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guardian-of-soho · 8 months

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For how tender and domestic (and “quiet and romantic”) the new season is, there’s such an endless sense of hovering danger around the little haven of the bookshop in the present day (not to mention the flashbacks). It’s implied they’ve been left alone a few years; but it’s clear the peace is ending.

From the moment “Jim” arrives we’re never left a minute without the shadow of Heaven or Hell darkening the doorstep of the bookshop and their safety, until the night the last-ditch dance to hold Heaven off turns into Hell coming over the threshold. They’re not left to peace. They’re not allowed to find their human happiness — not via the dance nor even by their one big kiss — not so long as Heaven and Hell want them gone. Not so long as their love stands as the threat to Eternity that it is.

That’s the only way I can make any sense of Aziraphale’s return to Heaven. They never left him alone, and for all he seemed sure of himself in helping Jim hide from them, and wooing Crowley amidst their invasions, and even refusing the Metatron at first — he must have felt the end approaching. He must have known that whatever was done to Jim could be done to him too.

He could lose himself. He could lose his capacity to protect Crowley, or Soho and the humans he loved. He could lose all memory of what had been so precious to him, worth defying Heaven for, and why he was on Earth, and who he could trust, and why.

Others have pointed out how determinedly he ignores Crowley’s fear amid the dancing. I think — I hope — that it’s not that he doesn’t want to hear him. It’s that he is pushing back his own fear to reach for happiness; it’s that he needs so badly to let him know he loves him, before it’s too late. He needs to have a moment’s romance. He knows “too late” is coming.

And then it’s there.

And still when Heaven offers him a way to dodge the doom they bring, he refuses point blank until they promise he can buy Crowley’s safety by his surrender. (And it is a surrender, for all he says he believes he’ll be in charge. Within moments of losing Crowley he’s giving the Metatron the same fake smiles and feigned agreement he’s always offered Heaven. He’s leashed again.) He wants their safety, he wants it unassailable, and I hope that’s the first reason he went back. (I don’t imagine the promise of their approval meant nothing to him. I think he wants their power and their praise. But I don’t believe it was what he wanted first.)

He’s just watched their haven (our shop!) invaded by Hell, and then by Heaven, and then watched two traitors in love, the heads of their sides, driven to the far reaches of the universe under threat of being followed — that’s not the end he wants for him and Crowley. He doesn’t imagine Heaven can be as sweet for them as Earth; but he believes their days on Earth are numbered. I think having watched their refuge breached so easily has had the same effect on him that watching it burn had on Crowley — nothing feels safe anymore; nothing feels permanent.

But Crowley’s reaction was “I want to spend whatever time we have left together as far away as we can get,” Aziraphale’s is “I want to invade the heart of the threat and turn it into home.” They’re so terribly brave; and they’re so in need of some humans showing them how to face down a threat together instead of running or joining it. I want to watch a replay of the airfield last stand, and the bookshop battle, but with power enough on their side to win Earth’s permanent peace.

I want Crowley and Aziraphale both to decide that even without Adam’s power or any particular prophecy or a tangible plan, they’ll take their chances on the humans’ side for good and all, and count it worth the dangers. And I want to see them win. Earth’s side has been theirs; they deserve to be sheltered and saved by it, too.

#good omens #good omens 2 #ineffable husbands #a/c #the new season is honestly so scary for how sweet it is #Jim’s situation is presented as funny but it’s also a horror story #he was so close to losing everything and never even knowing it had happened #there’s no way Aziraphale didn’t think about that happening to him

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inhonoredglory · 9 months

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A Wartime Footing: An Explanation for Aziraphale's Elevator Smile

(Based on an ask from @sabotage-on-mercury in response to my meta on why Aziraphale had to go to Heaven)

The creepy smile was one part of the ending I couldn't quite put my finger on either, until someone pointed out on a Twitter response to my meta:

The reason why its scary is bc azi is becoming properly angry at the system and is 101% determined to set things right (Source)

In season 1, Aziraphale was determined not to kill anyone to stop the Apocalypse. He wouldn't even tell Crowley where the Antichrist was, because Crowley's only solution was to kill him.

And because Crowley consistently didn't have any ideas ("not one single better idea??"), Aziraphale took it on himself to pursue the only option left––to ask God to intervene and stop both Heaven and Hell from destroying Earth. Therefore, Aziraphale had to keep the integrity of his angel status by distancing himself from Crowley, while the world was still in danger.

Despite this dedication avoid bloodshed, when God didn't have an answer, Aziraphale went against one of his core beliefs to help save the world. He was willing to murder a child.

For Aziraphale, that takes guts. And (seeing how he reacted at the end of the Job minisode), I wonder that if he had killed Adam Young, Aziraphale would have checked himself into Hell.

Going to Heaven for Aziraphale is ultimately a conscious choice, one that he is clearly afraid of. We see him constantly steeling himself again the Metatron in the end, covering his fear and hurt from losing Crowley with a placid smile and a flippant attitude. He's wearing so many masks, to Crowley, to himself, to the Metatron...

All season we've seen him playing roles (detective, magician, doctor, landlord). But the final role is warrior. Going up that elevator, we first see Aziraphale's eyes searching, worried, panicking, but unable to show it because he's not in a safe space. He swallows, blinks, he's breathing hard (you can see his entire shoulders rise and fall).

But as he goes up, his expression steels. He's quite literally putting on a mask (to himself): a vengeful, hardened expression of pure anger and rage (to drown out the fear and uncertainty he so clearly still has).

Michael Sheen conveying contained anger in both Good Omens and Masters of Sex.

Cuz this isn't just him scrambling to kill a kid, this is him walking calmly and knowingly into sacrificing everything he loves most (Crowley, the bookshop, his entire life on earth) to create a world that will always be safe for him and Crowley and humanity for the rest of time. Where he would have to go up against the most powerful angels, the Metatron, and God Themself to change things. He can't be the kind, sweet angel he was on Earth. That won't cut it in Heaven if he wants to make a difference in any real way.

He wanted to do it with Crowley, with the love and support and strength of his demon. But without him, Aziraphale has to channel something else to keep his resolve afloat.

Something he had when he was a warrior, fighting on the front lines of a battle between Heaven and Hell, when he very likely led a platoon into divine fields of bloodshed before the earth was born. When he was an avenging angel.

I haven’t done this since the Great War.

It was a time and an identity he had chosen to leave behind, because it wasn't the kind of angel he was anymore ("I'm not fighting in any war!"). In this context, you can read Aziraphale's passionate unwillingness to take a life (his pacifism) directly into his past experience as a warrior. It is often the veterans of terrible wars who are the most earnest advocates for peace. (And especially in Britain and Europe, where the violence of the world wars is still such a powerful and painful national memory.)

As he goes up the elevator, he's breathing so hard we can hear it mirrored in the soundtrack, and he is so hyperfocused on steeling himself that he doesn't even care that the Metatron is watching him. He doesn't rest until he's psyched himself into that warrior mindset necessary to carry out this mission entirely by himself, to be both the moral advocate and the uncompromising leader of angels who had intimidated him his entire life. To demand respect and to talk to the very face of God and tell Them they are Wrong.

(Please read this Neil-approved meta for further thoughts on God and Aziraphale.)

That creepy smile is clearly not there because Aziraphale is happy to fall into a toxic parent's false love. There's no comfort or wistful nostalgia in that face. There's no "it'll be so much nicer" in that smile. It's not a happy smile. It's an I'm-gonna-fuck-shit-up smile.

Because it's a warrior's smile before they go into battle, before they put on that armor and, for a while, become something they're not in the name of some greater good. He's fucking furious and it's downright frightening.

Because I have no doubt that the angel Aziraphale we get in Season 3 is the angel Aziraphale who can say this:

He's not quite there yet in the TV show. But this bravery, this anger, this flaming rage is how it starts.

Or as he's described in the book when Aziraphale mysteriously does away with the local mafia:

Just because you’re an angel doesn’t mean you have to be a fool.

#good omens #good omens 2 #aziraphale #aziraphale meta #aziraphale defense squad #ineffable husbands #good omens meta #go s2 meta #go meta #go s2 #michael sheen #book!aziraphale #*mine #*mymeta #made this a separate post cuz i dunno which version is better for reblogs #the side-by-side gifs kept crashing on me 😑#anyway I love and adore defending our angel #but in no way am I taking sides #I'm just coming to his aid since he's getting so much flack rn

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wordsinhaled · 9 months

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the thing about crowley’s confession is… he must have thought about it in the bit of time he had before doing it. i mean... he went and sat outside marguerite’s with his wine, and thought. he thought very hard about how there was a threat—a sleeper—a ticking time bomb in aziraphale’s bookshop that could explode at any moment, take away all their hard-won peace, their safety, their comfort.

but most importantly, a threat to aziraphale. gabriel had tried once to destroy aziraphale already, and only hadn’t because they'd swapped bodies. and crowley's clearly terrified that this time, what they're doing feels reckless, feels like playing with something far too important at stake. it's like... already knowing someone is so important to you—and then having the possibility that it could really be something dangled in front of you—and then knowing there's an existential threat to that potential? awful. horrifying. no wonder he can't find the words.

we know crowley is a romantic. we know how much joy it brings him to see other people fall in love. and... honestly... i'm not sure it’s that nina needed to spell the nature of his feelings out for him, exactly. crowley's known where he stands towards aziraphale for a long time if we're to judge him by his acts (which are always acts of service, care, and attention, which always speak louder than his words). so i don't think it was that, as much as just—the experience of being perceived by someone else, sort of jostling something for him.

because crowley's watched the romance films, hasn't he, he knows the exact tropes he's working with, but the idea that they could apply to him—to him and aziraphale? i don't think he considered that until it was offered to him as an option. and once it was, there was crowley's mind far exceeding the speed limit trying to wrap itself around all of this.

and so he must have looked at it, and all signs, all signs, were pointing to aziraphale being receptive.

crowley probably thought about all the times aziraphale had touched him in the last day alone. all the little glances and looks aziraphale had been giving him, which crowley surely hadn’t missed because he’s always staring right back. he probably thought about how aziraphale thinks the bentley is their car and the bookshop is their shop, about how aziraphale told him that he thought they’d carved a peaceful existence out for themselves. and after the ball, he probably thought about how aziraphale asked him to dance, at this event that was meant to get other people to fall in love, but aziraphale had wanted to dance with him.

so crowley most likely looked at all of this and thought he’s finally ready. he’s finally caught up. when i ask this time, he’s going to say yes. and he watched aziraphale so warily, too, after the realization, because there's a way that it feels, to be holding on to a truth so direly important and so terribly exciting and so very requited, as far as crowley can tell. it's like, am i holding myself differently now? can he tell? has he always been able to tell? am i about to muck it up? i'm about to muck it up. i muck everything up, but not this. not this. he's the center of my universe so it's worth it. and it's alright, even if i muck it up, because he's going to say yes. dear god: i'd only ask if it was important.

and so he queued up their song in the bentley and he talked to muriel like they’re a them, like they’re going to be a couple, a couple who needs us time. he gave himself the luxury of imagining it, of planning it all out in his mind—how everyone was going to finally leave off pulling them toward some greater purpose and just let the two of them be together, and aziraphale was going to at last let crowley be to him what he’s always wanted to be—what he’s been being already, evidently, to the point where strangers on the street ask how long they’ve been together.

and then in the end, to be rejected like that. to be rejected even while the love is pouring off aziraphale in anguished waves—and if he loves me too, then why won't he say yes? to be rejected and to know this isn't how it's supposed to go, even though it's the way it's always gone. crowley always asks and aziraphale always says no. somehow, this time was supposed to be different. he'd dared to hope properly. and how had he misjudged it so terribly this time? how much of it had been wishful thinking? and he had to have felt aziraphale's hands grasping at his shoulders, had to have felt the start of a kiss returned, and thought that maybe there was a spark of hope yet.

but there wasn't.

because nothing lasts forever. apparently.

#aughhhhhh #good omens #good omens 2 #ineffable husbands #aziracrow

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santacoppelia · 8 months

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The HUGE analysis - This season starts and ends with a discussion, doesn't it?

Ok, my loves. This was one of the really long metas I've been working with, and probably the one that has taken me the longest (because it depended a lot on rewatching the season time and again).

I couldn't help to notice that the fist interaction Aziraphale and Crowley have in season 2 is a fight, really. Yeah, we have the beautiful “in the beginning” sequence, with both of them being angels and happy and all the such (oh, how lovely, Neil Gaiman planting the seeds of why it will matter to us that Aziraphale will not be fighting the idea of inviting Crowley to Heaven, because he remembers that happy, careless guy). But after the intro, we see them having a big disagreement… And we end the season in the biggest disagreement they have had, probably, in 6,000 years.

I love over-analyzing and dissecting narratives and characters, and more so if I can use only what we’ve been shown in the screen. Therefore, I believe that the first fight of the season tells us a lot of the things we will need to know to understand the final fight of the season between them. Let’s take a look, shall we?

The first fight is motivated by having an amnesiac Gabriel in the bookshop.

They see the same circumstance: Gabriel in the bookshop means trouble with Heaven. He is also an individual risk, because he has menaced Aziraphale directly (well, Crowley under the visage of Aziraphale).

It affects each of them differently: even when they both panic, Aziraphale feels compelled to be kind to Gabriel (gives him a blanket and hot cocoa) while Crowley has a full-on panic induced reaction and gets defensive.

They propose opposite solutions: Azi wants to do the Good thing, taking the “higher road” (help Gabriel), while Crowley wants to do His Own thing: “Protect the precious, peaceful, fragile existence I have carved for myself”

At that moment, Aziraphale corrects him and marks a “we”, which is very interesting. But immediately after that, Aziraphale gets all "my way or the highway".

Crowley asks for clarification, with a well-leveled tone of voice: “Is this how it is going to go?”

Azi clarifies "no, I want you to help me!" But then he does the passive-aggressive thing: "if you won't, you won't". (oh, Aziraphale, how you triggered me here, my dear chap. I was angry at the character the first 6 times I saw this)

Therefore, Crowley is out. He marks a clear limit: “I won't. You are on your own”, and then storms out. No Eccles cakes would help him: he needs a breather and counting to 10. That doesn't help either.

Crowley only comes back after gaining an extra perspective: the "extreme sanctions" talk with Beelzebub.

When he comes back, Aziraphale will stand his ground: he feels he deserves an apology, which is delivered via a “I was wrong, you were right” literal admission (even when he probably wasn't "right", but that's their way... And they've been doing it since 1650, or so they say). Then they are able to work together again.

Now, let’s see how this dynamic plays out in their last discussion of the season:

They come from different sides of the same experience: Crowley went to Heaven to investigate and learned about the plans to continue with the end of the world, while Aziraphale stayed defending the bookshop. Then Crowley saves the humans, while Aziraphale solved the Beelzebub + Gabriel affair.

They haven’t had time to talk, as they get interrupted by The Metatron. While he takes Aziraphale, Crowley receives a visit from Maggie and Nina.

Each one of them gained an extra different perspective: Azi, the Metatron proposal (and veiled menace); Crowley, the pep talk/scolding from the couple they were trying to get together.

This makes them develop different solutions:

Crowley wants to finally admit what Azi has been saying all the season: they are a "we" (Azi said so when Crowley talked about his “precious, peaceful, fragile existence”; he said it again when talking about “our car” and reinforced it with the bookshop)

Azi wants to take the "higher road": go to Heaven, reinstate Crowley as an angel, so they can still work together.

Crowley sees the “usual dynamic” of their disagreements coming: it will be Azi’s way (or the highway). That has happened before, in front of our eyes, and not only in this season: it happened also in season 1, but we have already attested that it is still happening, and it is even “worse” (Aziraphale being a little “petty” with the “if you do, it is fine, but if you won’t, you are on your own” in the Gabriel discussion).

Crowley gets indignant. He asks, tentatively, if he told him where to stick it… And then he reinforces his belief. We are better than that, YOU are better than that, you don’t need them, I don’t need them; then he makes the first mention of the offer of getting back to Hell (which he hadn’t shared with Aziraphale), and makes a new point: I said no, neither should you!

Aziraphale goes back to the “you are the bad guys!” thing. Heaven being the side of Truth, of Light, of Good… It is not the propaganda Crowley needed for this move.

Crowley then clarifies the fallacy in his logic: when Heaven ends life on Earth, it’ll be just as dead as if Hell ended it.

Aziraphale then sees the "undesirable result" coming: Crowley is not going to accept, not with that argument.

Crowley makes his plead grow in urgency: Tell me you said no.

Aziraphale’s pitch of voice goes high (usually used as a sign of distress): “If I’m in charge, I can make a difference.”

Crowley understands. This is his “my way or the highway” moment. That’s why he comes up with the courage to make his half-proposal-half admission.

Crowley never gets to state out loud the “I want us to be together in a formal way” part. His voice breaks before he does so. He mentions all of the reasons they have to stay together, which Aziraphale already knows: we have been together for a long time, we’ve been a group (“our own side” was the way he always said it before) and we’ve spent our existence pretending that we aren’t (Azi also knows that! He has been working hard into making Crowley notice it!)

You can see, when they shoot Aziraphale’s face, he squints a little during that moment: maybe questioning, a little disbelief? As usual with Michael Sheen, it is a blink it and you’ll miss it moment.

After the grunt, Crowley proposes his alternative solution: going off together, using Beelzebub & Gabriel as an example that they could.

Therefore, what Aziraphale has just listened is what he already knew: yes, they are a “we”. Crowley wants to run away (he had proposed it twice during the Armageddidn’t, another pattern they have already established).

The next step is the usual way for Aziraphale: he reinforces his proposal: come with me, to Heaven. Ill’ run it, you can be my second in command. This idea has rubbed me wrong since the first time I watched this scene. Why remark the hierarchy? (not to say that I’m in Crowley’s side in here, but… It was weird and uncomfortable to think of them in a vertical power structure; they have always been equals).

Then, he goes back to making a difference, only it is “we” this time. Crowley is noticing he won’t back down… But Aziraphale usually doesn’t.

“You can’t leave this bookshop” works as a representation, a figure of speech. “This Bookshop” is “This life we have been building”, and they both understand it as such.

“Oh, Crowley… Nothing lasts forever…” For Aziraphale, it means he can leave this for something greater. For Crowley, it means… Actually, the same. But without him. Because he knows the “my way or the highway” side of Aziraphale, and none of them will budge. Aaaaand… that’s Crowley heart breaking. The rest of the scene happens with Crowley in “breakup mode”.

Aziraphale is used to “the discussion dance”. He Insists, “Crowley! Come back, to Heaven, work with me! We can be together, Angels! Doing good!”. He promises all he can: “come back, work with me, we can be together”, which have always been Crowley’s triggers to change his mind. However, the problem lies within the “angels doing good”. That’s the part that Aziraphale would need to let go before getting back to Crowley.

And then, he breaks down: “I need you!!” That has always worked! Aziraphale knows that Crowley loves being needed, he won’t leave his angel when in need, right?

And then, he gets angry. And he questions if Crowley has understood what he is offering, which transforms in an “I don’t think your exactly and my exactly are the same exactly” all over again.

Crowley is already brokenhearted, so he answers truthfully, as far as he knows. He understands how terrible the offer of going back to heaven is for both of them, and is not aware of the veiled threat in Metatron’s offer. He knows that going back to Heaven is a non-negotiable boundary, and Aziraphale is absolutely determined to cross it.

Aziraphale, then, does his passive-aggressive shit again: “I guess there is nothing more to say”. My guy, my love, you need to become better at negotiating with your loved one.

This is where Crowley decides to show, don’t tell, the hurt: no nightingales. And then… The “You idiot. We could have been… us” (no, you couldn’t, it was always too late!!! First the pandemic, which I’ve decided to treat as canon, then Gabriel. They never stood a chance).

In this context, Crowley’s kiss is a desperate way to say good-bye to the person he cared most for the last 6,000 years; also an angry way to regain some semblance of control and affect Aziraphale; and a final way to get some “closure”. Is there desire? Is there love? Maybe. But they are lost in a cocktail of emotions that have been stated during the rest of the discussion.

The angry “I forgive you”, which is also a usual dynamic for Aziraphale when he is angry with Crowley, gets there too late for Crowley to react to. He has already “checked out”. That’s why the “don’t bother” feels almost like an afterthought and comes after a small sigh.

After watching this 16 times, I’m pretty confident that the first thing Aziraphale mouths is a “no…” and then… he sobs a little. Michael Sheen, you’re a beautiful actor. The rest of it is a masterclass in using microexpressions to convey a whirlwind of emotions in under 2 minutes.

Sooooo... Did I hurt my own emotions while writing this? Yes. Did I absolutely need to do so? Also yes. Even when I like doing intertextual readings (and that's why I like bringing some theology to some of my musings), reading what is in "the text" (in the scenes we have watched, in the dialogues we've been shown) gives me an enormous amount of pleasure, and I find a lot of comfort in believing that most of the things that I'll need to understand and enjoy a great piece of media are being given to me inside it. And I believe Good Omens is a great piece of media!!

I have no Shakespeare to offer you this time. Let me know what you think!!

#good omens 2 #good omens meta #good omens spoilers #ineffable divorce #the final fifteen #narrative analysis #character analysis #good omens #anthony j crowley #aziraphale #If I was into Academia this should be counted as a journal referenced publication #Making my Comms Sci degree useful for something

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raz-writes-the-thing · 7 months

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Five More Minutes (Good Omens Drabble)

Aziraphale x Crowley x GN!Reader / requests are: open and encouraged

Summary: Your partners catch you singing under your breath.

CW: tooth rotting fluff- make your dentist appointments now

Gomens Tag List: @coffee-and-red-lipstick @quickslvxrr (send an ask to be added to a tag list!)

___ ___ ___ ___ ___

It’s a peaceful morning, for once. No impending doom, no threat of Armageddon, no Heaven or Hell bearing down on all sides. Just a lovely, quiet morning. Your partners had left already by the time you had gotten up in the morning, off doing something they shouldn’t, you supposed. Usually, they’d invite you with them, but they must have known you’d needed a sleep-in. In all honesty, you had been getting a little crabby lately.

There was just something different about today. Maybe it was the warm light pouring through the kitchenette window… Fresh sunlight always made you feel fresh and centred. You popped the jug on and moved over to the radio to turn it on. You had discovered some time back that Aziraphale had put a miracle on the old, vintage thing to instantly find a station that was playing one of your favourite artists. When you’d asked him about this, he’d blushed and spluttered out that he didn’t think you’d notice. He loved doing little things like that for you.

Today, the little radio knew exactly what it was doing and flipped to a station playing one of your favourite songs. You grinned, swanning about the kitchenette to make yourself a cup of tea. You were humming and singing along with the song as you went, hips bopping and swaying just slightly to the music. Yeah, today was going to be a good day.

When you’d made your tea and breakfast, you pulled all the items into the back office room of the Bookshop, settling them down and wandering over to the bookcase Crowley had put in for you, saying you should have somewhere for your own books to read. The both of them sometimes left little novellas and things they thought you might like somewhere on the shelf for you to find, too. It was incredibly sweet of them.

It was as you were reaching up for a book just out of your reach on the top shelf that a warm hand pressed into your side and another hand reached for the novel you were going for. You all but shrieked in surprise, and twirled around to see Crowley lounging on your office chair and Aziraphale pressing up against you with a soft smile on his lips. Crowley was giving the two of you an incredibly soft barely imperceptible smile. Not something you necessarily see a whole lot from him.

“Here, my dear, let me get that for you,” the Angel says softly, grabbing the book and passing it to Crowley, who takes it without question or complaint. You give Aziraphale a confused look. You wanted that. “It’s been quite some time since we heard you singing, love.”

Your cheeks flushed the lightest shade of pink. A nervous giggle bubbled out of you.

“Oh, you heard that, did you?”

“Fraid so, Pet,” Crowley said, a little smirk edging its way onto his features. The Demon discarded his sunglasses on the desk. “Better than Mercury, in my opinion.”

You rolled your eyes and looked back at your Angel, who had been surreptitiously placing one hand on your waist and one in your own. With a look towards Crowley, the Demon leaned over to turn the radio up. You grinned, joy radiating off you in waves. Your lovers seemed to bask in its warmth as Aziraphale led you in a dance. He always did love to dance.

When Aziraphale danced with you, it was soft, and usually some kind of dance he’d learned many years ago and seemed all too determined to bring back to the twenty-first century. When Crowley danced with you it was chaotic and without form, the both of you jumping around and doing whatever seemed to fit the song and the moment. You loved them both.

Crowley stood and came to stand behind you. He wrapped his arms around the both of you, and Aizraphale dropped your waist and your hand to do the same, so you were cocooned in love and affection. You sighed in pure relief, leaning into them.

Crowley started to sway to the music. Back and forth, humming softly to the tune. It was one of your favourites, so he’d heard it plenty of times. More than enough to learn the melody and the words.

You basked in their love for a few more minutes before clearing your throat sadly.

“As much as I am loving this, my tea will be going cold.” Yet you made no movements to escape their embrace.

“No, it won’t,” Crowley replied knowingly, resting his chin on the top of your head as you swayed to the beat. Ah, he’d pulled a miracle to keep your tea and breakfast hot. How thoughtful of him.

“Just five more minutes, my dear?” Aziraphale asked softly, sighing with pleasure into your shoulder. How could you say no to that?

“Five more minutes, then,” you agreed.

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thegettingbyp2 · 2 months

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smut with older, experienced, philadelphia jess maybe?

Old Flames

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Seeing Jess again after 10 years felt like a shock to your system. You’d dated when you were younger but had broken up because you both seemed to be heading in different directions and neither of you wanted to hold the other back. So, when you opened your door to see an older, more muscular looking Jess, you were shocked, you had pretty much convinced yourself that you were never going to see him again and you’d made peace with that.

‘What are you doing here?’ you asked, surprise colouring your voice, not remembering to say anything else.

‘I was here visiting Uncle Luke and he said that you still lived here so I thought I’d pop over and say hi. I brought a bottle of wine, but I can always go if you want,’ he said, nervous as he held the bottle of wine up.

‘No,’ you said quickly before noticing the slightly hurt look from Jess. ‘I mean, no I don’t want you to go. Come in,’ you explained, opening the door wider and stepping to the side so Jess could walk in. It felt weird having Jess in your home, you hadn’t dated for years and you could clearly see how much the years had changed you both since you’d last seen each other but seeing Jess standing in your house felt right somehow.

You wandered through to the kitchen to grab a couple of wine glasses and before you knew it, the two of you were sitting on the sofa, the bottle of wine empty as you both thought back over your memories.

‘Do you remember that date I took you on to the bookshop?’ he asked, grinning at you.

‘How could I forget! You told me that I could pick as many books as I wanted and you went as pale as a ghost when I turned up with a whole stack!’ you exclaimed, laughing as you thought back to the joke you’d played on him.

‘That was horrible! I felt so bad having to tell you that I couldn’t afford them all!’ Jess replied, laughing along with you.

It wasn’t too long after that the both of you found yourselves inching closer to each other, his hand landing on your thigh as his breath fanned your hair gently. ‘So, how long are you here for?’ you asked, trying to think of anything to say to avoid thinking about how good Jess’ hand felt on you.

‘Well, that all depends,’ he murmured lowly as he looked at you.

‘On what?’

‘On how everything goes here in town.’

‘Doesn’t your girlfriend want to know when you’ll be home?’

‘What makes you think I have a girlfriend?’

His reply pulled you up short, you were sure that someone like Jess out there in somewhere like Philadelphia was bound to have a girlfriend. ‘You don’t?’ you asked quietly, looking at him from the corner of your eye.

‘No,’ he said, breathing out before his finger came to rest underneath your chin as he tilted your head up to face him and you were surprised to see just how close his mouth was to yours. ‘So, now you know that, can I do what I’ve been wanting to do from the minute you opened the door?’

You nodded and the next thing you knew, Jess’ lips were on yours. His tongue traced your bottom lip, begging for entrance and you parted your lips, letting his tongue dip languidly into your mouth. You couldn’t help but notice the difference in this kiss compared to all of the other kisses you’d shared with Jess. Years ago, he’d kiss you with a hurried urgency, like he was scared that you’d disappear. Now, he kissed you as though he knew that he could take his time and he was taking advantage of that. Your hands moved up to twist in his hair, keeping his lips pressed against you as he moved you into his lap.

As soon as you were sat in his lap, your fingers moved to his t-shirt, slipping your hands underneath it as you tried to pull it up his body and off of his head. When you couldn’t, small whimpers began to leave your lips, making Jess break the kiss to look at you.

‘Hold on, we don’t have to do this here,’ he said, brushing his thumbs against your cheeks softly.

‘I want you,’ you whined, tugging on his top again making him groan and help you take his t-shirt off before pressing his lips back against yours. Your hips started absentmindedly grinding against his crotch and you smirked against his lips when you felt him harden underneath you.

He pushed your sundress up around your hips and promptly dragged your panties down your legs, lifting one of your legs to rest on his shoulder as he pushed his jeans down his legs, discarding them on the floor before leaning over you, the angle of your leg on his shoulder, allowing him to rub against your pussy as he kissed you.

Trailing his fingers down your body, you gasped against his lips when you felt his fingers brush lightly against your clit as he wrapped his hand around his cock, nudging at your entrance lightly, making your hips buck up against him, trying to get more. ‘Patience,’ he shushed you when you began to whine as he bumped against your clit. ‘There’s no rush.’

‘What happened to you,’ you joked, used to the Jess that would jump on you pretty much the second the two of you were alone.

‘I grew up,’ he replied, grinning down at you before pressing his lips back to yours, ‘I learnt how to take my time.’

As he spoke, he slowly pushed into you, making your eyes flutter closed and your lips fall open as a quiet moan escaped. When his hips were flushed with yours, you couldn’t help the smile that appeared on your lips, remembering back to how right he felt inside you all those years ago and how that hadn’t changed one single bit. ‘Okay, but we can take our time later, please, Jess.’

Burying his head in your neck, his hips began to snap against you in a bruising pace that had the breath being pushed from your lungs every time his hips collided with yours. Your nails dug into his back, pulling a sharp his from his lips before he nipped your neck, soothing his tongue over the bite instantly. One of your hands left his back to blindly feel for his face, moving his head out of your neck and making him look at you before you leaned up and pressed your lips against his, the both of you swallowing each others moans.

You could feel that you were close when he adjusted his hips slightly so his cock slammed against the spot that made you see stars every time he entered you and you found yourself gasping with every thrust.

‘Hold on, baby,’ Jess murmured, trailing his nose along your jawline as his eyes closed and his hips began to snap harder into yours.

‘I can’t,’ you whined, trying to hold off your orgasm.

‘Yes, you can, I’m almost there,’ he said, moving his hand down so his thumb could trace circles on your clit. At the first swipe of his thumb, you clenched down around him, throwing the both of you into your orgasms together.

The two of you panted into each others mouths as you both came down from your highs, grinning at each other. ‘That was,’

‘Amazing,’ Jess finished for you before he slowly pulled out of you, grabbing a blanket from the back of the sofa and draping it over you, pressing a kiss to your knee before he got up to look for his clothes.

‘What are you doing?’ you asked, frowning at him as you sat up, holding the blanket to your chest.

‘I need to find my clothes and then I’ll go.’

‘I don’t want you to go.’

‘You don’t?’ he asked, looking up at you, a shimmer of hope in his eyes.

‘No, I don’t want you to go again, it’s taken this long for us to find each other again. Please stay,’ you said quietly, panicking that he wasn’t on the same page as you.

‘You really want me to stay?’ Jess asked softly, moving back over to you and sitting on the sofa, bringing his hand up to cup your cheek, tracing with his thumb gently.

‘Please,’ you said in an almost whisper, nodding frantically, not caring if it made you look desperate or not.

Jess smiled at you before pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. ‘Then you’re going to have to let me in this blanket.’

#jess mariano #jess mariano imagine #jess mariano smut #jess mariano x reader #gilmore girls

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thursdayisbetterthanfriday · 7 months

Text

Science Fiction as a Reflection on Society - PLUTO & The Cycle of Hate

MAJOR SPOILER WARNING -You can read this before reading PLUTO but it will spoil many major plot points!

In 2015, I picked up a manga volume in a London bookshop called PLUTO. I had a burgeoning interest in AI, and computer science, at the time and had read Naoki Urasawa's manga Monster many years prior. It seemed a perfect read. Little did I know, it would become my favourite manga.

As I read the first volume I realised this wasn't just a simple Astro Boy adaptation. Like many of Urasawa's stories, PLUTO was a layered story which took its source material and asked fundamental questions about its premise.

The more innocent veneer of the Astro Boy world was stripped away, and echoes of the Middle East, of Afganistan, Iraq and Palestine, were transposed into the background of what was on the surface a simple detective story plot. The long memories, and relentless logic, of robots became a means by which conflict could be examined, but also a way to reveal the weaknesses in the non-empathetic nature of robotics and AI.

Instead of a traditional manga and anime trope of beating the strongest villain against the odds, it became a tragic, yet hopeful, story about the long-tail effects of trauma and how our memories of the past, remembered or misremembered, shape our present.

Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it

From the 1980s Soviet invasion to the modern day US involvement in the Middle East, the trauma of the conflict had lasting impacts on both the invaded countries, and those who invaded. Talented people, who at peace could have done and produced great things, were reduced to administering corrupt governments, fighting occupying forces and wasting their lives on a fractious peace based on subterfuge and realpolitik.

Robot Mont. Blanc, killed in the opening part of PLUTO acts as the introduction of this theme. A deeply environmentalist robot, who was beloved by mountaineers and children alike, was sent to fight in a war whose values conflicted with his own.

Despite his experiences, he went on to live in his old life - tending to and caring for the Swiss Alps and those who lived within them, but was ultimately killed by a mysterious perpetrator.

This theme is carried through with all the "greatest robots on Earth", who are targeted by PLUTO, and who all are trying to make something of their lives after the end of the conflict, most of whom have managed to shake off the negative experiences of their past - while still being haunted by it.

During the gradual decolonization of the colonial powers of Europe in the Middle East, there existed periods in the Middle East of relative calm and stability. People were able to life affluent, and prosperous lives without the threat of violence and revolution - with collaboration between US, European and USSR workers and those who lived there allowing for the construction of infrastructure and advanced manufacturing facilities.

But what about those who can't deal with their past. What about those who are deeply damaged?

PLUTO - The Greatest Trauma on Earth

MAJOR PLOT SPOILER WARNING

So what is PLUTO? Who is PLUTO? He is nothing more than a robot who loves flowers, created by the Persian scientist Dr Abullah. His love for the plant makes him want to plant flowers across the country, to fill it with beauty and richness. He is someone with hopes, and dreams, to make a beautiful world which can be enjoyed by the people who live there.

At least, that's what he used to be.

As the 39th Central Asian Conflict drags on, Dr Abdullah become bitter and resentful at what has happened to his country. A once proud nation reduced to rubble and ruin. Instead of encouraging his robotic son to plant flowers, he fills his son with a vast hatred against those who have committed violence against his people.

The son who wanted nothing more than to make the world a better place is indoctrinated by his father into a being of pure rage, while fully knowing his previous self. The two sides of his personality ripping and tearing at each other in a self-contradictory nightmare.

Just as PLUTO is turned into a loathing monstrosity by his family, upbringing and situation - so too are those who live, fight and die in conflicts. Both the 2023 murder of innocent Israelis by Hamas, and the subsequent murders of innocent Palestinians by Israel have no doubt radicalised a new generation of martyrs, while their leaders - those meant to be inspiring and running the country in their name - directly encourage mass murder on both sides.

In Afghanistan, the hopes of a democratic society were undermined by a corrupt Western imposed system which broke down into Taliban rule in 2022. Collaborators killed or tortured. Women, once again, forced into roles they had broken out of.

But this cuts both ways.

In Afghanistan, both the Soviet invasion of the 1980s and the US/Coalition invasions of the 2000s led to a surge in Western soliders who came home from war angry, disillusioned and in mental and physical pain. Sometime from IED amputations, sometimes from PTSD and severe mental health issues.

Some survived the war, only to transfer their trauma to others at home or to end their own lives at their own hands. A generation of young military lives lost.

The Politics of Hate

Newton's third law states: Each action has an equal, but opposite, reaction. This often occurs socially.

This is ever present in PLUTO with the Anti-robot league. That robots have any rights at all is anathema to these people, who organise a conspiracy to destroy the social fabric of robots in society through targeted assassinations and hatred.

Through their actions, they aim to convert others to their cause and roll back decades of progress in the world of PLUTO.

This occurs in reality just as readily.

The 9/11, 2001 Twin Towers bombings brought together the American people in sorrow, but they also led to the enabling of war.

It didn't matter that Saudi Arabia had allowed Osama Bin Laden to live, and plan, in their country prior to the attacks. It was Afghanistan and Iraq that were targeted on the most spurious of grounds. This was enabled, in part, by swathes of the public who wanted a form of revenge but was mainly supported by neo-cons in government.

The two sides of the coin in Gaza are Hamas, with their backers, and the hard right Israeli government.

Hope

Despite the past, hope and recovery are still possible. This is what the story of North #2 and retired composer Paul Duncan reveals to us. An early inclusion in the manga, it also reveals some of the lighter themes of the work.

Paul Duncan's memories of his childhood, and his perceived Mother's abandonment of him to boarding school and almost terminal illness have coloured his entire life. When we meet him, he is a bitter old man who has a writer's block, and has taken on the ex-military robot North #2 as his butler.

But as the story reveals, Duncan's memories are coloured by his misconceptions of events. As North #2 learns to play the piano, against Duncan's wishes, he reveals the notes of the song that Duncan has been humming from his sleep - a song Duncan's mother used to sing to him as a child. It turns out that Ducan's mother didn't abandon him for a rich husband, but used that husband's wealth to pay for his expensive life-saving treatment and schooling.

It is only by dealing with the past, working through his trauma, that Duncan is able to heal in the present and move on with his life.

Conflict in Northern Ireland existed until the recent past of the late 1990s. This was against a backdrop of centuries of conflict between British settlers and the Irish natives. The Republic of Ireland was created in 1916 - but several Northern Counties remained in British control.

The period between 1916 and the Good Friday Agreement were filled with terrorist action by the IRA against the British Army and the repression of Catholic Irish people in the form of police/army brutality, gerrymandering, discriminatory hiring practices and in other forms.

This was only resolved through dialogue at the highest level between the British Government and Sinn Fein - the political wing of the IRA. It resulted in a peace process which has lasted decades, and has resulted in a generation who can now live, love and work with each other. This required hard decisions, to put past differences and strong emotional ties behind both sides. The results are extraordinary - and offer hope for any conflict.

Conclusions

The best stories I have read take the author's present experience, and insight, and use fiction as a vehicle to explore their themes and ideas. PLUTO takes the historical context of modern world events, and wraps it in an Astro Boy story which tells a story of how trauma, and hate, perpetuate themselves in cycles which come back to haunt and destroy others.

We can learn a lot from such stories. We should learn from them.

It is easy to continue to hate others, and react against clear provocations. It takes courage, bravery and sacrifice to break the cycle and begin anew - to create a new world. A world that Atom represents. A world with a brighter future.

#pluto #pluto manga #pluto anime #pluto spoilers #pluto netflix #naoki urasawa #science fiction #scifi #sci fi #politics #literary Analysis #long reads #long read

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neil-gaiman · 2 years

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Hi Mr Gaiman,

I just watched episode 6 of The Sandman and really loved the portrayal of death. Before the pandemic I was always sad when my patients died, and sadder still for the people they left behind, but I could handle it knowing that I made their passing easier and was there for their families. When death said that she gave them "a friendly face at the end of their journey, just as they had at the start" it really resonated with me. That is essentially what we nurses do, and often after caring for someone repeatedly over the years the last thing we do for someone is to help them through their final transition. The way death held those people's hands and guided them to the afterlife made me thing of all the times I've held a persons hand as they left the mortal realm. I like to think of death taking their hand from mine and escorting them to the afterlife.

I have to admit since the pandemic, I've been struggling with death. I worked on a ward that primarily cared for post-COVID lung transplants. I saw so many people die before their time, and die so horribly. Worse still, we would fight and fight and think we were making headway only to have them snatched away unexpectedly. I've been off work for 7 months with PTSD and I'm not sure if I can ever return. I miss nursing, I've made an important difference in so many lives and I'm not ready to give that up. Without it, I feel like my life has no purpose, but every time I am faced with death old wounds open up. I couldn't even watch that episode of The Sandman without crying. Heck, if I'm honest, I'm crying writing this now.

How do I become OK with death again? Intellectually I know it is a natural part of life and I've always been so good dealing with it but that part of me seems to be broken. I need something that can soothe my pain on an emotional level, something that can help me find peace with the pain and loss. I'm not a religious person and trite answers like people "going to a better place" doesn't mitigate the sheer unfairness of the pain of those left behind and lives unfairly cut short. How can I get to a place that lets me do what I love again??

Crying probably helps. So does taking a break, if you can, from that part of your job, until you are ready to return. Sometimes it gets to you, and it’s obviously got to you, and that’s not anything to feel guilty about. Death is big and loss is real. Finding someone to talk to is good too, if you can.

My friend Hayley Campbell wrote a book about Death. She went into it because she loved the subject. She talked to people who deal daily with death in all its aspects. And then one day she saw a baby’s body about to be autopsied and it broke her. I think in some ways she’s still putting herself back together.

(The book is All the Living and the Dead, it’s not for the squeamish although I’m pretty squeamish and I survived, and it made me cry a few times.

Here is an Amazon link. If you are interested, get it from your local bookshop if you can. It may help you to feel less alone, although I don’t know if it will heal what is hurting you. Perhaps only time can do that.)

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ineffable-endearments · 7 months

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Crowley tends to be Aziraphale's voice of reason a lot of the time, and we have all observed that Aziraphale is an extremely poor listener in the Season 2 modern day.

In Season 2, Aziraphale almost cannot bear to listen to listen to Crowley for exactly that reason: Crowley is the voice warning Aziraphale that their current situation is not safe. Listening to that would mean accepting that "happily ever after" hasn't happened yet. And Aziraphale is handling that possibility about as well as the fandom did! (I am saying this affectionately as someone who went and is still going out of my mind.)

Crowley is trying to voice the fears that Aziraphale himself has. (This is how they have historically worked.) But before thwarting Armageddon together, Aziraphale's way of coping with his fear was by pushing Crowley away to keep them both safe. Now that they're bound together by the trick they pulled during their trials, he can't do that anymore. With every new threat to their happily ever after, Aziraphale goes further into denial, resulting in him dedicating all this energy to keeping Crowley attached without having to listen to their mutual fears. It's why he's constantly giving Crowley the biggest cartooniest heart eyes without seeming to hear a thing he says; it's why he goes to all this trouble to keep Crowley close (insisting that he stay in the bookshop, setting up a whole Jane Austen ball so they can dance) but barely spends any one-on-one time with him.

If they just talked it out rationally, they might come up with a plan. But that would require accepting the danger. It would also mean accepting a loss of control; it would mean accepting that these two forces, Heaven and Hell, infinitely stronger than either of our protagonists alone, could decide on a whim to revoke their fragile peace, and there isn't much they could do about it.

That seems pretty bleak, doesn't it? So Aziraphale denies.

#good omens #good omens 2 spoilers #go s2 spoilers

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lilsmv1 · 1 month

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august - MV1 (1/?)

- you're on your own kid [pt1]

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Juliette Durand

This is a story for the Max (and Taylor Swift) girlies.

masterlist

Summary: They were doomed from the start. Two completely different worlds colliding, there was no way this could work. But what happens when they keep running into each other, as if gravity was pulling them together.

Trope: slow-burn af

(*dialogues in italic are meant to be in French, I’m just too lazy sksksks)

Word count: 1,1k

A/N: This is the first chapter guys! I'd love some feedback :) Enjoy !

Having recently graduated meant finding a job and getting your life together.

But Juliette was only 25, how was she supposed to know for sure what she wanted at this point in her life?

Juliette was completely lost. She wanted to do everything and nothing at the same time. Everyone expected her to know everything, especially her parents.

Instead of facing their incessant questions on the matter, she ran away, in hopes of overcoming her current situation.

Hence why Juliette booked her tickets for Italy, and found herself wandering the streets of Orta San Giulio.

Juliette felt at peace here, the sound of the water banging against the boats, the cool breeze gently brushing her cheek, the smell of sea water. She didn't know anyone, and no one knew her. No one to expect her to be anything.

She was strolling through a bookshop, her fingers brushing the edges of the books as she went. Her eyes lit up as her hand touched her favorite book. She couldn't even tell how many times she'd read it, but it always had the same gut-wrenching effect on her. She took one last glance at the book before leaving, Martin Eden, by Jack London, a fan favorite, or at least hers.

As she left the store, Juliette’s phone rang. It was Pierre.

“Ju?”

“Yes Pierre?”

“Did you arrive safely? You were supposed to text me once you get there.”

“Sorry dad!” She laughed. Pierre was her best friend and he could be a tad bit overprotective sometimes.

“You know I worry about you. How are you feeling?”

“Don’t worry, I’m fine, I just need time to figure things out for myself” Juliette was lying. She wasn’t fine. Her anxiety was really getting the best of her lately.

“I know, and you’ll figure it out. You’re the clever one, you’ll find your path” Replied Pierre, trying to reassure her.

“Easy for you to say, “Mister I always wanted to be a Formula One Driver”” .

Juliette and Pierre met when she was in middle school. They actually met in detention. Pierre was there after talking back to a teacher and Juliette was there after throwing her eraser on a friend. He was three years older than her and immediately saw her as the sister he never had. Since then, she has been cheering for him throughout his entire career, being there for each milestone. She was very proud of him.

“What can I say, I have always dreamt big” laughed Pierre “By the way” he added “Kika is coming to spend a couple days with my family next week, will you be there?” Pierre asked.

“Of course! I can’t wait to see her again!” Juliette was so happy to see Kika again, she was a real sweetheart. She was glad Pierre had found her.

“Well I gotta go Pierre, I’ll call you back during the week, alright?”

“Ok, take care Ju, love ya!”

"Love you, see you soon!" replied Juliette.

Juliette cherished her friendship with Pierre more than anything. They couldn't see each other often due to his intense schedule, but he was always there for her and vice versa. To her, he wasn't Pierre Gasly, he was just Pierre, her best friend from middle school. She felt really lucky to have such a friend by her side.

Juliette kept exploring the city for a couple hours. As the evening went on, she decided to grab a bite in the nearest restaurant. Once she settled, she pulled out her film camera, snapping candid shots of the people surrounding her.

That camera was always in her hand, having thousands of film rolls at home, each capturing snippets of her life.

She watched the people through her lens throughout the whole dinner, until her gaze fell on a pair of piercing bright blue eyes already staring back at her. She slowly lowered her camera, and looked away shyly, embarrassed that she'd been caught red-handed.

She looked back up and that’s when it hit her. She knew those dashing blue eyes. They belonged to none other than Max Verstappen, one of Pierre’s fellow drivers. Except for Charles, she had never met any of them, trying to stay away for the spotlight as much as possible.

Juliette was completely mortified, and to make matters worse, he was headed in her direction.

“Ciao” he said when he reached her, cringing at his own attempt to speak Italian.

It was all it took to make Juliette burst out laughing, a mixture of surprise and nervousness.

After seeing Max’s defeated look, Juliette pulled herself together.

“I’m sorry”, she said “It’s just, I wasn’t expecting you to speak Italian”.

This made Max smile.

“You speak English… then, made a fool out of myself here, didn’t I?” he asked, chuckling.

“Kind of, but it was entertaining” she softly replied with a grin. Realising he had been standing there for five minutes, she invited him to sit with her, which he did.

"I'm Juliette by the way"

"Nice to meet you Juliette, I'm Max"

“So,” he kept going, “did you take any nice pictures, hopefully some with me in them” he said smirking.

“So you did see... Well, I would’ve but I got a little interrupted” said Juliette.

"Don't worry, I'm flattered" he replied laughing.

"Don't go feeling too special, I take many candid shots of strangers... Although it might sound weird like that" she laughed. "I just find it beautiful to capture snippets of life".

"Well you definitely make it sound beautiful" he replied with a warm smile, making her blush.

They stayed like this for a while, chatting about this and that, although Max failed to mention that he was an F1 driver and Juliette, on her part, failed to mention that she knew who he was and that Pierre was her best friend. They both did not want to make this conversation weird, knowing that were never going to see each other again anyway.

"Well, Max, it was lovely to meet you, but I think I'm gonna head out" said Juliette after a while.

"Yeah me too, have a good night Juliette" replied Max with a smile.

"Good night Max" said Juliette softly before leaving.

They each went their own way, a smile on their face as they though about this one-off encounter.

But after all, Orta San Giulio isn't a big town. Who knows, they might run into each other again.

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lydiablackblade · 8 months

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Lately I came across some comments here and there more or less saying David is now old and was kinda disgusting and basically not a good Crowley anymore.

First. Bitch please... Really. Are you insane? What the fuck is wrong with you?

Second. During the first watch of season 2 I found myself wondering "When tf did David get age like that?" But then I went through his recent videos and I figured, well, he didn't. Obviously he's not 30 anymore but as good-looking as ever.

But you have to admit there's something with him in this season. And I think this is intentional and especially noticeable in the last two episodes. DavidCrowley looks tired. Like... all the time. Worn-out. Worried.

He said they craved themselves a peaceful, fragile existence. I guess the emphasis is on fragile. He never knows when will it fall into pieces. He is always looking back over his shoulder, prepare for the worst, to protect his angel. I think he hasn't have a good sleep since the Armagedon't, so basically for years, not just because he's living in his car, but because he's is sleeping one eye open. And he couldn't let himself the luxury to tell this to Aziraphale, who's seemingly living the best time of his life (he's not). Crowley drinks six espresso in a shot, for someone's sake. And that was even before he came to know about Jim. He cannot let himself to calm down or be off-guard, because Hell is, well, just around the corner (kind of pun intended). They are traitors and forgiveness is only Aziraphale's favourite thing, not the Head Offices'. Shax pops up unexpectedly anytime. I think there were even other hellish ambassadors before her, she seems to be so new on Earth, cannot imagine she's been doing it for years now. Heaven is still, but we all know they are for a long game.

And he is exhausted, even I say haunted by the liftetime of terror he experienced both in Heaven and Hell. He was tortured. Punished. Not only once. He cannot forget that not only his existence is endangered but also his angel's. When he said to Jim he remember so very well when Gabriel told to Aziraphale to shut his stupid mount and die already... how he was scared to death and jumped back when he first met Jim/Gabriel in the bookshop... He is deeply traumatized. Has kind of PTSD.

And in the end he is tired of pretending and denying. This is a weight he cannot carry anymore. He's done. They are solving an emergency and new one is already on the way. It is never-ending story. He's so done with that shit.

And I think this is what someone may see as something is odd with David. No, it's not David, it's Crowley. The lights, the shooting angles, his skin tone, everything are stressing out his wrinkles, his furrows. It's is all about to show how burnt-out Crowley is. Or will be very soon. Caused by the fear and, I'd even say, by the loneliness.

Poor thing, I want to hug him so much.

#good omens #good omens 2 #good omens season 2 #ineffable husbands #crowley #good-omens #aziraphale and crowley

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vavoomed-for-crowley · 3 months

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"What If"... Aziraphale really wanted to confess in S2 Ep5?

... and they wouldn't have been interrupted? Now, hear me out. Aziraphale didn't know that demons were waiting outside, which is why he didn't share Crowley's worries. Let's just pretend for the following scene that the demons never threw the brick because they simply couldn't do any harm to the bookshop and were forced to wait for the doors to open.

Crowley had made his way through the dancing people and appeared right behind Aziraphale, who watched the scenery with a smile. "Making it rain is one thing, but a Ball with..." Crowley tried to find the right words for that absurd scenario he was in. "Look, there's something wrong. There is something really wrong." Aziraphale tried to breath even, he felt nervous as he thought about his plan once again but he was ready to shoot his try.

"Well, perphaps you could tell me" he began even before turning around to look at Crowley. "... while we dance." He looked expectantly at the demon.

"You don't dance" Crowley said sceptical, brows furrowed.

Since the reaction wasn't exactly a 'No', Aziraphale grabbed Crowley's hand excitedly and dragged him along to join the others dancing. A wide smile was spread across his face, unable to hide the joy he felt. This was perfect, utterly romantic even.

Crowley was more than just confused. Everything felt so odd, not to mention the danger awaiting them outside the bookshop. If his angel would just listen... They were safe for now but this evening couldn't last forever. Overwhelmed by the entire situation, Crowley somehow just went with it. He knew they could dance, he knew they weren't part of the miracle, yet Crowley was surprised how well they knew the steps and moved together. And that it didn't bother him at all to dance with his angel in an utterly exaggeratedly cheesy situation like this. His hand lay softly on Aziraphale's, fingers slightly curled around his hand. Their touch so softly, so gentle and not even planned but Aziraphale noticed every detail of it, his heart racing as they moved. First, he thought Crowley had curled his finger like that by accident but with every new time their hands touched, Crowley's fingers curled around his hand again like it was the most natural thing. Their eyes met and did Crowley just blush? Aziraphale's heart sure skipped a beat.

Actually, Aziraphale was curious to see how Maggie and Nina were doing but he couldn't take his eyes off Crowley. He looked so handsome and everything about this moment felt so good, he wanted it to last forever. Knowing that this was impossible, Aziraphale tried to capture every little detail to at least remember it whenever he wanted to.

"Hell has sent demons" Crowley said gravely and disturbed Azirphale's thoughts. His brows were furrowed, jaw clenched. If Aziraphale wouldn't have been so caught up in the moment, he would've realized that Crowley was actually really worried. "They are milling around outside, they want Gabriel."

Nevertheless, Crowley didn't stop dancing while talking. It was like the angel was guiding their way and the two of them never having done anything else than spending the evenings dancing together. "We're perfectly safe in here" Aziraphale tried to reassure the demon. He couldn't help the smile that still lay on his lips out of pure joy for this moment. He was dancing with his demon. "Technically, this bookshop still counts as an Embassy."

"I think you need to stop this charade" Crowley said sternly, seriously worried "and we need to work out what to do." And still, his fingers curled around Aziraphale's hand again, this time even somehow more as he really tried to hold onto the angel.

"I am not giving them... Jim" said Aziraphale strictly. He began to get mad, not as Crowley especially. But this wasn't how he imagined the moment to turn out. He wanted a dance, romantic moments, a moment of peace. With him!

"People will get hurt, angel" Crowley almost hissed whilst their faces were a lot closer than usual. Aziraphale felt Crowley's hot breath on his skin before they were more distant again.

"I think you're overestimating how much trouble we're actually in" Aziraphale tried to calm the demon. They were safe in there.

Once again, Crowley raised his eyebrow, giving the angel a sceptical look before turning his gaze towards the window next to the entry of the bookshop. Aziraphale followed his gaze. He could sense the presence of demons, he could make out that they were waiting outside but that was the point. They were outside.

"See?" Aziraphale stated and before he could lock eyes with Crowley again, his gaze met Nina and Maggie, dancing and talking. A smile was on Maggie's face as they were so close and even Nina was somehow smiling throughout their conversation. It worked! Joyfully, Aziraphale faced Crowley again, smiling widely.

"You're way too happy about the situation" Crowley said but joined Aziraphale as he began to dance again to the soft tones.

"Well, my dear, I think what you don't see is that my plan is working and Nina and Maggie... how did you say? Vavoom."

"Vavoom?" Crowley asked and Aziraphale nodded proudly. Crowley looked over at the two mentioned women and indeed, they did not only look like having a good time but as if something had changed between the two of them. The demon couldn't help the small smile forming on his lips as he watched them, suddenly forgetting about the danger outside. Could it really be that Aziraphale's weird plan had worked out?

Aziraphale looked at Crowley the entire time, admiring the dimples appearing as soon as Crowley began to smile and his forehead softening. He felt his heartbeat fasten once again as he admired not just what was in front of him but that things seemed to work out.

"Well, now look at that, angel..." Crowley muttered, still watching the two women. "Looks like you really know what you are doing."

"You think so?" Aziraphale asked happily. Did Crowley the demon actually truly appreciate his actions?

The latter finally turned his head to look at the angel and when their eyes met, even though Crowley still had his sunglasses on, Aziraphale's heart stopped beating for just a second. It was one of those rare moments where Crowley was truly happy and enjoying the moment, no hint of malicious glee or sarcasm, no falsehood to pretend he wouldn't care or like what was happening. And to Aziraphale, he looked so wonderful in that moment, that he fell even harder, if that was even possible.

"Don't like to admit it but looks like it."

"Crowley..." Aziraphale mumbled, his cheeks blushing. The song was slowly coming to an end and Aziraphale was sure Crowley would then start talking about the demons outside again. Right now, at this very moment, this was his chance.

It was Aziraphale that curled his fingers around Crowley's hand this time, allowing even some soft pressure on them and when he did, it was Crowley's heartbeat that fastened, himself unsure to keep the eyes on the angel or their hands, surprised by the action. "I was thinking..." the angel continued slowly, choosing his words wisely. "About us. I was thinking about us, I mean."

"Us?" Crowley asked, brows furrowed once again but automatically holding tighter onto Aziraphale's hand as his heartbeat fastened even more.

"Us. As in you and me. And I realized, not that I hadn't noticed it before, but in all this time I could always rely on you. You were always there for me. Put your trust in me, helped me. And... even if you don't want to hear it, you're not so bad after all. And you show that to me every day." Aziraphale realized that the music was about to end in less than a minute. Time was running out. "Crowley, having you by my side makes me happy. I-" The courage left him; the last notes of the music starting. Now or never! "Vavoom" Aziraphale muttered and quickly shook his head. Too late. The composition came to an end and Crowley had heared what Azirpahle had just muttered, even though Azirpahle had multiply practiced what to say earlier. He blushed instantly.

"Vavoom?" Crowley asked. They had stopped dancing, a new composition started to play but they just stood there, hands still touching mid-air. Too caught up in the moment to realize what was happening around them. It felt like time stood still, even though a new composition started to play. A slight smirk was in the corner of his lips, not giving away how fast his heart was beating. Was really happening what he was thinking was happening?

"I..." Suddenly, Aziraphale felt very shy. Almost ashamed by his choice of words.

"Yes, angel?" Crowley asked, left eyebrow raised.

Aziraphel felt Crowley's fingers curled around his hand, softly holding it, felt his gaze through the sunglasses but did not notice that Maggie and Nina, even though they were still dancing, were watching them as well now.

"Do you think this is their first time?" Nina asked Maggie. "I mean, he told me they don't date but look at them!"

"I think they are about to kiss!" Maggie said with a mixture of excitement, surprise and joy. "We... We should look away" she said and adverted her gaze quickly.

Aziraphale put down his hand and placed his fingers around Crowley's glasses instead. Carefully, he put them down. "Angel..." the demon whispered, trying to stop him, trying to stop people from seeing his eyes but he was too caught up into the moment and too distracted from Aziraphale right in front of him.

"I want to see your eyes..." Aziraphale whispered, their bodies much closer now than before as he had come closer to take off the sunglasses "...when I tell you that I love you, Crowley."

"You-" Crowley repeated softly before his eyes widened. "You do what?" He didn't even wait for Aziraphale to repeat his words. He might would change his mind then. Not giving that a chance. Instead, he grabbed the angel by the collar and closed the distance between them by pressing their lips together.

Vavoom, indeed.

#aziracrow #aziraphale #crowley x aziraphale #crowley #good omens #good omens aziracrow #good omens fandom #ineffable husbands #good omens aziraphale #good omens crowley #anthony j crowley #hobby writer #azfell #ineffable idiots #good omens season 2

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oliversrarebooks · 5 months

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How would Oliver's attitude towards Alexander change, if he were taken from his bookshop by Lex himself? In the canon story, Alexander is more or less saving Oliver from a fate so much worse, and it's honestly the best Oliver can hope for (even letting Oliver go would not save him, I think, with all that's been suggested about Lex's sire). But if Alexander's Sweet Dream were true, it would just be a regular kidnapping. How would Oliver feel about that, and about Alexander? That is, before Lex puts his skills to work and makes Oliver okay with it all.

Alexander's Sweet Dream Part 2: Oliver's Window

Previous Masterlist Next

TW: mind control, kidnapping

Oliver woke up feeling so sluggish. He was tired and his mind felt hazy -- he had the strangest of dreams the night before, and just wanted to sleep off the strange lethargy. He rolled over and almost sank back into slumber before he realized that he was cuddled into silk sheets.

His bed most certainly did not have silk sheets.

His eyes flew open completely now. He wasn't in his bed, but in an obscenely large four-poster done up with fine silk sheets and a dozen pillows. The bed was situated in the middle of a bedroom that was as large as Oliver's entire apartment, filled with carved wooden furnishings, primarily bookcases. He briefly wondered if he were in one of those farces where a man wakes up in a richly appointed mansion and is convinced he is a prince who has lost his memory.

His memory...

The vampires.

Oliver's hand went to his neck. He thought perhaps he could feel a scab, but it was indistinct, and could well be his imagination. The place where the wound should be didn't hurt.

Was it real?

Even though his memories were hazy, it certainly felt real. He remembered greeting his favorite patron, Mr. Alexander, and his friend from overseas, Fitz. He remembered feeling so drowsy, unable to stop himself from yawning and nodding off. He remembered a sensation of relaxing bliss as his mind filled with an otherworldly lullaby, a song without words that nonetheless whispered to him to sleep, go to sleep, calm and peaceful, deepest of sleeps...

He had tried to resist it, but it was no use. The song had wrapped around his body and mind, dazing him so that he could not fight back, slowly but surely putting him to sleep.

It'd felt so, so good.

And then...

Oliver felt around his neck again. There should be a scab, some soreness, anything to indicate that he had actually been bitten by vampires, and it wasn't all a hallucination.

Still, why would he have woken up in a bedroom in a stranger's mansion if the vampires had not been real?

Vampires were real. Vampires were real, and they'd fed on his blood. His favorite patron Mr. Alexander, who had a keen interest in rare books and in the supernatural, was a vampire. Even though he knew it had happened, he couldn't quite wrap his head around the fact that Mr. Alexander had bitten his neck and kidnapped him.

But if it was indeed true, that meant the vampires would come to get him at any time. He had to do something about his situation now if he wanted any hope of making it out of here alive and with the rest of his blood.

That was what he was here for, wasn't it? They'd hypnotized him, kidnapped him, and stashed him away alive so that they could drink his blood at their leisure. With the powers they'd demonstrated last night, they could turn him into their mindless servant.

Oliver quickly took stock. There was enough sunlight streaming around the curtained window that he could see well enough. He flipped the covers off, and saw that he had been laid to bed in his clothes from the previous day -- at least he hadn't been manhandled out of those. His shoes were tucked just underneath the bed, so he put them on.

The first order of business was to try the door. He fully expected it to be locked, of course, but it would be silly to not even check. Not only was it locked, but the keyhole was on the other side of the door, so that he couldn't even try to pick his way out (not that he knew how to pick locks).

His next thought was to check the wardrobe and the chest of drawers for anything useful he could use as a weapon for when the vampires came back. A wooden stake through the heart or a silver weapon, that's what was supposed to kill vampires, wasn't it? He doubted he'd find anything like that -- and indeed, the drawers and wardrobe were filled with clothes and shoes.

Maybe a shoe...

He pictured himself trying to ward off vampires with a shoe and immediately rejected the idea.

The furniture was all very sturdy, with thick legs on the chairs, so there wasn't much hope that he could break it to form a makeshift stake, either.

Even if he did have a weapon, he didn't like his odds. Even in his vague memories, he remembered how strong Alexander had felt when he'd picked Oliver up. Oliver, who had always been short and frail, was no match for most ordinary men, much less a supernatural horror.

If he couldn't fight, then his other possibility was to flee.

Oliver went to the window and threw it open. The sun had nearly set -- he'd been out of it for a long time -- and he seemed to be two or three stories up. He realized with shock that he knew this part of the city. He didn't often frequent the more expensive parts of town, but he really wasn't all that far from his bookshop, maybe twenty minutes' walk.

Below him, ordinary people bustled about the icy streets. A woman in a fur coat walked her dogs. A group of little boys ran down the sidewalk, tossing snow at each other. A courier delivered a package.

It was such a mundane scene, in fact, that it made him second guess his certainty that he'd been taken by vampires. Could vampires really co-exist in the normal waking world like this? Could there have been some misunderstanding?

Was he losing his mind?

He supposed he had better not take any chances. If he was losing his mind, he could ask forgiveness later.

He steeled his courage, picked up a heavy chair with some difficulty, and threw it at the window, shielding his eyes from the flying glass shards.

Well, if the vampires were in the house -- and considering the sun was still up, they probably were -- they had most certainly heard that. If he was going to escape, he had better do it quickly. Glass shards were littering the windowsill, and he only hesitated slightly before grabbing a shirt from the open drawers and using it to remove as much of the glass as he could. Cutting himself and leaving a blood trail seemed like a surefire way to get caught by the vampires.

Protecting his hands with the shirt, he climbed up onto the windowsill. The ground was a surprisingly long way down, and it was hard and icy. He fought down the sudden dizzy sensation, trying not to think of the possibility of breaking his leg and trying to hobble away from pursuing vampires.

The sun was still out. They couldn't come after him right away. There were people all over. He could get help.

Just as he convinced himself to take the leap --

"Oh, shit!"

Oliver was grabbed by the collar and pulled from the window, back into the shadows of the room. His struggles were no use, as the vampire was holding him firm.

"Ha, you have a lot more fire in you than I expected!" It was Alexander's friend, Fitz. "And here I thought you might be boring. I really should've known better. Lex has better taste than that."

"Let me go!" Oliver tried to scramble back towards the window or at least get in the weak sunbeam.

"Oh, no you don't," said Fitz's voice in his ear. "Why don't we just calm down."

One of the vampire's hands touched his own, and he felt a disconcerting warmth radiating out from it. It felt good. Soothing. Far, far too soothing. Oliver redoubled his efforts, realizing that the vampire was trying to get him hypnotized again.

"C'mon, just relax and we can sit down and have a nice chat."

"No, no, I don't want you to -- to --"

"Hypnotize you?"

"Yes!"

"Like this?"

A wave of disconcerting relaxation spread across Oliver's body, causing him to fall back into Fitz's arms against his will.

"There you go. Calm down, okay?"

"What on earth is going on?" Alexander had appeared in the doorway. "Oliver, did you break the window?"

"I was trying to escape!" he said, attempting to ignore the increasingly sedating feeling coming from contact with Fitz. "You kidnapped me!"

"Little help here, Lex?"

"Hmm..." Alexander approached him, and caught in Fitz's arms, there was no way for Oliver to shy away. The vampire began to hum something low, something that immediately began worming its way into Oliver's mind.

"No, don't hypnotize me, please don't --"

Alexander stepped closer, his song more insistent, and Oliver could feel his brain melting as it filled him with blissful tranquility. It was impossible to ignore, and it was so, so...

"Awfully good, isn't it? The song, I mean. Just so nice to listen to..." said Fitz into his ear. Oliver's muscles were loosening, and his mind startled to buckle under the twin sources of enthrallment.

"Ohhh..." He collapsed fully into Fitz's arms now. The vampires' hypnosis was impossible to resist, the song subduing his mind and making him want nothing more than to fall into a comfortable daze and listen, allowing the delicious feeling from Fitz's hands to further sink him into a stupor. He wasn't even sure it was entirely the powers at work. It'd been so long since he'd been held.

With what was left of his lucidity, he cast a desperate glance at the window.

"I don't think you really want to jump out a window, do you?" said Fitz, who was now playing with his hair, and oh, did that ever feel amazing. "I think you want to sit down and talk to us."

And Alexander sang, a song that had no lyrics, but still very clearly conveyed the message: relax, Oliver, be calm, surrender...

He was fading fast, almost completely hypnotized once more, rapidly losing control of himself. "Please... what do you even want with me...?"

Alexander's song so clearly conveyed it: to relax, to surrender, to obey...

The pull was so strong.

"I... I..."

Compliant... obedient... hypnotized...

"I... I want to..."

"That's it," Fitz coaxed. "Just keep listening to Lex's pretty little song. It's so good..."

Surrender, said Alexander's song. Rest your mind. Let go. Obey.

"I want to..." he said in a dazed mumble. "I want to obey..."

That simple admission was like a golden starburst deep within him. He wanted to obey, it was all he could imagine wanting right now. The song told him so, wrapping tightly around him.

Alexander stroked his cheek while he sang. Calm and peaceful, hypnotized and obedient, good...

"Mmm," Oliver agreed, sinking ever further into the trance. "I'll be good..."

"Obey you, Lex," came an unexpected drowsy voice from behind Oliver. Fitz's head slumped against his. "...do anything you say..."

Alexander smiled. So deeply hypnotized now, so completely obedient, so open and ready to listen...

"Listen..." Oliver's words were slurring. He'd never felt so relaxed in his life, except perhaps in his hazy memories of Alexander singing to him the night before. It felt so right to stop resisting and allow the alluring song to wash over him.

"Love listening to you..." said Fitz.

Oliver realized dimly that the vampire holding him was somehow just as hypnotized as he was. That seemed unusual, but he was far too out of it to understand why.

Alexander stopped singing, but the captivation remained. "I'm going to wake Fitz up now," said Alexander in Oliver's ear. "But you are going to stay completely under my power, do you understand?"

"I understand," came the automatic reply from his lips.

"Good. You can wake up now, Fitz."

"Mmm, do I have to?"

Oliver felt the grip on him tighten as the vampire behind him stirred.

"Let's all sit down on the bed together. I'll get his legs, take his shoes off."

"Got it."

Alexander resumed his song as Oliver was manhandled onto the bed, coming to rest sandwiched in between the two vampires. He wasn't being restrained any more, but all of his fight was being thoroughly drained by Alexander humming in his ear and Fitz toying with his hair.

"See, we just want to talk," said Fitz. "Lex, I think you've got him under too deep. He's not going to be able to string two words together."

"I suppose you're right," said Alexander, ceasing his song. Oliver felt cut by its absence, even as his mind began to clear. "You can wake up a bit now, Oliver. Just enough to talk."

His fear returned in a rush, but dimmer than before. "You're not going to let me go, are you?"

"It's nothing so dire as what you're thinking," said Alexander. "You'll be very much allowed to return to your precious bookshop."

"I am? Truly?"

"Of course. I wouldn't dream of disrupting the best business in the city," said Alexander. "I don't intend to keep you as my captive. I am looking for... an additional companion."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that you would stay in my mansion and have your every need provided for, with money as no object," said Alexander, hooking his hand under Oliver's chin and drawing him nearer. Although he had stopped singing, his words still seemed laden with enchantment, and Oliver felt his thoughts slipping. "You could continue to run your bookstore and live your life to your heart's content, save only for the evenings when I wish to feed upon you."

Oliver fought to hold onto his fear, the fear that was being unnaturally calmed by his alluring voice. "That's very... generous, but I don't want a vampire to feed on me."

"Funny," said Fitz, wrapping an arm around Oliver, "you seemed to enjoy it just fine last night."

"That was -- you had hypnotized me --"

"Just as you're being hypnotized now," said Alexander. "You take to it very well. It's agreeable, isn't it?"

"Agreeable..." said Oliver, nodding as his mind slipped, then catching himself. "I mean -- no --"

"We'll treat you so well," said Fitz. "You can trust Lex. He's quite fond of you, you know."

"You seem to have grown fond of him, too," said Alexander.

"How could I not? It seems like dusty intellectuals are my particular proclivity. And this one's especially delectable."

Oliver struggled to think. They were discussing him as though he wasn't even there. No matter how tempting the offer sounded, no matter how much their spell pulled at him, he couldn't just --

"I won't harm your mind," Alexander murmured in his ear. "I just want you to be comfortable with the feedings. I'll leave your precious wit untouched."

Fitz had picked up his hand and was idly playing with his fingers. "Think about it. No more struggle to make ends meet. Your bookshop fully funded, your life made comfortable and easy. All in exchange for just a small amount of blood and the tiniest of concessions in that busy mind of yours."

"No more doubt, no more anxiety..."

"Trust us, Oliver. You won't regret it."

It did sound... awfully nice... He reached in his mind for the ever-dwindling reserve of resistance that had been fueling him, only to find it running dry.

Why was he so adamant about fighting this...? Wasn't this a deal anyone would take? The feeding hadn't even been distressing, hadn't seemed to harm him after a good night's sleep, and he was being offered so much in return...

...and he was so comfortable here, snuggled between the two vampires, so close that he could feel the vibrations from Alexander's low humming...

"...I'll be... safe...?" he managed.

"Oh, safe as houses," said Fitz with a grin.

"I'll protect you with everything I have," said Alexander.

Protected. That sounded nice, too. He felt himself slowly nod.

Stay with me, was the intent in Alexander's song now. Safe and comfortable. Stay...

"Why don't I show you the library?" said Alexander. "Not only do I have many rare and curious human-penned volumes, but books written by vampires and other supernatural creatures that few humans have ever seen."

"Oh!" Oliver felt his daze lift a bit as he leaned closer to Alexander. "I would very much like to see that!"

Fitz laughed. "Like two peas in a pod, if the pod were lined with bookshelves."

"Then let's go." Alexander stood up from the bed, holding out his hand for Oliver to take, the hum in his throat whispering rest here, stay forever. Something small but insistent tugged at Oliver, and he glanced towards the broken window, struggling to remember the significance of it. Alexander turned his chin back. "Don't worry about that. You can stay in any number of my guest rooms until we can get the window fixed."

"Right... thank you," said Oliver softly.

"Now, shall we go see the library?"

"Yes."

"Yes, sir."

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Part three of this scenario will be a Christmas special.

@d-cs @latenightcupsofcoffee @thecyrulik @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night @wanderinggoblin @whumpyourdamnpears @only-shadows-dwell-where-we-are @pressedpenn @pigeonwhumps @amusedmuralist @xx-adam-xx @ivycloak @irregular-book @whumpsoda @mj-or-say10 @pokemaniacgemini @whumpshaped @whumpsday @morning-star-whump @shinyotachi @silly-scroimblo-skrunkl @steh-lar-uh-nuhs @pirefyrelight @theauthorintraining-blog @whump-me-all-night-long @anonfromcanada @typewrittenfangs @tessellated-sunl1ght @cleverinsidejoke @abirbable @ichorousambrosia @a-formless-entity @gobbo-king

#ask #whump #vampire #mind control #whump writing #rare bookseller #whumpee #hypnosis #vampire whumper #fitz #alexander #oliver #carewhumper

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noforkingclue · 3 months

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For a request, Dark Aziraphale/Crowley/reader. The reader manages to get loose and needs to be found and brought home. Describe the consequences or how they'd discourage said "bad behaviour". Please and thank you!

Yay, a Good Omens request and a dark one as well!!! I love writing for Good Omens so feel free to send in more requests for it :)

Title: Freedom?

Warnings: dark fic, imprisonment, drugging

Good Omens tag list: @mxacegrey

Everything tag list: greenrevolutionary, @byebyebreezywrites spngingerbread21, @layazul, @lov3vivian, @simonsbluee

You shivered as you pulled your thin coat around you. You only had a slim opportunity to escape so you had to take it when you did. You grimaced as the rain soaked through your coat but you were relieved to see a bus stop coming up. All you had to do was hope that a bus would come quickly. You cursed when you saw that it wasn’t a bus stop with a shelter.

Oh well.

You were free.

Finally fucking free.

You tensed as you heard footsteps approach you but kept your gaze pointedly on the ground. You just wanted to be left alone and get on the bus and-

You stiffened as you heard a familiar rustle and the rain stopped. You looked up at a brilliantly white wing and an arm was wrapped around you. You had no choice but to let yourself be embraced by the angel.

“Oh you poor thing,” said Aizraphel, “you’re soaked. Here, let me warm you up.”

You closed your eyes and you felt your clothes dry and a pleasant warmness engulf you. It was like you were being wrapped in a blanket that was just out of the washing machine. Aziraphale smiled and pressed a kiss against your temple.

“Better?” he asked and you nodded in response, “Good. Now let’s get back to the shop. You can have a nice cup of tea and we can have a chat.”

You felt the tears drip down your face as the familiar sensation of being teleported engulfed you. When you next opened your eyes you were back in the bookshop. You were gently pushed into a chair and Aziraphale disappeared as he went to make you a cup of tea. You pulled your legs up to your chest as you once again enjoyed the peace of your solitude.

However, that wasn’t to last.

You felt a pair of arms wrap around you. A pointed chin rest of top of your head and you stiffened under Crowley’s embrace. Unlike Aziraphale you could feel that anger radiate from him. As if he had known of the presence of the other, Aziraphale appeared. He beamed at the two of you as he pushed the tea into your hands.

“Drink,” he said, “You’ll feel better after.”

Right. Almost certainly drugged then.

“It’s a bit hot,” you muttered, “I’ll let it cool down.”

“Of course,” Aziraphale gave you a soft smile, “we don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

He brushed your cheek with the back of his hand and you resisted the urge to flinch away.

“She hurt us,” Crowley said, “don’t you think-”

“Hush, dear,” Aziraphale scolded gently, “let’s not think about that now.”

“Then when,” Crowley hissed his grip tightening, “actions have consequences.”

“I know but look at her,” Aziraphale said, “she clearly wasn’t thinking. Not in her right mind.”

Crowley gripped your chin tightly and forced you to look into his eyes. You were correct, he was angry but there was also a hint of something else. Could that be worry? Your hands shook at his action, causing some hot tea to spill onto your hands. Immediately Aziraphale took the cup away. He blew on it and held it up to your lips. You felt the burns on your fingers heal and he raised the cup to your lips.

“Here,” he said, “it should be cool enough for you to drink now. Then we can all get some well deserved rest.”

You had no choice but to open your mouth and drink the liquid. Crowley pressed his lips against your hair and you felt yourself slip into the comforting darkness.

“And tomorrow,” you heard Crowley say, “we can discuss our new arrangements.”

#fanfiction #good omens #reader insert #request #crowley #aziraphale #crowley x reader #aziraphale x reader

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mimisempai · 4 months

Text

Home is not a place

Summary

Walking home, looking around, Aziraphale recalls moments from his past and, above all, realizes that home isn't where you are, but who's there.

Notes

I just love the feeling of being home

On Ao3

Rating G - 1080 words

Aziraphale would never tire of this sight.

On his way back from some errands, the sight of "A.Z. Fell And Co." had a way of soothing him. It was the sight that told him, "Welcome home."

But not because it was his bookshop.

The sense of belonging that made him think he was home came not from the place, but from the person who was there.

Just knowing that Crowley was there had that kind of power.

Though he hadn't been away long, Aziraphale felt like the sailors who sailed into the storm and saw the light of the lighthouse pointing them to safe harbor.

No matter how chaotic the outside world was, when the angel saw this, he knew that once the door was closed, once he would be with his demon, the chaos would fade away to make way for the warmth of their home.

His gaze fell on the Dirty Donkey, and inevitably he thought back to the elevator door to their former sides, from which no one had come for several months.

His throat tightened at the thought of how close he'd come to following Metatron there and leaving everything here.

"Anything you need to take with you?"

Metatron's question, which had made him realize that he couldn't leave, echoed in his mind.

He couldn't leave all the things and places that reminded him of Crowley and their history together. He had realized in that moment that it would be like amputating a part of himself.

Even today, the mere thought of it made him shudder with dread.

Instinctively, he turned his head toward the bookshop, and the sight of Muriel and Crowley chatting instantly brought him peace.

Yes, that was their life today.

There had been so many misunderstandings and unspoken words between him and Crowley. They were still learning to speak and act openly with each other, and their team of two had been joined by others. Muriel, Nina, Maggie, Mrs. Sandwhich, Justine and even the annoying Mr. Brown.

He was now only a few feet from the bookshop.

Home.

As Crowley escorted Muriel to the door of the bookstore, Aziraphale thought back to their first encounter with the angel.

What a change.

He watched in amusement as Crowley pulled Muriel's woolly hat over their head and couldn't help but smile fondly, knowing that under the guise of teasing the angel, the demon was just making sure they were well covered for the winter cold.

His nice demon pretending not to be nice.

But Crowley could no longer pretend with Aziraphale, not when right now, unaware he was being watched, he was following Muriel with his eyes, an affectionate expression on his face.

"He's quite fond of our little bee, isn't he?"

Aziraphale gasped slightly, lost in his thoughts he hadn't seen Nina leave the coffee-shop and come closer.

He just nodded and Nina added, "He still thinks no one can see through his game when he's just a piece of marshmallow once he interacts with Muriel."

Aziraphale chuckled before replying, "For your sake, I will not repeat your words to him."

Nina smirked before saying, "Like he'd do anything to me. Mr. Grumpy, right? He is grumpy in name only now. Anyway, I have to go home, have a good night."

Nina didn't wait for an answer and went on her way, obviously to Maggie.

The coffee-shop owner was right, and it warmed Aziraphale's heart that other people could see beneath Crowley's mocking demeanor and see what a good person he was.

And good he was.

Aziraphale had lost count of how many times he'd been the recipient of the demon's kindness.

"Oh, the books. Oh. I forgot all the books. Oh, they'll all be blown to..."

Aziraphale hadn't even finished his sentence when the demon handed him his satchel of books and said quietly, "Little demonic miracle of my own."

As if the miracle of saving him wasn't enough.

"Lift home?"

Aziraphale watched in amazement as the demon walked past him to the Bentley.

That day he had known, or rather he had stopped lying to himself.

He was hopelessly and irrevocably in love with Crowley.

Even if nothing had happened between them then, the dynamics of their relationship had changed and planted the roots of their current one.

They had both reaffirmed the fragile mutual trust that had germinated millennia ago.

Aziraphale had found in Crowley a listening and understanding ear, and had been able to express his fears and doubts. Crowley had accepted and validated all. He had found in Crowley a partner who complemented him, who allowed him to be himself, far from the expectations of heaven, which had long ago made it clear to him that he would never measure up.

Crowley had helped him rebuild what heaven had fractured inside him.

What a journey...

Watching Crowley greet Justine from a distance, smile, and return to the bookshop, Aziraphale couldn't help but feel the love he had for him all the more.

Crowley had his back to him and was about to turn to close the door when Aziraphale hurriedly took the last few steps between him and the demon and, placing a hand on his shoulder, said softly, "Good evening, my dear."

The ange3 closed the door behind him as the demon turned and said, "Angel, are you here already? I thought you'd be a little longer. Not that I'm complaining, but..."

The demon couldn't finish his sentence because Aziraphale had cupped his face with his hands and pulled it down to his own, planting a tender kiss on his lips before saying softly, "Thank you."

"Thank you for what?" the demon asked, a little confused.

"For being here. For having stayed."

Aziraphale let one of his hands linger on the demon's cheek and added, "On the way home, I looked around at the street, the people, the bookshop, you inside, and I remembered a lot of things, good and bad, and most of all I realized that it's not the walls of this place that make it my home, but the fact that you're in it."

Crowley took Aziraphale's hand on his cheek and brought it to his lips before saying softly, "It's not because I'm there, Angel. It is because we are there."

"We," the angel repeated, his voice tight with emotion, then he added, smiling softly, "I'm glad to be home."

Crowley, with the same smile on his lips, replied just as gently, "Welcome home, Angel.”

Still not beta'd

Still not my native language

Still hoping you'll enjoy this story 🥰

Still thanking you for bearing with me 😝

Ineffable Growing Love series : (After season 2)

Part 1 Story 1-99

Part 2 Story 100-?

Ineffable Husbands masterlist : here (Before season 2)

#good omens #aziracrow #ineffable husbands #ineffable boyfriends #aziraphale #crowley #good omens fanfiction #aziraphale x crowley #crowley x aziraphale #GOS2Spoilers

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