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avocado-writing · 8 months

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notes: this turned into a much longer, story-based fic lol. cw for depression. not mentioned: you & aziraphale building a little sandcastle while crowley drinks a margarita. also crowley switches to fem presenting in this fic

pairing: crowley x gn!reader x aziraphale

words: 2.1k

rating: E (smut at the end, minors dni)

Crowley, there’s a problem. Come over as soon as you can. - Aziraphale

Angel, you don’t need to sign your texts off. I know it’s you.

Usually when he gets these messages it’s because Aziraphale has run out of milk, or there’s a spider in the bookshop. So Crowley doesn’t worry. That’s until he actually turns up and finds Aziraphale staring at the CD rack you put up in the back room, arms crossed and brow furrowed.

“The Tracy Chapman album is gone,” Aziraphale sighs. Crowley glances over to the calendar hung up on the wall. It’s got pictures of kittens on it. But that’s not what makes him groan, no; it’s when he realises the date.

“Ah.”

“Yes.”

“Didn’t realise that had sneaked up on us.”

It happens once a year, inevitably. Even when you try to forget it the bloody thing is seared in your mind. It’s almost the anniversary of the day you didn’t die.

You insist you aren’t sad about it. You insist. But, once when you were very drunk, they got it out of you that for a little while you always feel like you’re mourning. You’re happy with your life how it is now, overjoyed even; and you wouldn’t trade your marriage for anything… but you’re still reminded of the human you couldn’t be. The natural life you never got to live. The children you never had. The family you had to abandon when your death didn’t take.

Because when it boils down to it you’re not quite human. You’re different. And though Crowley and Aziraphale may not be aligned with their sides any more there are other angels and demons. But there is only one of you.

And it can get very lonely to think that way.

So every year you sequester yourself off in your bedroom at your house — since 1988 it’s been with that bloody Chapman CD — and the person they love disappears into a little mist of sadness until you’re ready to be with the world again.

Crowley slams his hand onto the table, making his husband jump. No. Not this time. They won’t stand to see you like this for another year.

“I have an idea,” he says, and Aziraphale raises his eyebrows.

Your house is in quite a nice area of London, plenty of room for three people, but right now you’re sitting in the bedroom all alone. (Of course you have a house. You love your other halves dearly but personal space is a requirement, not a request. Besides you’ve picked up a load of tat over the years you’ve been alive and it’s not fair to make one of them keep it for you). You’ve not seen them for a few days, and that’s fine. You like to marinate in your own misery. Crowley once said people must enjoy feeling sad or bands like the Smiths wouldn’t exist. You couldn’t fault him.

There’s a knock at your door. Figuring it’s the postie, you drag yourself from your spot in the middle of the bed and wipe the tears from your eyes with your sleeve. You’re a little surprised to find Crowley and Aziraphale standing there, but open the door for them anyway.

“I’ll stick the kettle on,” you mutter as a greeting. They exchange a look as you shuffle into the kitchen. Before you can even begin to get the mugs out, you’re manoeuvred into a chair and your husbands plonk down in front of you.

“What—”

“Nightingale, we know you’ve been struggling.”

You deflate under their dual looks of concern, and bury your face in your hands.

“Sorry.”

You suddenly feel very, very small; but you realise they’re taking your arms and pulling your hands away.

“There’s nothing to apologise for, my dear. We understand. It’s just that we were thinking, we should all go on a little holiday.”

Cautiously you look up.

“A little holiday?”

Aziraphale doesn’t do ‘little’. That word simply disguises self-indulgence. “Do you fancy a little treat?” (I saw a whole wedding cake in a bakery shop window and immediately bought it, fancy going halves with me?) or “I’m going to take a little nap…” (time to curl up on the sofa in front of Bake-Off reruns and fall asleep for four days straight) are the examples that spring to mind.

So a ‘little’ holiday might not be so little at all.

“Look, we wrote down all of your favourite places and put them into a hat. You just reach in, pick one, and we’ll go.”

They’d spent a solid two hours deciding what made the cut. Edinburgh, obviously. Stockholm. Verona. (You might have had a problem with the Roman Empire, but you can appreciate that nowadays Italy has some of the best food in the world).

Aziraphale holds out a reporter’s trilby full of tiny white strips of paper, shaking it enthusiastically. Their eyes are wide and full of love. Gingerly you reach out, rustle around in the hat, and pull a single slip. They watch you intently as you unfold it, read it, and widen your eyes.

You hold it up, and excitement crosses your face for the first time that day.

“Isle of Wight.”

“Isle of Wight?” Crowley repeats. He doesn’t remember putting that one in there and, from the look on his face, neither does Aziraphale. But no, of course - you love that place. The three of you had spent a summer there back in the nineteen-twenties, when you had gone through your fossil phase. You’d spent hours on the beach searching through rocks for ammonites and genuinely enjoying every moment.

Plus, with that look on your face, they can hardly say no.

“Isle of Wight then,” Aziraphale says, smiling.

They help you pack and book the ferry that evening, Crowley making short work of the drive down to the docks. On the journey you’re still a little bit quiet, but when you ask, “can I put on Tracy Ch—” Crowley shouts “No!”, reaches into the glove box to pull out the CD the Bentley manifested to try and please you, and flings it out of the window on the motorway.

It’s so ridiculous you can’t help but laugh. As a compromise Crowley stuffs Fleetwood Mac’s Rumours into the system so roughly he threatens to break it in half.

Apart from that the drive is filled with happy chatter. And so is the whole holiday, really. They’ve booked a little seaside cottage to stay in, very sheltered and alone so there are no prying eyes on the three of you. That first night you’re too knackered to do much but curl up and fall asleep, but the next day you go into full tourist mode. Shorts, shirt, big hat and glasses. Aziraphale rubs sunblock on your back in the areas you can’t reach — as luckily the three of you have planned your excursion for the four and a half days that constitute British summertime — and you set out.

And, really, it’s lovely. You go to the little attractions, play mini golf, pretend not to be annoyed when they miracle their shots to hit better (though you still win, their divine magic isn’t a patch on talent). You get a huge ice cream which drips down your hand in the heat. You watch Crowley spend twenty-seven pounds on a claw machine trying to win you and Aziraphale a teddy each “the old fashioned way”, but finally get irritated enough to click his fingers to make it malfunction. Soft toys are spat out of it like bullets to the glee of the gathered children.

When you arrive back at the cottage they insist they cook, and even though you offer to help you’re told to go and spend the time looking for fossils. It’s quite miraculous that the beach laid out before your front door is suddenly full of them. It’s equal parts sandy and stony and you busy yourself for the next hour, every now and then a cry of “look what I’ve found!” being shouted over the sound of the waves.

Aziraphale and Crowley exchange a look and silently agree what they’ve never worded: they’ve married a history nerd.

It’s still hot as the sun sets and they lay out a little picnic on the soft part of the beach. You’ve changed into swimwear and so have they, and it’s one of those moments when you realise just how different your spouses are. Crowley has her long and hair down, slim body feminine so she can wear a tiny black bikini that leaves very little to the imagination. Aziraphale is wearing a full striped bathing suit that you last saw popularised when Queen Victoria was still on the throne.

You love them both so much.

Crowley pours the wine and you spend the evening getting a rosy sort of tipsy. You eat the little smorgasbord they’ve laid out in front of you, and as midnight turns to one in the morning, you totally forget the fact that it’s your would-be-death day at all.

You stand up on unsteady legs and look at the ocean. It’s still unbearably warm.

“Nightingale?” Crowley asks. You turn to your spouses and make a show of stripping off, leaving your swimsuit on the sand.

“I’m going for a swim. Are you coming?”

Crowley needs no convincing, her tiny bikini quickly joining the pile of clothes. You take her hand and rush into the waves, laughing wildly as the water sprays your skin.

“Angel!” Crowley shouts over her shoulder. Aziraphale hesitates for the tiniest moment.

“Come on angel, nobody can see us.”

Aziraphale loses a battle against himself, finishes his slice of cake and starts to undress too. Soon he’s joined you and your wife in the water. The two of you pull him close.

“See? Isn’t it nice?” you hum into his ear. His hand skips your bare waist, his breath hitches. You giggle and float backwards on the water, skyclad to the stars above. Crowley keeps a hold of your hand to make sure you don’t drift away, and you listen to the sound of the ocean in your ears while your spouses kiss behind you. You link your fingers through theirs and close your eyes, warm from the wine, and happy.

Then you splash them childishly. The noise of surprise they make is fantastic. You cackle like mad and begin to run through the water - albeit very slowly - poking your tongue out.

“Can’t catch me!” you giggle, which is a silly taunt really because Crowley is able to do so immediately with her long legs, and then she sweeps you up in a kiss.

The three of you find yourselves laying on the beach, Crowley kissing your chest and neck, Aziraphale the soft area of your upper thighs. You melt against their mouths and drag them each to your lips to kiss them properly in turn.

“Please fuck me,” you whisper, voice strung out on happiness and a little desperate. They don’t need telling twice. Crowley puts one of her beautiful legs either side of your face and you reach to taste her cunt, a heady mix of salt from the water and her own slick. She throws her head back and lets her flaming hair cascade down her back, moaning in pleasure.

“Fuck, nightingale, your mouth…”

As your tongue presses firmly against her clit you feel Aziraphale manoeuvre you into his lap, spreading your legs to find your entrance. His hands press against you as his fingers slide inside, getting you ready for his impressive girth. You moan against Crowley’s pussy as he sheathes himself slowly inside you and then giggle as the waves lap up against your body.

“Ahh,” Aziraphale breathes in pleasure, gripping your hips tightly as he begins to move. With every thrust he gives you mimic the motion onto your wife.

You know their bodies intimately. You have done for centuries. But each time you make love it still feels like your senses are being lit on fire, the best kind of fire, passion burning hot.

You love them. You love them so much it hurts, and you let this tumble from your lips as you feel them come, and topple over the edge with them.

That night they hold you close, sandwiched, one of your favourite ways to sleep. Aziraphale tucks his face into your shoulder and Crowley buries his mouth into your hair, giving you a permanent kiss while you drift off.

You’ve not felt so light in ages.

When you get home, you decide, you’re smashing that CD with a hammer. You’ve got everything you need to feel better right here in your arms.

Taglist: @angiestopit @dazed-soul @foolishprincipalitee@smile-eywa @staygoldsquatchling02 @underratedboogeyman @specter-soltare @candlewitch-cryptic @cool-ontherun-world @emilynissangtr @willbedecided @bdffkierenwalker @cool-iguana @ilyatan @civil-groupie

#crowley x reader x aziraphale #good omens x reader #ineffable husbands x reader #fic: the light the dark and the spaces inbetween #request #Also this says IoW but could literally be any English seaside town

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ariaste · 9 months

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I just read your theory and I'm SO blown away by it! I was skeptical at first (I know how bad the theorizing for Supernatural and Sherlock got) but honestly your analysis is incredibly sound compared to those. You took all the things that rubbed me wrong about this season and recontextualized them so well!

Here are some things that I also noticed:

The depiction of Job's misery seems ... out of order. Jumbled, even. I re-read the entire Book of Job as preparation for s2 and he isn't stricken with boils/bad health until *after* he finds out about the destruction of his children and property. I figured that someone as well-versed in mythology as Neil (especially when it comes to Judaism/Old Testament stuff) wouldn't necessarily present it that way. It really took me out of the loop - and that might also be why Aziraphale looks pensive after revisiting the memory, and why he seemed to want to ask Crowley about it. So much is just slightly off-kilter there, like it's a botched rewrite or a conflicting memory.

And Dalrymple. We've heard of him before. He's the guy crazy enough to devise a thundergun that fires silver bullets, garlic, and bricks to hunt witches with. And THIS guy is suddenly a very sane, very grounded, "why the hell would I put myself in danger to go bodysnatching" surgeon type? Witchfinder Dalrymple and Surgeon Dalrymple may be two different people, but what's the point in that? Dalrymple is such a stupidly distinct name. It smacks of the Metatron taking a random person and repurposing them for the edited version of a story.

Then again, the historical minisodes weren't entirely written by Neil and so they're the most prone to genuine mistakes and inconsistencies. Idk how much Neil got to meddle with the details there but I choose to believe your theory anyway, it just fits too well :'D

"And Dalrymple. We've heard of him before. He's the guy crazy enough to devise a thundergun that fires silver bullets, garlic, and bricks to hunt witches with." OOOOOOOOOHHHHHH SHIT i forgot about that! FASCINATING! WHAT DOES IT ALL MEAN. I will reverently add that pushpin to my murderboard and contemplate yarn choices, thank you for this

#good omens spoilers #good omens season 2

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actual-changeling · 5 months

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my brain is being defeated by my sleep meds but have the start of a ficlet that i managed to write with my remaining brain cells

He can't stop thinking about it.

Someone, Crowley has tried, he has been trying for three weeks and counting to simply forget about it and put himself out of his misery, yet whenever he thinks he has finally regained his peace, the memory returns with full force. It's rather ridiculous at this point, and it is not necessarily a new kind of suffering either, but after the Apocalypse-that-wasn't, a lot of things that were previously bearable became more of an ache.

An ache that sits deep in his bones, an itch his own hands cannot scratch, and it leaves him both irritated and oddly exhausted. Still, he won't be defeated by a two-second experience; he is a bloody demon, after all.

Crowley bolsters his resolve on day twenty-five, and he commits to deleting the memory that night in bed while staring at the ceiling and ignoring the too-light feeling of his duvet. By the time dawn comes, the ache beats him once more.

It's stupid, he tells himself a few hours later while driving to the bookshop. It's stupid and pathetic, and it was probably an accident anyway, so please forget it.

Unsurprisingly, a ten-minute drive does not accomplish what almost a month of increasingly desperate pleading with his brain has not managed to fix. The memory is burned into his skin—a fleeting touch, a squeeze of his shoulder—as Aziraphale passed him on his way to the kitchen, leaving behind a frozen Crowley with a brain about to lose several decades worth of carefully arranged composure.

They don't- they don't do that. They don't touch each other casually and without reason, touching simply to touch; not after the drive home from Tadfield, anyway. But that had been exceptional circumstances and cannot be counted as the norm, so why, pray tell, did Aziraphale choose to do what he did?

Although the more pressing question, as Crowley discovers upon entering the bookshop, is why he chose to do it again.

"Crowley, my dear! I didn't expect you for another hour or so."

Aziraphale is smiling, beaming, really, lighting up the gloomy shadow the thickening rain clouds are casting over London, and before the door even clicks shut behind him, there's a hand on his shoulder, his thumb close enough to brush the side of his neck. Warmth, so much warmth, floods him without warning, as if he has been holding a hot tea cup for too long, and his already preoccupied brain blue-screens in response. He doesn't squeeze this time, letting it rest where it is, and blinks up at Crowley with glinting expectation.

"Ngk."

#alex writes good omens #good omens #ineffable husbands #crowley #aziraphale #good omens season 2 #go2 #aziracrow #crowley x aziraphale

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cascodedtech · 1 month

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"Ah well, always did want to go his own way. Always asking damn fool questions, too."

Okay, I'm trying to get my thoughts together here, but let me see if I can verbalize why this line bothers me so much.

I generally take the final fifteen at face value (although I absolutely love reading any and all meta/theories about it). I think Aziraphale believes that he can make a difference, and I think he honestly thought making Crowley an angel again was a good thing, not because he doesn't think Crowley is good (he tells Crowley such on multiple occasions), but because I think there is a part of him that believes that Crowley doesn't like to cause misery for humanity and this would give him an out. I don't think he really considered how it would sound, and I think he was honestly surprised by Crowley's reaction. And I think that sometimes Aziraphale uses Crowley as a moral compass to some extent, not in the sense of Crowley knowing what is good, but Crowley knowing the shades of grey and what doesn't feel right, which, in part is why he was reconsidering going to heaven when The Metatron came back into the bookshop.

HOWEVER, this line from The Metatron always bothered me. We've already established that Crowley and The Metatron know each other, and are familiar enough that Crowley recognizes him right away (I don't think this is just because of the trial video he watched in heaven, because Saraqeal saw it too and didn't recognize him, and Michael and Uriel also interacted with him during the trial and neither recognized him).

I think that whatever rank Crowley was in heaven (I have my own theories), it involved close work or interaction with The Metatron on a fairly regular basis, and I sometimes wonder if The Metatron didn't have something to do with his fall (I acknowledge that Neil has told us Crowley is an unreliable narrator, so I don't think he fell by "accident"). From what I can remember about biblical lore, Lucifer (and his angels) fell, not because he questioned God, but because he refused to put humanity above his love for God. Crowley, from what I can tell, is the only angel who *questioned* God. He actually does love humanity more than God, so he actually really didn't go against God's will in heaven, per se.

So, when The Metatron tells Aziraphale that Crowley always did want to go his own way and how he was always asking questions, it implies some kind of familiarity, and I don't think it was necessarily just by reputation.

Consider that in 1x01, Gabriel didn't even really seem to know who Crowley was (which always struck me as a little weird), despite the fact that we know Crowley fought in the war in heaven, and logic would posit that "The Supreme Archangel" would have also fought in the war. And sure, there were probably hundreds or thousands of participants in the war, but Crowley is well-known enough that he is recognizable to both demons and angels that he hasn't interacted with for thousands of years.

...

I've lost the thread now. Uh, to sum up, I think Crowley was important and powerful in heaven. I don't think God is who made Crowley fall. I think The Metatron did it or played some role in it, and I think that he knew Crowley would never go back to heaven, but needed to sever the connection between Crowley and Aziraphale because he knew that Crowley would know something was going on in heaven, when Aziraphale might not (I think Aziraphale knows heaven is toxic, but I think he is willing to go back because he truly believes he can make a difference *for humanity* by being in charge, I just don't think he's actually going to be in charge, and Crowley knows that but Aziraphale doesn't).

Anyway, I have no idea if this stream of consciousness makes any sense to anyone else, but, I'm very interested to see if we will get more heaven flashbacks/minisodes in Season 3, particularly of The Battle and Crowley's fall.

#good omens #good omens meta #good omens theories #anthony j crowley #aziraphale #the metatron #the final fifteen

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nofomogirl · 9 months

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Ineffable Beaurocracy vs. Ineffable Husbands

Major S2 spoilers ahead

Season 2 ended with two things very few had expected:

Gabriel and Beelzebub are now a happy couple.

Aziraphale and Crowley aren't (neither happy nor a couple).

As we're all processing, it's inevitable that comparisons sprout left and right, and more and more often I hear voices pointing out how ridiculously quick and easy the romance between Gabriel and Beelzebub was, as well as questions why exactly Aziraphale and Crowley couldn't be the same. Especially Aziraphale, since the fandom likes to blame him in particular for not being in a happy established relationship with Crowley.

I understand the bitterness and frustration but do people honestly think that Gabriel had the same obstacles to overcome, the same sacrifices to make, the same risks to take?

I like Gabriel as a character and I'm happy he found love but please, let's not forget what kind of a person he is - selfish, self-important, entitled, privileged and inconsiderate. Falling in love doesn't remove these traits. It doesn't magically reform him. It might have been a start, a first step on a road to becoming a decent person but that growth will probably never happen if he just ran and locked himself in a happy bubble with Beelzebub.

Yes, he's happy now. Yes, he's out of the picture and not a threat anymore. Doesn't mean he's a nice guy all of a sudden.

Gabriel could choose Beelzebub because he never questions his actions. He believes that whatever he does is inherently right. It doesn't even matter if not long ago he condemned someone for doing the same thing.

Gabriel could choose Beelzebub because he never cared about the consequences of his actions. He never stopped to think about what kind of pain and misery he will cause others. We were shown it plenty of times.

Gabriel could choose Beelzebub not because he was ready to sacrifice so much for them but exactly because he's incapable of making sacrifices. Whatever makes him happy is his priority because he cannot see how anything could be possibly more important. He's an angel, therefore he is inherently good, therefore good things make him happy, therefore whatever makes him happy is inherently good, and the happier he is, the better it must be.

Gabriel could choose Beelzebub because he doesn't care about Earth, about Creation, about God's Plan, and about Heaven. You might try to argue that he did, especially the latter ones. But I think there's a reason why his persona was modeled after an obnoxious CEO rather than a fundamentalist of any kind. Because he is not a believer, he is a guy who was put in charge and has only the shallowest possible knowledge of what his company actually does, the barest of the bare minimums, and never actually tried its products himself. Gabriel had been always just going through the motions, putting in minimal effort, and covering it with a smile and pep. In a way, it's actually sad because he never knew anything else. He was put in a job and told to do it, so he kept doing it until he found something he actually cared about.

Gabriel could choose Beelzebub for the very same reasons he was ready to start Armageddon, and Aziraphale didn't choose Crowley for the very same reasons he stood against Heaven to save the Earth and humanity.

Aziraphale couldn't choose Crowley the same way Gabriel chose Beelzebub, because Azirapahle is the exact opposite of Gabriel.

So before you write that Crowley deserves someone who would love him like Gabriel, ask yourself seriously if you think Crowley could love a person like Gabriel. Because we know he doesn't. He hates Gabriel and loves Aziraphale and there's a good reason why.

#good omens 2 #good omens spoilers #can we be kinder to aziraphale please #ineffable husbands #ineffable bureaucracy

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creator-of-calm-queer-chaos · 7 months

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Ten Fics, Share a Line, Ten People

The wonderful @beepbeepsan tagged me in this!

(Astrabear I apologise for tagging you, I did in fact copy and paste this and forgot to take out your tag lmao)

Rules: Pick any ten of your fics, scroll roughly to the midpoint, pick a line (or three) and share it. Then tag ten people.

Sinc Itur Ad Astra (Good Omens)

A warm, fuzzy feeling spreads through Crowley’s body, from his chest outward. It’s quite hot, but comfortable, like sinking into a bath. Crowley feels Aziraphale wrap an arm around him, and Crowley pulls him even closer.

I wish this moment could last forever, Crowley thinks.

Then, in the middle of the perfect kiss, Crowley notices that the hot feeling in his chest isn’t going away. Instead, it’s just getting hotter and hotter. It’s almost burning - no, it’s definitely burning now. Why is it burning?

2. Finder's Keepers (Sherlock)

“Just… just make it stop,” Sherlock whispered.

“John, Sherlock is asking me to make it stop. Honestly it’s a miracle that he’s still alive, there’s an awful lot of blood here. What if I… put him out of his misery?”

“NO!” John screamed again. “Sherlock, hang on, I think I’m almost there.”

“Well, then, don’t want you to crash our party, do we?” the man snarled, pointing the gun at Sherlock’s head. “Any last words, pretty boy?”

All Sherlock could do was groan.

“All right then. Bye bye!”

BANG.

3. Blood in the Water (Sherlock)

“Sherlock.” John’s hand moved to his wrist and gripped it like a vice. “You- you have to pr- promise me.”

Blood dribbled out of his mouth. There was blood everywhere . It covered the floor, it covered their clothes, it covered his hands, some of it was dripping into the pool. Again, Sherlock’s mind held only one thought: Save John. Save John. Save John. Over and over like a mantra.

“Shut up,” Sherlock spluttered out. So much blood. “Save your energy, please. I can’t lose you!”

“Promise me you’ll catch the fucker.” His voice was like iron. Iron as blood.

“I promise,” Sherlock whispered.

4. What if Cas died how Sam died in S2? (Supernatural)

But Castiel didn’t move, Dean couldn’t feel a pulse beneath the hand on his neck.

“CAS!” Dean screamed, clutching his best friend tight, sobbing.

He looked at the pool of blood on the ground, soaking the dirt and- and as Cas’s hand lost warmth, the silver ring on his hand was soaked in red.

5. "Can you hear me?" w/ Clint and Natasha (Marvel / The Avengers)

“Let’s keep this between us, then, shall we?”

He brought the flat of the blade under Clint’s chin. He gently pushed it up, forcing Clint to look him in the eyes. He smirked, and put a hand on his shoulder.

“Oh, you’ll be so much fun.”

6. Made to Watch w/ Fitzsimmons (Agents of Shield)

She took out the knife and cut away his shirt. Then, she placed the tip of the knife into his skin. Fitz shakily inhaled and held his breath.

The woman began to carve.

At first, Fitz bit his tongue, but within seconds, he was screaming. Simmons was sobbing, sitting on the floor. The woman only grinned and kept dragging the knife through Fitz’s skin. Blood flowed from the wounds in huge waves, puddling around them. Fitz trembled and screamed and wailed. And yet he let it continue.

7. Secrets Revealed w/ Ward and Skye (Agents of Shield)

Skye was on the ground. She couldn’t breathe well. Her hands were sticky. Why were her hands wet?

There was a gun in her hands. She needed to fire it.

Fire. Click. Click. Nothing. Laughing. Someone was laughing. Why was someone laughing?

“Goodbye, Skye,” a voice said.

8. Muzzled w/ May and Daisy (Agents of Shield)

“Who’s that for?” Daisy snarked from where she sat, sitting up straighter and blinking rapidly. “Did you get me a present?”

“In a way,” the man said. The two guards hefted her up by her armpits and placed her in the middle of the room. The man sat on the ground behind her, and the woman in front of her. “We’re going to have some fun now that we know we have the time.”

May inhaled sharply from across the room.

9. Caged w/ Steve and Bucky (MCU/Avengers)

“Why did you draw me?” a voice said.

Steve jumped and looked up. The Winter Soldier had appeared in front of the cage. He held a plate of bread and cheese.

“Because I knew you,” Steve answered cautiously.

Not-Bucky opened the cage door and stepped in, placing the food on the ground. He leaned against the wall and closed the door with a slam. They were locked in there together

“Tell me what you remember,” Not-Bucky said.

10. Found Footage w/ Peter and the Team (MCU)

He wailed and screamed and pleaded, but nothing deterred them. He yelled for them, for Mr Stark and Natasha and Steve and Clint and Ned and everyone he loved. But none of them arrived.

This is open to anyone who would like to particpate! I'll tag a few people in case they want to, but no pressure at all :)

@whoopsitswhump, @suspicious-whumping-egg, @painsandconfusion, @atlantis-is-burning

#tag game #whump #fanfiction #fics #ao3 #fanfic #my writing #y'all it was so hard to find ten fics that I don't hate #i reopened that ridiculously long mcu/hp crossover fic from when i was 12 #it's so bad #i'm tempted to orphan it #whump fanfiction #this tag game isn't for anything specific it just turns out that all the fics i don't hate are whump

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impishtubist · 9 months

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breed someone of your choice from good omens

“Oh, dear,” Aziraphale says when he comes back from his morning bakery run to find a large serpent curled up in the back room and radiating misery. “That time of century, is it?”

“Ssssshut up,” Crowley hisses.

“No need to be like that, dear boy,” Aziraphale admonishes. “Or did you not want the nest?”

There’s a frustrated pause, and then: “No. I want the nesssst.”

“That’s what I thought.”

Aziraphale digs out the blankets, the pillows, and the heat lamp from a box in the back of the room. He could simply miracle it all into place, of course, but he’s trying not to attract too much attention from Heaven these days. He lays the blankets on the floor and then lines the nest with pillows. Crowley uncoils and slithers over to the nest, burrowing inside the blankets while Aziraphale switches on the heat lamp.

“How long do you think it will take, this time?” Aziraphale asks.

“Why? Got anywhere better to be, angel?”

Aziraphale huffs. “Knowing how long the process might take will help me choose what to read to you.”

“...only a few hours,” Crowley says, chastened. “Been like thisssss for a while.”

“You should have come over sooner,” Aziraphale says. “Let’s see, how about some Ian Fleming?”

Aziraphale reads to him for an hour. Crowley is restless, coiling and uncoiling, slithering in and out of the blankets, seemingly unable to get comfortable. It’s no wonder, given the size of the clutch he’s carrying.

When the laying starts, Aziraphale stops reading and puts on music instead. He even makes sure that it’s be-bop, a record that Maggie had given him when he asked her for something modern. He kneels next to the nest and strokes a hand along Crowley’s back as the serpent shudders and strains.

There are seven eggs in all. As soon as the last one slides free of his serpent body, Crowley morphs back into his human form. He’s immaculately-dressed as always, but pale and shaking. Aziraphale takes a clean blanket off the back of the sofa and drapes it over his shoulders, then turns his attention back to the nest.

Crowley’s serpent form produces a clutch of eggs every century that the demon is forced to lay. Aziraphale has helped Crowley through this process for the past ten centuries, making sure that the serpent stays warm and comfortable while he lays the clutch, and then vanishing the mess and the eggs when it’s over.

But…there’s something different about this clutch this time. Aziraphale can sense something from the eggs.

He’s never sensed anything from Crowley’s eggs before.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale says after several moments, as the reality of the situation starts to sink in, “did you, perhaps, sneak into the zoo in serpent form again?”

“Oh, it was only for a few days, angel, no one noticed!” Crowley says heatedly. “Wanted to be with my own kind for a bit, that a problem?”

“Ah, no, not really,” Aziraphale says, wringing his hands. “Only…did you mate with any of them, by chance?”

“That’sss none of your business!” Crowley hisses.

“I think it might be,” Aziraphale says weakly. “Crowley…these eggs have been fertilized.”

----

[And then Aziraphale helps Crowley raise his bastard demon snake babies and they live happily ever after the end.]

#good omens #ineffable husbands #imp is writing #IT'S CRACK I'M SO SORRY #i don't know what came over me

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thegardenandthegrave · 9 months

Text

Aziraphale should have Fallen after the Job debacle.

No, listen. Listen.

Aziraphale has lied before, directly to God no less. Yet, it wasn't until Job that Aziraphale himself believed that he was going to Fall.

I think the difference is that what God allowed to befall Job caused Aziraphale to question the ineffable plan for the first time.

Not only that, he lied to cover up a demon's failure to follow through on killing Job's children AND he fell for said demon's temptation to consume food.

If God is all knowing, then hiding his sins would not have done any good.

Except, God had just gotten done berating Job for questioning her.

And wasn't the wager between God and Satan that Job would remain faithful despite the misery rained down upon him?

If it were my wager, I would take Job questioning God as God technically losing the wager.

But how does this connect to Aziraphale not Falling when he should have?

Well, I'm about to put on a nice tinfoil hat so stay with me here.

Because iirc, the Job debacle is the last time we see God speaking directly to anyone.

(unless you count the season 1 voiceover, which I don't for reasons below)

After that, we've got Metatron acting as an intermediary and 'voice of God'. Metatron is the one Aziraphale reaches when he specifically calls God. And Aziraphale is both confused and surprised by this intermediary

Now, if I were the original demon who had designs on taking God's throne/power/ect I would probably include some sneaky wording in that wager over Job, somehow use winning that wager to gain access to Heaven's demotion/promotion system, and erase/demote God as far down as I could.

You know what I wouldn't do?

Let anyone ever know that God was demoted/lost memories.

I would ride it out, playing angels and demons against each other to destruction while pretending God is still in control.

And I would certainly enjoy sending an amnesiac God to live amongst their favorite creations, completely unaware of what she's lost, assigning her to run a book store without any help or support while I simultaneously broke up the (literal) power couple of all time

Yes, that's right. I'm saying that Metatron is Satan in disguise and that Muriel may very well be God.

EDIT: removed some of my own preconceived notions about religion in regards to metatron. My religious knowledge is not vast enough to make an educated point one way or another about Metatron's presence and representations in religious texts.

#good omens 2 spoilers #good omens season 2 #aziraphale #crowley #metatron #look obviously i know that this is far fetched #but the way everything slots together in my mind is satisfying #i have like three dozen theories and most of them contradict each other #but metatron is Satan/muriel is god is so far my favorite #also #gabriel absolutely should have fallen at some point too #he and Aziraphale both have way too much pride #oh! and muriel being a Scrivener would absolutely account for the god voiceover in season 1

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ofpineapplesanddawns · 8 months

Note

Always my ineffable husbands! I'll keep coming back asking for sweet, cute, lovely stories of them! 😊

Well. Until you tell me to go away.

Hahaha, I won't tell you to go away.

Hmmm, no prompt, but I can still write something that's sweet, cute, and lovely! Hopefully!

Here's a little thing of them living together in the South Downs.

Warning: minor injury

On with the fic!

"In all our years on Earth, have you really never ridden a velocipede before?" Aziraphale asked, watching as Crowley waved a hand over the old, rusted bicycle. It had been in a much worse condition than Anathema's had been when Aziraphale had repaired it, and that poor bicycle should have been put out of its misery eons ago.

They had found this one in a patch of woods near their home and Crowley had loudly proclaimed it as his and that he was going to ride it.

The demon glowered at the angel. "I have actually ridden a bicycle before, angel." He huffed, sarcastically pronouncing the word 'bicycle'. "I just stopped once the car took off. Cars are so much faster than penny farthings."

"Well, yes, but it's been quite a long time since you've ridden one, yes?"

"Eh, isn't there a human saying about how you never forget how to ride one?" Crowley asked as he pushed the newly repaired device to the path outside their home. Aziraphale noted it was no longer a long-since sun bleached blue, but now a shiny red with black accents.

Aziraphale clucked his tongue. "Well, yes, but still... shall I miracle up for you a helmet? Or maybe some pads for your knees and elbows?"

"Don't need 'em." Crowley said as he got himself on the bicycle, wobbling a little as he tried to balance it and himself. "Alright! Let's get ridin'!"

And he was off, down the road of their home. Aziraphale frowned, wringing his hands as he watched Crowley ride, then swiftly swing around and come back, cackling as he did.

"See! Told you I still knew how to-!" And Crowley suddenly went from passing Aziraphale by to being on the dirt road with a shout.

"Oh goodness, Crowley!" Aziraphale rushed over, helping the groaning demon to sit up. "Are you alright?"

"Ngk, just... my pride is hurt." Crowley grumbled, then started to rub his arm. "And this, and my hip. Aaand my inner thigh where the bike landed on it, ow."

"At least you didn't hurt your poor head." Aziraphale said as he helped him stand, then snapped his fingers. The bicycle was upright and rolling back to the house, where it went past the gate and up to the cottage as Aziraphale walked Crowley home.

The device was leaning against the wall under their kitchen window when they walked up the path to the door and Aziraphale gave it a nod. "Let's get you all patched up, dear, and then maybe try it again?"

"Sure." Crowley said, pouting.

"And maybe this time you'll take my suggestion of protection to heart?"

"Uhg."

Aziraphale smiled, already knowing a helmet and pads were sitting in the living room, waiting for Crowley to put them on.

#good omens #crowley #anthony j crowley #aziraphale #ineffable husbands #john's drabbles

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lovemesomeyelloweyes · 9 months

Text

He knew when he returned.

The air changed, the world felt right again, and yet he didn’t go look for him.

There was no reason to, not really, after everything.

He was, after all, just a demon, just one of the bad guys.

Why should he bother a supreme archangel?

Crowley got into the Bentley right after, shaking with the thought of his angel actually in the world again. The ache in him built, his very essence filling with pain, and yet he just closed the door and said, “Drive.”

The radio came to life with, “How Do You Talk To An Angel,” and he turned it off with a snarl.

“DRIVE!”

There was almost a fear in the ol’ girl as the Bentley drove forward, a worry, and he placed his hand on the dash stroking lovingly.

“Not mad at you, Darling,” he sighed, his voice shaking, “Not you.”

The connection between him and his car felt right again, though their shared melancholy was palpable. They both wanted something they couldn’t have, and really despite everything Crowley wasn’t about to put himself in the midst of the good guys when he wasn’t one of them.

He went to his flat, now even more barren than it had been before his departure. He’d spent most of the time just wallowing in his own misery, not bothering to share it again with others, and despite how angry he still felt there was a calmness there.

He had always made him more calm.

“Not that it matters much.”

Crowley sat, legs spread, and felt his body ache to just feel him in close proximity.

Just for a bit.

Just a taste.

Funny that he had thought him the one tempting an angel to sin, and here he was a demon desperate to just be near the angel who’d tempted him to love.

He thought of just changing himself again, becoming a snake and throwing himself in the wild to not have to feel as much as he did. It would be dangerous, surely, but he had power enough he supposed.

The idea had merit, more than, and he was nearly ready to just go say goodbye to the car when he felt it.

Him.

He felt him.

Crowley froze, stock still, and the sound of footsteps got closer as a knock came to his door.

He didn’t dare move, or make a sound.

“Crowley?”

It was a visceral reaction, his own name from his voice, and he hissed curling in on himself ready to disappear.

So simple, to run off to Alpha Centauri, not even say goodbye, and yet he couldn’t move.

“Crowley, dear, it’s….I know you’re upset with me. I…I would very much like to see you.”

The tears he’d not let himself shed came in abundance then, filling his eyes, and he wanted to throw off his shades but he hadn’t since he’d left.

He couldn’t even more now.

“I know, I….I’ve hurt you deeply, and I didn’t….I need your help, you see, and…”

Ah.

That was it then.

Help.

That was what the bad guys were good for, in his eyes.

Help.

Crowley felt an intense anger fill him, and he growled out.

“FIND SOMEONE ELSE’S HELP I’M FRESH OUT HERE!”

His hands shook when he gripped the chair, his voice ready to shake, and he waited with bated breath for the feeling of him to go.

But it didn’t.

“But I….I don’t want anyone else’s help, Crowley, I….I want yours. I want….I know I hurt you, and I know….please can we just….”

Crowley stood, his shoes tapping as he rushed to the door, and he opened it ready to scream in his face.

But one look at Aziraphale and he froze.

“Oh,” Aziraphale said, his eyes wet with tears, “You…you opened the door.”

Crowley’s hand shook as he gripped the door, words failing him, and the concern on Aziraphale’s face worsened.

“Are you alright? You…you look….”

He moved to snatch off his shades, and Crowley hissed, rearing back in fear.

“Don’t. Don’t touch them.”

“I….”

Crowley sighed. “What do you want, Aziraphale?”

The upset in Aziraphale’s eyes made his whole being ache.

“I just….you see the world is ending again, and I….I don’t know how to stop it. I thought perhaps…”

“I can’t help you.”

“I…I see.”

Crowley looked down. “Maybe it should,” he mumbled, his voice shaking, “Maybe…it would be better, wouldn’t it? If all the bad was gone, and the good took over?”

He heard Aziraphale gasp, and the sound of his steps back had Crowley’s lip curling.

“You…you really believe that?”

“Why shouldn’t I?” he said, his voice a hiss, “Aren’t I just another one of those bad things?” he looked up, tears in his eyes, “You’re one of the good ones, aren’t you? You can get rid of me now and be done with it. I’m sure that’ll earn you some good points in her favor. The second coming…”

Crowley froze when Aziraphale suddenly began to cry, his tears spilling, and he nearly doubled over as he covered his mouth.

“A…angel?”

He threw himself at Crowley, hugging him, and the feel of him so close made Crowley shudder.

“Angel, why…why are you crying?”

“You…you truly believe that I would harm you now? That I….that I despise you that much? It’s been far too long, I know but I….” he sobbed, “I….I would never…I….I….”

Crowley put his hand on Aziraphale’s back, his chest aching, and backed them into his flat, the door shutting on its own as the plants all shivered when they walked by. He brought him to the chair, ready to move, but was pulled half down still holding him close.

“I…you said…you left.”

“I…I know, I…I thought that….I tried, I tried so hard, Crowley, and I…I just missed you, so very much and I hated all of them. I hated it there, and I could not stop thinking about you, and your…” he looked up at him with tears still on his face, “The way you’d looked at me.”

Crowley was shaking when he reached up, pulling the shades off his face, and he closed his eyes tight.

“Crowley.”

“You should…you should go, I…”

He turned away, gasping, and was ready to move when he was pulled down, landing in Aziraphale’s lap. Crowley stared at him, eyes wide, and when he touched his face he let out a whimper as he closed his eyes again.

“Crowley, why…please I want to see your eyes. I….”

Tears fell down his cheeks.

“Angel…I can’t. I…”

It was infinitesimal, he knew later, a small tiny kiss on his cheek, but he felt it was if he’d been swallowed whole, gasping for breath when he looked up at Aziraphale in shock.

“Crowley.”

“You…you kissed me.”

Aziraphale blushed. “Yes, I….I’m not as bold as you were, obviously, but…I wanted you to know I care for you, very deeply, and I wasn’t…I was unsure if you’d open your eyes again for words without action.”

He smiled. “It was a bloody shit kiss, angel, really.”

Aziraphale frowned. “Was it? I mean, I don’t quite know much about kissing, not unless you can say my reading habits of romance or the many many humans I’ve seen kissing over the last…”

Crowley cut him off, kissing him quiet, and the feel of him kissing back made him ache. He hissed as Aziraphale pulled on his tie, moving them in closer, and his body felt hotter than the fires of hell when his angel’s hand moved down his chest. They stopped, both staring with eyes open for what felt like the first time in existence, and Aziraphale’s smile brought tears to his eyes once again.

“Was that…better?”

He laughed. “Of course it was, angel,” he said, touching his cheek, “I did it, so obviously it was much better than your horrid attempt.”

“Crowley, I…I missed you. I….I….love you.”

“Angel…”

“I know it’s far too late for me to say it now, but….even if you want the world to end I want to be with you till then. Can I be? Will you….is this….”

Crowley pressed their foreheads together, mouths close enough for another kiss but he didn’t attempt one.

They didn’t need it.

“I love you, Angel,” he said, “I….I’ve missed you too, Azira—”

He was kissed quiet then, much to his surprise, but he didn’t care.

The world might end, truly, but they were together.

Everything felt right again.

As it should be.

#ineffable husbands #azicrow #good omens spoilers #aziraphale x crowley #good omens fanfiction #i'm new at this be kind I don't know them yet *blushes*

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dionysia-does-stories · 6 months

Text

The Orchid

Cringetober 2023, Day 20: Hanahaki Disease

On AO3

Rating T -1,066 words - Good Omens - Aziraphale/Crowley

Summary: Aziraphale gifts Crowley an Orchid for his fake birthday and Crowley finds himself coughing up orchid flowers whenever he tries to say something insulting about his angel.

Story:

Crowley did not have a birthday, being that he predated time. But he did celebrate the birthday of the M25 as if it was his own birthday. He wrote it down when he forged legal documents. He got himself a present (it was always another house plant). It went out for an opulent dinner and a slice of cake.

For a few years now, he’d invited Aziraphale to join him for the dinner and cake. They’d get into reminiscing about the good and terrible work that they’d each accomplished during this rotation around the sun. They’d get very drunk toasting another year, and that would be it.

This year, Aziraphale brought him a present. Crowley stared at the plant it had the lush waxy leaves of a house plant. But from its center sprouted a stem covered in colorful geometric blooms. Crowley was looking at an orchid.

“What the devil is this monstrosity?” Crowley said.

“It’s an orchid,” Aziraphale supplied helpfully. “You must have seen them before.”

“Of course I have!” he downed his drink. “But why have I been given it?”

Aziraphale looked confused. “It’s a house plant. You collect them.”

“Not one’s that do that.” he waved at the pretty multicolored blossoms.

“Flower?”

“Well, don’t say it like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like it’s normal.”

“But it is normal for a plant to flower.”

“Not the kind I have. I don’t need any of that nonsense in my flat.”

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow. “What exactly do you think It’s going to do?”

“Nothing good.” Crowley sunk grumpily down into his chair.

“All it will do is look pretty,” Aziraphale said.

“Exactly,” said Crowley, but he knew he’d already lost the argument.

Crowley put the orchid in pride of place beside his bed. He knew it was a slippery slope but he couldn’t stop himself. If only he could go back to being the accomplished demon that watched Maggie Thatcher speak lovingly of the M25, his greatest creation. Now he was a demon with a pretty flower in his bedroom.

“You’re not—“ he struggled to find a way to insult the flower. “as beautiful as you could be. You’re like a peacock with its tail all folded up.” Crowley cringed. He’d never uttered such a weak insult to any flora.

“If you don’t grow well, I’ll—“ Crowley scrambled for a threat. “Tell Aziraphale on you.” This was hopeless. Crowley was giving up for the night.

He wandered his flat. He made some evil plans, watched late night tv for a while. He ended up back in front of the orchid.

“Aziraphale had terrible taste picking you out,” Crowley lied. Something stuck in the back of his throat. For a brief terrible moment, Crowley was worried that it was emotion. But then he coughed and something tumbled out of his mouth. It was a flower. It was an orchid. Shit.

For days, anything cross Crowley said about Aziraphale resulted in him coughing up flowers. It had to be some kind of curse. Crowley had consulted experts. He’d even read several scholarly books. He couldn’t figure out the cause.

His condition worsened when he was in proximity to said angel. Crowley was running out of excuses to avoid him. He’d resorted to telling Aziraphale that he couldn’t walk around the park with him because he had a very important meeting with Hastur. HASTUR! No one had ever had a meeting with that demon that could be described as important.

Crowley was miserable. He didn’t feel guilty for lying to Aziraphale (guilt was not an emotion meant for a demon of Crowley’s caliber). But he did miss the angel. It had been a rather long time since they’d gotten to catch up.

In his misery, Crowley had a prolonged fit of flower-coughs. He wrapped himself in a blanket and sunk miserably into an armchair by the window. He thought Idly (as he had many times before) that he ought to throw the orchid out and see if that helped. He couldn’t bring himself to do it.

There was a polite knock at the door. Before Crowley could tell his visitor to shove off, the lock, miraculously, clicked open. Aziraphale walked in and made his way over to Crowley. Relief stretched across the angel’s face.

“Thank goodness! I thought you might have been kidnapped.” The angel sank down into an open chair.

“Not a chance, you right invasive pr—“ Crowley felt flowers crowding out the air in his throat. He sealed his lips close to hold them in.

“You could have just told me you weren’t feeling well,” Aziraphale pointed out, a little hurt by Crowley’s lies. Then it occurred to him, “Although, we’re not really human. And we shouldn’t get sick. So, I’m not entirely clear on what’s happening to you.”

Crowley clenched his teeth against the build up of flowers, shaking his head no.

“This is getting ridiculous, Crowley!”

Crowley was starting to choke. He didn’t need air the way humans did, but there was a finite volume inside his lungs. An involuntary spasm tore through his body and he coughed bunches of flowers into the room.

Aziraphale blinked. “Those are orchids.”

That’s the,” flower, “problem. I keep,” flower, “coughing up flora like I’m a,” flower, “shrubbery.”

“Do you know what the cause is?”

“It seems to get worse whenever I say something terrible about you,” flower, “or when you’re around.” flower, “I blame that tasteless plant,” flower, “you gave me.”

Aziraphale hhhhmmmmed in thought. “Have you tried saying nice things about me?”

Crowley wished he could sink into the ground.

“Come on,” goaded the angel, “It can’t be that hard to think of a few nice things.”

Crowley winced. “You’re a nice height.” flower, “And you’re smart for an angel,” flower, “And it was nice of you to get me a present,” flower, “And—,” a heaviness settled over Crowley’s heart. He didn’t know if it was the flowers or the pressure of the million nice things he wanted to say about Aziraphale. “I love you and I wouldn’t want to do any of this divine plan, celestial nonsense without you.”

“I love you too,” Aziraphale casually said, like it was perfectly obvious. And that made the orchid flowers stop trying to strangle him from the inside.

Crowley could breath again. He looked at all the orchid flowers around them and thought to himself, ‘They really are pretty.’

#good omens fanfiction #good omens #fanfiction #Aziraphale #crowley #crowley's plants #cringetober 2023 #Day 20 #hanahaki disease #fluff

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trensu · 1 year

Text

WAIT, WHAT ABOUT A STEDDIE GOOD OMENS AU? Eddie is hell's most terrible demon. As in, he completely fails at being sufficiently evil all the time. He is, at most, a nuisance. Then we have heaven's best angel, Steve, who was charged with being a guardian and love humanity, and threw himself headfirst into it to the point that when Heaven decided it was time to end the world he was like, 'uh that's where all the humans live? So, hard pass on Armageddon, thanks!' I don't think they have an Arrangement like Aziraphale and Crowley do, though, and probably they actively avoid each other until the whole antichrist situation pops up.

Then we can have them agree to attempting to raise Dustin to prevent Armageddon because they think he's the antichrist except, surprise! It's actually El who's devil-spawn, and she grew up to be kind and loving despite the misery that was her life. And actually, Eddie and Steve decide this worked out well because if Dustin had had antichrist powers, he probably would've taken over the world in a heartbeat because Eddie and Steve both kinda suck at their jobs.

Nancy and Jonathan are obviously Anathema and Pulsifer. I think we'll have Robin be an angel sent down to Earth and "apprenticed" to Steve as punishment because she annoyed Gabriel one too many times. Chrissy is there too as Eddie's liaison to hell. She likes him and definitely encourages his shenanigans while reporting to hell that Eddie is doing fantastic evil on Earth so they both can keep their jobs.

Eddie cheerleads Chrissy into going after Robin because 1) he wants his bestie to be happily together with her crush and 2) she'd definitely get a promotion in hell for seducing an angel. Meanwhile Steve actually gets very protective of Robin and is mega suspicious of Chrissy's intentions. He makes sure they're never alone together and will go so far as to physically put himself between them if he thinks Chrissy is getting to close to Robin.

Eddie decides to be the best wingman which obviously means it is his duty to distract Steve so Chrissy can shoot her shot. What better way to distract him than by flirting outrageously? Sure he's teased Steve consistently throughout the millennia but it was mostly just to get Steve all huffy and irritated rather than to, like, seduce him. Steve gets incredibly flustered annoyed under Eddie's new type of attention and is very thoroughly distracted by it.

(ofc it turns out that even though Steve is an angel who should be above such things as carnal sin, he's actually VERY experienced in the sack. Eddie, by contrast, might be the most virginal demon to have ever existed and really has no idea what to do when Steve starts giving Eddie as good as he gets; they're essentially playing gay chicken except for how they're both ethereal/occult beings without any human sex or gender, but they do have wings so the chicken bit still applies)

Then other stuff happens and they all fall in love and live happily on Earth with the occasional confrontation with Heaven and/or Hell whenever one of their sides tries to start some apocalypse or other again!

#stranger things #steddie #buckingham #good omens #go au #trensu tells stories

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thesherrinfordfacility · 9 months

Note

My analysis on their psyche was right but at what cost..

I expected it to happen but I failed to realize that they would start it so late in the season and conclude it in s.3. But in this misery I decided to do more analysis and theorizing. In the context of the ending of s.2 (it's stupidly long and yet this is only half my ideas)

I do feel this was both of their lowests and super dysfunctional, but it needed to happen. Crowley needed to finally talk about his feelings and what he wants because it's valuable. In my opinion that kiss was less of a tempt and more a moment of consolation for himself. "This might just be the last time we talk, I might never get the change, maybe this can change things" he definitely still has his issues. Aziraphale as a character who currently has the arc of someone indoctrinated ends up dismissing and putting down Crowley's entire being.

As for s.3 I think we're definitely seeing them apart for a while. I said it from the beginning, they need to grow by themselves, they cannot dump their problems on each other (parallel to Nina and Maggie). They each need to have their character arc, aziraphale is definitely going to be more overt considering how much we saw how his philosophy is all over the place (the amount of mental gymnastics thus man goes though to maintain his beliefs just reeks of religious cults) but still is stuck in this toxic relationship with heaven.Yeah Neil is definitely gonna make this hard for aziraphale

But Crowley I think is gonna be less overt, though this definitely confirms to me atleast that we need to see how Crowley falls. Every issue stems from there. Both of them need to realize that being kind, nice and loving isn't a "angelic" trait. Crowley makes this reasons to why he's never good enough or unforgivable and has tendencies to worship aziraphale, trying to do everything he can. While aziraphale thinks that means Crowley wants to be an angel and that he'd be better as it (more into the superiority issue). And then that feeds into Crowley's issue and becomes a whole mess.

Taking time away for aziraphale to realize what heaven truly is BY himself. Yeah it's the reality check he needs. Honestly both of them should just go to therapy. Ones indoctrinated other ones got religious trauma.

Ps: metatron planned this, that look he gave Crowley and the music getting sinister. I almost expected him to walk out and tell aziraphale to kill him off. He knew what he was doing.

@ocean-cloud im so sorry im only getting to your ask now, it's been a mad 36 hours for my inbox✨ i 100% agree with you on every single point; s3 imo really needs to be the complete stripping down and rebuild of their characters, separate from each other, and then look at building them back together as a couple!!!✨

#good omens #good omens season 2 #good omens spoilers #good omens 2 spoilers #not a shitpost but its good omens babyyyy #ask

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spicywarl0ck · 8 months

Text

Lost

Just had some inspiration hitting me yesterday, after rewatching Good Omen's again. I just needed to write this to get over my feelings okay? XD

He’d never felt as lost before as he did now when he drove his Bentley through the streets of London.

His hands clamped the steering wheel so tensely that his knuckles turned white and his face was nothing more but a blank mask. There was no goal he aimed for to be, no place he wanted to see. It all seemed pointless anyway.

He could’ve gone to Alpha Centauri of course, even around this time of the year it wasn’t too bad… no real nightlife of course, but it was quite alright.

But then, he wasn’t sure if any place would be any good to him right now, as for all he felt was a numbness and an emptiness he wasn’t sure how to fill.

Anger would’ve probably been good, and oh he wanted to be angry so badly. He had been boiling when he left the bookshop, aiming straight for his car to sit down and drive far far away from this angel and his stupidity.

But he hadn’t.

Instead, he sat down behind the wheel, hands clamped around it as they did now, unmoving.

He’d caught the movement of Nina’s busy coffee shop out of his peripheral view, yet not letting the bookshop out of his sight either. Not as long as there was just the tiniest spark of hope he’d see the angel walking out and coming for him.

But he hadn’t.

Instead, he watched him walking out the door with the Metatron, abandoning his little sanctuary of books in the same way he’d abandoned him. There was a feeling of finality when he saw him entering the elevator to heaven, fully knowing he would not return and feeling like a fool for hoping even for one second.

Anger turned to hurt very quickly, leaving him sitting there and waiting… the taste of Aziraphale’s lips still lingering on his. Oh, how much he wanted to feel anger right now, instead of… this stinging pain in his chest. How much he wanted to hate the angel putting him into this misery, after finally managing up his courage to tell him his real feelings, of all things.

But he knew that he didn’t have it in him to hate Aziraphale, no matter if it would make things easier or not.

Of course, it had never been easy with this… angel. They’d spent thousands of years with each other, even known each other since the very beginning of humankind. Of course, their relationship had started a bit rocky, but with the time they came to enjoy each other's company quite a bit.

Or at least so he thought when he remembered all the times they’d been dining in the Ritz.

But all of that was over now. The angel made his choice, and he wouldn’t return to him. His hands clamped around the steering wheel even tighter, his foot pressing hardly down onto the gas pedal as his jaw clenched.

Everything that they were… and everything that they could have been was gone just like this.

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