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darkdesangue · 6 days ago

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Yes! Yes to all of this!

Aziraphale doesn't deserve any hate! Neither does Crowley!

They are both doing their best!

And they both love each other!

And they'll both protect each other - always!

If you don't get that we have not been watching the same show SMH 😞

"I don't even like you!" "You dooo!"

Okay so I wrote this fairly light-hearted paragraph to go with a gif and then it turned into three paragraphs and more gifs so now I had to delete it all and start again because apparently I don't just want to point out how Aziraphale wasn't lying to himself when he said "I don't even like you" NOR was he trying to lie to Crowley either!

TL:DR Bandstand is not some terrible break up where Aziraphale refuses to leave with Crowley for a happy time on Alpha Centauri (or alternatively to kill a child) because... okay I actually don't know why people think he refused Crowley's suggestions and blame him for them parting ways here - Aziraphale wanted to save the world? Without killing a kid? Or try at least everything possible first?

Plus Aziraphale was desperate too to try and get Crowley off the hook should someone very shortly question their relationship. That's why he says the ridiculous things he says. (It's always the reason he says them.) It wasn't because the angel was scared of what will Heaven say if they found out he fraternised - not to mention fell in love with a demon. Well, not scared in the - omg how do I tell my parents I fell for a bad boy - sense. But terrified that they will kill him way. Or that Crowley's own 'family' will kill him.

So. How do I, in the year of Lord 2025 STILL see takes and comments that say - oh, why is Aziraphale lying to himself so hard, he just has to be honest with himself, why is he so scared of admitting he loves a demon. Crowley is so right; even(?) Crowley can tell Aziraphale's lying, and why is Aziraphale so hurtful and why does Aziraphale keep making the same mistakes/bad decisions.

Why are too many people STILL thinking of Aziraphale as wrong (and horrible and cruel) in the bandstand, as if he was being stupid and hurtful and denying their friendship and why did he want to do what Heaven wanted (??) and so on and on and then went on and did the same thing in the Final 15. Not listening to Crowley.

So no. None of this. He did not. He was not wrong. He did what he did and said what he said because he was scared for Crowley. And for Earth. He just wanted to try his best. Give his everything.

Besides, note how Aziraphale turns around:

He did that before arriving at the bandstand too.

What or who is he looking for? Could it be the Supreme Archangel who he knows runs along this exact route?

Do trees have ears?

But a lot like in F15, Crowley is not paying attention to Aziraphale's fear in the moment, he's too focused on his own emotions and his need to protect Aziraphale NOW and get away from it all which the angel is resisting (because that's just how he is, he would not just leave, whatever it's going to cost, if he set his mind on trying everything).

And why is Aziraphale saying this?

Well because it is the Great Plan. Something that has been in the works for aeons, since before they met as angels in Before the Beginning. They tried to thwart it and their plan ineffably - got away from them (or so they must think at this point) by having them look after the wrong boy. They failed. The only other option (to kill the boy) is still unthinkable to Aziraphale. And the only other thing he can think of is to speak to Gabriel and then God too about it. I mean, it seems reasonable to me. Crowley tried the same. Talk to God I mean. But Aziraphale, being who he is (holier than thou - that's the whole point!) has a better chance.

It didn't work, but was he wrong for trying? And they did in the end thwart the Plan too. And it was Aziraphale's nitpicking that did it in a big part.

Is he wrong here? Look, he didn't have time to sit down and explain to the audience and to Crowley what exactly he meant and that he didn't mean to imply.... I'm sure Crowley knew what Aziraphale meant. What side did they have here, hours before Armageddon? They did go along with what they had to do as far as they could - and did what they felt was better when they could get away with it. Yes. But. Would this be the case after Armageddon? Absolutely not. No one will pay their desires and sides and wants any heed. They will have to fight on opposite sides. Because that's who they are. It was not their decision. They did not decide to be an angel or a demon. Neither of them did. Whether they want to or not, that's just how it is. There isn't anywhere for them to go away from it all. Not for long anyway.

And yes, that comment did throw Aziraphale because OF COURSE he wants to just go off together. Of course he does. And of course he was flattered that Crowley wanted him to go with. That this was a desire of his. Of course it did. But there is nowhere for them to go to. Nowhere safe they would not be found and dragged back from.

And yes, the Final 15 has a similar vibe, Aziraphale is not choosing (also - what kind of question is that, 'job' or death) to run off together; because he is going to Heaven to protect Crowley - whether Crowley is coming with him or not.

And then, once he learns of the Second Coming, to try and protect Earth too. Again. Look, none if this is their fault. Everything is crashing down on them and they have nowhere to go. Or so it seems. Because they did it once and saved themselves and the world and they will do it again.

Please stop blaming Aziraphale for their unhappiness.

#good omens #aziraphale #crowley #ineffable husbands #good omens thoughts #good omens 2 #good omens 1 #bandstand #final 15 #aziraphale my beloved #never did anything wrong #fight me

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darkdesangue · 11 days ago

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I love this 😍🤩

What a lovely story 💓💓

Crowley and Aziraphale Watch Paint Dry

Summary: Aziraphale is painting the backroom of the bookshop after the events at Tadfield Air Base. He has enlisted Crowley's help in choosing the perfect shade.

They use the time to talk.

Featuring that very yellow room from season 2.

"You can't be serious, Angel"

"Of course I am!" Retorted Aziraphale, walking into the backroom of the bookshop carrying two large deckchairs.

"You...have invited me over...to watch paint dry?" Crowley said in a tone that begged for someone else to agree with the absurdity of the statement.

"Yes" said Aziraphale, who having won the battle with setting up the chairs had plopped into his own. He patted the other invitingly.

"When you asked me over for a matter of great importance–" "–this is a matter of great importance, Crowley! The man in the shop said that this precise shade of yellow is meant to make people feel warm and happy, and you will be the perfect test subject!"

"Why me?" Moaned Crowley, sinking into his own chair like a particularly grumpy eel.

"Because you are...." Aziraphale searched for the right words that wouldn't result in his best friend storming out of the office "...shady."

"Shady?" Repeated Crowley incredulously.

"Yes! Like a tree."

Crowley just stared at her friend in disbelief. A rather impressive feat for a genderless being wearing sunglasses.

"Like...a tree?" They repeated back, over-emphasising each word.

"Because you are cool, but still - no. I mean you're- no" Aziraphale started to ring his hands, worried that his bad phrasing had ruined the perfectly splendid afternoon he had planned for them.

"Are you saying you want me to watch paint dry...to see if it will make me happy?" Asked Crowley. "And I couldn't come over once the paint was already dry because..."

"What if it dries a different shade! The perfect shade might be when it's half dry and we'd never know!" Exclaimed Aziraphale.

"Obviously that would be a tragedy" muttered Crowley, already settling in to his chair. They hadn't thought they would win this argument to begin with. And, to be completely honest, sitting with Aziraphale for an afternoon wasn't the worst thing she could do today.

"Exactly!" Beamed Aziraphale, glad he had finally been understood. The sight of that smile melted the last of Crowley's last annoyance at getting out of bed for this.

"So why are you painting this room anyway? You barely spend any time back here." Asked Crowley after about 20 minutes of watching the mustard yellow shimmer slightly in the light from the window.

"Oh...Well I fancied a change."

That caused Crowley to sit up.

"YOU fancied a change?" He said in a tone of someone who just heard a astrophysicist declare the moon was fake.

Aziraphale did a remarkably good impression of a pigeon puffing out its feathers "I can like change. Love it! I changed the register just last week!"

The register in question was an 1892 model that was brought by Crowley that same year after an unsuccessful trip to Ohio trying to tempt petty theft. Aziraphale had sulked for a week at the idea of adding it to the shop, despite never using his original model for anything other than sorting his collection of misprinted coins.

"Besides" carried on Aziraphale, "it still smelt of smoke in here."

That made Crowley wince, and acquiesce. The memory of stacks of books burning all around him as he searched desperately for any sign of-

"Well why yellow?" She said, in a not-so-subtle attempt to change the subject.

"I told you, the man in the shop said–"

"–happy colour, got it. What's this colour called anyway? They all have some sort of stupid gimmicky name."

"I'm not sure, it was the last couple of cans in stock and the label had rubbed off."

"Last cans? Better hope you have enough to paint the rest of the room then," quipped Crowley.

Aziraphale looked a little worried at that, and started touching his pocketwatch chain.

"Oh I didn't think of that. How big do you think the room is? I bought seven cans, and I think three or four rollers..."

"Why did you buy so many rollers?" Asked Crowley with confusion.

"Well, I wasn't sure how many I'd need. I've not painted by hand before? Have you?"

"Well no, but even I know you only need one roller per person. What are you gonna do, call down the archangels and ask them to help out? Get Gabriel taping the baseboards in the gallery, Raphael in the rafters?"

Aziraphale snorted. "Michael in the mezzanine?"

Crowley giggled.

The paint was now somewhere between golden rod and nikon yellow.

"You know, I've never asked" started Crowley after a moment of silence, "Why did you open a bookshop? And don't tell me to sell books, I saw you almost tackle a woman yesterday trying to make off with your twelfth edition of Pride and Prejudice."

Aziraphale shifted, slightly uncomfortable. "Oh you know...Heaven needed a base of operations and all that."

Crowley narrowed their eyes, "and what, it didn't need one in the hundreds of years before that?"

"Well no, it was...Well." Aziraphale turned slightly pink. "Do you remember when we went to Scotland?"

"Aye" responded Crowley in a thick brogue, earning an eyeroll from his partner.

"Well, I was thinking. Afterwards. About knowledge. Doctor Dalrymple was risking everything to try and learn. To research. But those around him were trying to destroy everything he dedicated his life to. I realised that throughout human history, people have a rather nasty habit of going for the books first. For anything that might conflict with their worldview. I wanted to, I don't know, save something? Anything. So I started a bookshop where I keep everything. No book that comes to me will ever be lost...or alone" at that he glances over at Crowley, but quickly away again when he sees his own reflection in his companion's glasses.

"Oh," said Crowley. After a minute, "I just thought you wanted Heaven to finance your hoarding."

"That too," Aziraphale said with a smile.

The paint was now hovering between Ripe Mango and Citrine.

"Do you ever miss Heaven?" Asked Aziraphale. It was said in a tone of forced lightness. As if one knows they are about to drop an anchor during an otherwise pleasant sailing trip, causing all aboard to fall over the side of the ship.

Crowley tensed.

"No."

Ten minutes went by.

"Yes."

Aziraphale looked over at them. Crowley kept his eyes firmly afixed to the wet paint.

"I miss...the space. Hell is crowded. Dirty. You can't go anywhere without brushing shoulders with the unwashed masses. It can be...a lot."

Aziraphale kept quiet. Crowley didn't speak of Hell often. Of the management? Sure. To complain about other demons, or the filing system, or the fact they kept calling in the middle of lunch? Absolutely. About the place? Rarely if ever.

"It's hot there. Which, I know, Hell. It's hot. But it's hot in the way that queuing in a busy shop is hot. At first, you barely notice. Then slowly it starts crawling up your back, up your neck and across your cheeks. It makes you frustrated, and snappy. Act in ways you wouldn't anywhere else. And the people around you stop bring people. They become bodies. Problems. Pests. You stop seeing others in the same place you are and think 'what did I do to deserve being stuck here forever...with you?' And you are. Stuck. Forever." Crowley sucked in a large breath as if savouring the cool air of the shop. Aziraphale couldn't look away.

"So I miss the space," concluded Crowley. "What about you? Do you miss Heaven, when you're down here with us dregs?"

"You're not a dreg," Aziraphale said sharply, before deflating slightly. "No. I don't miss it. I...hate it there." At that Crowley looked over, eyebrows raised over his sunglasses.

Aziraphale kept his eyes firmly fixed on the drying wall as he continued. "It's so empty. For miles and miles. There's just...nothing. Angel's don't really... socialise. If you aren't on assignment you are singing in the celestial choirs which I just don't....like." his voice became quiet at the last word, eyes darting like he expected an angelic choir mistress to appear from behind the potted plant in the corner and wrap him smartly on the knuckles for expressing a personal desire.

Crowley's hand hovered slightly before landing on his friends arm. "You're allowed to have preferences" she said.

Aziraphale’s eyes watered slightly. "Well you should know from experience that's not true." Crowley withdrew their arm as if burnt. Aziraphale missed the warmth immediately.

The wall was now a shade off Itten yellow.

It was Crowley who broke the silence next.

"Which of us do you think has done more successful temptations, over the years?"

Aziraphale looked over at her in disbelief. "Whatever do you mean? You're the demon."

"Yet you've filled in for me more than once. As I have for you. One of us must have done the most successful one."

"Well you might as well ask who has performed the most successful miracle!" Exclaimed Aziraphale.

"Well that too then. Who do you think? Because miracle wise I think I'm ahead by a leg considering my work with that guy Will's stuff. He went from not even selling out the pit to being credited with the English Language. Though to be fair I'm not sure if that's a shining indictment."

"How do we even classify 'most successful?" Inquired Aziraphale against his better judgement. "Biggest impact, largest number of souls saved or condemned? You may have saved 'Hamlet' but does that make that miracle more successful than saving the children of Job?"

"That!" Hissed Crowley as they jabbed their finger in Aziraphale’s direction, "was a temptation and you know it. It went directly against the explicit Will of God."

"But you saved the innocent children of an blameless man" countered Aziraphale. Crowley waved him off.

"So...if you think about it...what's the difference?"

"What do you mean?" Asked Crowley, still pouting at the idea that he performed a miracle when not directly job swapping.

"Between what I do and what you do?" That definitely got Crowley's attention.

"I mean," continued Aziraphale in the same voice he used to try and defend giving his sword away all those years ago, "it seems to me that everything you do can have positive effects on the world, and everything I do..." He trailed off, not quite wanting to think about what the implications of that would be. He still remembered standing in Taddfield Air Base, realising that his side seemed to be...well...

"So what does that mean for the rest of the universe?" Asked Crowley. "Is there no good side or bad side?"

"I think it means we don't know how out actions can effect the world until it's already happened. With the best of intentions, we can still hurt people," Aziraphale definitely wasn't thinking about standing in the streets of Soho looking at his best friend begging him to run away together. To be safe. Together.

"Huh" said Crowley. Then, "I'm going to get a bottle of wine."

The paint was trying to settle between daffodil and buttercup yellow.

Three bottles of wine in, the pair were having a raucous time. The night outside was darkening, and at some point one of them had put the record player on. The cheerful tones of Buddy Holly echoed around the empty bookshop.

"- and furthermore" declared Crowley from his perch standing on a deckchair that absolutely should not have been able to withstand being used in such a fashion, "furthermore 'J' Is a perfectly acceptable middle name and people who don't get it are simply...simply..."

"Jobbernowls!" cried out Aziraphale, just as indignant at the honour of his best friend's name being besmirched.

"Exactly!" Declared Crowley, pointing triumphantly at the angel. "Jobber-fowls. Dastardly birds with jobs. Can't trust them. Make the whole economy collapse."

Aziraphale himself had collapsed back into his chair giggling. His tie was askew and his face flushed from both wine and the excitement if the evening. Crowley thought for an odd moment he looked rather lovely like that. Happy and content.

Damn, maybe the paint worked after all.

They took a quick swig from the wine bottle in their hand only to pout in dismay when it turned out to be empty. He could of course refill it, but it never tasted quite the same. Their eyes fell on the bottle in Aziraphale’s arms like a predator eyeing up its favourite prey. An owl spying a rat in the wheat. An Alligator coming uppon on a Floridian. Jerry laying eyes on Tom.

"Give me that" he said.

Aziraphale clutched the bottle closer to his chest. "No! Get your own!"

"Gimmie that!" Crowley launched across the room.

"Neverrrrr" called back Aziraphale, shrieking as he defended his prize. Crowley grabbed the nearest object to him, a discarded mop. "Engarde!" She called.

Aziraphale ended up with one of the unused paint rollers, trying to defend his bounty from being stolen by the handsome pirat- wait no. Aziraphale did not think Crowley was handsome. I mean she was and also pretty, but Aziraphale didn't think that. Not consciously. What was in that wine?

They battle reached its climax with Aziraphale backed against the newly dandelion wall. The mop had been broken in two when it collided with one of the pillars, leaving Crowley with a short stick and a lot of mop. Aziraphale had lost his weapon in the battle and was out of luck...unless.

Crowley saw the gleam in his combatant's eyes before he realised Aziraphale had reached down slowly for the used roller. Their eyes widened.

"No, no, no don't you dare Aziraphale don'tyoudarecomenearmewiththa-"

Too late. A wide line of vivid paint now covered Crowley right down the middle, stark against the black.

"You-" Aziraphale had no time to run before Crowley lunged forward.

"No Crowley not the waistcoa-" but he was also too late.

Crowley brought Aziraphale tightly against his front, pulling them close together so the paint was shared between them. He even rubbed his cheek into the top of Aziraphale’s hair for good measure.

Wait.

Crowley froze.

They were currently in the middle of the bookshop, surrounded by chaos. Crowley's arms were wrapped tightly around Aziraphale, his head resting on top of his head.

Oh.

Oh no.

Crowley tried to instruct his limbs to let go, but the traitors that they were stayed stubbornly buried in Aziraphale’s jacket.

Hesitantly, Aziraphale felt his own arms wrap around the demon in turn until they were just stood there in the bookshop. Holding each other.

Crowley wasn't quite sure how long they stood like that. Neither daring to breath.

The sun was starting to peer through the window casting a soft light on the mess they had made of things.

"I...errr...think the paint might be dry now" said Crowley in a voice alien to himself. She wasn't sure if she meant the paint on the wall or the paint covering the two of them.

"Right" said Aziraphale. Another beat. Then they slowly untangled their bodies as if unsure where one stopped and the other started. "I suppose we should check on the colour."

The two walked over to inspect the wall.

"So..." asked Crowley in a tone of forced levity, "is it a happy enough colour?"

Aziraphale opened his mouth and closed it again. He appeared to be trying to decide something.

"Let's check" he said, and stepped over to Crowley. The Demon's eyebrows furrowed in confusion as the angel reached up to remove his sunglasses.

"Hmmm...perfect," Aziraphale declared. His hand still cupping Crowley's face, thumb resting under their eye.

"Simply perfect."

#fan fiction one shot #ineffable husbands #aziraphale x crowley #good omens #genderfluid crowley

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