords sent a violent shock through his body. As if it was waking him up. As if he’d been in a state of trance. He blinked, suddenly feeling cold.
“Umbrella, right,” Muriel laughed, rolling their eyes upwards as if they were reprimanding themselves for being silly. “Things that water slides off. Practical!”
It was like a slap to his face, the sudden memory of car rides with Aziraphale.
“Ducks!” “Sorry?” “They’re what waters slides off.” “Just drive the car, please.”
Or more like a punch to the gut, really. Gulping, he furrowed his brows and moved his hand up to take the umbrella from Muriel. They were a little too small for Crowley’s height; the top of the waterproof material was grazing his hair. And the water was beginning to drip inside collar.
“Thank you,” he said, meaning it and sounding like he was meaning it. Hopefully, Hell was currently too busy with reorganizations to notice any grateful demons walking the earth. Or rather standing around on the earth, losing the feeling in their legs.
“Oh, no problem.” Muriel was beaming, entirely incapable to understand the mere concept of sadness or heartbreak – something Crowley was even more grateful for. He really had to stop it, or Hell would take a notice. “You can keep the umborella. I’ll be in the bookshop.”
The mention of the bookshop was another sting in his heart. He looked on as Muriel crossed the street without taking any offence in the car that came to a squealing halt and honked at them. They waved, still beaming, miraculously not wet from the raging rain when they reached the threshold to the shop and disappeared inside.
The memory of the years spent in the interior of the comfortably warm and strikingly cold place, Aziraphale had called home was the last straw for him. His knuckles turned white as he gripped the handle of the umbrella tightly. All the books he’d “accidentally” sent toppling over with his knees, all the guilty snaking around between the shelves when Aziraphale had ignored him in retaliation, all the bottles of wine he’d offered as an apology…
His eyes fell on the dusty window that went to the street, but he couldn’t make out anything apart from candles, books and statues gathered on the sill.
He would probably never set foot inside the bookshop again. After all those years, all those centuries, it felt like losing not a house, but an entire country. As if his origins had just been crossed out from the face of the earth. All that remained were vague memories that became increasingly surreal…
“If you don’t forgive me, I’ll- I’ll throw this book on the floor.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“Leatherbound, it might get scrapes all over it.”
“Crowley!”
“The pages could get all crinkly…”
“What is the use of forgiving you, if I get horrendously mad again immediately after, because of the state you are about to put this poor book in?”
“Right… I will hide it then.”
“Crowley.” The angel was already having a hard time concealing his grin.
“I will go up the stairs and hide it where you’ll never find it again!!” Crowley was halfway up, waving the book around like a hostage he was still threatening to throw to down from great height.
“I shall never forgive you, then.” Aziraphale responded, settling down in his chair with a smile, sipping on his tea.
Crowley was going mad, hissing, ruffling his hair, jumping from one leg to the other. “Arghg, what do you want me to do then?”
“Come down here this instant, place the book gently on this here table and let me do the coin trick.”
A pause followed. Interrupted only by the smug slurping noises of the angel drinking his tea.
“Mrrrmrrmr FINE!” Crowley descended the stairs, snarling and grumbling, placed the book where Aziraphale had asked him to, resisting the urge to thump it down real loudly and settled down on the small chair in front of the angel eventually, not resisting the urge to groan dramatically.
“Was that so hard?” The angel smiled all angelically, as he scooted a little closer to him on his respective armchair, making Crowley growl.
“It’s demeaning.”
Aziraphale’s fingers were fidgeting around excitedly as he seemingly prepared himself to do the ‘magic’ coin trick, a light shining in his blue eyes. Crowley’s expression was the one of a very unwilling volunteer who hadn’t really had any choice in the volunteering.
When Aziraphale wanted to extend his hand towards him, Crowley blocked it with his own, peeking out from behind his glasses uncomfortably.
“But… don’t get too close to my neck.”
“Pardon?”
“Just… it gets all… ticklish.” Crowley slumped his shoulders down in an embarrassed manner and looked away from the angel.
Who seemed all the more endeared and eager to continue. “Don’t worry, Crowley, I’ll be careful. Now.” He cleared his throat excessively, straightening out his back and making a very important face. Crowley pursed his lips.
“I shall make appear, out of the vast nothingness, a coin!” His eyes widened comically.
“In my hands nothing can be perceived.” The white-gloved hands were waving around so quickly in front of his face that Crowley had to blink instinctively.
“But what’s this?”
A quick tickle, almost making Crowley raise his shoulder to his ear, and suddenly a silver coin was almost being pushed up his nostril. Aziraphale was beaming, holding it proudly in his face, all barely contained joy and happiness.
“Tadaaa!”
“Wow.” Crowley yawned, raising his brows in a rather unimpressed manner and trying to act like Aziraphale’s smile didn’t do things to his heart.
It wasn’t due to vanish despite his reaction lacking amazement. Aziraphale continued to giggle excitedly and looked proudly at the coin in his palm. “Now was that so bad?”
“It tickled.” Crowley answered lazily, looking at his watch.
“Maybe we should continue then to get you to laugh again!”
Crowley batted Aziraphale’s intruding hand away, a grin pulling at the corners of his grumpy expression. “Don’t even think about it. I’ll bite off your hand!”
“You wouldn’t.”
“That would be the end of your coin tricks.”
Offended, Aziraphale pulled his right hand protectively to his chest with the other, a dismissive look crossing his features. That really got Crowley to smirk again.
“Not so eager to do magic anymore, huh?” He got off his chair and snickered to himself. “Come on then.”
“Where are we going?” The angel asked.
“I’m taking you out.” Crowley grabbed the beige coat of the golden hall-stand in the shop. “Not in the deadly sense of the word.”
Aziraphale’s blue eyes looked puzzled for a moment, then the smile was back and the cute little side glance he reserved especially for the demon came his way. “Oh dear, where are you taking me?”
“You’ll see, angel, you’ll see.”
Crowley helped the angel inside his coat, grabbed their hats and put Aziraphale’s on his feathery hair quite gently. His blue eyes were shining just as brightly as when he’d prepared to do his magic act.
“I take it, you’ll let me keep my hand, then?”
Crowley smirked, pulling his hat over his forehead and opening the door for them. “For now, angel, for now.”
Crowley had never expected, he’d ever miss the little tickle behind his ear and the angel’s happy expressions as much as he did then.
The umbrella shielded him from the rain, but the memories kept falling through, tearing holes in the frame and crashing down on him, growing heavier and heavier until he dropped Muriel’s gift and hit the top of his car, angrily.
He glanced inside the coffeeshop again, only to find that Nina and Maggie were looking at him now, sadness tinting their faces. His heart felt pierced right through and their attention was only making it worse, so he quickly did the only thing he could think of. He got inside his car and fled.
He had nowhere to go. But at least, he wasn’t looking at the bookshop anymore. Nor at the two women falling in love. Nor at all the ghosts from the past, the laughter, the anger, the moments they’d shared together.
He had to leave it all behind anyway.
#good omens season 2#good omens#crowley fanfiction#hurt/no comfort#tickling#ticklish!crowley#aziraphale x crowley#crowley x aziraphale#aziraphale does magic#ineffable husbands#sad good omens#sad!crowley#gos2#nina x maggie#muriel#good omens season 2 spoilers#gos2 spoilers#good omens fanfiction
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Absence
Aziracrow, but post-season 2 angst.
Word Count: 1,277
Summary: Crowley's first time back in the bookshop goes about as well as can be expected...
Ao3: TrustMeImTheAuthor
Crowley feels the worn softness of a well-kept book cover skim over her fingertips. She’s come to a rigid stop next to a small, round table. With as much fondness as he can possibly spare, he rakes his shaded gaze over the tiny statue atop it. The stallion there is the same as ever, reared back on its hind legs to face Crowley with unwavering stillness. Just by habit, he reaches up to grasp at the frame of his glasses. It is a stunted, hollow mimicry of old choreography. There are customers here now… And there’s certainly no one around to look upon her yellow-sapped gaze the way she aches for. Their hand withers and retreats to their side once more.
As their feet swivel them back to face the rest of the bookstore, Crowley knows with absolute certainty that this is a mistake. Muriel has been doing a wonderful job with the shop. Crowley has no understanding of whether this news pleases her or is jagged grains of salt dragging over open flesh. It looks healthy. The store. Reds and honeys still sift together to cast a spell of warmth and comfort over the senses. It still smells of paper and wax and…
Crowley can’t help the grit of his teeth behind closed lips.
The few patrons here mill about in a way that sours his tongue. They’re all relaxed smiles of contentment and bright eyes of innocent curiosity. Completely unaware of the black hole of absence bending time and space around them.
Crowley slinks forward, daring her feet to at least help her make it to the center, circular carpet.
“Aziraphale?” a voice questions softly. Before he knows the thought, Crowley has already turned, head darting about to search for the downy white puff of hair. Instead, a young person stands to the side a few feet away, nose pushed into a book titled An Almost Entirely Accurate Breakdown of Angelic Hierarchy. At the sight of its sickly green cover, Crowley’s nose wrinkles in disgust. A pair of piercing brown eyes flick up over the offensive text to peer back through into Crowley’s own. The demon tries to save herself the grief of a human interaction, sniffing as she scrambles to occupy herself with the nearest object. Their fingers find a tiny booklet: Gale’s Guide to Eternal Glee. She snorts. God has a sick sense of humor.
“Excuse me, do you work here?”
Crowley sighs, their red wine curls tumbling over their shoulder as they tilt their neck back to acknowledge the human that just spoke.
“No… but I might as well,” he huffs. “If you’re trying to buy a book you should know the answer is probably no-”
“-I had a question, actually. I’m Paisley, by the way.”
“‘Course you are,” Crowley mutters imperceptibly, as this ‘Paisley’ person continues.
“This book,” they tap the book’s heavenly cover, “do you happen to have experience with the topic?”
All Crowley can manage is the longest- and most exhausted- stare possible. Paisley, chuffing the heel of their boot against the ground, seems to be full of unexpected patience for a twenty-something. For a moment, Crowley considers the usual tactic of walking away or pretending the pesky creature doesn’t exist. It’s a useful skill when she’s in a hurry or otherwise in a hellish mood. She breathes in, expecting her feet to carry her along to seek out Muriel, as originally intended. Or perhaps to flee this place, which is beginning to feel less like a bookshop and more like the gaping maw of a haunted house. Everywhere her sharp eyes flick to, there is another memory to swallow back.
“What do you want to know?” The question leaving Crowley’s lips is a static shock.
“I’ve got a report due for a religion course. Gotta pick an angel,” Paisley explains, fingering lazily at the open page. “Aziraphale seems like a cool name, but there’s like no info in the book. You know anything?”
Paisley George, of course, is just another university student trying desperately to write a research paper they’ve had a month to do in a record 47 hours. Their whole world rests in the fate of its completion. How are they to know they have also just been thrown mercilessly into the middle of the greatest of love stories in its most devastating chapter. The distance between the question young Paisley has asked and Crowley is just about 6,000 years of tireless longing.
Crowley’s mouth is a bit ajar, enough to betray him as his jaw quivers. He shuts it again, looking down as he feels the gravity of millennia upon already burdened shoulders.
“Yeap.” He pops the ‘p’. “Know that bloke.”
“What was he supposed to be like?” Paisley charges on, burning curious and bright like a righteous halo. “This book came recommended by the class, but it says fuck all really.”
In the several seconds it takes Crowley to conjure their answer, so many versions of the truth come to mind. She wants to call Aziraphale an idiotic, selfish creature of habit without a clue in the world. An angel, trained from inception to inflate the ego of Heaven at any cost. God’s most loyal pet.
Crowley wants to leave.
He hates the smell of him, still vacantly present in the background. The way his eyes dart to Aziraphale’s empty chair over and over and over makes him sick. Why is Crowley here? What could this have ever done but cause them a slow and effortless agony? Her name is, as always, playing on loop- a feather-soft siren song. Aziraphale. Aziraphale. Aziraphale.
“Aziraphale was the angel at the Garden of Eden,” Crowley murmurs gently, rubbing a palm over her face as she does. “Headstrong in his conviction, and loving, in all things. They are an angel of peace, knowledge, and comfort,” the demon expands. Somehow, the words just spill out. Aziraphale can be anything, after all, when told from Crowley’s lips- the only lips that have known the taste of his divinity.
“All the best food, all the best books… and magic. Magic is her thing, too. She’s the greatest admirer of planet Earth in all of Heaven. He’s…. Looking upon him is like… like plummeting helplessly forever through an endless blue sky, and thanking God for it. My angel…”
Crowley has drifted off from Paisley, gaze locking on the figure listening at the bottom of the staircase. In Muriel’s bright brown stare, there is an uncharacteristic knowing. The demon’s eyes are still covered from view, but Muriel seems to reflect it all back anyways.
“Mr. Crowley!” they call, just a bit too loudly for the hushed tone of the shop. “You can come up with me now, if you’d like.”
All Crowley would *like *to do is melt in between the atoms of the floor until there is nothing left of him. They look toward Aziraphale’s chair again.
This time, Aziraphale is there. Shirt unbuttoned just a touch, and body lazed against the backrest. She laughs. Crowley can’t quite hear her right. It’s just a copycat of the original. No one can do it like her anyways. The pale, wilting imitation of her voice curls around his ears. He hears his name on the angel’s breath, but it escapes him the moment he grasps for it. Then Crowley blinks.
The chair is empty.
Paisley is gone, long since given up on Crowley’s bizarre tittering.
The corners of Crowley’s mouth pull ever downward.
“Ms. Crowley?”
Though it is like ripping his eyes away from the birth of a star, Aziraphale’s demon turns himself from his love once more.
#crowley#aziraphale#goodomensseason2#good omens#aziracrow#ineffable spouses#ineffable husbands#aziraphale/crowley#aziraphale x crowley#angst no comfort#aziraphale's bookshop#muriel#niel gaiman#aziracrow fanfiction#fanfiction#trustmeimtheauthor
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youtube
self promooo
this has been sitting in my WIPs for a little over a month now and the new GO poster motivated me to finish it soooo here u gooo!
#manifesting muriel comforting a drunk crowley venting about azi for s2#good omens#good omens animatic#good omens season 2#ineffable husbands#aziraphale#crowley#anthony j crowley#azicrow#aziracrow#Youtube
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If they give Aziraphale a light gray suit instead of his usual beige one next season I am going to flip my shit
#but also i'm gonna love it#just#all the angels we've seen wear light gray clothes#which feel both very cold and emotionless#Except#for aziraphale and muriel#aziraphale always has his beige clothes which are lovely and feel a lot warmer and more comforting#and muriel has avery light beige which also feels a lot nicer and sweeter than the gray#also muriel is the only angel who wears full on white at some point i think (if we exclude aziraphale and crowley from before the beginning#white which i thought a lot of angels might be wearing because it stands for purity#but they don't#instead the angels we don't really like wear shades of gray whoch feels very cold and harsh#and the angels we do like wear beige#a color that in my opinion feels very soft and comforting#this is indeed something i think about a lot#so here take my pretty random not at all researched color analysis#(btw i have no clue how sandalphon fits in there because he wears a pretty dark beige and yeah idk)#so yeah this is why i will loose it if aziraphale wears gray next season#which is very likely gonna happen#lea's random thoughts#good omens#and people who know more about costumes and colors please don't come for me okay i was just explaining how i see it
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ayo first good omens fic!!
It had been 4 weeks, 3 days and 21 minutes since Aziraphale walked into that elevator.
Not that Crowley was counting.
Because he wasn’t.
pairing: crowley x aziraphale
word count: 1,798
rating: t
warnings: swearing
taglist under cut (lemme know if u want to be added or removed)
@thedragonemperess @blueskiesandstarrynights @genuine-possum @depressedtransguy @someguyiguess @thedrowningpoetofdionysus
#val writes#good omens#good omens s2#good omens 2#good omens 3#good omens speculation#good omens spoilers#aziraphale x crowley#aziraphale#crowley#muriel#they/them muriel#theyre in love#theyre also both idiots#fix it fic#fluff#hurt/comfort
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Js finished good omens 2 and i wld like to congratulate it for being the first show ever to let me experience scnd hand heart break.
#WHAT THE HELL#NO SPOILERS BUT WHAT THE HELL#i will be drawing for comfort.#js u wait until i hav free time from sch.#good omens s2#good omens 2#good omens#good omens s2 spoilers#go spoilers#good omens spoilers#if szn3 isnt a fix it fic whr they get back tgt im gg to cry#i wld also like to c single dad crowley keeping an eye on muriel while theyre manning the bookshop
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After almost a year of being away, Aziraphale returns from Heaven to tell Crowley about the looming Second Coming. After they make amends over several bottles of wine, the pair form a new Arrangement that will require the help from the people of Soho. It's just that the people of Soho aren't aware of this yet.
This will be a multi-chapter fic, the first three chapter are posted now. Not sure how many chapters and not sure how long it will take to write. Hell, maybe as long as it takes for a Season 3 to happen. I plan to update with two chapters at a time, and I will update the tags as I go along, as well as the rating from Mature, if it comes to that.
I haven't written a long fic in a while and I'm excited to do it again. If you enjoy, please leave kudos and please comment if you'd like to let me know what you think so far. I know not everyone leaves comments and that's fine! I enjoy reading them as they are quite motivating.
Thank you and I hope you like all the drama and romance about to come your way......oh yeah and Jesus 2.0.
#good omens#good omens season two#fan fiction#good omens fan fiction#ineffable husbands#ineffable divorcees#crowley#aziraphale#maggie x nina#muriel#aziraphale x crowley#beelzebub x gabriel#ineffable bureaucracy#rjomance#hurt/comfort#emotional hurt
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Spring Cleaning
RCReveal
Summary:
The Whicker Street friends are busy with spring cleaning in this post S3 speculation when something odd starts to happen to Eric and Muriel. Everyone comes together to help out and enjoy the beautiful spring day.
Work Text:
Nina sat in Maggie's record shop writing in her “Coffee journal” having entrusted Give me Coffee or Give me Death to Eric for the afternoon. Every now and then she'd look up at Maggie bustling about carrying crates of vinyl from place to place and reorganizing the displays while the vintage jukebox played through a refreshed playlist.
The shop bell jangled and Maggie called out warmly, “Hello Muriel! How are you today?” as the scrivener angel entered the record shop carrying two steaming mugs.
“I am doing very well and I am bringing you these drinks from Eric!” they eyed Nina a little nervously while maintaining a blinding smile.
Smiling back gently, Maggie exclaims, “Is that lavender?” as she reaches for her mug. Nina scowls and scribbles some more.
“This one is for you, Nina!” Muriel holds out the mug to Nina. “There are a combination of 37 different herbs, spices, and coffee varieties! All with a ‘spring’ theme.” Taking the mug warily from Muriel, Nina sniffs, and her face goes stony before she takes a sip, “Hhhhhrrrgg,” she swallows hard, “How did he make a coffee drink that tastes like a wet sheep field? I can taste the muddy wool. Eck!” She reaches desperately towards Maggie who hands over her lavender mint tea. Nina gulps desperately and sighs, “See, that's perfectly balanced and spring themed and he made it spot on, exact water temperature and everything for maximal extraction of the aromatics.” Muriel is watching everything wide eyed. Nina cocks her head to the side, “How come you're delivering these and not Eric?” she asks sharply.
“Oh! Because he says that when you tell him how you feel about the drinks he gets worried you'll discorporate him! “
Nina looked slightly aghast, “He works in my shop. I don't discorporate beings that work in my shop!”
Maggie puts in, “There was Sophie…”
“I didn't discorporate Sophie!”
“You did make her disappear from the whole neighborhood for nearly three months when you told her how you felt about her service. You can see where Eric might get some curious ideas…”
“I…wouldn't…why?! Oh, I have to brush my teeth. The mud aftertaste!” Nina looked desperately at Maggie who just pointed at the little washroom in back. Nina scrambles over to it and they hear water running. Nina calls back. “I'll go talk to him! Eww, eck!”
Muriel takes a little sip of the abandoned coffee drink, and makes a thoughtful face, before turning back to Maggie.
"Maggie, what's everyone doing?” Muriel asks curiously.
Maggie takes in the shop and what she can see of Whickber Street, replies, “How do you mean?”
Looking at the assorted crates all over the shop, Muriel says, “Well, you are moving the records from place to place and reorganizing the order of everything. Nina is making a new drinks list. Mr Brown put carpets with different colors in the front of the shop. Aziraphale cleaned his shop windows and he has gotten out a ladder and paint!” Muriel points along the shop front towards the door to A Z Fell and Co book shop.
“It's spring cleaning, Muriel. After being shut in all winter, people like to tidy up and change things around. I like to listen to different music in the springtime than I listen to in the wintertime, so I'm pulling out my favorite spring music. Want to help?”
“Oh yes! I would like to listen to ‘spring' music and reorganize the shop!” Muriel burbles happily, “Aziraphale doesn't like to move the books around very much at all,” Muriel confides as they pick up a crate and follow Maggie.
After a few rounds of toothpaste and urgent mouth wash gargling, Nina stalks out of Maggie's shop to reassure Eric that she's not going to discorporate him if she doesn't like his coffee offerings while Muriel and Maggie freshen up the record displays.
“OH!” Suddenly Muriel cries, and scrunches their face and shoulders.
“Are you alright, Muriel?” asks Maggie. “What happened?”
“I felt…in my back!” they try to point at their back, “I've never felt something like this!” Muriel shimmied their shoulders against their jacket. “It prickles? And I want to rub it with something rough? OH! It is really, very persistent!” Muriel is dancing on the spot.
“You have an itch on your back? Can't you reach it?” Maggie asks while Muriel tries desperately to reach their hands to the middle of their back between their shoulders.
“May I scratch it for you?” Maggie offers.
“Yes! Please!?” begs Muriel.
As soon as Maggie starts to scratch, Muriel relaxes and sighs contentedly. After a normal sort of time for a scratch as between friends, Maggie stops.
“Why did you stop!!!” Muriel barks at Maggie. “Oh! I'm so sorry,” Muriel apologizes hands to mouth to an astonished Maggie, ”It just itches so, so, BADLY !!!”
“O-kay.” Maggie starts scratching again, “Let's just go see Mr. Fell, shall we?” Muriel nods, and apparently will agree to anything if the scratching doesn't stop.
Mr. Fell is refreshing the paint on his sign wearing some sort of painter's smock over his usual dapper shirt and waistcoat while Crowley is fussing at him to hire someone to freshen up the shop sign while steadfastly holding the ladder and passing up tools and supplies.
“But I like doing it myself, Crowley, really I do! It reminds me of illuminating manuscripts!” Aziraphale beams while he carefully applies gold paint to the sign that he's been lovingly sanding and preparing.
“Crowley? Mr Fell? I think something is wrong with Muriel? Do you think you could pause for a bit?” Maggie asked.
Mr Fell looked down from the ladder, pot of paint and brush in hand to see Muriel's upturned face scrunching again, just before Maggie started scratching again.
“Oh you poor dear, I'll be right down!” Aziraphale caps his paint pot and wipes off the paint brush on a cloth before tucking the paintbrush above his ear and handing the pot towards Crowley. Who doesn't take it right away because he's watching Nina shepherd Eric towards them while Eric urgently scratches his back with two wooden spoons.
“Something’s wrong, “ Nina tells the group, “Eric snapped at me and he won't stop scratching his back. Fix him.”
Aziraphale asks Crowley, “Do you have your kit with you, dear?”
“S’actually in the Bentley. I have a few I'd hoped you'd help me with. Plus I'd noticed you might need a bit of help.” Aziraphale smiles tenderly at Crowley.
Aziraphale directs the others from up on the ladder, “Please take Muriel and Eric up to the rooftop. Crowley and I will be up directly,” Aziraphale dismounts the ladder and grasps Eric's shoulder, “Help is on the way! Off you go!” ushering Nina, Maggie, Muriel, and Eric into the bookshop.
“I'll meet you up top in fifteen, angel,” Crowley says, plucking the paintbrush out from behind Aziraphale's ear and handing it to him. “I'll just put away this ladder and grab my kit.”
On the rooftop the spring breeze teases at being as warm as the bright sunshine promises, which is why Eric and Muriel are shivering a bit in their undershirts, Nina and Maggie having checked the two’s backs for anything that might explain the terrible itch.
“Good thought, Nina, Maggie, but that's not the skin that's causing the problem,” Crowley sauntered over to them in his black racerback undershirt and black jeans. He snaps on the outside restaurant heater that sits like a lamppost in the middle of their group of chairs.
“Muriel, Eric,” Aziraphale calls, “Please let your wings out, so we can take a look,” Aziraphale follows behind Crowley, also, very uncharacteristically, in his undervest.
“Bu-but, won't the humans see us?” Eric asks.
“Nah,” Crowley works a little miracle, “they might see some pigeons, but those are dead common, right? Go ahead. ‘S alright,” Crowley encourages.
When they still stare at Crowley owl-eyed, Aziraphale says, “And it won't itch nearly as much,”
That does it. Suddenly great black wings lift behind Eric and white ones arch over Muriel.
“Why do their wings look moth-eaten?” Maggie asks, concerned. And indeed, swaths of feathers seem to be missing from both Muriel and Eric’s great wings.
“Oh, it's just a bit of spring molting! It’s more common in youngsters to have so many at the same time!” Aziraphale reassures. “Muriel, Eric, please sit down, my dears,”
“It's the pin feathers coming in, yah see?” Crowley points out patches of what look like sharp quills. Lifting Eric's feathers gently, Crowley points out the irritated skin around the new feathers, “They itch like the devil!” he says sitting behind Eric and unzipping a case. Eric's feathers puff up nervously at the sound.
“What’re you gonna do?” Eric asks anxiously, as his wings tuck in tight to his back and slick down, one kohl lined eye flashing too much white over his shoulder.
Looking kindly at the nervous demon, Aziraphale asks, “Crowley, would you please see to my tertiaries? I never seem to be able to reach…” he sits down and his great white wings blossom out of his back like cherry blossoms on fast forward.
In close to his back, the angel points out a few pin feathers, even touching them puts his arm at an awkward angle.
“May I have your feather oil, angel?” Crowley takes an antique atomizer from the angel and sprays it on the skin around the new feathers, Aziraphale hums happily while Crowley massages the oil in. Conversationally, Crowley points out a feather quill that's red. “That one's still growing. But, these two,” he starts to roll the chalky white quill between his fingers until it shatters and the feather underneath can unfurl, “are ready” he brushes away the remaining feather sheath dust. The second just loosens enough that Crowley can cautiously slip it off. Aziraphale says, “that one is always a bit sensitive, thank you, dear.”
“It's like my Nana’s parrot!” remarks Maggie brightly, “He gets so tetchy when his pin feathers come in where he can't reach. He really loves being preened, but he was nervous about it when we first got him,” she's studiously not looking at Eric.
Nina remarks, “I get how you can tell when Mr Fell's feathers are ready, but what about Crowley's? His feathers are black!”
“Crowley, your turn,” Aziraphale says standing.
Crowley unfurls long slender wings, feathers deep ebony black. “Is it the usual patch?” Aziraphale’s hands are already stroking through Crowley's feathers uncovering a patch of black-sheathed new growth. Crowley sighs and nods sagging onto the seat Aziraphale just left, the demon’s legs straddling it and arms wrapped tight around the back. The angel applies oil with an ancient metal oiling pump that makes a ‘tonk-tunk, tonk-tunk’ noise with every pump. “I have to be more careful with Crowley's feathers,” he explains.
“Ngk. That one's not ready, angel!” Crowley calls out hunching over the chair. Aziraphale immediately let's go and tries the next pin feather. Crowley relaxes again when the next feather is released. Reaching back, Crowley can just reach a few of the pin feathers.
“This one and this one. But NOT this one. Right?”
Aziraphale gently removes the itchy pin feather covering and avoids the blood feathers.
“This reminds me of when my mum would take my sisters and me to get our hair braided,” remarks Nina. “I'll be right back,” she says and heads for the stairs.
“Muriel, I used to help my Nana’s parrot with his pin feathers. May I help you?” Maggie asks.
“Thank you, Maggie, I would like that very much!” Smelling the different oils, they choose Crowley's and hand it to Maggie. “This one smells like cinnamon Altoids!” Aziraphale hides a chuckle when Crowley grumbles, “And other occult things…”
Muriel looks over at Eric who's still looking anxious. Sitting facing him, Muriel reaches out, “I'm a little nervous. Will you hold my hands?” Muriel asks. “I've never done this before. Have you?” Their warm almond eyes catching his black ones.
“Once,” he whispers, eyes shiny, crossing his arms and tucking his hands in his armpits. Aziraphale and Crowley exchange a glance. Crowley kneels in front of Eric, murmurs to him, “It won't be like that, like after the f-f-Fall. When every feather coming in itched, then burned, then ached, no matter what you did…” he stares off over the rooftops and Aziraphale grasps Crowley's shoulder. Crowley clears his throat, “Point out the ones that are just itching like mad. Those are the ones that are ready. Anything hurts, you sing out and we stop, instantly. Ok?” Crowley offers, but Eric looks away from them all, wings and skin shivering.
Aziraphale suggests, “Why don't you try one for yourself, Eric. You can reach these here.” Aziraphale points to the feathers further out to the tips of Eric’s wings. Eric reaches out tentatively, rolls the pin feather between his fingers until the covering breaks in his hand and an iridescent black feather emerges.
A huge grin spreads across Eric’s face and his shivering wings settle, “You weren’t havin’ me on!” He reaches out and disintegrates sheath after sheath.
Looking at Muriel, he says, “I need to do this myself for a little. ‘Kay?”
“Okay,” Muriel says tentatively, “but I really am a little nervous! It tickles!” Aziraphale looks at them kindly and comes over to grasp their hands while Maggie continues to work on Muriel’s feathers humming to herself.
“Refreshments!” calls Nina, arriving back on the rooftop with two large pitchers of coral-colored beverage and glasses on a tray. Filling the glasses she brings them around, “My grandmother used to make us this punch when my sisters and I would get our hair braided. It was our special treat, since it took hours to get the braids done,” she brought Aziraphale, Maggie, and Muriel glasses.
Walking over to Eric who is working on his own feathers, Nina says, “My sister’s scalp was so tender, the only thing that kept her going was the promise of hair braiding punch. I thought you’d like it, too.” Crowley accepts the punch and after tasting it says, “Refreshing, and the rum is nice too.”
Aziraphale swirls his, “Mine doesn’t have rum!”
“You don’t like rum. Yours has champagne in,” explains Nina.
“Oh!” Aziraphale says approvingly and takes another sip.
Maggie asks dubiously, “Your grandmother gave you this?”
“Well, Grandmother made the punch. My sister, Mary, started to put the alcohol in when we were older,” Nina explained.
Eric tastes his, smiles a small smile up at Nina, who says, “Gotta get my best barista sorted. Let me know if you need a refill, or a hand. Some stuff, you need a friend to help with, ok?”
Muriel stretches out their other wing, “Could you do the other wing? IT ITCHES SO BADLY I WANT TO SCREAM!” Nina heads over to Muriel and starts working on the pin feathers with Maggie, eliciting some relieved noises. But the scrivener just can’t stop squirming uncomfortably.
Eric, always on alert for potential discorporation, suddenly stops preening. Urgently, he says, “Crowley!!” and dives towards Nina.
“Uh-oh,” Crowley intones, but he’s already in mid-dive towards Maggie.
The demons encase their human friends in layers of black feathers just before Muriel stands, hands clenched and screams in a voice that's become a chorus that covers at least five octaves,
“MAKE IT STOP !!!!!”
Aziraphale just has time to deflect the scream up into the heavens within a sweep of his white wings.
“My!” Aziraphale takes a deep steadying breath, “Muriel, I hadn’t thought of getting rid of all the pin-feathers at the same time like that, my dear!” placing a guiding hand on Muriel’s shoulder to help them sit back down. “Crowley, Eric, you can let Nina and Maggie up now.” Muriel is halfway down a pitcher of punch when Aziraphale turns back to the young scrivener. “And that will be enough of that!” he plucks the pitcher out of their hands.
“It doesn’t itch anymore,” Muriel smiles at everyone, a little dazed. Then swaying slightly, they say, “That punch made me tired.” They yawn and plop over on a lounger, snoring gently like a toddler who's just succumbed to nap time.
Emerging from a cocoon of Eric's black feathers, Nina leans over and bumps Eric’s shoulder with hers before he can slip away, “Eric, that was quick thinking. Thanks for looking out for me and Maggie. Again. You don’t need to be so nervous around me! I’m not going to discorporate you for making coffee that tastes like a sheep field! That was genius! Disgusting, but genius!”
Maggie has popped her head out from between Crowley’s wings, unfazed. Smiling sweetly, she pecks him on the cheek, “Thanks, Crowley!” and practically skips off to insert herself to bump Eric’s other shoulder.
“That was really nice of you to think of us, again! You do such a good job at both of our shops! Really, we only wanted to discorporate you when you were attacking the Bookshop with the other demons! Not now! You’re our friend!”
“Oh. Yeah. That makes sense.” Eric says ducking his head.
Crowley hand to his cheek muses, “We bise ?” before shaking himself and joining Aziraphale to try and assess what just happened to their little part of London with Muriel’s itchy outburst.
“I can’t sense anything wrong, angel. You?” Crowley shrugs.
“Nor I, but,” Aziraphale stretches a wing and runs his hand over it, “I think Muriel took care of all my preening for a bit. You?”
Crowley stretches his wings for Aziraphale’s inspection, purring a little when the angel scratches the place where the wing meets his back.
“Not a feather out of place, my dear,” remarks the angel.
Nina glances up from where she’s been deep in discussion about what exactly Eric had done to create his “sheep field of spring” coffee. “Eric, what about you? Are you still itchy?”
Maggie asks, “May we help if you still have an itchy spot?”
Eric stretches his wings again and Maggie catches her breath, clasping her hands to resist the temptation to touch his iridescent black feathers, “Oh, they’re lovely, Eric!” Maggie exclaims.
“Huh, they don’t itch and it dint hurt to preen them,” he shakes the feathers back into shape and then his wings fold themselves away into whatever place they exist parallel to this world.
“They’re kindov a lot,” he says a bit self-consciously.
Nina presses her lips together in a line, “Eric, I'm going to tell you what I told my nephew, Jaime. You're not too much. Not to me.”
“Not to us,” Maggie puts in.
Nina looks meaningfully at Crowley, who sagely contributes, “Huh?”
Aziraphale stepped in smoothly and said, “You're welcome to come up here whenever you like to stretch out." Looking over at Muriel, he chuckles and adds, “Or nap.”
“Come on!” Crowley challenges, “You haven't lived til you've lounged about in the spring sunshine with your wings out!” Crowley picks up a glass of punch again and raises the glass to the company, “You should try it, Eric.”
“Could you make a coffee that tastes like the feel of spring sunshine on your shoulders and the wind in your wings?” asks Maggie, “I’d love that,” she reaches out her arms and raises her face to the sunshine.
With the ghost of a mischievous smile, Eric unfurls his wings again, “Gotta do some research, before I make that sortov drink,” he swipes the pitcher of rum-fortified punch out from under Crowley's questing grasp and refills his own glass to Crowley's amused snort.
Affecting a serious tone, Aziraphale toasts, “To research!”
The group, except for the slumbering Muriel, who got a jump on napping in spring sunshine, raise their glasses, “Research!” then mostly break off into chuckles as they skive off to enjoy the spring day, spring cleaning forgotten.
#good omens fanfic#neil gaiman#fluff and humor#ineffable husbands#protective aziraphale#protective crowley#crowley loves aziraphale#aziraphale loves crowley#aziraphale & crowley & eric & maggie & muriel & nina#friendship#fluff#post season3#maggie & nina#short one shot#mild hurt/comfort#ineffable idiots
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The fact that Good Omens S2 was SO QUEER.
Not Just Maggie and Nina (and Lindsey)
Not just Aziraphale and Crowley
Not even just Gabriel and Beelzebub (who is NB)
But the magician shopkeeper and his trans/NB spouse who wore a fancy early 19th century dress to the ball.
Job's son who was flirting with Aziraphale (hilariously played by Ty Tennant giving Michael Sheen heart eyes in front of his dad lmao)
Even the tough macho man in Scotland that Aziraphale borrows the phone from - using it for "Grindr".
Plus of course Michael, Uriel, Muriel, and Dagon also all being non binary/gender queer characters.
With all this, there was no homophobia, no one batted an eyelid at any characters sexualities, sexuality wasn't even brought up, characters just are who they are and like who they like. Its a non issue in the GO universe.
AKA my favourite type of queer representation. The same type found in The Sandman (show not comic).
And whilst there was plenty of drama and not everyone gets a happy queer ending (YET) there was no queer trauma to be seen. No hate crimes, no "bury your gays", no stupid discussions about how HARD it is to be out of the closet in a bigoted world, because the GO world isn't bigoted.
Its SUCH a BREATH OF FRESH AIR.
I know we have similar experiences in The Sandman, In OFMD, and even in WWDITS, but each time a new show takes this very new approach towards queer representation I feel like I'm once again sinking into a comforting hug from someone I love, who loves me back.
Its just really fucking wonderful to see. I hope we keep seeing it more and more often.
#good omens#good omens season 2 spoilers#good omens season 2#good omens s2 spoilers#gos2#gos2 spoilers#ineffable husbands#ineffable beurocracy#maggie x nina#queer representation#representation matters#lgbtg#lgbtq representation#neil gaiman
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On Crowley, memory, and identity.
So full disclosure first, I am not someone who is particularly interested in having Crowley's angel name on screen - personally I rather like the idea of never having an answer to this question - but I also do think it's interesting and fun to speculate and we got quite a few hints at this throughout this season soooo
Obviously part of this is that we meet him. The angel that would become Crowley is the first person on screen this season. We confirm a lot about him here. He confirm that he is powerful enough to start the engine of the universe. We confirm that he can control gravity and time and space and light. We confirm that he is the being that says let there be light before the beginning. We also confirm that he consulted with the concept designer of the universe and that he's very comfortable with the idea of questioning authority. We are also given Aziraphale's anxiety as a contrast to this and as proof that that is not a universal trait for early angels.
Now, we have always had evidence that Crowley is powerful. He's done some things that seem impossibly big. He stops time very casually and seemingly without effort - even at the end of season 1 it doesn't even seem to give us the same strain on him that holding the Bentley together does. This is a thing that we only ever see Crowley do and notably a thing that you would think other beings would mess with to their advantage if it was possible. Which means they either literally can't or that it never occurred to them that they could. Or as is becoming increasingly clear: perhaps it's a bit of both.
But that's not the only implication of power we get in season 1 either. We get Crowley seemingly in tune with the universe in a way many angels and demons aren't. Which, makes some sense if he helped make it. This manifests in all sorts of ways. He's constantly aware of Aziraphale's presence. He can smell when the world state changes like when Adam names Dog. He holds the Bentley together through utter destruction. He notices that there are different books in the bookshop - something I always assumed was meant to convey he was familiar with the shop's contents but after learning he didn't even know Jane Austen was a writer I wonder if it's actually more to do with him being in tune with reality. He also can apparently quite literally feel when there are eyes on them.
We're given even more of all these things this season in some really interesting ways. Crowley literally tests the air to check if a miracle has happened - another thing that we don't see anyone else do despite Heaven literally assigning someone to Aziraphale to check for a specific miracle. This particular beat is also something we are shown twice this season. Both here and in 1941, when Furfur uses the miracle blocker on Aziraphale. Here Crowley tests his miracles and despite getting nothing of the sort when Aziraphale tries a miracle literally the beat before this, we are given both a visual and an auditory effect. It ripples out with a watery sound effect from Crowley's finger. It's like he's prodding at reality.
There's also several instances involving the recognition or lack thereof of angels and demons. Crowley feels that the demon army is arriving before it does. Neither side seems to be able to track Gabriel - one of the most powerful beings in existence - at all once he leaves Heaven. We also see countless angels fail to notice Crowley himself both as Bildad the Shuhite performing literal miracles right in front of them. And this happens again as he prances about Heaven after Muriel. Aziraphale can't tell Shax is a demon despite Crowley recognizing she's manifested behind him nearly as soon as he answers the phone. Aziraphale can't even recognize that he himself is still an angel at the end of the Job story.
He also. Quite literally. Brings someone back from the dead???? Like waves a hand casually on the street and reconstitutes Mr. Brown like he'd never been dead at all. Mr. Brown returns with no memory of what happened to him holding a newspaper that seems to have literal bite chunks coming out of it. It's not framed as a huge miracle or anything strenuous either - just a casual snap.
And that's not even getting into the parallels with Gabriel. First of all. We get the color purple. It's purple when Aziraphale and angel that would become Crowley start the engine of the quadrants of the universe and it's purple when they miracle to hide Gabriel. This color is associated with power and, historically in the language of this show, with Gabriel himself. Them using it together twice speaks a lot to the power they have together.
But that's not the only symbolism historically tied to Gabriel that has found its way to Crowley this season either. Most flashy of all is the lightning. This is how we see Gabriel arrive on earth at the end of season one and it is something Crowley apparently just Does when he gets too mad to contain himself.
This alone wouldn't catch my attention except. Except the way Crowley reacts to Gabriel's memory problems is... interesting to say the least. He's angry and understandably so. Part of this is him being mad and protective of Aziraphale - he says as much himself to Jim directly. And yet, weirdly, it's the kind of mad that reminded me of something else.
This is the mad he tends to gets at his plants. Do it properly. Think hard. You can do better than that. Grow better. It's the kind of angry that's steeped in projection. It's he kind of angry that is undercut with the occasional weird undercurrent of understanding. And so much of his dialogue with Jim around this is framed like he does actually understand. Jim says it hurts and he says he knows. Jim starts talking about it feeling like being an empty house that still remembers where the furniture is and Crowley immediately latches onto this and understands ah it's looking at where the furniture isn't.
And there's a few other conversations that center around this issue that I find really interesting from a projection perspective. There's the conversation that happens when Crowley goes to have an alcohol fueled chat with Jim. He says "You're Jim now. Got everything just the way you wanted?" This doesn't make a whole lot of sense for him to be addressing Gabriel with. As far as he knows all Gabriel would want was the end of the world.
And then there's the particular way he asks Jim to eliminate himself in this scene. Climb out the window. In other words, have a fall. Something he pretty immediately retracts and clearly feels guilty about no matter how much he hates Gabriel.
And then there's the first conversation he gets to have after learning about Gabriel. Crowley opens this conversation, thinking out loud. He's staring out, not talking to Az yet and the very first thing out of his mouth is, of all things: "He's going to be okay." A weird start for a statement about Gabriel in itself but then Crowley goes and adds what at it's core is his own trauma narrative to the end with, "We can just take him somewhere and leave him there."
Now the real fun bit: Crowley also has memory issues that are out very prominently on display even as far back as season 1.
He has inconsistent memories of his Fall. The answers he gives us to why he Fell change slightly - even when he's alone with himself. He doesn't seem to understand why exactly he Fell even though he clearly has some vague idea of the pieces in play. I always thought to some degree that this was just a trauma response, but season 2 drew even more attention to this and now that we know that memory alteration is how Heaven handles powerful angels I can't help but to wonder if there's more in play here.
Crowley can't remember Furfur - who he apparently literally fought next to during the war in Heaven. Crowley can't remember building a nebula with Saraqael. Crowley doesn't remember why they decided gravity was a good idea.
But he does remember bits and pieces here and there. He remembers doing some of the starmaking. He remembers how to access clearance locked files. He's missing pieces and also seems to have an understanding that Gabriel's memories ARE in there. Almost like he's done this work on himself before.
This narrative itself is also far more concerned with the angel Crowley was this time around. It teases his rank a few different times. Most notably is him having access the files only available to Dominions and above.
Now angel hierarchy is a bit of a messy area depending on what sources you're using but given Good Omens tendencies in the past we can assume that this leaves us five ranks. Dominion, Throne, Cherub, Seraph, and Archangel.
I might break down why I think Dominion, Throne, and Cherub feel kind of odd to me later if there's interest - now available here - in that but given the current length of this meta I just want to focus on that last one for now.
Crowley was an Archangel is far from a new theory and I've honestly historically had some fairly mixed feelings about it. But the parallels between Jim and Crowley lend some interesting connective tissue to a lot of those theories. And. There's also some interesting camera work and script writing tied to Crowley and that term outside of the scenes about Gabriel's memories specifically.
Firstly, during Crowley's chat with Beelzebub he says it's a big universe with plenty of places for an archangel to hide. Like Alpha Centauri perhaps?
Then we get Aziraphale and Crowley both presenting Hell and Heaven respectively the idea that it could have been them that did the archangel class miracle. Aziraphale gets scoffed at and yet. Shax is the one who says the miracle was archangel level and Crowley's response is "how do you know I didn't do it?"
Then later as she's prowling about the shop we get this interesting shot of Crowley in the doorframe and Jim in the background. Crowley grins and offers to let Shax look in and see if she can see any archangels in there while he's framed dead center and Jim himself is blurry in the back of the frame.
And most fascinating in my opinion is this shot that happens when Crowley and Muriel are accessing the classified files. Nearly every shot in this sequence is group shots or shots of Gabriel. The camera is focused in the plot and the way the archangels function as a group and on Gabriel himself. But we get one single shot in this entire sequence of Crowley by himself and it is immediately following Gabriel saying "I am the only first order archangel in the room - or, well, the universe."
And then in the end. We get the Metatron who goes out of his way to avoid using Crowley's name. He calls him demon (and insists correctly that Crowley would recognize him even when Michael doesn't) or refers to him as Aziraphale's friend. He only ever uses that name when trying to use him as a bribe for Aziraphale. That combined with the dark look he gives Crowley implies a familiarity that only the Metatron has with him.
So who is he then? There's plenty of old meta out there about why certain archangels fit or don't and I won't reiterate them here. They're interesting and definitely worth poking around at and very fun to read! Personally I'm not as interested in naming the someone he used to be as I am in examining the places that ghost of this angel has started to poke through the narrative so I'll end this here. It's spiralled into something far longer than I ever meant it to be anyway.
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Becoming Real
Recently Good Omens Prime Twitter account posted a BTS photo of Aziraphale and Furfur and it started the gears in my head turning, trying to parse it. It's only just now that it finally coalesced into a proper thought.
I kept thinking Aziraphale reminded me of something, especially when compared to the other angels. Look at him next to pre-Jim Gabriel, Uriel, Michael... heck, even Furfur, who he's standing next to right now.
Furfur is a demon, but his outfit is impeccable, it's sleek and stylish. The angel's suits in heaven are all pressed and flawless and New.
But not Aziraphale. He's dressed in old human clothes, his waistcoat is worn and tattered and long-loved. Aziraphale is, as Michael put it, like an old sofa. Worn and comfortable. He could choose to look basically however he wants, but instead he chooses to clothe himself in actual human clothes, to eat human food, to enjoy human entertainment - books, music, plays, etc. He does this despite the fact that it actively makes the other angels dislike him and find him unpalatable.
And that's what stuck out to me. Because unlike those other angels and demons, Aziraphale doesn't feel distant from humanity. He might be odd or eccentric to humans, but they don't question his humanity. He doesn't stand out to them in the way that the other angels do when they show up.
It occurred to me that this is because unlike the other angels... Aziraphale is Real.
Have you ever read The Velveteen Rabbit? There's a scene in it where they talk about what it means to be Real:
This made me think of Aziraphale. About how the other angels are these pristine things, kept aloof from the world, and then there's Aziraphale, who is worn and shabby, who's lived on earth for millennia among the humans. He's loved and learned and experienced what being human is like and because of that he's Real in a way that the other angels aren't. Humans have personhood, a sense of agency, a sense of self. Angels and demons have only the divine plan, as Beelzebub and Gabriel noted, that's all they live for "if you can call it living".
But what strikes me the most is how potentially devastating Aziraphale's Realness will be to Heaven. They only succeed at keeping angels in line because they're undistracted from the Great Plan. We see how Gabriel - as Jim - takes to cocoa after trying it. We see how quickly Muriel becomes fascinated with books.
Now consider that this is the angel they're putting in charge of Heaven. This worn, shabby, old sofa of an angel who has an endless well of love, for Crowley, for the world and the humans in it. He doesn't seem dangerous in the slightest. He seems Fragile.
But he is dangerous. So very dangerous.
But it's not because he's a guardian, not because he's a warrior, not because he's the Angel of the Eastern Gate who leads a battalion and was issued a flaming sword. He gave all of that away and it's worth noting that this is the first actual choice we see him make in the show, the thing that sets him apart in Crowley's eyes, and it wasn't even Crowley's doing! Aziraphale made a choice to give the mortals his sword out of compassion and it is a sense of compassion we don't see from the other angels.
His deviations all stem from that initial act. It takes him from being this two-dimensional cardboard entity existing only as part of the Divine Plan and set him on the path to actual Personhood.
It doesn't happen right away, of course, because as the Skin Horse says:
"It doesn't happen all at once. You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But those things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand."
And doesn't that sum up Aziraphale? He's shabby and worn and he's beautiful to the people who understand and appreciate that being Real means being imperfect, and that every imperfection is still beautiful.
No wonder the angels mock his corporation, his flaws, all the things he enjoys that make him less than what they think he should be. We see evidence over and over that Aziraphale is essentially "ugly" to them. But that's because they don't understand.
Aziraphale's Realness, his personhood, what Crowley has helped nurture from the Wall of Eden all the way to that last desperate kiss, is what really matters. Good Omens has always been about People being fundamentally People. It's the underlying current that ties everything together, for good or for ill. People have agency. People have self-actualization. People have the ability to make their own choices, for good or for evil.
And now Aziraphale has that too.
That's the very real danger he presents to heaven.
Because we've already seen that any angel, given sufficient time and interaction with humans could be like Aziraphale. All it takes is one small opening, one bite from the apple. Whether deliberately or not, Crowley tempted Aziraphale into every step, the way he tempted Eve in the garden. He gave Aziraphale the knowledge of Right and Wrong, presented him with the option, the way he did with humanity. Were they even really human before Crowley? Did he give them free will? His actions cast them out of paradise, but did it ultimately set them free? Has he struggled for millennia to do the same for the angel he's loved so well and for so long?
Does Crowley know how horribly, wonderfully well he succeeded?
Bringing Aziraphale back to Heaven, putting him in charge, was the absolute worst thing the Metatron could have done for keeping the status quo and it's not because of Aziraphale's fighting prowess. It's because of the small Human acts of kindness and pettiness that Aziraphale is capable of. That's not going to go away when he's in Heaven. It's going to spread. He's going to infect Heaven with Humanity. It's going to be so slow and gradual that they won't see it coming until it's far too late.
It's not going to be the way that Aziraphale intends to change Heaven and yet, it will surely ultimately be what really makes a difference.
I wonder too, if maybe that's some subconscious part of it. After seeing Gabriel change, seeing Muriel change, I wonder if there's not some part of Aziraphale that realizes that Heaven is a miserable place that makes miserable people. He'll extend compassion to them that they don't deserve and don't know they're missing and he'll surely go on with whatever his own Plan - with a capital P, of course - is and he won't even realize what he's actually done.
And then, like the ending of S1, like the ending of S2, the ultimate deciding factor will not be who is the best warrior, who is the strongest. It will be about the Human element.
Metatron thought he could control Aziraphale, bring him in line by bringing him back to Heaven. He wants to take away the human element of Aziraphale and shove him back into that Obedient Little Angel shaped mold and he doesn't realize it's not possible anymore. Aziraphale's grown. He'll never fit, he'll never be that again. There is no going back anymore.
As the Skin Horse says: "Once you are Real, you can't become unreal again. It lasts for always."
And Real things, things with depth and purpose and will, are impossible to ever truly control.
#Good Omens#Aziraphale#good omens meta#good omens s2#crowley#crowley x arizaphale#Analysis#the velveteen rabbit#what it means to be Real
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This is what happens when you're raised by TV and trained in literary analysis
Beyond the crushing heartbreak of that finale, one thing in particular has stuck with me when I look at it in the context of S2 as a whole.
He lays out their relationship, "We're a team, a group. A group of the two of us. And we've spent our existence pretending that we aren't."
He then turns his head away and says, "I mean, the last few years, not really."
He pauses here, facing the interior of the bookshop. Really looks it up and down.
Turns back, "And I would like to spend" before choking on his words and looks toward the window. He can't finish saying something like "And I would like to spend eternity with you" because that's too much, too fast, for both of them.
But it's that "last few years" bit that has firmly lodged itself in my very broken brain.
According to Gaiman, it's been "a few years" since the end of Season 1. Armageddon has been averted. Heaven and Hell have reluctantly retreated. Crowley and Aziraphale have been effectively cut loose from their "sides," leaving them to form their own side.
So at the start of Season 2, we get a glimpse of the “fragile existence” they have carved out for themselves. To me, the biggest difference that we see is how they exist together in front of others. Going to the coffee shop, the pub, and the other shops along the street that Aziraphale has lived on for over 200 years. And don’t forget how they act in front of Nina, Maggie, and sweet, dim Muriel.
At the coffee shop, Aziraphale stammers a bit when Nina asks who Crowley is, but he still seems to have affection in his voice when he says, "We go back a long time."
Compared to Shakespearian "He's not my friend! We've never met before. We don't know each other!" panic, this is an incredible difference.
Of course, each time, Crowley is cool and cheeky and does nothing to indicate that they aren't a pair. Though, of course, he does deny it when Nina asks about Aziraphale being his side piece. “He’s not my bit on the side! He’s far too pure of heart to be anyone’s bit on the side.” And refers to him as an “Angel [swallows]I know.”
When they go the pub, Crowley's joy at doing something together in public that they do not normally do is super cute, including his cheeky order for Aziraphale's sherry. Then, when bringing the drinks over to the socially trapped Aziraphale, he greets Mr. Brown with a truly adorable, "Hello" and a signature DT smile. Then upon hearing how “excited” Mr. Fell is to host the meeting, he looks down and says, “Oh? You astonish me.” while Aziraphale sips his sherry and squirms.
We also watch as Crowley follows Aziraphale as he goes to each shop and talks to the owners about the meeting/secret ball. In theory, Crowley has no reason to tag along, and he certainly doesn’t help sway anyone who doesn’t want to/can’t go. He goofs around at the magic shop. He splays out on the bench, chin on hand, looking for all the world a husband waiting for his wife to pick out a dress at the department store. They are so married it’s ridiculous.
Finally, their behavior in front of Muriel while inside their sanctuary. Crowley sits on the arm of Aziraphale’s chair, somehow looking supremely comfortable on the old-fashioned furniture. He folds up those gloriously long limbs and presses himself as close as possible.
He smiles and plays along with Aziraphale’s coaching of Muriel in her disguise. Calls him Angel and asks to speak in private. And at the end, during the awful wait while Aziraphale talks with The Metatron, Crowley cleans up the shop and tells Muriel that he and Aziraphale will need some “us” time after all this. No beating around the bush.
Without oversight, they can be openly together and happy. But Heaven just can’t let that happen.
#good omens#good omens 2#crowley x aziraphale#crowley#aziraphale#aziracrow#ineffable husbands#david tennant#michael sheen#ineffable divorce#thank you for coming to my ted talk#putting my useless degree to “good” use#I'm not overly invested in these two at all#why can't we have nice things#heaven and hell are toxic af#come on aziraphale#crowley doesn't need to be an angel again#just love him as he is away from that nonsense#good omens meta#The last few years
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Putting the Meta in "Metatron"
(couldn't resist the pun, sorry)
Ok, this has been tickling my brain for a while. I've been thinking about how The Metatron designed his role and discourse specifically to manipulate Aziraphale into the end result we saw in the last minutes of S2. I become obsessed with it because… well, I'm a bit obsessive, but also because there were many really smart writing decisions that I loved (even when I despise The Metatron exactly for the same reasons. Hate the character, love the writer). If you haven't watched Good Omens Season 2, this is the moment to stop reading. Come back later!
We already know that in Book Omens, the role of Gabriel in the ending was occupied by The Metatron. Of course, the series introduced us to Gabriel and we won a lot by that, but I feel that the origins of The Metatron should be considered for any of this. He is not a "sweet old man": he was the one in charge of seeing over the operation of Armageddon; not just a stickler of rules, but the main promoter for it.
However, when he appears in the series finale, we first are primed to almost pass him by. He is in the line for buying coffee, using clothes that are:
obviously not tailored (almost ill fitted)
in dark tones
looking worn and wrinkled
This seems so important to me! All the angels we have seen are so proud of their aspect, wear clear (white or off white) clothes, pressed, impeccable (even Muriel), even when they visit the Earth (which we have already seen on S1 with all the visits to the bookshop). The Metatron chose a worn, comfortable attire, instead. This is a humanized look, something that fools all the angels but which would warm up someone very specific, can you guess?
After making quite a complicated coffee order (with sort of an affable and nervous energy), he makes a question that Crowley had already primed for us when asking Nina about the name of the coffee: having a "predictable" alternative and an unpredictable one.
This creates an interesting parallel with the next scene: Michael is discussing the possibility of erasing Aziraphale from The Book of Life (a punishment even worse than Holy Water on demons, because not having existed at all, EVER is definitely worse than having existed and ceased to exist at some point) when The Metatron arrives, interrupts the moment and signals having brought coffee. Yup, an amicable gesture, but also a "not death" offering that he shows clearly to everyone (even when Michael or Uriel do not understand or care for it. It wasn't meant for them). He even dismisses what Michael was saying as "utter balderdash" and a "complete piffle", which are the kind of outdated terms we have heard Aziraphale use commonly. So, The Metatron has put up this show for a specific audience of one.
The next moment on the script has Metatron asking Crowley for the clarification of his identity. Up to this moment, every angel has been ignoring the sprawled demon in the corner while discussing how to punish Aziraphale… But The Metatron defers to the most unlikely person in the room, and the only one who will push any buttons on Aziraphale: Crowley. After that, Aziraphale can recognize him, and Metatron dismisses the "bad angels" (using Aziraphale's S1 epithet) with another "catchy old phrase", "spit spot", while keeping Muriel at the back and implying that there is a possibility to "check after" if those "bad angels" have done anything wrong.
Up to this moment, he has played it perfectly. The only moment when he loses it is when he calls Muriel "the dim one", which she ignores… probably because that's the usual way they get talked to in Heaven. I'm not sure if Aziraphale or Crowley cared for that small interaction, but it is there for us (the audience) to notice it: the sympathy the character might elicit is built and sought, but he is not that nice.
After that, comes "the chinwag" and the offer of the coffee: the unnecessarily complicated order. It is not Aziraphale's cup of tea (literally), but it is so specific that it creates some semblance of being thought with care, and has a "hefty jigger" of syrup (again with the funny old words). And, as Aziraphale recognizes, it is "very nice!" (as The Metatron "jolly hoped so"), and The Metatron approves of him drinking it by admitting he has "ingested things in my time, you know?". This interaction is absolutely designed to build a bridge of understanding. The Metatron probably knew that the first response he would get was a "no", so he tailored his connection specifically to "mirror" Aziraphale: love of tasty human treats he has also consumed, funny old words like the ones he loves, a very human, worn, well-loved look. That was the bait for "the stroll": the moment when Aziraphale and Crowley get separated, because The Metatron knew that being close to Crowley, Aziraphale would have an hypervigilant soundboard to check the sense of what he was going to get offered. That's what the nasty look The Metatron gives to Crowley while leaving the bookshop builds (and it gets pinpointed by the music, if you were about to miss it).
The next thing we listen from The Metatron is "You don't have to answer immediately, take all the time you need" in such a friendly manner… we can see Aziraphale doubting a little, and then comes the suggestion: "go and tell your friend the good news!". This sounds like encouragement, but is "the reel". He already knows how Crowley would react, and is expecting it (we can infer it by his final reaction after going back for Aziraphale after the break up, but let's not get ahead of ourselves shall we?). He even can work up Muriel to take care of the bookshop while waiting for the catch.
What did he planted in Aziraphale's mind? Well, let's listen to the story he has to tell:
"I don't think he's as bad a fellow… I might have misjudged him!" — not strange in Aziraphale to have such a generous spirit while judging people. He's in a… partnership? relationship? somethingship? with a demon! So maybe first impressions aren't that reliable anyway. The Metatron made an excellent job with this, too.
"Michael was not the obvious candidate, it was me!" — This idea is interesting. Michael has been the stickler, the rule follower, even the snitch. They have been rewarded and recognized by that. Putting Aziraphale before Michael in the line of succession is a way of recognizing not only him, but his system of values, which has always been at odds with the main archangels (even when it was never an open fight).
"Leader, honest, don't tell people what they want to hear" — All these are generic compliments. The Metatron hasn't been that aware of Aziraphale, but are in line with what would have been said of any "rebel leader". They come into context with the next phrase.
"That's why Gabriel came to you, I imagine…" — I'm pretty sure The Metatron didn't imagine this, ha. He is probably imagining that the "institutional problem" is coalescing behind his back, and trying to keep friends close, but enemies closer… while dividing and conquering. If Gabriel rebelled, and then went searching for Aziraphale (and Crowley, they are and item and he knows it), that might mean a true risk for his status quo and future plans.
Heaven has great plans and important projects for you — this is to sweeten the pot: the hefty jigger of almond syrup. You will be able to make changes! You can make a difference from the inside! Working for an old man who feels strangely familiar! And who recognizes your point of view! That sounds like the best job offer of the world, really.
Those, however, are not the main messages (they are still building good will with Aziraphale); they are thought out to build the last, and more important one:
Heaven is well aware of your "de facto partnership" with Crowley…
It would be considered irregular if you wanted to work with him again…
You, and you alone, can bring him to Heaven and restore his full angelic status, so you could keep working together (in very important projects).
Here is the catch. He brought the coffee so he could "offer him coffee", but the implications are quite clear: if you want to continue having a partnership with Crowley, you two must come to Heaven. Anything else would be considered irregular, put them in a worst risk, and maybe, just maybe, make them "institutional enemies". Heaven is more efficient chasing enemies, and they have The Book of Life as a menace.
We already know how scared Aziraphale has always been about upsetting Heaven, but he has learned to "disconnect" from it through the usual "they don't notice". The Metatron came to tell him "I did notice, and it has come back to bite you". The implied counterpart to the offer is "you can always get death". Or even worse, nonexistence (we have already imagined the angst of having one of them condemned to that fate, haven't we?)
When The Metatron arrives, just after seeing Crowley leave the bookshop, distraught, he casually asks "How did he take it?", but he already knows. That was his plan all along: making them break up with an offer Aziraphale could not refuse, but Crowley could not accept. That's why he even takes the license to slightly badmouth Crowley: "Always did want to go his own way, always asking damn fool questions, too". He also arrive with the solution to the only objection Aziraphale would have: Muriel, the happy innocent angel that he received with so much warmth and kindness, is given the opportunity to stay on Earth, taking care of the bookshop. The only thing he would have liked to take with him is not a thing, and has become impossible.
If God is playing poker in a dark room and always smiling, The Metatron is playing chess, and he is quite good at it (that's why he loves everything to be predictable). He is menacing our pieces, and broke our hearts in the process… But I'm pretty sure he is underestimating his opponents. His awful remark of Muriel being "dim"; saying that Crowley "asks damn fool questions", and even believing that Aziraphale is just a softie that can be played like a pipe… That's why telling him the project is "The Second Coming" was an absolute gift for us as an audience, and it prefigures the downfall that is coming — the one Aziraphale, now with nothing to lose, started cooking in his head during that elevator ride (those couple of minutes that Michael Sheen gifted to all of us: the shock, the pain, the fury, and that grin in the end, with the eyes in a completely different emotion). Remember that Aziraphale is intelligent, but also fierce. Guildernstern commited a similar mistake in Hamlet, and it didn't go well:
"Why, look you now, how unworthy a thing you make of me! You would play upon me, you would seem to know my stops, you would pluck out the heart of my mystery, you would sound me from my lowest note to the top of my compass, and there is much music, excellent voice, in this little organ, yet cannot you make it speak. 'Sblood, do you think I am easier to be played on than a pipe? Call me what instrument you will, though you can fret me, you cannot play upon me."
I'm so excited to learn how this is going to unfold!! Because our heroes have always been very enthusiastic at creating plans together, failed miserably at executing them, and even then succeeding… But now they are apart, more frustrated and the stakes are even higher. Excellent scenario for a third act!
*exits, pursued by a bear*
#good omens#good omens 2#good omens meta#good omens spoilers#aziraphale#ineffable spouses#ineffable divorce#narrative analysis#character analysis#the metatron#and a casual Hamlet quote#just because I love Hamlet
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