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quoththemaiden · 1 month

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I hope everyone enjoyed the finale of @mrghostrat's Big Name Feelings Good Omens AU as much as I did. While ghostrat ended his story perfectly with a beautiful and realistic close to the part of their relationship we as an audience get to see, I had one more scene idea close to my heart and so I'm putting it out here because my heart still sings with love for this story and its characters.

These fanscenes now also appear on AO3. Along with the four I've already posted here (1, 2, 3, and 5), you can find a scene I kept off Tumblr ("Ch. 12"). You can read the final scene ("Ch. 17") below, but you can also find it on AO3, where it shows the text messages in graphical form.

Bilv, thank you once again for creating such an amazing story! I'm happy to say that my mind is no longer filled with your middle-aged men and their middle-aged-man problems. Instead, please enjoy these 3k words of pure fluff.

—

Crowley dumped his bag on the hotel room floor and did a lazy spin to take in the space. "Not bad, eh?"

"It's very posh," Newt agreed, setting his bag down more gingerly. "You're sure we can't pitch in for it?"

"I'm not dealing with you setting your phone on fire trying to do a transfer." Crowley waved the offer off and flopped onto the couch. The hotel suite had two small bedrooms plus a nice little sitting area that would be perfect for board games. It was set up to mainly accommodate a family with kids, albeit a family that could afford to splash on a multi-room suite for the family vacation to Spain. Crowley stretched out, shamelessly taking up the whole couch in a bid to ease the stiffness in his hips. "Tell ya what, if you're feeling guilty, you can buy my drinks tonight."

Anathema laughed and gave Crowley a poke in the side, looking quite satisfied at his jerk and yelp. "Knowing you, that will end up being a fair deal. And I'll take care of renting the wheelbarrow to cart you back here."

Crowley rubbed his side dourly. "Maybe I preferred you on the other side of the ocean."

Anathema grinned at him, unrepentant. "If you want to stay at my place while I'm here, I'll lend you my keys." She ducked a thrown pillow with a laugh.

—

The weather was perfect for sipping cocktails outside, and their mutual agreement to all try drinks they'd never had before helped keep the night from slipping away from them too quickly. Being able to chat without the artificial framing of a webcam was a delight, too, but all of them were too continuously connected to be interested in a strict phones-down policy.

Anathema rolled her eyes and took another sip of her drink before answering the text that had just popped up on her screen.

Aziraphale: Are you certain he doesn't know I'm nearby? Anathema: I didn't tell him, Newt doesn't know, and he doesn't have a magical angel-detecting sense does he? Aziraphale: I'm not so sure about that last point. Some of his last texts seem awfully pointed. Anathema: You're being paranoid

Anathema slipped her phone away before leaning over to look at Crowley's phone screen, where he was lining up a very artistic shot of his drink, showcasing as much of the swanky beachfront seating area as possible. She blinked at him slowly. "Have you been sending Aziraphale 'wish you were here' texts?"

Crowley glanced at her sideways, his thumb paused over the shutter button. "Maybe."

Anathema sighed and rubbed her forehead. "Are you an adult who can handle a vacation with friends or are you going to pine after your boyfriend all night?"

"I'm here, aren't I? It's not like we're tied together at the hip."

Anathema shook her head in fond exasperation. "Getting these printed on postcards for him would be funnier than this text spam." Crowley barked out a laugh and sent Aziraphale his next promise to take him here sometime anyway.

Anathema pulled out her phone again, tapping out a quick message.

Anathema: He says he's a full-grown adult who can handle being away from you.

There was a pause before Aziraphale responded to her — probably due to dealing with a barrage of messages from Crowley.

Aziraphale: A very convincing claim.

Anathema looked up as Crowley put his phone away. "All done?"

"Yeah, he's taking an early night." Crowley took a languid sip from his drink.

"How have his workshops been going?" Newt asked, fiddling with a vibrant russet cocktail in a type of glass he couldn't name.

"Good!" Crowley's eyes lit up with excitement, his cheeks pink. "We polished his presentation before he left—"

"I heard about that!" Newt cut in. "He said it was more like beta-testing than beta-reading."

Crowley snorted. "If you want to see what happens when someone goes against the script, I'm your guy."

"The reception's been okay?" Anathema asked. "I know getting audience participation at workshops can be pulling teeth."

"Nahhh, it's different in the library world. Those weirdos actually care about their jobs."

"So do I, but it would be pulling teeth to get me to do a 'group active learning exercise.'"

"Fair." Crowley grinned. "They know how to talk like humans, then. And they really are interested in anyone with tips on how to break into digital spaces in an authentic way."

Newt hummed thoughtfully. "He's really okay with talking about his online presence at work like that? I'd be way too embarrassed."

"Nah, you stop caring about that stuff when you get older."

Anathema snorted. "I'm still saying it's pure luck you didn't chase him offline again with that con nonsense."

"Pfffft." Crowley made a sound that was all plosives and no vowels. "Never even close."

"Right," Anathema replied with tasteful sarcasm.

Crowley cut her teasing short by slapping a yellow canvas pouch down on the table. "C'mon. Let's play a game!"

"Oh, Bananagrams!" Anathema accepted the diversion and unzipped the banana-shaped bag, pouring the Scrabble tiles out between them. She deftly started flipping them letter side down. "I don't think Newt's played?"

Crowley nodded and waggled his fingers at the pile of tiles. "Rules are easy: Everyone's building their own board-free Scrabble grid. You start with 21 tiles. Say 'peel' when you've used yours up to make everyone take another tile from the stock. Say 'dump' to trade one of your tiles for three from the stock. The first person to say 'peel' without enough tiles left for everyone to take one wins. Simple, right?"

Newt nodded slowly, watching as Anathema divided the tiles out neatly. "So they're putting Scrabble in bananas these days."

—

Aziraphale: Is he up yet?

Crowley gestured Anathema towards the table where their phones sat in a cuddly pile of charging pads and wires. "You got a message while you were in the shower. From Aziraphale?"

Anathema kept her face carefully schooled as she sauntered over and picked up her phone, using the need to adjust her towel turban as an excuse for not making eye contact. "Mm." She picked it up and read the incriminating message, then snorted. "Bracing himself for when your wall of texts will start, I imagine."

"Nahhh, he loves it!" Crowley snagged the glasses cleaner out of his bag and sauntered into the bathroom. He'd be wearing them all day and he'd murder someone if he had to deal with the scummy film left by hotel soap.

"Whatever you say, lover boy." Anathema breathed a tired sigh.

Anathema: Yeah, and he saw this. We should be at the conservatory by 11

She should have just taken the phone into the bathroom with her, steam be damned.

—

The botanical conservatory was, frankly, gorgeous. The greenhouses were so large the ceilings weren't even noticeable, and the outdoor gardens were a riot of native plants. Crowley devoured the signs about plants he was unfamiliar with with gusto, and pointed out those he recognized with the enthusiasm of a man determined to prove he wasn't hungover. Newt listened with unfeigned interest, while Anathema wasn't shy about slowing them down to take photos of particularly artfully arranged displays.

They'd been there about half an hour when a patter of English broke through the background chatter of Spanish. "Could you spot me the entrance fee for the butterfly room?"

"Aziraphale!" Crowley immediately spun to his right, his whole face lighting up in delight before realizing that seeing him here was, in fact, quite odd. "What are you doing in Spain?"

"I left right after my last workshop. I thought it might make a nice surprise."

"It made the best surprise." Crowley pulled him into an ardent kiss that went on long enough for Anathema to cough something about public displays of affection. Crowley eventually relented on the kiss, as much for the sake of their breathing as anything else, but kept his arm slung firmly around Aziraphale's shoulders. "You're a bit of a bastard, you know that? I could've been looking forward to this the whole time."

"Only as much of a bastard as you deserve," Aziraphale teased right back with easy familiarity. His heart kept pounding hard anyway.

"Heh. What a way to butter me up while you're angling for a free ticket." Crowley snuck another kiss onto Aziraphale's cheek. Aziraphale laughed as he slipped his arm through Crowley's, relishing the contact after their weeks apart.

The butterfly room, when they got in, was a riot of fluttering wings. The promise of iridescence was enough to get Crowley to remove his sunglasses, and a quiet compliment on his eyes from Aziraphale was enough to get him tucking them into his pocket instead of putting them right back on afterwards.

They left the butterfly room — with some careful mutual inspections to make sure no one was harboring a stowaway, involving perhaps a bit more care in running fingers through another's hair than was strictly necessary for the task — and emerged near the exit to the rose garden. Crowley's hand moved towards his sunglasses but Aziraphale put his hand on his arm. "Just a couple more minutes? There's something I want you to see first." Aziraphale glanced over at Anathema, who nodded slightly but otherwise kept her expression carefully uninterested.

Crowley looked between them and shrugged. "Not exactly subtle as far as hangover tests go, but a'ight." Aziraphale laughed breathlessly and kept a firm grip on his arm, drawing him deeper into the garden.

The rose garden featured small offshoots to the main path where groups could sit for a little while to rest. It wasn't until the third one that they came upon an alcove that was empty, and Aziraphale promptly pulled Crowley aside, Anathema holding out her hand to keep Newt just outside it with her.

"Crowley—" Aziraphale began, his breath catching in his throat as he caught Crowley's full attention. "I, ah. I actually came here because there was something I wanted to say."

Crowley's hand twitched reflexively towards his glasses again, but this time he kept it down himself, even as his heart started to pound. "...yeah?"

"Yeah," Aziraphale breathed out as he sank to one knee, reaching into his pocket. His fingers were trembling, and his smile was nervous but so very adoring. "If I ask you something, will you promise to laugh?"

"—huh?" Crowley blinked in confusion, then stared as Aziraphale opened a jewelry box to reveal a simple ring.

"Anthony J. Crowley, would you be my snouse?"

It took a few seconds for Crowley to register any of the words Aziraphale had just said, but then he barked out a laugh as the last one hit him. "Really? That's how you ask?"

"You don't like it?"

"I just... I thought if you did it, you'd do a whole speech for it. You even brought us out to a rose garden!"

"I'll be honest, I had one of those planned. I just... couldn't quite seem to bring it to mind." Aziraphale had no idea how he was managing to talk even as much as he was around the tightness in his throat. "You haven't answered my question, dear."

"Pfft..." Crowley closed both his hands around Aziraphale's. "Yes. Yes, of course I'll be your... your whatever. Forever and always."

"Thank goodness." Aziraphale half rose and was instead greeted by Crowley also kneeling, both of them moving together for a kiss that was slow and deliberate. Aziraphale could feel the pounding of his own pulse against the tight hold Crowley had on his hands, and he could tell how Crowley's heartrate had risen to match his by the way their kiss kept shifting for quick intakes of air. Aziraphale finally broke the contact only so he could gently extricate his hands from Crowley's. It took every scrap of concentration he could scrape together to find Crowley's left hand and slip the ring onto his finger. "...it fit okay?"

"Nggh," Crowley replied before pulling him into another kiss.

They might have stayed there all day if Anathema hadn't cleared her throat — snapping another quick photo as they looked up at her, flushed and frazzled. "We are still in public, I'm afraid."

"Yeah," Crowley breathed.

"Huh..." Aziraphale added, just as coherently.

Newt shook his head at the unlikely prospect of them getting up anytime soon, and looked over at Anathema instead. "How were you so prepared?"

Anathema flashed him a smile. "I knew this was coming. Aziraphale asked me to take the photos."

"Is that why you're here?"

"It was the other way around," Anathema replied. "Aziraphale realized he could arrange his schedule to join our trip partway, and we worked out how to take advantage of the situation."

"Bastard," Crowley muttered in response to nothing and everything, pressing tender kisses to Aziraphale's left ring finger like he could imprint a ring there with his lips. "Did you measure my finger while I slept?"

Aziraphale smiled as he watched him, his heartrate finally settling closer to normal under Crowley's reassuring touches. "It's scarcely my fault you're so easy to send to sleep, dearest."

"You're ridiculous. Adorable. Incorrigible."

"Are those all synonyms in your mind?" Aziraphale leaned in to steal another kiss.

Crowley laughed breathlessly at how easily they'd returned to comfortable teasing and carefully pushed himself up. He tugged his clothing straighter and tried to pretend he was put-together as he glanced at Anathema, who was grinning unabashedly at them. "I'll want those pics for... for everything. All of them."

Aziraphale put his hand on Crowley's arm for support as he straightened his own creaking knees. "I'm claiming Tumblr first, if you don't mind."

"Eh—" Crowley gave him his full attention again, not that it had strayed for more than a moment. "This will really get you notice, Angel."

"Good." Aziraphale took Crowley's hand and leaned in to kiss him. He rubbed his fingertip over the ring settled firmly onto a finger that had never borne one before. "Let them know who's claimed you."

Crowley snaked his arm around Aziraphale's neck, chasing down another kiss that went on long enough to have Anathema clucking behind them. "We're gonna get kicked out of the garden, Angel."

Aziraphale smiled against Crowley's lips. "Let them. The one we made is better."

—

Three bottles of wine sat open and mostly-drunk on the table, divided between four glasses that were using the remnants of the previous night's game of The Quiet Year as a coaster. ("We set it in an idyllic countryside and it all went downhill from there," Crowley had explained when Aziraphale came in and started examining the hand-drawn map. "I think the arrival of the dog was the real turning point to madness," Newt had chimed in. "It was doomed from the start," Anathema declared with a resigned sigh.) The red rings of wine stains could have added as much to the group narrative as anything they'd purposefully drawn.

"I came in like a wrecking ball~! I never hit so hard in love~!" Newt sang raucously, a broad grin on his face while Anathema laughed into her hand. Aziraphale tilted his head as he watched them, visibly processing the music.

"All the other kids with their pumped-up kicks, you better run—!" Anathema joined in as the tune jauntily transitioned to a new melody. Aziraphale's face froze into an expression of fond but intense confusion.

"Problem, Angel?" Crowley drawled, utterly amused as he watched the tableau.

"I'm fairly certain that isn't how those songs go. And isn't that polka?"

"Never heard of Weird Al? Bit bigger overseas, I s'pose." He gestured to Anathema's phone, which was supplying the impromptu karaoke party.

Aziraphale nodded, confusion dissolving and leaving just a hint of distaste in its place. "And a different generation, I suppose." He took another sip of his wine, a nice Syrah, as the melody shifted to a new and equally abrasive polka.

"I wear your granddad's clothes," the millennials continued singing, until one of them glanced at Aziraphale and started laughing and the other followed suit, wineglass held out in an attempt to insulate it from deep belly laughs. Crowley snagged it deftly and set it on the table, another drop of wine rolling down to stain the paper there. Aziraphale rolled his eyes, much more amused at their drunken good humor than offended.

Crowley patted Aziraphale's thigh. "Want to take the rest of that Syrah back to my room and leave the loverbirds to it?"

"It would still be rather noisy if we stayed here," Aziraphale replied with a tempting smile. "Why don't you come back to mine?"

Crowley leaned forward eagerly, only a fraction away from jumping up at the unexpected invitation. "Oh?"

"Well, the room may not wind up being quite as nice as the one you got, but I thought for our first night together as a formally promised couple..." Aziraphale's smile said everything.

"You're a genius." Crowley kissed his cheek and grabbed Aziraphale's hand to pull him up with him, then firmly refused to let it go despite the challenge of tucking a wine bottle under his arm while juggling a wine glass and his phone.

Aziraphale laughed. "We can take two trips, since you'll want your bag. Did you leave it packed?"

"Like always." Crowley grinned. "Not going to rib on me for that ever again, huh?"

"One occasion of convenience is not worth the wrinkles, my dear," Aziraphale responded with all the primness he could muster around a wide grin.

Crowley laughed and took the opportunity of Aziraphale opening the hotel room door to crowd closer and steal an eager kiss that was just as eagerly given. "You really managed to hold in that you'd gotten us a room all day?"

"I kept the trip secret from you too, didn't I?"

"Age will not wither," Crowley chuckled and nipped Aziraphale's ear. "C'mon, let's see that room. Coming back for pyjamas optional."

The two of them left the hotel suite hand-in-hand, with everything they truly needed already right there with them.

#good omens #good omens fanfiction #bnf au #ineffable husbands #fanfiction of fanfiction #my writing #middle-aged men and their middle-aged-man joy

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dragonmasterkaylz · 10 months

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Let’s Talk about Metatron!!!

Well… um—

“Why are you talking about me behind my back?!”

…

…..

No!!! I know I’m talking about YOU!!! Deanmon, I choose you!!!

Anyway… I’m talking about Metatron from Good Omens. Now, if watching Supernatural has taught me ANYTHING… it’s that Angels are just as bad as Demons! They love meddling, creating wars, need I go on?! And in Good Omens, I don’t see much of a difference, especially in season two. Granted, Gabriel doesn’t have his memories so he’s just a shell of the Angel he used to be. Aziraphale’s job is to make sure that the human race is okay and that nothing bad is happening. The same is said for Crowley, but his job is to meddle in human affairs and to make them succumb to their own temptations. … Right…?

“Pretty much sweetheart”.

NO!!! NOT YOU— but you can stay. I like you~!

ANYWAY… the sudden appearance of Metatron in the sixth episode of season two made me feel very uneasy. Now, let’s just move onto Supernatural for a second. Metatron is the Scribe of God and he has a very important role— sorry… had a very important role. Eventually, he wants to control Heaven since Chuck isn’t around and causes the Angels to Fall, killing some of them in the process. He strips poor Castiel of his grace, turning him into a regular human being. In a desperate attempt to save his brothers life, Dean asks one of these Angels to take over Sam and heal him from this inside. This Angel is called Ezekiel… but then later turns out to be Gadreel, an Angel that follows Metatron. When Castiel comes back to the Bunker, after being found by Dean, he is immediately told to leave as his presence alone is making Gadreel very paranoid. And so, the two are separated, yet again! Later down the line, Metatron kills Dean, which turns him into a Demon because of the Mark of Cain. He tells Castiel this and the poor Angel is left… heartbroken, even though Metatron is no longer in charge of Heaven and Castiel is.

Now, to the sudden appearance of Metatron in Good Omens. He seems like a good guy and he probably just wanted to give Aziraphale the offer of an Angels Eternal Life! We don’t know his true motives yet, so I’ll give him the benefit of the doubt. But when our beloved Angel asked him what he was tasked with, his face dropped. The ‘Second Coming’ is basically when Jesus Christ returns to Earth. And from how Aziraphale acted, it’s either not a good thing or it’s just a very difficult task for him to carry out. Maybe he thinks there’s just too much weight on him and that’s why he looked very uncomfortable as soon as Metatron told him what it was. However, something seems very calculating about this new Metatron….

He told Aziraphale that he could ask Crowley to join him and that he has the power to turn him back into an Angel. He asked Aziraphale to do this, instead of asking the Demon himself, which he could’ve done! But he didn’t. Which brings to me to think that he could’ve known that Crowley wouldn’t have agreed to it… because when Aziraphale told him the news, Metatron did seem to know that Crowley was more of a lone wolf. Did he purposely make Aziraphale ask him so the two would argue and part ways on a bad note? Did he want Aziraphale and Crowley to part ways so Heaven and Hell would officially have no connection to one another? Because with Gabriel and Beelzebub gone, they only had one couple tying them together. Crowley and Aziraphale. Hell was very much convinced that Crowley was only using him to get information out of him, that’s why I’m suggesting this. Did he want to sever that forever, so that a war between the two factions could happen? Because if the two are no longer partners and with Crowley on his own, no one can object. So here’s my question:

I think the only way we’ll know the answer to this question is by waiting for season three to come out, and watching it. Personally, I cannot live with that ending!!! It’s almost as bad as when Castiel told Dean that he loved him and then was taken by the Empty!!!

“Kayleigh… please stop reminding me…!”

DEAN!!! I’M SORRY FOR BRINGING IT UP AGAIN!!!

Why am I bringing Supernatural into this, you ask? Well, because I can! Also, because my silliness knows absolutely no bounds. Hehe~! 😋

You can agree with me or disagree with me. But I haven’t trusted a single Angel in Good Omens, apart from our hot chocolate loving Aziraphale. Please let me know if I was wrong on any of the points I’ve made by the way and if I am, I’m so sorry.

End of Kayleigh’s Rant

#good omens #supernatural #metatron #good omens metatron

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grimsshelves · 9 months

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You know I was borderline paranoid Crowley wasn't that interested in Aziraphale cause he was so stoned face all the time, while Aziraphale literrally oogled him several times quite suggestively, but the Confession was made with such raw emotions, now I'm doubting Aziraphale's feelings cause he seems lost as to what Crowley is getting at.

David Tennant absolutely nailed it, I was worried he wasn't actually such a fan of their characters "marriage", probably because he never was very vocally supportive of it as opposed to Michael Sheen, it seemed to me that he was accepting but indifferent really. Whatever his opinion on the subject is, the Declaration was a masterpiece of acting and clearly a declaration of love. The extremely anxious behavior as he is doing the most frightening confession after 6000 millenia, the lump in the throat, the difficulty to explain himself, the way he could not look at Aziraphale's direction for long, the freaking Emotions in his voice - this is so clearly a monumental effort on Crowley's part. I was worried I would not be convinced of Crowley's love for Aziraphale, but now I am. Utterly. Thanks to David's acting in that scene. No wonder the fandom is in shambles; his voice breaks my heart.

#good omens season 2 spoilers #final episode

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paintedvanilla · 4 years

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paintedvanilla’s good omens fic recommendations

here we have something I’ve been too shy to make for a while because. to be straight with you. more than half of these are explicit. and well. yeah.

works listed in escalating rating order (general -> teen -> mature -> explicit)

everything is completed unless otherwise noted.

Title: Bowties

Author: dvldegg ( @caerdroia )

Rating: General

Word Count: 776

Summary: “Newt needs help tying his bowtie. Crowley makes fun of Aziraphale. It's just a typical weekend.”

My Notes: This fic caused me to overdose on domestic cuteness.

Title: anywhere i go you go, my dear

Author: chamaenerion

Rating: General

Word Count: 1,533

Summary: “After the Apocalypse-that-wasn't, Crowley is reluctant to leave Aziraphale's side.”

My Notes: I will literally die i swear to god this has nervous and protective crowley and he’s clingy and overall I just wanted to scream I love him I love my boy and they’re so in love and they should always be allowed to be together

Title: Getting a Wiggle On

Author: Kedreeva

Rating: General

Word Count: 7,293

Summary: “Crowley's prank to leave Aziraphale with fake eggs to babysit does not go remotely as planned.”

My Notes: You’ve probably seen this concept floating around tumblr but this fic made me GENTLE because i have daddy issues and whenever people are like “crowley and aziraphale as parents” i have a fucking heart attack

Title: Adopt Don’t Shop - A Good Meowmans Fanfic

Author: lucky_spike

Rating: General

Word Count: 12,434

Summary: “Inspired by Chekhov's cat AU comics 'Good Meowmens', here is a fanfic in which Anathema and Newt are humans, and Aziraphale and Crowley are cats. Not disguised as cats, not trapped in cat bodies, just actual elderly cats that are inseparable.”

My Notes: I know some people think au’s like this are kinda weird but this one is so fucking charming to me idk??? I literally ate this shit up I love being gentle and reading about cats who are in love.

Title: Not Alone

Author: superqueerdanvers

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 937

Summary: “Crowley and Anathema are supposed to meet Aziraphale at the movies, but they can't find a parking place, and they have a heart-to-heart about disability.”

My Notes: I experienced feelings and also emotions while reading this and now i’m a different person

Title: bastard child of water

Author: smallredboy ( @smallredb0y )

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 15,622

Summary: “After a grave mistake, Crowley, a merman, is transformed into a human and exiled out of the sea. Issues crop up as he grows used to his new body, to his new friends and to his new job. But when a merman he's seen in passing pokes his head out of the water one afternoon, Crowley will fall for him and look for a way to regain his body.”

My Notes: THIS FIC MAKES ME LOSE MY SHIT i bribed dave with real life money to finish it and every day i’m thankful i made that decision because this fic is SO. FUCKING. GOOD. IT’S TENDER!! IT’S GENTLE!! IT MAKES ME LOSE MY GODDAMN MIND!!!!!

Title: Demonology and the Tri-Phasic Model of Trauma: An Integrative Approach

Author: Nnm

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 99,423

Summary: “As soon as Aubrey Thyme, psychotherapist, had opened her office door and seen her new client, Anthony J. Crowley, sitting in her waiting area, she was observing and assessing him. At first glance, she paid attention to the following:

His clothing was expensive and stylish;

He wore very strange but noticeable cologne;

His relationship to the seat he occupied could only, very loosely, be described as “sitting;”

He looked angry;

He was wearing sunglasses.”

My Notes: OH!!!!!!!! MY GOD!!!!!!!!! THIS FIC DESTROYED ME EMOTIONALLY!!!!!!! IT RIPPED MY FUCKING HEART OUT AND FORCED ME TO DEAL WITH #ISSUES AND JUST OVERALL TURNED ME INTO A DISASTER!!!! I READ THIS SHIT IN ONE SITTING!!! I WAS HOOKED!!!! EVEN NOW JUST THINKING ABOUT IT IS DEALING PSYCHIC DAMAGE!!!!!! PLEASE READ THIS!!!

Title: The Odd One Out

Author: RainyDayDecaf

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 2,948

Summary: “It takes being thrown into another universe and meeting other versions of himself to make Aziraphale realize there is something wrong with the way his Crowley treats him.”

My Notes: A product of the shit-script, literally had me feeling emotions but also giggling because movie!Aziraphale deserves to be LOVED.

Title: A Single Feather

Author: qwanderer

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 2,521

Summary: “Here's the thing. Demons must be good at improv, at hiding reactions, at carrying on no matter what. They can’t show a moment of vulnerability, not to each other, and certainly not to angels. They were supposed to be tough, untrusting, paranoid bastards, or else.

So Crowley had developed a highly honed skill of automatically bullshitting, boasting, and mocking while covering up his true emotions, and it was in full force now.”

My Notes: I’m a simple woman. I see a nesting fic, I click on it. And it makes me emotional and afterwards I have to lay face down on the floor.

Title: Untouched

Author: Etaleah

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 3,531

Summary: “A demon's life is a lonely one. What Crowley wants is so simple, yet he can never have it.”

My Notes: I will literally fly into the sun if I see the tag “touch starved crowley” i will scream at the top of my lungs. Somebody please hold this demon.

Title: Penance

Author: Blissymbolics

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 5,910

Summary: “And for a while, it’s enough.

It’ll happen, Crowley tells himself. This time, it’ll finally happen.”

My Notes: Listen. This fic destroyed me, it made me tender horny and just overall ruined my night in the best way possible. I’m having a crisis over it as we speak.

Title: Starved

Author: Fyre

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 6,351

Summary: “The first time the angel touches him, it’s as they descend from the walls of Eden.

It’s nothing, only a hand put out to steady him. A kindness. And yet a thousand memories from life below make Crawly flinch instinctively at the contact. It’s stupid, really, and he’s sure the angel doesn’t notice. He doesn’t stop to consider the fact that the angel’s hand was soft and for a moment, his skin tingled where it touched. Not right away, anyway.”

My Notes: AHH!! Crowley really said “I am touch starved please love me” like!! Imagine craving someone’s touch for SIX THOUSAND YEARS!! I’D GO BONKERS!! THIS FIC MADE ME GO BONKERS!!

Title: can you keep me close (can you love me most)

Author: taizi

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 3,268

Summary: “When his angel stretches out a hand, cupid’s bow mouth curved into a familiar smile, Crowley knows better. When he’s led to his own bedroom, pushed down amidst the silk sheets and hastily miracled pillows and a sinful duvet, when Aziraphale leans over him and the whole world seems to hang right there in his eyes, Crowley knows that this is not his to keep. It’s not for him to have this.”

My Notes: I can will and must LITERALLY EXPLODE the tension in this one is palatable and I snort hurt/comfort like cocaine.

Title: please, could you be tender?

Author: deadgreeks

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 6,262

Summary: “The first kiss is only the beginning of a relationship. Crowley and Aziraphale need to talk about things. That is not their strong suit.”

My Notes: I ache and I yearn for this type of content they are literally. They are LITERALLY… I’m going to burst into flames.

Title: The Quiet, Persistent, Gnawing Unease

Author: LillipopCop

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 20,850

Summary: “An exploration of the serious toll Hell's physical and psychological grip has taken on Crowley since his Fall.”

My Notes: Fics where Crowley experiences emotional distress own my ass.

Title: Make a Little Birdhouse in Your Soul

Author: Zolac_no_Miko

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 10,573

Summary: “It was a compulsion that he couldn’t quite define. A burning in his blood, a tingle on the palms of his hands. A restlessness that drove him to art galleries, antique stores, and street markets, seeking some object that would please Aziraphale. Something beautiful, or something useful—something he would want to keep. It started with little things, small tokens that didn’t require a special occasion: an embroidered silk bookmark; a rare and delicate tea from the highlands of China; a steel pen and inkwell to replace Aziraphale’s quill pen, and then a fountain pen to replace that. And then things started to get out of hand.”

My Notes: Another nesting fic that almost wiped me the fuck out.

Title: Crown of Thorns [The Walls, the Wainscot, and the Mouse] 'Verse

Author: irisbleufic ( @irisbleufic )

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 275,000

Summary: ““D’you realize,” [Crowley] said, “that we never tire of things humans get bored with on the regular?” Aziraphale shrugged, lazily basking. “I’ve always assumed it’s that we don’t tire of each other.””

My Notes: Please for the love of god and all that is holy if you have not read this fic, read it. I consider it canon.

Title: fires of the flesh, both literal and figurative

Author: mercuryhatter

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 2,726

Summary: “Pretty standard "there's a sex curse and Crowley has to have way too many orgasms or be discorporated" stuff.”

My Notes: Yeah this is. Where I’m gonna start to get shy about my notes. It’s funny and it’s hot. Yeah.

Title: The Understanding

Author: Zetared

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 37,918

Summary: “Crowley is untethered. Aziraphale knows how to secure a knot. (He’s read many books on the subject, after all).”

My Notes: In which the underlying plot is a little strange but the overlying porn is very good.

Title: Come Fuck Me Hips

Author: AgentStannerShipper

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 3,471

Summary: “Crowley has had a fantasy about Aziraphale for centuries now. Too bad the angel would never take him up on it. Except, as it turns out, he absolutely would.”

My Notes: Everybody has read this and if you haven’t then you better because it’s. It’s good.

Title: If I Regard Iniquity

Author: elektratios

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 1,912

Summary: ““Aziraphale…” Crowley’s mouth worked a bit but no more words would come out. He cleared his throat. “Aziraphale, there’s no,” he gestured vaguely, “iniquity here.” He winced at his choice of words. “No-one is watching, no-one is judging. It’s just us.””

My Notes: I will literally dunk myself in the trash holy shit. It’s. It’s good.

Title: that pulse of my nights and days

Author: Ark

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 1,694

Summary: “Aziraphale laughs, the delighted, breathy giggle he gives after his second bottle of champagne. “Such a shame we didn’t come to this sooner,” he says, pulling back and—oh, naughty angel!—increasing the length and girth of his cock when he pushes back in. Crowley gasps, and Aziraphale—greedy, too!—tilts in to swallow the sound from his lips, flicks his tongue against Crowley’s as though chasing after the flavor of this elongated pleasure.”

My Notes: This one is uh. This is a dirty one. It’s good but it sure is filthy.

Title: A Home at the Beginning of the World

Author: stereobone

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 5,867

Summary: “"Oh," Aziraphale says. "I think Crowley might have moved in with me."”

My Notes: Everyone has read this one too but for good reason because it’s fucking amazing and makes me wanna scream.

Title: The One In Which Crowley Discovers Wanking

Author: for_autumn_i_am

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 5,784

Summary: “It began, like most memorable events in Crowley’s life did, with a bad decision; like most bad decisions, it involved poor impulse control and copious amounts of alcohol. The Antichrist had been born, and he put on lipstick and kitten heels to deal with it, but knew that the clock was ticking, and at times when time was slipping away, it helped to hold onto a bottle of gin.”

My Notes: It’s what the title says and it’s hot.

Title: Love Hath Made Thee A Tame Snake

Author: thehoyden

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 3,484

Summary: “He was the bloody Serpent of Eden, and he wasn’t going to stand for this kind of flagrant trespassing.”

My Notes: It’s uhhhhhhh… it’s hot!

Title: A Bolt From The Heavens

Author: coloursflyaway

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 11,235

Summary: “Aziraphale is going to show Crowley just how much he is loved. Through touch.”

My Notes: I will LITERALLY collapse on the floor… it’s too much for me

Title: Say Amen

Author: SinningPlumpPrincess

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 1,967

Summary: “Despite being in a relationship, they still long and yearn for each other.

Despite being in a relationship, Crowley can't get over that Aziraphale loves touching him.”

My Notes: I’m a very simple woman. I see a fic tagged “dry humping” and I click on it.

Title: Praise Be to Crowley

Author: FishingforCrows

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 2,306

Summary: “A simple comment from Aziraphale gets an unexpected reaction from Crowley. Aziraphale is curious to see what happens if he repeats the same comment in the bedroom.”

My Notes: It has praise kink crowley how am I not supposed to find it hot.

Title: Tea for One

Author: Kaesa

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 3,072

Summary: “Crowley doesn't have a lot of complaints about sex with Aziraphale, but he can't help being miffed when Aziraphale stops just to have another sip of tea.”

My Notes: A two for one: funny and sexy

Title: rest yourself with me

Author: sabinelagrande

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 3,380

Summary: “Crowley has a wonderful invention that he's just dying to try.”

My Notes: It’s funny and it’s hot what more could you ask for?

Title: let the rivers fill

Author: focusfixated

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 4,996

Summary: ““Darling,” Aziraphale answered. “I’m here.” His hand stroked through Crowley’s hair, teasing out the snarls of red that tangled around his fingers, matted with sweat and knotted where Crowley had thrashed his head against the pillows. “Can you turn over for me, love?” Weakly, Crowley’s eyes flickered down, and he saw the angel blushing, as if now, suddenly, of all things, he had succumbed to reticence. He was sat back on his knees, and the soft accordion folds of him were dewy with sweat and moonlight. His heart constricting somewhere in his useless chest, Crowley turned over, and spread his legs.”

My Notes: I see overstimulation and I fucking floor it. Please never stop writing fics where they have limitless stamina.

Title: sweet just like frustration

Author: teatales

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 7,174

Summary: “Crowley danced on the line between self-serving and selfless when it came to Aziraphale. He would do anything, anything for the angel. Anything he asked, anything he suggested, anything he needed but didn’t say aloud. But Crowley was also a terribly, desperately greedy thing. And oh, how he wanted. Wanted Aziraphale with every damned fibre of his infernal being. Wanted to be good for him; so, so good that he would never want to leave. Crowley wanted to be the best, his only, his everything. As much as he wished to lie there in exquisite rapture - he was nothing if not lazy - he needed to at least attempt to communicate all that he felt. To make Aziraphale feel even a quarter of what he experienced. He had to try.”

My Notes: Just LOOK at that summary. How can I read that summary without being expected to fucking faint. Jesus christ!!

Title: The Human Way

Author: battle_cat

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 2,780

Summary: “They're finally about to fuck on the bookshop couch and Aziraphale wants to know what Crowley wants.”

My Notes: I SEE A FIC WHERE CROWLEY DOESN’T KNOW WHAT HE WANTS AND IS JUST TRYING TO MAKE AZIRAPHALE HAPPY AND I BURST INTO FLAMES

Title: We Waited Long Enough

Author: syrupfactory

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 4,170

Summary: “After a few months of (finally) officially dating, Aziraphale is a little hurt when Crowley seems amused by his eagerness for sex. Why? Because Aziraphale actually wants way, way more. Fortunately, that's a fun problem to solve.”

My Notes: THEY EACH THINK THE OTHER ISN’T AS INTERESTED IN HAVING SEX AS THEY ARE AND THEN THEY HAVE MARATHON SEX AND I’M SWEATING.

Title: As Advertised on TV

Author: Mr_Customs_Man

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 1,045

Summary: “Everything that Crowley knew about sex, he learned from watching movies. As fun as movies are, they don't provide a comprehensive sex education. Needless to say, he has some misconceptions in regards to the act.”

My Notes: This is NOT a sexy fic!! It is sad and it wrenches my heart and I WORRY. Crowley please communicate your NEEDS.

Title: until you say it out loud

Author: attheborder

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 6,293

Summary: “And Aziraphale is realizing now, to its fullest, something he’s suspected for nearly as long as he’s known Crowley: the demon is no silver-tongued devil. He is no weaver of words, no smooth talker. It would fit in with his image, certainly— shouldn’t a man-shaped being dressed like an oilslick have speech just as dark and slippery— but there’s very little of either of them that’s as it ought to be, really.”

My Notes: This fic ignited me and I burst into flames. You’re probably starting to see a trend in what I like to read.

Title: Coitus Interruptus with Paperwork

Author: mountagrue

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 3,780

Summary: “The one where Azira Fell (directly onto Crowley's dick, did not pass go, did not fill out the appropriate forms).”

My Notes: Scream this is funny and horny Aziraphale falls and immediately gets to dicking down his demon while Gabriel suffers the aftermath.

Title: What Crowley Wants

Author: crookedashes

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 7,022

Summary: “Aziraphale wants to give Crowley what he wants most. It goes a bit sideways.”

My Notes: I die for this content can they communicate like normal people for FIVE MINUTES? Ft. Crowley feeling inadequate and me flying into the sun.

Title: All The Rest

Author: darlingred1

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 11,416

Summary: “If it weren’t for Aziraphale’s persistence, they wouldn’t have had a sex life at all, and Crowley was a demon, for goodness sake! Aziraphale didn’t understand it. (Aziraphale has the communication skills of a doorknob. Crowley isn't any better.)”

My Notes: Aziraphale and Crowley are like *has horny communication issues* and i’m like *nuts*

Title: and in this way their love rewrites the universe

Author: leaveanote

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 9,503

Summary: “They've been desperately in love for a year since the world didn't end, and they've been making little miracles happen for each other. Crowley's latest? A date outside of London, at a drive-in movie theatre in the South Downs. Yes, they have sex in the Bentley.”

My Notes: IT’S SAPPY IT’S TENDER IT’S HORNY IT’S ROMANTIC THEY INVENTED LOVE!!!

Title: sanctuary

Author: leaveanote

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 6,779

Summary: “It's about making a home together. It takes some getting used to, to take all this longing and transmute it into love, into something shared, but Aziraphale is here to help him get used to it. Especially on a stormy day in the cottage.

What better way to spend it than making love over and over and over?”

My Notes: I am literally a mess I read fics where they’re madly in love and want to stay close and I explode

Title: The Skin And Bones Of You

Author: entangelednow

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 4,001

Summary: “In which Crowley has spent six thousand years wanting something he doesn't think he deserves. It's only natural to assume he won't get to keep it.”

My Notes: I swear to god i will SCREAM!! IT’S TOO MUCH!! PLEASE NEVER STOP WRITING CROWLEY AS INSECURE.

Title: love like the dawn

Author: leaveanote

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 3,755

Summary: “This is sleepy, romantic, domestic morning sex in the South Downs Cottage. Crowley's still getting used to a love this good, the way it remakes him, the way it remakes the world.”

My Notes: I can’t with this like they’re just so in love I’ve lost the ability to breathe this fic stole my lungs and left me for dead

Title: to sleep, perchance to dream

Author: starkhasheart

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 3,023

Summary: “Crowley has a kink. Of course Aziraphale is going to indulge him.”

My Notes: Uhhhhhh it’s. Uhhh. Consensual somnophilia is uh… yeah.

Title: on the same page

Author: Chekhov

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: ~85,746

Summary: “Aziraphale Z. Fell is a rising star of the spiritual literary genre - the next Eat Pray Love guy - and his version of Chicken Soup For the Christian Soul is flying off the shelves. It's not that he's not grateful, but it's one thing to enjoy a career in writing and another completely to be pigeonholed into a specific genre, so much so that you are almost forbidden from writing anything else. So yes, maybe he has a bit of a secret. An outlet for his less... appropriate urges. And yes, if his typical readership got word of the sort of paragraphs he could put out on a particularly inspired night, they might suffer some form of heart attack typical for their age. But all of that is well hidden, and there is absolutely no way anyone would ever find out about his Arrangement with A.J. Crowley - the most debaucherous romantic fiction author of the decade. That is... until they have to pretend to be married to each other.”

My Notes: THIS ONE ISN’T FINISHED YET BUT IT’S A HUMAN AU AND EVERY UPDATE MAKES ME FOAM AT THE MOUTH

Title: be mine

Author: leaveanote

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 4,994

Summary: “It's their first Valentine's Day together, and Crowley is trying to pick out the right present.”

My Notes: I SCREAM I actually did not realize how many of this authors works I had bookmarked and HOLY SHIT!! THEY ARE JUST SO IN LOVE!! AHHHHH!!

Title: do we get what we deserve

Author: Smalls

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 11,064

Summary: “Crowley had not been a particularly good angel.

Unfortunately, Crowley had never been a particularly good demon either.”

My Notes: Cannot lie this had me openly sobbing on a Friday morning and left me emotionally raw

Title: Renting Crowley

Author: Amorous_Flammetta

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 8,018

Summary: “Crowley acts out Aziraphale's Victorian-era fantasy of taking a rent boy home for the night. Their little game includes costumes, champagne, dirty talk and explicit sex!”

My Notes: ITS A RENT BOY FANTASY BUT IT’S ALSO TENDER AND LOVING AND IT HAD ME SWEATING AND MADE ME EMOTIONAL

Title: do me right and do me wrong (give it up, give it up)

Author: seashadows

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 10,828

Summary: “Crowley copes with attention starvation, tries out some new hobbies, and discovers that asking for what you need is better than the alternative.”

My Notes: I’M GOING TO FUCKING EXPLODE THIS ONE MADE ME SCREAM LIKE I JUST CANNOT HANDLE IT ATTENTION STARVATION WILL BE THE DEATH OF ME

Title: For The Longest Time

Author: darlingred1

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 20,370

Summary: “Crowley kind of misses the pining when it's gone. Aziraphale comes up with a solution.”

My Notes: It was hot and funny and lasted just long enough to really make me antsy for the conclusion.

Title: Clementine

Author: Mussimm

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 49,073

Summary: “The seaside neighbours AU exactly one person asked for.”

My Notes: HUMAN AU WHERE THEY LIVE BY THE BEACH AND FALL IN LOVE AKA BE STILL MY BEATING HEART

Title: Gentle but Intoxicating, Nervous but Tender

Author: ShortInsomniac98 ( @devilsss-dyke )

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 2,868

Summary: “Crowley x vulva-having reader. // It wasn’t what you’d expected when you agreed to come home with him. What you’d expected was a maybe a quick, clumsy fuck, then out the door. Not some nervous but tender man who stammered out an, 'Is this okay then?' This was much nicer, much sweeter.”

My Notes: No comment besides uhhhhhh [sweats]

#op #good omens #ineffable husbands #good omens fic rec #good omens fic recs #good omens fic recommendation #some links are n-s-f-w

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popcornjoints · 5 years

Text

Listen, we've established that Aziraphale knows an awful lot about his books and their authors because he probably definitely has met many famous authors over the centuries. You cannot tell me he wouldn't let a strangely specific or opinionated detail about one of them slip while talking about a book to a customer.

"Oh, Wilde was one of my favorites. Very friendly, especially after a few drinks."

"His tragedies were most underappreciated in their time. I had a particularly marvelous view of the stage during Hamlet."

Maybe the conversation somehow drifts away from books. He might say something about how upset he was to hear King Tut had died, or how fond he was of listening to Wolfgang Mozart's music live before his concerts got especially crowded. Whatever it is he might say, Aziraphale would either barely notice he'd said it or think his comment was vague enough to be forgotten quickly. Maybe one particular morning someone brings it up to a coworker or other in Soho and the conversation spreads.

One customer says they heard Mr. Fell say some pointedly personal opinions on the crowds gathered in front of French guillotines. Another says Mr. Fell offhandedly mentioned just how much his feet hurt after trekking the Silk Road. It gets past his comments and moves on to how he never seems tired and never loses his patience. How his eyes carry the wisdom of a much older man and how, hey, now that you mention it, how old was this guy, anyway?

One particularly daring customer asks him one day and Mr. Fell just chuckles and continues politely persuading them they shouldn't spend so much money on his books, and recommends another bookshop a few miles away.

This all adds up to one conclusion: A. Z. Fell is an immortal. This small group of especially curious and theorist customers start to wonder about the secret Mr. Fell is awfully horrible at keeping lowkey. They start to wonder whether he might be a ghost, or a god, or a man who kept a really strict self-care routine.

Then one day a customer sees an awfully skinny, equally pale younger gentleman getting a bit too friendly with Mr. Fell. A man with fiery red hair who wears sunglasses even indoors, and they think about a movie they saw a few years ago including a character with deep, wine red eyes. The younger man has a sort of fearless sway to his walk, an ignorance to the customers inside, and at one point another customer swears they hear him hiss. He and Mr. Fell seem to have known each other a long time.

The group of paranoid theorists gather together to discuss this in detail. They end up with the possibility that Mr. Fell and his scary goth friend are vampires. They must be, one says, what with how the goth glared at them once and they could practically feel the heat from behind his shades.

The next day, Mr. Fell describes the smell during the days of the Black Plague with just a little too much detail, and the customers aren't really sure they can deny their theory.

#'guys theyre vampires'#'trust me i watched twilight last night and it all adds up'#good omens #long post #aziraphale #crowley #ineffable husbands #my post #vampires

675 notes · View notes

mxsinistir · 5 years

Note

May I request a Good Omens Gabriel x Human! Reader please?

Pairing: Gabriel x [y/n]

Warnings: n/a besides the fact that the bad writing ™ becomes worse writing ™ towards the end bc it’s 2 am while I’m writing this.

Summary: Freelance London Photographer [y/n] is friends with the bookshop owner Aziraphale, and happens to be sitting in one day when a mysterious stranger enters to have a meeting with her friend. Suspicious, this artist is ready to find out as much as she can about the man.

Word Count: 2390

(tried to keep this gender-neutral but tell me if I screwed this up anywhere bc I probably did)

Hope you enjoy!

***

The first time you met him was whenever you were inside A.Z. Fell & Co., discussing a book you’d just read and returned (since you were aware he despised the permanent purchasing of his collection) over two cups of hot chocolate.

The moment he entered, you were intrigued. You turned your head to watch him saunter in, and some part of you screamed deafeningly that whatever he was, he did not belong here. That was saying something since unusual people were not uncommon in the little London bookshop. You’d known Aziraphale’s eccentric friend Crowley for quite some time now.

“Aziraphale,” His voice was hearty, one you should have taken comfort in hearing. But in addition to his picture-perfect, incredibly fake smile, it set your nerves on end. “May I have a word?” Part of you decided this was your chance to run from the off-setting visitor, but that would leave your friend alone with him.

“Hi, I’m [Y/n],” You shoved a hand into space between you, “I don’t believe we’ve met before.” He looked you up and down, your eyes unwavering until he met your stare. His eyes - your stomach flipped, oh god his eyes - bore into yours, and you nearly recoiled when you noticed the color. A glassy purple with no signs of contacts. Just unexplainably rich violet that made the hair stand up on the back of your neck.

“Gabriel,” He said, shaking your hand with a grip that was just a little too strong. You were too proud to coddle your sore hand, though. “I need a moment with Aziraphale.”

“Sorry, can’t,” You couldn’t leave Aziraphale with him! What if something happened? You’d picked up that Aziraphale had been involved with some sketchy people before, and what if this guy happened to be a well-dressed gang member? Well . . . well dressed wasn’t exactly the way to put it. You didn’t know what look Gabriel was going for, but it just added to his overall wrongness.

Besides, Aziraphale and Crowley had always remarked on your excellent intuition. Warning Aziraphale about bad customers, giving Crowley advice on problems he hadn’t explicitly explained, knowing that both your friends were thinking at a given time - and at this time, Aziraphale felt very, very anxious about Gabriel waltzing into his shop.

“What do you mean, you can’t?” He half-snarled, his fake smile faltering.

“My bike got stolen earlier,” You explained, casually turning to drink the rest of your cocoa before it went cold. You also needed something to hide your growing smile. “I told the police to drop it off here when they found it.”“Are you sure you didn’t miss them during your chat?” He said, “I swore I saw a bike parked in the front.” You stepped past him, putting your nose against Aziraphale’s window. Sure enough, a blue bike was leaned against the glass pane.

“Well, silly me - Guess they just left it and had better things to do.” You laughed, turning back to smile at Aziraphale and Gabriel. “See you later, Zira!”

You walked outside, planning on walking home. You weren’t going to take some random bike from in front of the bookshop just because some guy had snapped and made it appear for you.

You didn’t own a bike.

***

The next morning, before you even had the chance to ask questions about the purple-eyed man, Crowley had come into your studio, mentioning that he was bored, due to Aziraphale’s sudden occupation with work. Aziraphale had never been truly busy since you’d known him.

“Crowley, do you know a Gabriel?” You asked, not looking up from the photo you were currently editing the lighting of, trying to decide if you could amend the conflict between the clashing color palettes. If anything, Crowley just hoped that you were too occupied with your work to even notice that you opened your mouth to ask the question. A few seconds ticked by, and then you stared up at the redhead.

“Yeah, I know him.” He said under his breath, “He’s a friend of Aziraphale’s. Definitely not a friend fo mine. I’d keep your distance.”

“What does he do?” Even without being able to see his eyes through the glasses, you sensed the panic in them as he proceeded to mumble out an answer.

“Paperwork,” He steadied himself, easing into the lie now. “Some company Aziraphale used to work for. I think he’s kind of a jerk, but he and Zira go way back, so I don’t intrude.”

“Funny, I thought the bookshop had been family owned for a hundred years?”

“Part-time job, maybe?” Crowley stammered out. You just rolled your eyes.

“Is Aziraphale in . . . is he in any danger with this guy?”“What? No, no, [Y/n], you’re just being paranoid.” You weren’t so sure. You’d never heard Crowley so nervous about the subject of someone, and you’d certainly never heard of him willing staying out of Aziraphale’s affairs. It was common knowledge that he was the nosiest man in London, especially when it came to his friends. “Seriously, Just stay out of his way and it should be fine.” He had a certain voice he used when he wanted you to believe things were fine, even if they weren’t.

“I’ll just ask Aziraphale since apparently, you won’t explain.” That little taunt was usually enough to make Crowley spill everything. Not for this, apparently. “He listens to you, Crowley. Just make sure he doesn’t get hurt.”

Just because he didn’t say the promise doesn’t mean she didn’t see him make it.

***

The second time you saw Gabriel wasn’t at the bookshop, but on a bench in St. James’ Park. You were currently looking over some pictures you’d taken of the vibrant area, the photographs dotted with jogging passersby and fluffy ducks that reminded you of Aziraphale. You stood up to walk by, snapping a few more when your camera focused in on a not-quite-familiar face.

“Gabriel,” You said, curiously approaching the benched man. “Fancy seeing you here,”

“[Y/n], is it? Aziraphale’s . . . acquaintance.” Who the hell used the word acquaintance anymore? You thought. “Is there something you need?”

“Just came to clear my eyes - I’ve been staring at this one picture I took for Aziraphale last week.” You briefly explained how one of the customers had split their coffee on one of Aziraphale’s old wall paintings, which he had sat on the table to clean the walls behind it. He had been furious, and though you knew you couldn’t possibly replace the expertly preserved painting - ruined by only human clumsiness - you’d offered to gift a photograph to him. Though he was obviously still disgruntled over the lost air, he did say that even something modern would eventually become history. You’d gotten to work. “I’m supposed to bring it to him this evening.”

“I was planning to speak with him this evening as well, actually.” The man remarked.

“Well, if you wanted, you could com toe hang out at my studio for a while.” You had a feeling that no matter what, this man would try to keep up appearances. Meaning he would accept your offer, even if only not to appear rude. Thanks to some information you’d gotten out of Crowley, you now knew that you wouldn’t be in any real danger as a human inviting him to your studio. He, on the other hand, wouldn’t be expecting the onslaught of questions you had for him.

“That sounds great,” He said with clenched teeth, and so you just smiled and packed up your laptop and camera equipment, making sure to walk beside him all the way back to your flat.

The square footage wasn’t much - you were honestly surprised you could manage to fit two people inside at once. Beyond that, every inch of the place was stacked high with frames and camera equipment and printed portraits. Your bed was usually just the couch by the window, and even then, you more often than not just fell asleep at your work desk, head draped over crossed arms.

“I’m gonna be a little bit - I’ve gotta play with some finishing touches, and then I’ve got to print it.” You explained - Aziraphale had given you a faux-gold 18 x 21 frame, nearly identical to the one bordering the ruined painting. “You can sit on the couch if you still want to hang out. You okay with music?” You asked casually, bringing him a glass of water. You may be suspicious of him, but your mother had always stressed the importance of hospitality.

“Do you like music?” He thought for a moment, staring blankly before nodding as if he’d been assessing whether or not it was the correct response to say so. “Queen?” He looked even more confused but nodded again. You synced your Spotify to a small speaker and set it to shuffle, sliding into your chair as We Are the Champions began to play. You snuck a glance over at Gabriel while mouthing the words and concluded he was possibly the only person in the world who didn’t know the lyrics. If anything, that just confirmed your suspicions of the man.

Gabriel, on the other hand, was just as confused by you as you were by him. When you’d first met, he hadn’t known how to react to you. You’d stood up to him with no background knowledge, purely because you thought he had ill intentions towards your friend. Humans were always willing to throw themselves at things for no reason, but you were different - you had a reason, and that reason was nothing more than intuition to protect those you care about.

And now, you’d carelessly brought him into your apartment - if he could even call it that. It was a glorified storage closet, filled to the brim with art and junk and beauty. He’d never been exposed to such a mess; heaven would have never tolerated it. He couldn’t even imagine that Hell was this chaotically organized.

He could barely focus on that. How could he anymore, when there was you to look at? Smiling truly and losing yourself in the music blaring, snapping your fingers with bad timing, singing the guitar riffs, and constantly standing up just to pace around while mouthing the lyrics.

You walked around him more than a few times, asking him random questions while leaning far back to see what your photo looked like from afar. He eventually saw that it was of an eggshell white duck in St. James, curiously floating alongside a dark goose that had landed in the waters. He could have scoffed at the symbolism, wondering if you understood the irony of it all yourself.

Gabriel had never seen so much life in one plac.e It radiated from you, from your camera, from your fingers. It felt raw and unexplainably human, and not in the way that disgusted him with its mediocrity. There was nothing mediocre about you. You oozed with some sort of high that no angel could ever dream of finding themselves on. Angels were too flawless for something as uncontained as the day-to-day life you lead.

During the middle of one of your lyrical outbursts, you glanced over at Gabriel. He was drinking tea now, staring out into London from your window, sunbeams casting over his dusty hair and stunning eyes. Without a word, you pulled your camera in front of you and stepped towards him, snapping photos of him a quick succession. He whipped around at the sound, just quick enough to see you smiling.

“Stay where you are - the lighting’s amazing.” You said, steadily walking closer to the man. He truly was a vision in an element like this. You leaned back to observe the picture he’d found himself in. “Do you think you could give me one with your wings?”

And just like that, you watched the Archangel Gabriel freeze to the core as you shuttered a few more photographs.

“Come on, everyone knows Aziraphale isn’t human.” And of course, there was no way Crowley could keep a secret like that once he was sufficiently drunk. “And besides, humans don’t usually make this pretty of muses.”

He unfurled his wings gently, being careful not to knock over anything. All three pairs appeared in pristine, white condition, though when the window light scattered them, they reflected a spectrum of glistening violet.

He nearly asked to confirm that you were human, though he knew the answer. No one but a human could accomplish this - a demon nor an angel could live in such harmonious chaos with their own little world, dancing to the raw beauty of it all and flourishing in the flaws you did not perceive as such.

Gabriel had never felt love - a sort of ‘love for all humanity’, of course, but not the thrumming in his heart he felt now, looking at you in your element, high on the artistry of what you saw in him. On what no one else had ever seen in him.

“I could have a photoshoot with you, you know.” You said, looking at your camera screen. “You look great on camera.”

“There’s still a few hours before I need to meet with Aziraphale,” He lied - he was two hours behind schedule, not that that mattered. “He’d told me about this bakery beside his bookshop that he apparently adores.” He didn’t even like food. It didn’t matter - he figured you would.

“Am I being asked out by the Archangel Gabriel?”“That’s strong wording-”“I’m famished,” You smiled, and as you walked over to your computer, he expected you to print and frame your imperfect perfection. Instead, you just saved the photo and eased your computer shut. “I can make something here, though. I don’t want to leave. Does the Archangel Gabriel want to watch a movie?”

He was about to make a snarky comment about your sarcastically calling him that, but he paused as you did the unexpected. You settled down on your couch right next to him and smiled. That was enough for him to decide that his meeting with Aziraphale could wait till morning. To hell with Heaven questioning him - him of all people - being off schedule. He would deal with that in time.

Right now, all that mattered was that he was sharing in on an artist’s high, and he wasn’t ever coming off.

#good omens #good omens gabriel #archangels #archangel gabriel #gabriel good omens #gabriel #good omens x reader #gabriel x reader #goom #i love artists x gabriel #gabriel x human #good omens imagines #gabriel imagines #archangels gabriel imagines

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lady-wallace · 4 years

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Whumptober Day 17: I Did Not See That Coming (Good Omens)

Day Seventeen: I Did Not See That Coming

Prompts Used: Blackmail, falsely accused

Fandom: Good Omens

Read on Ao3

Read on FF.net

I really didn't know what to do with this one, so, shockingly, there's really no whump here. Also I don't know what Aziraphale's random scrying power is in this.And I used the name Abaddon for the demon because I'm lazy :P

~~~~~~~

Demons liked to cause trouble. Even Crowley had to admit that he enjoyed his job on occasion, just causing random chaos and watching the fallout. As long as no one really got hurt in the process, the annoyance was amusing and fed him for days.

But some demons had a mean streak, Abaddon was one of them.

She found Crowley as he was walking home to his flat, standing there leaning against his car. Crowley stopped as she smirked at him, and he hissed at her.

"What the hell are you doing here?" he asked.

Abaddon slowly scraped one long nail over the paintjob on the Bentley, setting Crowley's teeth on edge. "Oh, I came to have a little discussion with you, Crawley."

"It's Crowley!" Crowley snapped. "Can't any of you learn that?"

"My apologies," she said with a shrug.

"And what kind of discussion?" Crowley demanded, folding his arms over his chest.

She pushed away from the car, coming toward him, smelling of sulfur and brimstone. "Oh, just a little matter that's come to my attention. Concerning you…and the angel you keep company with."

Crowley's blood filled with ice, but he was quick to hide it. "What the hell are you talking about? I don't keep company with angels."

She smirked. "Oh yeah? Then why did I see you with that fat bumbling one down at the park, feeding ducks of all things, just yesterday?"

Crowley swallowed and again tried to school his expression to keep from looking guilty. He drew himself up. "You just don't understand how I operate. I keep many…informants on retainer. It's not a bad idea to know what Heaven is up to."

"Sure," she said dismissively. "Or, you have a big secret that you're trying to get away with."

"I don't," Crowley growled.

"You seem a little defensive. And look, it's none of my business, but…" she came closer and lowered her voice. "I'm in a little trouble. I made a mistake, and I cannot afford another strike. You're Hell's golden boy, they'll let you off easy."

"What are you talking about?" Crowley demanded.

She pulled several pictures out of her coat pocket, showing them to Crowley. He couldn't help the small exhale as he saw they were pictures of him and Aziraphale at the park the day before.

"How did you…?"

"Ah, so, worried after all?" she laughed. "Good. Because I'm going to take these to Lord Beelzebub if you try anything."

"Try anything when?" Crowley demanded, getting more furious.

"When they come for you," she said, tucking the photos away and putting her hands in her pockets. "If you take the fall for me, I won't spill your little secret."

"You…!" Crowley croaked in shock but she was already disappearing into the ground.

He glanced around, and then hurried into the building up to his flat.

This was not good. Not good at all.

Crowley dashed for his phone and hurriedly dialed Aziraphale.

"Hello?"

"Angel, it's me. Look, you need to lie low for a few days."

"What…Crowley? What are you talking about, 'lie low'?"

"Don't ask, just do it, okay?" Crowley snapped. "Maybe leave the country for a while."

"My dear, whatever has happened? Are you all right?"

"I don't have time to talk, but I'm going to try to figure this out. Just do not call me or try to contact me until I get back into contact with you, understand?"

"Y-Yes, but…"

"Good," Crowley hung up the phone, feeling a little bad, but he hoped Aziraphale wouldn't try to come over.

He had to figure out what to do.

Unfortunately, it didn't look like he would get the chance.

"Crowley."

His television had come on without him noticing, and Crowley gulped. "Y-Yes?" he called quietly.

"Report back to Hell, Crowley."

"Sure thing," the demon replied and cursed under his breath.

This was not going well.

XXX

Aziraphale was completely confused and very concerned by Crowley's phone call. What on earth had gotten him so worried all of a sudden? Of course Crowley was always a little paranoid, but not like this, and he had been perfectly fine when they had gone to the park. What could have changed since then?

Had someone…seen them?

That thought did worry him a lot as well, but if that was the case, wouldn't Crowley also be fleeing the country? Or the planet?

Perhaps he would do best to heed the demon's advice, but…he really just needed to know if Crowley was okay.

He couldn't go to his flat though, he might be walking into a trap or something that would make everything worse for Crowley. But maybe there was another way.

Aziraphale didn't use this ability often, but he could watch events in a mirror, quite like the fairy tales said.

He pulled out a small hand mirror and said, "Show me Crowley, this morning."

The glass fogged over before it showed Crowley walking down the street, presumably performing wiles. He sped up the replay until Crowley got to his building, and Aziraphale saw another demon standing beside the Bentley.

Aziraphale quickly made it so he could hear their conversation and his eyes widened.

What cheek! That demon was trying to blackmail Crowley! With pictures of him!

Crowley, frustrated, hurried up to his flat and here Aziraphale watched Crowley's call to him before the demon started pacing, right before a voice called to him.

Aziraphale frowned and followed Crowley again where he went to the entrance of Heaven and Hell at the escalators.

Aziraphale felt anxious for his friend. He was probably going to get in trouble now, and if he didn't accept the punishment… that demon was going to show them the pictures and then both of them would be killed. Permanently.

"Okay, what to do," Aziraphale murmured as he paced. If he could somehow, get information…

"Ah!" he said and turned back to the mirror and asked it to show him the demon Abaddon. He 'rewound' until he saw the job she had supposedly botched.

Aziraphale hurriedly worked up some pictures and gave a small smile, a rather excited shiver going down his spine. Typically, he didn't allow himself to feel this much joy in causing chaos—is that what Crowley felt all the time?—but no, this wasn't chaos, this was justice, wasn't it? Crowley would be wrongfully accused if he didn't bring the truth to light, and he just couldn't stand the thought of that happening to his friend. After all, if the demon tried this once, then there was a rather high possibility that she would just hand over the pictures anyway.

Now to get them into Hell…

"Only one thing for it," Aziraphale sighed and left the shop, heading to the same spot Crowley had.

He made as if he were heading toward the escalator to Heaven when he "accidently" dropped some pictures into the entrance to Hell.

"Hopefully, someone will see that," he muttered as he retreated as casually as possible.

Now all he could do was wait and hope justice would come to Crowley.

XXX

Crowley tried to stay as impassive as possible facing Beelzebub, but he was fuming. How dare Abaddon put him in this situation?!

"So, you're saying that you and Abaddon traded jobs and then you botched it?" Beelzebub asked Crowley.

He bit his lip, but Abaddon was standing off to one side of the room, arms crossed and she tapped her hand to the pocket of her coat warningly. Crowley gritted his teeth. "I—It's not exactly what it looks like…"

Abaddon narrowed her eyes and Crowley snarled at her.

Beelzebub sighed, buzzing slightly. "Well, you know we have to punish you then, don't you, Crowley? After all, we can't just have you get away. As much as we usually appreciate your business…"

"Oh, yes, we can't let him get away with it," Hastur grinned from Beelzebub's side, practically salivating.

"No one asked you," Crowley snipped at him.

"Well, what shall it be then?" One of the other demons asked.

"Well, it's a rather grievous offense. So perhaps a lashing will suffice and three weeks cleaning the pits," Beelzebub said.

Crowley opened his mouth to protest, but another demon hurried into the room.

"Um, Lord Beelzebub, I hate to interrupt, but these randomly showed up at the entrance and I don't know what they are, but they are pictures of Miss Abaddon…"

"Let me see those," Beelzebub said and snatched them away, looking through them, eyes widening.

"Wot is it, my lord?" Hastur asked and glanced at the pictures, his eyes widening as well.

"What are you looking at?" Abaddon demanded, stepping forward as Beelzebub's eyes found her, pinning her in place.

"These are you on your mission, messing it up. I don't actually see Crowley anywhere in here."

Crowley's eyes widened now, how the…

"Wait, are you saying Crowley's not involved?" Hastur demanded, sounding disappointed.

"That's what I was trying to say," Crowley cut in, leaning over to look at the pictures himself. He had no idea how they had ended up here, but… well, it seemed like a miracle to him.

Hmm…miracle…

"She doesn't like me so she tried to get me to take the fall for her mistake," Crowley added.

"That's not true! Where the hell did you get those?" Abaddon demanded, furious.

"Judging by your anger, I assume these are real," Beelzebub said, nonplussed. "And it would be highly unlikely for Crowley to botch a simple job like that."

Hastur growled. "Suppose you're right."

"That being said, the punishment will be passed to Abaddon," Beelzebub decided.

"What?" she screeched.

Crowley smirked at her and passed her on his way out, patting her shoulder. "Enjoy the pits." He snapped his fingers and the photos in her pocket turned to dust. She gaped at him and Crowley got out of the conference room.

He breathed, finally.

That one had been too close.

He ended up at the bookshop, to let the angel know that the coast was clear again.

Aziraphale was making tea and he happily invited the demon in.

"Ah, Crowley, did your trouble fix itself?"

Crowley narrowed his eyes. "Shouldn't you be be off to France or something right now?"

"Oh, pish posh, I wasn't going to leave until I knew what was going on."

Crowley raised an eyebrow. "Blackmail, angel?"

Aziraphale drew himself up indignantly. "Justice."

Crowley rolled his eyes. "Same difference. But, thanks anyhow."

Aziraphale smiled and placed a cup in front of him. "Anytime, dear."

#whumptober2020 #no.17 #I did not see that coming #blackmail #falsely accused #my fics #good omens #fanfiction #crowley #aziraphale #crafty aziraphale

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thankchaosforspellcheck · 5 years

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Genius omens au

(aka a Girl Genius/Good Omens crossover because I’m not gonna stop being on this kick until something better comes out. Which nothing has yet.)

So I’ve got at least 2 ideas for this AU, first one goes like this:

Crowley and Aziraphale are both low-rung minions for competing families. Neither are from canon, and while one of them prides themselves on the “help” they spread to the local commoners, the other on the chaos. (they are both pretty chaotic, honestly).

Gabriel and Beelzebub are top-ranked minions who mostly handle all the paperwork.

The actual sparks never appear. The spark for Aziraphale’s family (who is essentially god) is too busy producing brilliant inventions to help the world... and then forgetting to include any instructions or telling anyone how they work. (She actually does this on purpose, as a bit of an experiment to see if anyone will ever actually ask her how they work & to see if they can work it out on their own) Meanwhile, the spark for Crowley’s family (Lucifer) creates horrific inventions meant to insight chaos and disaster on all those who are within it’s aim! ...Which would be a lot easier to do if he had neater handwriting. Or used less obscure scientific terminology. Or didn’t spill coffee on half of it!

So Aziraphale & Crowley’s jobs are essentially to go out and try to figure out how the inventions work without getting themselves killed (the latter bit’s more for Aziraphale for Crowley, honestly. And even then they only say that because they’re the “good guys”, not because they actually mean it), as well as to try to prevent the neighboring family from using their’s.

They are surprisingly good at their jobs though.

Like, weirdly so.

Everyone kind of assumed they were gonna be dead within the first week like all the past minions were.

(what they don’t know, is that they have 2 advantages on everyone else:

1. they met almost immediately and both went “oh shit he’s hot, hEY WHY DON’T I HELP YOU WITH THAT” and not only figured out how each other’s devices worked, but also realized that they negate each other (ex: one is meant to end world hunger, the other is meant to cause massive famines, together they make all the farms have solidly mediocre years)

2. they are actually both minor sparks, not that either has realized it yet. See, Aziraphale’s breakthrough was probably the quietest breakthrough in the history of the world and Crowley just kinda vaguely sauntered his way through a breakthrough, and everyone else was too distracted by the latest disaster to notice (Aziraphale’s breakthrough sparkwork was a quick fix he did on the flaming sword he was given by the family spark (It was so easy, I hardly needed to be a spark to do it) which he immediately gave away to the Spark’s daughter (who’s as mundane as you get) since she’s going to be traveling through the wilderness with her husband. Crowley’s was the Bentley, which is a horseless carriage he bought off a passing spark and fixed up in his spare time (look, there was barely anything wrong with it. I just did a bit of tinkering here, welded a few wires together there, and after some polishing and a good wax she was good as new! Took me forever to finish ‘er anyways, a spark’d hardly take an hour to do what I did).

Both of them have noticed that the other is a spark and revert to minioning when the other gets in a fugue. Neither notices when the other is minioning while in said fugue, and they never actually bring the sparking out up. Because they’re idiots.

Now, The second idea (under the cut because boy howdy did this get long!):

They are both still oblivious minor spark minions (because I just think think this fits them really well) But this time it’s with some known families

Crowley is a Heterodyne Jager, though not one of the ones that’s particularly noticed by people (not one of the oldest, but not young enough for, say, Bill or Barry to have seen him take the Draught)

You know how 99.9% of Jagers take the draught because they are just so devoted to the cause and want to serve the Heterodynes for the rest of eternity? Well Crowley’s that .1% that did it because everyone else was chanting “DO IT DO IT” at the time and he was just like “Welp, it’s not like I have anything else to do” and downed it.

(He’s possibly the only spark to take and survive the drought, no one has any fucking idea so he’s just considered as one of the minor foot soldiers. Which is probably all the better for him, since he would have been on a dissection table in 5 seconds flat otherwise)

He looks more or less like he does in the show, just with scales under his clothes, black claws on his hands (which he generally hides with gloves, and some fairly small (for a Jager) fangs. He definitely still has sunglasses, and if asked claims either “they look cool” or “I’ve got an eye condition and I don’t want a spark to make it worse or put lasers in” depending on who he’s talking to and how much they’ve annoyed him. He also grew some black wings some time after he drank the draught (which, if the Heterodyne knew about, they would be extremely interested in) which he keeps under his clothes and extremely close to his back.

He also doesn’t have too much of a Mechanicsburg accent since he kinda just fucked off on the first mission out of town and away from the Heterodyne that he could get (look he loves his master and thinks they’re creations are fascinating but that doesn’t mean he actually wants their attention)

he’s also part of the same batch that Beelzebub, Hastur, and Ligur came from and hates all of them.

Meanwhile, Aziraphale is a minion of the House of Valois, and has been for quite some time.

See, around the same time as Crowley was made a Jager, someone from the Storm King’s line (probably a von Blitzengaard) Decided that enough was enough and they were going to make their own Super soldiers (but prettier! and with wings and a melodious voice like an angelic choir and-!)

Aziraphale was the only survivor.

(He was not what the creator was aiming for.)

He also looks more or less like he does in canon, with beautiful white wings and white curly hair. He looks strangely normal for someone who went through a version of the draught, honestly. He does, however, still have the increased strength, durability, stamina, and whatever else the brau includes. It just showed up at a much slower rate, so it was put down as a bad job and discarded.

(the reason he survived is because he was the only one out of all the subjects who had even the vaguest of sparks. I think the duality of this is nice. One survives in spite of his spark, the other survives because of it)

So when he fails to be Angel Incarnate he gets a disappointed dismissal from his creator and gets sent out on some away mission he’s meant to never come back from

(he doesn’t, but it’s only because he met Crowley on the way there)

Several Generations later, they are wandering around the wastelands, vaguely hear about the Heterodyne boys recalling all their Jagers and turning over a new leaf, shrug, and disguise themselves so that they can follow the kids from a distance (because they’re still his Heterodynes dammit).

(or at least that’s Crowley’s reason. Aziraphale’s reason is that Crowley’s there and that’s good enough for him at this point)

They keep this up on-and-off for a good while whole events with the other and the attack at the castle happen and they lose track of them.

Crowley’s a bit worried, but figures he might as well just wander around the Wastelands like the others are and if he finds them, he finds them.

He was not actually expecting to find either of them

So you can imagine his surprise when Barry shows up near him one day with a toddler following him like a lost duckling.

So he does what any reasonable Jager would never do, and immediately goes up to the two and introduces himself and his husband TRAVELING COMPANION as everything but a Jager and Jager-knockoff.

Barry is, of course, paranoid at these complete strangers that seem vaguely familiar in the weirdest of ways, but they both seem genuinely nice and they both hate the other with a passion so he settles into an uneasy trust.

They both end up showing him their wings and explaining that they’re constructs who were made in such a way that they are immune to wasps.

(Crowley offers to demonstrate by eating one. Barry hastily declines)

They start traveling together and, after that uneasy trust settles into an easy one, he asks if he gets whatever signal that made him decide to start tracking down the Other solo

But Punch and Judy aren’t there. He never managed to run into them at all,

Crowley and Aziraphale, however, are.

Part 2:

Agatha Crowley-Fell has had a very normal, if interesting, life.

She’s raised by her two fathers (uncles, they insisted for a good long while until she points out that they’ve officially adopted her and they’re as much her parents as her biological ones are, and that she doesn’t think they’re replacing them, just adding to them (to which the respond with hugging and crying)) in Beetleburg.

one of which works as a librarian at the local college (where he is more then happy to help anyone who needs anything besides books.)

an unofficial elective is “how to borrow a book from Mr. Fell”. Everyone who passes gets hired by the university on the spot.

Crowley, meanwhile, owns a flower shop where all of the plants are guaranteed to be vibrant and spotless! (or else)

Occasionally, they’ll come to her right before bed and ask to see her locket, “to keep it in the best shape possible” they say. One will take it to another room, while the other sits with her and sings a lullaby until she falls asleep

it’s always back on her neck come morning.

As time goes on, her headaches slowly get better. She’s still never able to finish a project, but it pops up less during mild excitement or frustration.

They’re still incredibly annoying though

And then comes the day when her locket is broken and the Baron comes to town, and her life goes from tame to disastrous in a matter of hours.

#girl genius #good omens #crossover #genius omens au #anthony j crowley #aziraphale #agatha heterodyne

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snormynight · 5 years

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Sweet Embers

A sickAziraphale fic I was too embarrassed to post on the Ark hive🍯

Also this is my first time posting here so sorry if the read more doesn’t work google docs can suck my toe

[[MORE]]

Crowley found that he could match Aziraphale’s impudent nature with some cheekiness of his own. Together, the two were a force of nature and by balancing each other out, they were able to create their own sort of paradise on their little planet called Earth. Crowley didn't care about anything. The end was coming whether he liked it or not and all he could think about was that maybe it really had been part of God’s great plan for he and Aziraphale to meet.

But things were different now. Before Armageddont, he wasn't nearly so paranoid. A miracle could fix up the simplest of problems. But now they had pissed off the higher ups, who in many ways, were much more powerful than them. (But apparently, not smarter.) They'd surely find them out sooner or later, but they definitely could could stave them off by masking their miracle signatures. Like disappearing off the face of Heaven and Hell respectively. So far, it seemed to be working.

They didn't talk much about their fears. The thwarting of Armageddon was a great victory and by golly they were going to celebrate. Even if they were still very much afraid. But neither one wanted to be the first to admit so. So they kind of danced around it, until it seemed to get the best of them.

Aziraphale had cut one night suspiciously short. He hadn't been very cheerful all night and had been short with Crowley, even when asked the most innocent of questions. He had bid him farewell, and Crowley thought that maybe he required just a little alone time. Fine by him. He wanted some time to bond with his bentley after just getting her back. Maybe rekindle over a few Queen tracks.

The night didn't settle with him though. His mind remained busy and it always went back to Aziraphale.

So he decided he'd drop by around lunch time tomorrow. He’d known Aziraphale and his routines long enough to predict that a crisp Autumn morning like today would tempt him to enjoy a cup of tea in bliss solitude, probably with nothing short of a toasted brioche. And he thought that the Angel would be in a great mood when it was time to eat again at lunch. Maybe Crowley could even apologize for whatever he had done.

He was on the doorstep, about to invite himself in when his eyes fell on the the window sign, which had evidently not yet been flipped from closed to open. Crowley tensed, as he knew Aziraphale always opened next to the sun’s waking hour and his mind immediately went to the worst. He ventured inside, and did his best to mask his worry.

“Angel? You about? Y’know, I don't consider this a very good business practice, though I suppose it’s in my best interest to keep that to myself.”

He entered the bookshop which was quaint as ever but eerily silent. Everything was just as he last recalled, except Aziraphale was nowhere to be found. Crowley demanded he’d get to the bottom of this.

“Aziraphale, let’s talk! Demon to Angel. If you could just humor me on what happened last night i'd really appreciate it.”

He moved around the shop, and it was when he reached the nook near the kitchenette where he felt slight relief. There he found his angel, hunched over a bowl of cheerios and snoring something awful. Crowley blinked away his surprise and walked over, assessing the scene. The milk was still cold, a sign that he had been conscious only moments before. Crowley grabbed a fistfull of golden locks and lugged Aziraphale into an upright position.

“Angel.”

He looked terrible. Dark bags hung from his eyes like he hadn't caught a wink the night before. His face was flush and slick with fever and his nose was akin to a cherry tomato. The cheerios stuck to his face, accenting the look.

Aziraphale moaned, roused by the movement and Crowley could only stare as he cracked his eyes open, giving the former a weak smile.

“Ah hello, dear boy.” His voice was thick with congestion. “It was so very sweet of you to drop by.”

He'd been the picture of health only hours ago. Crowley couldn't believe the development. Maybe he had just been distracted? He had been off last night, but he had surely chalked it up to being Crowley's own doing. And now it sent a weird pang through Crowley's heart to think that he hid this from him just so he wouldn't have to send Crowley away early. The short gripiness should have been a dead giveaway that his angel was unwell. And even though he was a bit upset with himself not seeing the signs, he was quite angry that Aziraphale hadn't said anything.

He glared down at him, but any biting words he had died on his tongue. Aziraphale’s big blue eyes seemed to know what he wanted to say. They had their ways of speaking back. He looked weary and guilty and Crowley felt like he needed to spare him.

“You look terrible,” he settled on.

Aziraphale couldn't help but chuckle and Crowley cringed, as it really just sounded like a wheeze. He must've still looked like something fierce, because Aziraphale looked away and curled in on himself. He still felt like he could let him have it, but a relief to see that the Archangels hadn't actually ganged up on him like he feared far outweighed his anger. He placed his fingers on his jaw, eyebrows raising at the heat he found there.

“Look at me.”

Aziraphale compiled, letting his cheek find comfort in the palm of Crowley's cool hand. He sighed, sagging into the touch and cleared his throat with a few more chesty coughs. When he was finished, Crowley reached for a cloth near the sink, dampened it and then began to run it over his Cheerio sodden face.

Unfortunately, it was not quite damp enough to avoid irritating the angel’s nose. His breath caught only once as he grabbed Crowley’s hand, clasping the cloth against his face.

“hihh!...Heh-chiew! Eh-shoo!”

Crowley found it hard to be disgusted, what with the look of relief Aziraphale was now sporting. His expression turned to one of shame quickly.

“Im’b so sorry, my dear,” he said hoarsely.

Crowley forewent disgust and cast the ruined cloth aside. He rubbed his hands up and down Aziraphale’s arms, eliciting a shiver out of the other. Just feeling him and his recoiled aura around him. Aziraphale could have sneezed right in his face and he wouldn't have cared. He was still just happy that he was alive. He’d take any chance to distract him from the impending doom that was the higher-ups.

“No matter. How about we get you into something warmer, hm?”

After a very wobbly trek to the sofa, Crowley had Aziraphale bundled up in several blankets over some of his warmer pajamas. Even though he looked cozy he seemed physically miserable as ever.

“Hih-hichiew! Hhh...h-hehh, o-oh dearhhh!-heh’choo! Hah-chiew!!”

He sniffed and punctuated that with a groan. He almost snapped his fingers, but quickly regained himself and reached for the tissues.

“This is all just made worse by the fact that we shan't use miracles.”

Crowlys chest ached as he caught Aziraphaels fearful gaze up above them. He hadn't noticed it before. He knew he wasn't particularly fond of hell, but Aziraphale never looked down at hell in fear. More like disdain. Contempt. Maybe even a little jealousy. He used to whine to Crowley how it must've been easier to perform temptations than holy miracles. And how his bosses were a lot more ruthless. That couldn't possibly be true.

He didn't want to fight tonight. All he wanted was to stop this paranoia and to make his angel feel better. And sitting here wasn't doing him much good. He had an idea, but knew it’d require some temptation on his part. He slithered up next to him on the sofa and reached up to rub at Aziraphale’s shoulders.

“Oh c’mon, Angel, don't be like that. ‘Cant’sa strong strong word. We might be under lockdown, sure, but we’re free to do whatever we want. I think I can figure out what you want.”

“Mhmm. what did you have in mind?’

A bath.

It bubbled over and steamed like a sauna, becoming them over with promises of security and warmth.

And oh how it tempted. Both moved toward it, clothing cast aside, in all their glory.

Crowley’s the first to dip, slinking down and flattening himself against the edge of the basin. Once settled, he beckoned Aziraphale over with an outstretched hand.

“Get in, Angel.”

Aziraphale obeyed, grabbing the offered hand and slowly hoisted himself in. At first he gasped at the sudden change in temperature, but he kept going, knowing that once submerged, this'll be the desired setting.

He sat down in the tub with help from Crowley and scooted backwards so his hips were now touching Crowleys inner thighs. He sighed in relief as the steam rose to meet his face.

Crowley smirked and leaned forward so he could whisper in his ear.

“Better?”

Aziraphale nodded but his comfort was short lived. Crowley retracted a bit when the Angel’s breath hitched and his shoulders jolted upward.

“H-hiH! H-haihshuu! AISH’Huuh!”

Crowley grimaced. “Oh, Ange-”

“Wuh...w-one morehhh! h’hEGSHuu!”

When he's done, Aziraphale sagged against one side of the tub with a pitiful moan. Crowley tutted as he blew his nose.

“Oh sweet Angel, you poor thing,” he continued. “That's no good.”

Aziraphale sniffed. “Ugh, my head.”

Reaching toward the edge of the tub, Crowley squeezed a dollop of shampoo into his hand. It smelled of oats and lavender.

“Well that wont do, now will it?”

Tenderly, he reached for the golden locks and massaged his hands into the scalp. Rubbing in small circles caused it to grow foamy and eventually the smell wafts to Aziraphale’s nose. This time he moaned in delight.

“No, I suppose it won't,” he replied. Crowley watched the angel’s body relax as he worked his hands down the back of his neck and then down to his shoulders. Soon it's like a giant soapy cloud has taken refuge on Aziraphale’s backside.

He's pretty pleased with himself until he noticed the unease as Aziraphale shifted in the tub. He won't say anything though. That's for Crowley to draw out.

“Spit it out, Angel. Am I being too rough?”

Aziraphale was quick to wave his hands dismissively. “No! Oh no, it's all rather lovely. It just occurred to me that, well, how you've spent your time looking after me. I hate to be an inconvenience. You could probably find more productive ways to spend your evening.”

Crowley stared at the soap bubble Bentley he so expertly crafted on the backside of the being he loved most in this world.

“Eh maybe. Trust me. M’doing just fine.”

Short quips seemed to do him the most comfort. Crowley was not one for drawled out speeches.

After he had successfully rinsed the soap away, they both sat in the still water, simply enjoying each other's company. In fact, they sat there for so long, Crowley hadn't noticed that the water had gotten cold until Aziraphael shivered violently.

“Right then, Angel,’ he says softly. “Out we go.”

He braced himself and waited patiently as Aziraphale shakily got onto his feet before moving himself. He drained the bathtub and stepped out, wrapping a towel around his waist. He retrieved another one and a robe and helped wrap those around his shivering angel.

“Thank you,” he graced.

Crowley saw that even though he seemed much fresher, his droopy eyelids and dopey smile indicated that he needed to have a lie down real quick.

“Come on now,” he beckoned, and with a hand steadying his back, he lead the sickly angel to the warm invites of the lounge. He set him down on the recliner and the angel stretched his arms to the heavens with a great big yawn and apologized once more for his antics.

“Don't be,” Crowley said. He grabbed the fluffy quilt off the floor and draped it over the sleepy angel. “I'll be off then,’ he said, fighting off the lump of hesitation in his throat. He thought it might be best to leave Aziraphale to fend this off by himself. “Will that be all?”

Before he could finish his statement, a hand shot out from under the blanket, grabbing hold of Crowley’s wrist. Aziraphale stared up at him with those big hopeful eyes.

“Don't go,” he pleaded softly. “I don't think I could bear a night alone like this. Please.”

Crowly softened as a few tears welled up in the angels eyes. He was always more emotional whenever he felt unwell and Crowley knew the guilt would eat him alive if he left him like this. He didn't want to leave anyway. So he surrendered and threw up his hands.

“Alright. Where do you want me?”

Aziraphale shakily pushed himself upright and scooted as far to the right as he could and pointed to the snug spot beside him. Crowley rolled his eyes but obeyed and squeezed in next to him. Once settled, Aziraphale threw an arm and a leg over the demons body and pulled the blanket around the both of them. Aziraphale snuggled closer to the demon and hummed contently once he was comfy. Crowley reached up and prodded for the remote on the coffee table beside them. He found it and hovered it in front of his face.

“Fancy anything?”

“Not particularly,” Aziraphale yawned. “Just absolutely thrilled you're here.”

Crowley hid a smile as he laid a kiss at the top of his sweet head. Then he made it his mission to find something relaxing to watch. Nothing sad. Definitely nothing scary. Unfortunately that's what seemed to be in store for nearly fifty channels on cable. Until he stumbled across a How It’s Made type of deal. Bicycle tires. It was quite mesmerizing.

A snore floated up to his ear and Crowley's eyes sauntered down to the lump lying across him. Aziraphale, the poor thing, had fallen asleep, exhausted by the whole ordeal of a day he'd had. He didn't sound any less congested, but his worry lines faded away and he seemed peaceful in sleep. Almost like...well, an angel.

There was something about this one that seemed to quelm Crowley’s anxiety instantly. All of a sudden the fears before him seemed so small compared to the comforting weight of the snoring angel pressed into his side. It really felt like it had always been the two of them against the universe. But Crowley didn't mind that. Even as sniffly and sickly his angel could be.

#snzblr #snzfic #rosierites

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quipadeedoodaa · 4 years

Text

I Had a Wits End

Had this dream shortly after discovering Good Omens. I thought I might use it for something, but honestly it’s great as is, directly from my brain as I typed it after waking up. It makes me giggle still XD they’re such dorks.

Putting it under the cut because it is LONG!

Contains: Fluff, Adam, Dream nonsense logic, bad photoshopping, genetic experimentation, and both of them being stupid. Also, Aziraphale probably smites someone.

Ineffable Husbands Dream August.01.19

Aziraphale is meandering town just thinking and remembering the insults from Gabriel and begins to wonder if Crowley thinks he's soft to. In the midst of fretting if his literal demon soulmate he saved the world with thinks he's physically attractive, he notices a new business, not realizing he's wandered into a shadier part of town. Its a gym! Well, really that would solve everything, wouldn't it?! Excited he goes in just to see the people inside are like HYPERmuscular.

"Oh! Oh uh, oh dear, um..."

Evil eyes catch sight of him and the only person with natural proportions comes along, the shop owner, a skeezy looking business man.

"Can I help you with something?"

"Ah, well, maybe, you see, I was hoping to try working out."

Skeezy dude eyes this smol soft cinnamon roll and grins wider. "You came to the right place. Why don't you let us set you up a routine." escorts a less nervous, and now babbling incessantly about his worry/desire to try bettering himself, Aziraphale further into the building.

Meanwhile, Crowley's been tracking down the source of some very illegal and highly dangerous genetic experimentation. Which just so happens to be based at the same Gym. He has no idea Aziraphale is going there to work out and is gone from home often enough to not notice Aziraphale is too.

The experiments aren’t just on people, but animals too. Just making things bigger, more dangerous and destructive. Crowley gets caught snooping so he finds out the hard way when he's being chased and almost loses his car again. "Not the Bentley!! Anything but that!"

Crowley is a literal noodle, and discovers exactly how prone to bruises he is, so many so he's exhausted from miracling them away.

Scene cut to home, apparently Adam and Dog visit often enough because they were there. And Adam shows Crowley that skeezy gym being advertised in a magazine b/c Crowley had told Adam about what was happening, but not Aziraphale. He didn't want to tell the angel the horrors he'd found out. Crowley never reads the article, which is a shame because if he did, he'd know Aziraphale had already been involved in all this and telling him could've helped.

‘Cause all the example pictures in the article include Aziraphale. Which I’ll spoil now is HILARIOUS b/c it's actually just Zira’s head photoshopped on a buff body because, as the masterminds have discovered (and thus think Zira is the perfect experiment) is that Aziraphale's body does not react at all to their chemicals. I mean it’s only a corporation after all. It was built as it is now and has never changed for 6000 years. Aziraphale is literally just going there to work out like at a leisure gym (ex: planet fitness if y’all have em) and socialize b/c despite being intimidating, these people are quite nice!

So while Crowley is freaking out, Adam had stepped out of the room to search for Aziraphale for food. Aziraphale enters in one of those wrestling spandex numbers, and starts flexing and Crowley just completely forgets what he was just thinking about for a moment when he turns around and sees Aziraphale being an enormous dweeb in clothes uglier than usual. "...What on earth are you wearing?"

"I've been working out!"

".........." Aziraphale looks exactly the same except the very ugly outfit if you could even call it that. "right. well..."

And then Crowley freaks out because a moth had flown in and oh shitohshitojsgit!!! because one of the attacks had been via a giant moth monster. And now Aziraphale is worried about him. Miracles his normal clothes back on and decides maybe some food would help, he HAD been gone a lot lately. He sees Adam in the kitchen and shoos him back to Crowley "I’m worried about him, be a dear and make sure he's alright while I fix dinner."

Adam and dog return to the room to find super paranoid Crowley holding a massive egg like it's a time bomb, several holes are in the ceiling, but the moth is gone. Aziraphale realizes he's too worried to cook so just miracles some food and returns with it.

Crowley goes off on a long tangent about what's happening and what that Gym has been doing, which Aziraphale stands behind Crowley by the door holding a dish of noodles the whole time in shock, occasionally getting Crowley’s full attention for a section while he paces around. I forgot the exact words of his rant but he covered the human experimentation, the fact the egg was a moth egg and very dangerous and WOULD be exploding at some point most likely, almost losing the car again, ACTUALLY losing or at least sustaining massive damage to his home.

And Aziraphale is just filling with righteous fury for his husband and that he had so easily been tricked not that Crowley knows it yet. So Aziraphale makes eye contact with Adam and conveys he's going to take care of this, sets the noodles on the bed and leaves. But Crowley doesn't notice this, he just keeps talking fears of what these humans were truly capable of and accidentally knocks over the noodles. Dog rushes to eat them the movement catching Crowley’s attention and no! OH NO! "AZIRAPHALE!!" He falls to the noodles hands trying to gather them all up. "AZIRAPHALE!! What have they DONE to you!! Dog no! DON'T EAT HIM! AZIRAPHALE!!!"

He scoops all the noodles back into the dish and holds it like a baby, you can notice very dark circles under his eyes as his glasses having fallen off, or askew during his meltdown. He’s shaking and in panic and Adam is quite worried about this fool. Why would he think the noodles were Aziraphale? but doesn't question yet, just lets Crowley drag him into a fear cling with the noodles.

Ending with a hysterically sobbed "I used to have a Wits End and now it's GONE!" referring to the apparent name of this house Wits End, that’s been destroyed in several places and his husband gone! And Adam just pats him on the back. There there Crowley...

This is the point I woke up, but I retained knowledge of what happens next despite not seeing it.

Aziraphale storms the gym with the full brunt of God's wrath and not only destroys the building but all the research data AND miracles the information out of their minds. Just hits the place like a missile undoing everything. And the boss is done last so he KNOWS he fucked up using this nerd for a test subject. "What ARE you?"

"Fear not, I'm nothing you will ever remember." and then he doesn't.

It's not perfect like if Adam had willed it away but it was still satisfying to destroy things that had caused Crowley such harm.

And it's been awhile since he got to do a BIG miracle

Later. Once Crowley is calmed down, Adam’s gone home, and Aziraphale is there to ground his demon. Crowley calls him out on going to a gym at all. Aziraphale blushes and is all "I feared you would grow bored of me. I am soft, as you know... Not much of an angel either."

"But you're my angel." Crowley says blunt and 'duh' as possibly

Aziraphale gives a big ole smile and hugs him more. "I'm sorry I'd forgotten."

"Well... Don't do it again!"

"I promise."

End

#Good Omens #Ineffable Husbands #Crowley #Aziraphale #Fic plot #fanfic #it happened in a dream #ineffable dream #Fluff #i forgot how darn cute this dream was oh my god #please read it!

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obaewankenope · 5 years

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IT’S DONE! OMG IT’S DONE! IT’S 6.8K AND IT’S D O N E

Summary:

“An owl, cat, or toad—what the fuck?” Crowley complains and Aziraphale smacks him on the arm for cursing.

“Crowley! Language!” the angel gasps, plucking the letter from the demons hand to read it himself. “Well—that is—it’s a little restrictive, I’ll admit,” he says, frowning a little at the list and specifications. “But if those are the only options—”

“Then we’ll make new options,” Crowley declares and Harry—enjoying the rebelliousness of his uncle Crowley immensely—nods vigorously.

If you don’t wanna read it on AO3 then click the read more and you can read it here :)

Harry’s letter is unsurprising for Crowley and Aziraphale for several reasons: number one) Harry has performed minor feats of magic ever since he began living with them above Aziraphale’s shop[1]. Number two) there are a select number of books in Aziraphale’s shop that are, to put it delicately, not for the mundane[2]. These books have been found and read by Harry with no damaging side-effects except when one specific chapter gave Harry the idea that levitation was a neat idea and thus must be performed at all times[3]. And, lastly, number three) several instances of poorly-disguised wizards appearing in the shop and trying to abscond with Harry only to be thwarted either by Harry himself, Aziraphale miracling them somewhere rather Unpleasant—he still refuses to tell Crowley where—or Crowley himself transforming into a rather terrifying serpent and constricting them to the point of unconsciousness before sending them to a cow field that is particularly pungent-smelling[4].

The requirements for his education, however, leave something to be desired.

“An owl, cat, or toad—what the fuck?” Crowley complains and Aziraphale smacks him on the arm for cursing.

“Then we’ll make new options,” Crowley declares and Harry—enjoying the rebelliousness of his uncle Crowley immensely—nods vigorously.

“It’d be awesome if I could take a dog!” Harry exclaims and Crowley is a little put out since he was considering a snake, but this is Harry and if he wants a dog, then a dog he shall have[5]. “I could take it to class with me!”

Aziraphale laughs lightly. “I don’t think they would allow you to take your dog to class, Harry,” he says, quite reasonably.

“Why not?” Challenges Crowley. “The dog’d[6] be his familiar wouldn’t it? Stands to reason they’d have to let the kids have their animals with them whenever they want.”

Harry beams at this and Aziraphale gives Crowley a Frowny Look—the kind that says “you are being deliberately oppositional now and I know it so stop it”—that makes Crowley smile brightly at him.

“Perhaps,” Aziraphale begrudgingly agrees, letting himself smile a little at the prospect of the type of mischief a boy and his dog can get up to in a classroom. “We’ll see, won’t we?”

Diagon Alley is, in a word, disastrous. Crowley and Aziraphale bracket themselves around Harry like parentheses[7] and act as a tidal wall to break the waves of people milling about the—well-diagonal alley full of wizarding shops and wizarding people.

“Why does he even need a wand? Kid’s got plenty of magic, can just point and click his fingers like we do, can’t he?” Crowley asks for what is probably the dozenth time—it is in fact, the fourteenth time and Aziraphale has been counting—as they reach the wandmakers shop. “Pointless waste of wood if you ask me.”

“Yes, but we’re not asking you,” Aziraphale snips, as he pushes the door to the shop open. “Harry requires a wand to focus his magic, unlike us, now hush. We’re supposed to be normal.”

“Normal, pfft!” Crowley saunters in behind Aziraphale and Harry, shrugging derisively at Aziraphale when the angel gives him a sharp look. “We’re in a shop selling wands, angel. Not exactly normal.”

“I—well—yes but, more normal than—than us,” Aziraphale admits quietly, frowning at Crowley who just smirks at him. “Stop being annoying, Crowley. Now is not the time.”

“Oh I disagree, angel,” Crowley looks around the shop. “Being annoying is a full-time gig.”

Aziraphale ignores the demon, focusing instead on Harry and not giving Crowley what-for in a verbal manner. The shop is rather dusty and dark, obviously in need of a good cleaning, but Aziraphale can recognise the signs of someone who deeply loves their craft in the way the boxes, although dusty, are in perfect condition. This Ollivander fellow is obviously capable, then.

“Ah, Harry Potter.”

And incredibly creepy.

Both angel and demon step up beside Harry, protective and perfectly capable of being creepy and intimidating themselves if needed—though Crowley is skipping both and going for a more terrifying vibe. The old man—wizard—wandmaker steps into view from behind a drab curtain and reveals a head of hair that would rival Albert’s for chaotic[8].

“Yes! Hello there! You must be the—uh—the proprietor of this establishment!” Aziraphale says, pasting on a polite smile that is a little too false and only a little bit obviously fake for that reason. “We’ve come to enquire about a—well—a wand for our nephew here!”

The wandmaker stares at Aziraphale and Crowley stood on either side of Harry—a happy, healthy-looking, completely okay with the protectiveness of them both Harry—and makes a decision.

“Very well, I have a selection for you to choose from.”

Aziraphale relaxes with a floosh of breath but Crowley, ever the paranoid sort, remains alert and wary until they procure a wand for Harry—paying for it with the money the wizarding world has created on its own, a strange currency but Crowley is good with numbers so not a problem really—and escape the wand shop with only a minor bit of weird creepy talk from the wandmaker[9].

The rest of the shops are easy—although they do go to Gringotts in order to enquire about Harry’s family vault—and they are in and out of Diagon Alley by teatime. As a result, they—and by ‘they’ I mean, ‘Aziraphale and Harry’—declare that they really want food and angel cake and thus all of them end up in a little café near to the pub that acts as the entry point to Diagon Alley in London.

All-in-all, it is an enjoyable trip that gives Harry a taste of what the magical world-proper is like. It whets his appetite even more and by the time September rolls around, the eleven-year-old wizard is bouncing around the bookshop and flat like a bouncy ball that’s been flung with considerable strength. He won’t admit it, but Crowley is partly relieved Harry is attending a boarding school for most of the year, but the larger part of him that has grown ruthlessly attached to the child is sad and forlorn.

Thus, it is no surprise that Crowley—having caved and gotten Harry a dog that was a simple mongrel mix but may also, possibly, have had a little bit more wolf in it than is typical—travels to Hogwarts and assumes the position of Care of Magical Creatures at the school in order to keep an eye on his nephew.

It is also no surprise that Aziraphale also heads to Hogwarts to watch over both Harry and Crowley and pretend that he is offering positive guidance to a child with a Great Future for the benefit of heaven[10]. The Sorting Feast is, as a result of this, incredibly amusing for Harry when he recognises both of his uncles have somehow figured out a way to be at Hogwarts even though neither of them are wizards[11].

Harry is pleased to note that he is placed in the same house as his parents—although he doesn’t remember them, having the association of being in the same Hogwarts house as them is comforting for the orphaned child regardless of the fact that he may have been better suited for any of the other houses[12]. Both Aziraphale and Crowley notice the way Albus I’m-so-smart-and-sneaky Dumbledore is pleased by Harry’s sorting and, while they don’t begrudge Harry the connection to his parents, are Displeased by Dumbledore’s shitty attitude.

By the end of Harry’s first night at Hogwarts, Crowley and Aziraphale have firmly cemented in the minds of their fellow staff that they are: “very strange but in a sweet way” (Aziraphale), “very probably evil wizards intent on killing us all” (Crowley), and, lastly, “very much in love but denying it” (both). All of the guesses are somewhat right, though neither Crowley or Aziraphale have any intention of Clearing Things Up since they both enjoy a bit of chaos—even if Aziraphale pretends otherwise, Crowley knows him too well to think the angel would ever pass up a chance at messing with people.

Of their fellow staff members, three are Problematic For Various Reasons. The first is, naturally, Albus Dumbledore; headmaster and stupid prick who leaves orphans with racist, xenophobic, nasty people. The second is Severus Snape; potions master and a Generally Unpleasant Person who Crowley feels would get along well with Hastur and Ligur. Last but not least is Quirinus Quirrell; defence against the dark arts—“the dark arts? How pretentious is that, angel?” Crowley mocks when he hears about it—and absolute chicken who is afraid of his own shadow.

Although Quirrell doesn’t strike them as the type to be dangerous, the DADA professor is far too timid to be of Any Real Use and—as Crowley mentions to Aziraphale under his breath after meeting him—there’s something “strange about his smell; no it’s not the garlic, I know what garlic smells like!”.

Dog-the-mongrel-with-a-bit-of-wolf-in-her[13] has had a ball of a time with Hogwarts but, generally, is seldom seen in the castle. Like most of the pets the students have, she wanders the grounds and enjoys the freedom of Scottish geography in the way any canine with a bit more wolf than most enjoys it; by hunting poor little rabbits and terrorising any cat that crosses her path.

Harry makes friends quickly, befriending a young witch called Hermione Granger—“a lovely name, Hermione! It means ‘princess of Hermes’ you know?” Aziraphale exclaims, smiling brightly at the bushy-haired girl when Harry introduces her to him—with ease after mentioning how his “uncle Aziraphale owns a bookshop in London”, and a young wizard by the name of Ronald “Ron” Weasley—“oh, he has red hair like you, Crowley dear!” Aziraphale grins at the dark look Crowley gives him but both of them are polite enough even when ‘Ron’ gawps at them for being “Harry Potter’s uncles!”[14].

He regularly visits both of them outside of class, towing Hermione and Ron along with him and it reassures both angel and demon to see their de facto son with peers his own age that know about magic and can Understand Him That Way. In London it had been much harder considering they enrolled him in a nearby primary school and had to keep explaining to Harry that regular people—non-magical and non-immortal in this case—don’t understand Harry for his magic and while the children will like it, their parents will—to put it mildly—‘freak the fuck out’[15].

Halloween is, in a word, disastrous. The day starts off like any other day, though the students are more hyped up for the feast later on than on other days. Crowley finds that he’s a surprisingly decent teacher—especially when he ropes in one Rubeus Hagrid as an assistant for practical and theoretical lessons combined[16]—and has no problem exposing the children to creatures that could easily kill them if they’re not careful[17]. It endears him to most of the students if not, naturally, to their parents—or members of staff who think him Unprofessional or Whatever Other Rubbish They Harp On About Him In The Staffroom for actually enjoying the teaching and engaging with his students creatively[18].

By the time lunch comes around on Halloween, there are rumours galore about this and that and Crowley—being the demon he is—helps seed some of his own for the sake of it. It’s quite pleasant, come to think of it, and instantly Crowley knows that it cannot last. Halloween is a day of change, of thinning things and stranger happenings and he’s never known a single Halloween day to go well for him. Not since 1702.

It is for that reason that Crowley is the first to react when Quirrell comes barging through the doors of the Great Hall looking paler than the DADA professor ever has—a feat indeed for the pasty professor who seldom leaves his classroom save for meals—and proclaims “TROLLLLLLLLLLL! TROLLLL IN THE DUNGEOONNNNNNN! Thought you ought to know” and dead-faints in the middle of the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw tables.

He’s up and over the staff table—legs doing the usual thing they do when he ignores physics and How Legs Work Entirely—and half-way down the gap between the tables before the first scream leaves a students’ throat.

“Not to worry!” He bellows cheerfully, passing the unconscious Quirrell and giving the professor a sly kick in the process. “I’ll handle it! Haven’t had me a fight with a troll in centuries, ha!”

“Crowley don’t you dare!” Aziraphale shouts after him, rising from the staff table, but the demon ignores him with glib glee to head for the troll and beat it senseless—or whatever else he’s going to do to it, no one in the Great Hall rightly knows.

But the sight of the Care of Magical Creatures professor gleefully heading towards the dungeon does a more spectacular job of dissolving the fear and tension Quirrell’s words had elicited in the whole hall. Aziraphale stood glaring at the doors adds a measure of amusement to the whole affair that has Dumbledore trying to save face by declaring that the “feast shall continue but no students are permitted to leave the hall until Professor Crowley returns” before he, McGonagall and Snape all leave.

Aziraphale is curious about where they’re going but, considering that Harry is still in the Great Hall, he remains himself and gives Harry a reassuring smile. Both of them know Crowley will fair better than the troll—no matter what size it is—since he’s a demon and turns into a snake, but they worry regardless.

“Harry, your uncle is mental,” Ron says to Harry who nods and grins.

“He’s a demon, says it’s in his nature,” Harry replies and Ron just shrugs and takes another bite of the chicken drumstick in his hand.

“Fair enuff.”

When Crowley returns to the Great Hall, he’s got a few scratches and his sunglasses are hanging off one ear revealing his eyes, but he’s grinning widely and saunters up to Harry to throw an arm over his shoulder.

“That was brilliant, that was, right laugh!” Crowley declares, enjoying the wide-eyed, awe-filled stares he’s getting from the Gryffindors surrounding Harry. “Never had to tell a Troll to Troll-off before!”

“Crowley you utter fool!” Aziraphale exclaims from behind him, hands coming up to grasp at the edges of the demon’s robes. “Look at the state of you! You didn’t even clean yourself up—have to always make an entrance.”

“You love it, angel,” Crowley says, grinning at Aziraphale who huffs out a little smile of his own.

“Honestly, must I do everything myself?” The angel questions sarcastically, snapping his fingers and Crowley’s robes are miraculously clean and neat, his hair less ruffled, and the scratches healed. The only thing Aziraphale doesn’t fix are Crowley’s sunglasses, which he plucks off instead and pockets in his own robes. “You have such lovely eyes, Crowley, I do wish you wouldn’t hide them away all the time.”

This leaves Crowley wordless long enough for Harry to giggle along with half the table at his shocked expression levelled at the angel. It’s an amusing expression, to be fair.

“Right,” Crowley croaks, clearing his throat and looking away from Aziraphale to give Harry a Look. “Enough of that, you,” he says to Harry who continues to giggle before he and Aziraphale head back to the staff table for the rest of the feast.

By the time Dumbledore, McGonagall, and Snape return, the feast is again in full swing, Crowley is lounging in Dumbledore’s thro- chair and Aziraphale is sat in McGonagall’s seat nattering away to the demon with a soft smile on his face[19].

Neither of them seem willing to give up their chosen seats for the night and thus Dumbledore is consigned to sitting next to Snape where there is a strained correspondence of Looks and Words while McGonagall enjoys sitting in Aziraphale’s usual seat next to Hagrid and having a lively discussion with the assistant CoMC professor.

Christmas holidays begin with the same sort of fanfare the Christmas season always brings out in people: absolute chaos. Students running around the castle searching for misplaced items, professors all-but pulling their hair out over essays that have to be handed in still, and a librarian on the war path for every unreturned book in the Hogwarts library.

Harry loves every second of it—even if he could do without the essays.

It is, by group consensus, agreed that they shall return to London for the duration of the holiday period, though Harry is allowed to visit his friends as they both are heading home—although Hermione is reluctant as she cannot access the Hogwarts library from home, until Aziraphale mentions his bookshop and how she can study there if she wishes to, then she is single-handedly planning her Christmas holidays for her family to include as much time at the bookshop as possible. Crowley only has one stipulation; he meets their families first[20].

The meeting is short and sweet, mostly owing to Aziraphale’s determined approach to it all, but Crowley and Molly Weasley come to a terse agreement where neither will ruin the other because Harry Likes Them And It Would Upset Harry[21]. Harry enjoys his time at the Weasley home—“it’s called The Burrow, how cool is that?”—but admits that he loves being with his uncles more than with his friend’s family because—“you love me for me, not because of my name”—and that doesn’t make Crowley or Aziraphale burst into tears; except that it does.

Crowley blames it on allergies to Christmas pudding and Aziraphale hits him with a spatula for saying such a cruel thing about pudding. Harry’s laughter makes their Christmas all the more enjoyable but by the time the new term arrives, the three of them are happy to make their way back to Hogwarts for the rest of the school year.

Harry, Hermione, and Ron end up in detention with Draco Malfoy after attempting to have a duel with the young boy. They are caught by Crowley and McGonagall—had it been only Crowley they’d have gotten away with it, but McGonagall is a stickler and thus they were stickled—and their detention is a stint in the Forbidden Forest with Hagrid looking for unicorns. It is, at this point, that Harry discovers a new Fascination that he shares with Hermione and Ron but won’t tell his uncles just yet.

“Not until I’m sure, I don’t want them to think I’m stupid” Harry says to his friends after they return to the tower and settle on one of the couches near the still burning fire. It’s past midnight but it is a weekend and thus they needn’t be up godawful early for classes. Both Hermione and Ron frown at Harry for his stubborn refusal to talk about his scar, the cloaked figure in the forest, and the general number of suspicions he has about Things with his uncles.

“As if they’d think you’re stupid, Harry, they bloody adore you mate” Ron replies, shaking his head at his friend. “Seriously, they’re mental about you.”

Hermione agrees. “Ron’s right Harry, you should tell them”. The look she gives him is very much one she has learnt from Aziraphale and conveys the perfect amount of you-are-being-stupid as well as you’re-lucky-I-love-you that Harry smiles a little.

“Maybe,” Harry hedges, before he distracts them both with talk of their latest essay for potions.

Aziraphale and Crowley are content—mostly—to wait until Harry comes to them and shares his Fascination with them since he’s always done that before. They trust that Harry will come to them if he’s in danger however, they both forget that, although they’ve had Harry for three years now, nine years of his life were spent not trusting adults to Act Particularly Adult and, as such, Harry sometimes lets old habits rule his actions.

Earlier on in the year, Dog-the-mongrel had tried to scare a particularly smug-looking tabby cat only to get the shock of her life when said tabby cat transformed into an unimpressed witch with a pointed hat and even pointier words for her and her owner. At that point, Crowley had introduced Dog-the-mongrel to Hagrid and Fang which had been, overall, the Best Idea Ever. Harry gained a new friend in Hagrid and Fang gained a protective companion that made going into the Forbidden Forest an absolute breeze considering she seemed more terrifying than anything in the forest itself[22].

Summer begins and classes start to wrap up as exams are set up and students begin to stress about revising and passing and failing and which subjects they want to continue with and so on. Crowley tells his classes that anyone who doesn’t kill whatever creature and can at least write their own name is allowed to continue with Care of Magical Creatures. This results in him being buried under a pile of seriously stressed out fifth years who have been panicking over studying for all their classes on top of the suddenly heavy workload CoMC has given then since Crowley took over[23].

Aziraphale takes great pleasure in being able to loan out books laden in charms and spells designed to protect them from students destroying them but with the exam-season, he’s a little frazzled around the edges when certain students test these charms and spells to their limits. Crowley wisely doesn’t irritate the angel for a few days, preferring instead to let Aziraphale focus on not accidentally smiting any of the students who return books that are a little worse for wear[24].

Four days into June, Harry, Ron, and Hermione undertake a truly idiotic task of trying to get the Philosopher’s Stone before a certain evil professor can. They mistakenly think it is Snape who is after the stone when it is, in fact, the snivelling coward Quirrell, but at least they did some pretty good logical thinking to reach their initial conclusions. Ron is side-lined by a giant chess set where he gets walloped by a stone Queen. Hermione outlasts Ron by one more test but can’t get past the rest as it is a One Person Only kind of deal—and also they’re tests that Crowley and Aziraphale designed and Harry knows the Answers but he won’t tell Hermione since she needs to Warn Someone[25].

“But Dumbledore isn’t at the school!” Hermione exclaims, upset and Harry rolls his eyes.

“Forget Dumbledore,” he instructs, holding Hermione by the shoulders to keep her focused on him. “Tell my uncles. They’ll be in the library; uncle Crowley always bothers uncle Zira there because uncle Zira basically lives there.” Harry gives Hermione a reassuring smile. “I’ll be fine. Just tell them. And get Ron some help too.”

Crowley and Aziraphale appear in time to stop Quirrell from trying to kill Harry, though their appearance is a less dramatic than that of Dog-the-mongrel who bursts through a literally wall of fire to savage Quirrell’s legs with the ferocity of a dog intent on protecting its master.

This doesn’t stop both demon and angel from attacking Quirrell, they simply don’t bother to get in Dog-the-mongrel’s way and leave her to Quirrell’s rather tasty and meaty calves. Aziraphale summons a weapon of celestial being—not The Flaming Sword but rather a small Flaming Dagger that is just as effective even if its reach is shorter—to jab at Quirrell with while Crowley goes the traditional route and slams a fist into the side of the DADA professor’s jaw.

This coincidentally reveals the distorted face on the back of Quirrell’s head when his turban is knocked off by the force of Crowley’s punch. Thusly, Aziraphale has a brand-new target for his Flaming Dagger and gleefully slashes at the face of the-once-Lord-Voldemort.

The possessed professor lashes out with wandless magic, disrupting Crowley and Aziraphale long enough to wrap his fingers around Harry’s neck, only to cry out in pain when the fingers begin to sizzle and burn from the contact.

“Oi! Get off him!” Crowley shouts, grabbing the shoulder of Possessed Professor and dragging him away from Harry, accidentally unfurling his wings from his back with the force he has to exert. The wings flare behind him, four instead of two because this isn’t just Crowley-being-a-demon, this is Crowley-who-was-an-Archangel-and-is-Angry and this Crowley will not let someone hurt a kid.

Especially Harry.

Aziraphale takes the opportunity presented by Crowley pulling Possessed Professor away from their adopted son and confusing him with four wings mysteriously sprouting from Crowley’s back, to slam the Flaming Dagger into the chest of Possessed Professor. This elicits a pained shriek from Quirrell and the face on the back of his head—obviously owing to the fact that the face is evil and Quirrell evil-by-association-via-possession—and both Crowley and Aziraphale watch in honest surprise as smokey-dust flakes off of Quirrell’s body, both from the back of his head and his hands.

Before their eyes—and Dog-the-mongrel who has released her hold on Quirrell’s leg now that it’s sort of collapsing in on itself—Harry, Crowley, and Aziraphale watch Quirrell disintegrate until there’s nothing more than a pile of dust and a vaguely face-shaped smoke shadow shouting obscenities at them which Crowley rolls his eyes at and snaps his fingers[26].

The smoke shadow is promptly removed from their vicinity, sent to some random forest in Romania where it can stay for however long it likes so long as it doesn’t come near Harry, just in time for Albus Dumbledore, Minerva McGonagall, and Severus Snape to burst through the wall of flames, wands drawn.

“What happened?” McGonagall questions, striding over to Harry worriedly, even though she keeps her wand up and has a suspicious expression on her face as she survey Crowley and Aziraphale.

“Harry stopped the now deceased Quirrell from stealing a priceless artefact,” Crowley drawls, rocking on his feet and giving McGonagall a smile. It’s the kind of smile he gives people to try and be appeasing but it’s really just annoying. “You can thank him later, he needs some sleep and fixing up from fighting with a plant earlier.”

“Also flying keys that attacked me,” Harry pipes up, helpfully, and Crowley nods.

“And those.”

Neither Crowley nor Aziraphale are in any mood to explain to the three professors what the fuck just happened—Harry is shaking, the shock hitting after the adrenaline has fled his system, and he is their priority thank you very much—so they simple freeze time and abscond with him to their living space inside the library to get some much-needed rest.

They also, possibly, sit Harry down and have a very Detailed Discussion about how he can come to them with anything; “yes, even if it’s stupid and pointless” Crowley has to reassure Harry that he’s not in trouble but that they’d rather he actually tell them Before The Bad Stuff Happens.

Albus Dumbledore shows up at the door an hour later, supremely unimpressed with their Shenanigans and—in the way that Dumbledore does best—demands an explanation.

Crowley, instead of explaining, happily informs Dumbledore that the only reason neither he nor Aziraphale have murdered the stupid fucking idiot is because “it’d cause way too much paperwork” for their “respective offices” and to “get the fuck out and leave Harry alone”.

Crowley may also tell Dumbledore in no uncertain terms that Harry is staying with them for good and that no wizard is a match for them and also:

“If you think I’m letting him go back to that nasty cow of an aunt of his then you’re absolutely fucking bonkers! He’s staying with us and you’ll have to kill me to take him,” Crowley says and it’s no joke, it’s not an exaggeration. It’s a Fact.

It is a Proclamation.

Heaven couldn’t kill Crowley. Hell couldn’t kill him. Like fuck will a wizard with awful fucking dress-sense manage what those two places cannot. Like. Fuck.

“You will also—I’m afraid—have to go through me,” Aziraphale declares, coming to stand beside Crowley in their little living space where Harry has a room to himself if he ever needs it—like now. “And I’m not a fan of fighting really. But I will! For Harry.”

Dumbledore stares at the both and he’s trying to read their minds but they’re over six thousand years old and no human can possibly understand that sort of scale of existence. He can’t even fathom how they think let alone what they are, and it’s a vexed, put out Dumbledore that leaves them alone twenty minutes later after agreeing to their ‘demands’.

Madam Pomfrey isn’t nearly as easy to deal with when she learns they absconded with her patient. It took Crowley an hour and a half of relentless grilling by the healer—and then a hands-on demonstration of his skill—before she begrudgingly accepted that Harry was Perfectly Okay and Crowley knew what he was doing[27].

The end of year feast is entertaining because Gryffindor wins and Harry is hoisted up by the Weasley twins who are cheering loudly for him. Hermione and Ron are hoisted up as well since they managed to get their house the windfall of points needed to steamroller over Slytherin. Crowley secretly thinks Dumbledore did the points during the feast just to be Dramatic, but he can’t be too mad about it when Harry gives him the biggest smile he’s ever seen on the kids face since that day he took him away from Number Four.

Harry returns to London via the Hogwarts Express while Aziraphale and Crowley just teleport over—though they utilise Crowley’s Bentley for the teleportation as it’s not exactly difficult for him to take a vehicle containing their belongings and themselves as a vessel for transport—to the station and pick him up the moment he’s peeled himself away from the Weasley family and the Granger family.

Together they return to the bookshop and enjoy the summer in London until a large-eyed, very dedicated House-Elf shows up and tries to ruin it all. But that is a story for another time.

[1] His first feat had been magicking himself a plate of rather delicious pink wafers (these are tasty bis- cook- we call them biscuits okay, Americans, accept it) from the cupboard because he was engrossed in watching a documentary about sharks on TV and was hungry at the same time. Aziraphale witnessed the resulting appearance of the delicious snacks and went about miracling himself some as well. Both of them had discovered an entire channel of documentaries and, unfortunately for Crowley, they loved watching them at all times.

[2] Mundane as human without magical abilities and, also, mundane as people who are a little Too Dull to imagine any of the contents of the books as possible even with magical abilities. Harry—being not at all mundane—found the books fascinating.

[3] Crowley found the situation to be hilarious considering the chaos Harry caused up to the point where the child decided to levitate himself up to the skylight and sit on the edging of it precariously with a snack. At that point, Crowley conceded that Aziraphale was right and Harry had to Stop Levitating This Instant. Harry, needless to say, was Not Pleased with this development. He did, however, do as requested and limited his levitating to only a few feet rather than a few hundred.

[4] Naturally, it goes without saying, that Crowley and Aziraphale both modify the memories of these individuals to ensure they don’t return. This, also, allows them information on who keeps sending these people. It is for this reason—and many others—that neither demon nor angel are particularly impressed with one Albus—six-dozen-middle-names-Dumbledore.

[5]Dogs, generally, are not something Crowley particularly likes. They tend to always chew on his trousers and his shoes whenever he leaves them around. However, although he isn’t their greatest fan, Crowley has never left a dog alone or in a bad situation. He has, then, at various points in his life, rescued several hundred canines that he has rehomed with families or individuals who will appreciate them as they ought to be appreciated. This is a fact about Crowley that Aziraphale knows in the Abstract but Crowley will Never Willingly Admit.

[6] This is actually “the dog would be” but Crowley is lazy with pronunciation at times, preferring to squash words and letters together until half of them are missing.

[7] Yes, that is a pun, what of it?

[8] Albert Einstein was a personal friend of Crowley’s and Aziraphale’s at one point or another in time. They both considered his later hairstyle to be, in a word, crazy but the style suited the physicist perfectly; it does not suit Garrick Ollivander.

[9] “The wand chooses the wizard, mister Potter!” Crowley had really wanted to ask how a piece of wood does that when choosing implies sentience and awareness of there being a choice, but the wandmaker distracted him with talk of how the wand Harry now possesses is a twin of the one that gave him the lightning scar on his forehead. The demon has Plans to return to Ollivander’s at a later date to pester the wandmaker but he refuses to take Harry in there ever again. Garrick Ollivander is too creepy for Crowley’s tastes and Harry is not to be exposed to too-creepy-even-for-uncle-Crowley things.

[10] Aziraphale, rather conveniently, replaces a rather unhappy, irritable, librarian who longed for retirement but trusted no one to be able to care for her precious books until she met Aziraphale and met a kindred book-loving-to-the-point-of-violence soul and accepted her generous retirement package from Hogwarts.

[11] They existed long before magic was a thing for humanity and will, hopefully, exist long after humanity also. As such, Harry only calls them wizards when it is necessary. Otherwise, they are ‘angel’ and ‘demon’ respectively.

[12] The Sorting Hat, at one point, all but begs Harry to consider the other houses but, unfortunately for it, it had answered Harry’s question of which houses his parents had been in and—thusly—ruined its own chances of having a bright child in the Smart house, a sly child in the Sly house, a loyal child in the Loyal house, and ended up with a child-who-is-all-of-those-things-and-more-because-children-should-not-be-pidgeon-holed-at-eleven into the Brave house.

[13] Dog-the-mongrel is not to be confused with just Dog who happens to also be a hellhound. This is Harry Potter, not Adam Young, and Harry is the Saviour of the magical world of Britain—because they cannot save themselves apparently—not the antichrist as is the case with Adam Young.

[14] One child that Harry does not make friends with is Draco Malfoy. The Malfoy boy is rude to Ron at just the wrong moment and, although Harry has been raised by Crowley and Aziraphale, this act by Draco results in Harry rejecting Draco’s offer of friendship while publicly scolding the other eleven-year-old for being rude and derisive for no reason other than “for the sake of it”. Ron officially loves Harry after this and is absolutely stoked to be friends with him.

[15] Harry had been most put out by this and had only accepted the necessity of it when the TV miraculously showed a documentary about the witch hunts in Europe and discussed how modern-day witch-hunters still “walk among us”. The irony isn’t lost on Crowley or Aziraphale that they do, in fact, know an actual witch-hunter by the name of Shadwell but they both decided to keep the eccentric man away from Harry at all costs.

[16] Albus Dumbledore had raised a complaint about Crowley’s decision for only as long as he could blink before the demon had told him—rather loudly—to “FUCK RIGHT OFF TELLING ME WHO I CAN HAVE AS MY ASSISTANT YOU COLOUR-CODED DISASTER” and storming out of Dumbledore’s office, taking extra care to cause a lot of chaotic damage to various objects in the magpie nest it was.

[17] Crowley had impressed this upon them all in every class by periodically assuming the form of one of the creatures they were to ‘care’ for and terrorising them with it until he decided They Got The Point and transforming back to his human shape. Oddly enough, the children now looked forward to his lessons and figuring out which of the creatures he was in the group—though none of them tried to figure it out by being rude, mean, or cruel to any of the creatures as they’d received a lot of detentions with the new librarian who was only cheerful until he learned who had sent them to him; then he was Scary.

[18] Crowley is quite certain that if someone told Severus Snape or Minerva McGonagall to approve their lessons with fun in mind, they’d likely explode; the former because he’s a Nasty Nastier and the latter because she is Traditional Teaching Only Thank You Very Much You English Dog. Crowley likes McGonagall for her no-nonsense attitude in life but she could stand to loosen up a little more—let her hair down, hex Snape a few times, chase some birds, that sort of thing.

[19] Quirrell had been left unconscious on the floor between Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw tables as none of the staff or students have any desire to deal with the dramatics of the man.

[20] This is more to do with Ron’s family since they’re magical and if they had half a mind to, they could steal Harry and then he and Aziraphale would have to murder an entire family to get him back because no one is taking their son from them and least of all anyone who apparently thinks the sun shines out of Albus Dumbledore’s fucking arse!

[21] Aziraphale makes no such agreement and is, as such, the much more dangerous party of their little trio family group.

[22] Obviously this isn’t the case, but Crowley had, upon obtaining Dog-the-mongrel for Harry, placed a rather ingenious little demonic miracle on her that made her more terrifying to any mortal creature so that she could better protect Harry. Aziraphale continued to suspect that Dog-the-mongrel was actually a hellhound but Crowley refused to confirm or deny the suspicion—confirming it by doing just that as it happens when Dog-the-mongrel later leaps through a wall of fire to protect Harry from a possessed DADA professor.

[23] Crowley admits to Aziraphale later on that it had been kind of fun but it was really intended to cause a little more chaos for the other members of staff. It did, but Aziraphale isn’t fooled. Crowley is a big old softie when it comes to kids and Aziraphale knows it.

[24] Some of the worst offenders are, as to be expected, the Weasley twins. They seem to be capable of the impossible in regard to what is and is not possible with spells, charms, potions and so on. Aziraphale has an ever-growing list of what the Weasley twins have managed to do to the books they’ve taken out of the library. He has had to issue an ultimatum to them; if they wish to use a book, they cannot take it from the library but instead ask Aziraphale to make a copy of the relevant sections for them to use. Unfortunately for Aziraphale, he was overheard stating this by a group of Ravenclaw’s and now he’s miracling up entire books almost for students to use. It’s a good pastime however and he can include it on his monthly memos to heaven for what miracles he’s performed lately.

[25] Crowley’s test is simple: tell the snake not to eat you. Aziraphale’s is more about logic and books and figuring out which book is the best kind of book to read up about philosophy and philosopher’s stones. Naturally, Hermione would know the answer to Aziraphale’s test but since it is after Crowley’s… well, Harry can refuse to let her go with him since she’d be eaten by a snake that likes to eat people who can’t Talk Snake.

[26] At the same time that Crowley snaps his fingers, his wings curl back within his being and are, once again, no longer visible on the mortal plane. This is a good thing considering what happens next.

[27] Aziraphale, knowing that Crowley was once Raphael and was tricked into Falling by a very dickish brother by the name of Lucifer, smirks at him with that smug look he has when Pomfrey says that. Crowley gives him his best glare but the effect is ruined by the amusement in his serpentine eyes. Eyes he has given up hiding around Hogwarts after he was pestered by a dozen students who were Amazed By Them and thought they were Wicked Cool.

#Good Omens #Good Omens Spoilers #Ineffable husbands #Crowley #Aziraphale #An Angel and a Demon together #HP #Harry Potter #Absconding with Harry verse

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d20owlbear-deactivated · 4 years

Text

The Mathematical Improbability of Reaching the Stars Ch 2

By cassieoh and D20Owlbear

Ch Summary And finally, the twain shall meet. We learn more of Crowley and Aziraphale and something more of Eve and Doctor Haistwell.

The walk across campus was a pleasant one when he wasn’t rushing to avoid being late or hauling far too many books or dodging undergraduates. He paused to adjust his satchel, hiking the aging leather strap higher on his shoulder; it liked to slip down as he walked, especially when he was distracted by something (as he often was). He patted the side of the bag, checking that everything he expected to feel was there and then started up the short flight of stairs that lead towards the courtyard in front of the Athenaeum, pulling out his phone as he went.

He clicked the little button on the side to check the time, suddenly nervous that he’d forgotten something and was actually terribly late to an appointment. It was an old fear, one he struggled with often, but not one he needed to worry about just now as he had nearly a full half-hour before his next lecture.

Just as he moved to slip the phone in his pocket there was a little flash of bright green. He paused, turning the phone so he could see the screen. The little, flashing LED light lit up again, indicating he had a notification. Paranoid about disturbing a class or drawing attention to himself, he usually kept his phone on silent at all times (and triple checked it hadn’t somehow changed status spontaneously), so the light was all he used to mark that he ought to pay attention. The thing was Aziraphale rarely got notifications; his most-used programs were offline games like sudoku or word puzzles and reading apps (though he still greatly preferred the feel of something old and real in his hands). Really, the only ones that deviated from that were the food delivery apps (for when he was too busy to go out to eat, of course). He also rarely got messages at all, so it took him a few moments to place why the light might be green instead of blue as usual.

“Oh,” Aziraphale murmured to himself, surprised at the very notion of being messaged on his phone, “Oh!” He exclaimed half a second later and pulled the phone up close to his face, scrambling to turn on the screen again without dropping it as the phone had nearly jumped from his hands when he remembered he’d sent a reply to the silly astronomy pun from 2am! His tutor!

[Anthony Thursday 2:13 am] Your eyes are like black holes, I can’t seem to escape them. But that’s alright, because I like astronomy.

[Azira Thursday 7:56 am] Oh very good! I’m looking for help with astronomy!

[Anthony Thursday 9:28 am] I’m always happy to lend a *helping hand*, if you know what I mean. ;)

Aziraphale grinned at the last message, now certain that he hadn’t been overconfident when he told Doctor Haistwell that he’d found a tutor. This Anthony fellow certainly seemed like he was chuffed about it. Sure, he’d used asterisks incorrectly and Aziraphale wasn’t sure what he’d been trying to accomplish with them in the first place, but that was alright, Aziraphale wasn’t in need of grammar or sentence structure help. In fact, he’d always rather excelled at that portion of his studies.

[Azira Thursday 10:01 am] Then should we set up a meeting? Maybe coffee? Just to see if we mesh well.

He pocketed his phone with that and hummed a slow tune with Latin lyrics he’d always liked from the days he participated in choirs as an extracurricular, making his way across the small lawn. By the time he reached the doors he was certain he would be receiving another message soon, would meet his tutor tonight, understand astronomy by tomorrow, and there would be nothing at all for Doctor Avgerinós to complain about.

All he had to do was be normal for the time it took to drink one coffee and all his problems would be solved.

He grinned.

The little shed at the back of the garden center wasn’t especially comfortable, though Crowley had plans to change all that. He had big dreams of using his first paycheck (a real, honest to fuck, paycheck that was all his, that he could use to buy food and fill the aching cavern of his belly without standing in the long lines at the local soup kitchen) to buy a blanket that was soft and warm and a little area rug because his toes got so cold in the mornings. He wanted to find lights that he could hang around to make it bright and cozy and maybe a walkman to play the tapes he’d shoved in the bottom of his ratty backpack before– well, before.

But, those were all plans for another day. Right now, he could just see the early dawn light peeking over the buildings through the thick windows on the eastern wall of the shed. He needed to be dressed and in the main building by sunrise. The idea had been easier to contemplate yesterday, when the old lady first proposed it. But then again, yesterday he’d been hungry and more than a little afraid and before Crowley knew it he’d been bundled up and presented with a large sandwich and a glass of milk and, most alarmingly, a job and a home.

The shafts of light shifted, arcing further across the corrugated metal wall, dipping and curving in ways he thought he might grow to love. He needed to get up. He stuck a hand out of the meagre warmth the sheet provided and shivered as chilled air rushed in.

It was just... The little futon was so much more comfortable than the hard-packed earth.

He allowed himself another thirty-count of comfort before throwing off the thin sheet and surging to his feet, throwing himself into the discomfort as quickly as he could.

An extended groan tore its way from his throat as he stretched his arms above his head and arched his back, listening as his spine cracked and popped. Then he twisted around, angling his hips to try and shake the ache from them.

After another few minutes spent greeting the day (which included brushing his teeth and oh how he’d forgotten what a pleasure that was), he emerged from the shed and made his way quickly across the garden center towards the small building at the front. Being that it was located in the middle of London proper, Eve’s Eden was compact, with only two true greenhouses and a small outdoor stand of fruit trees. At the center of the outdoor space was a large pear tree, currently laden down with fruit. He realized just after passing it that he didn’t have to refrain any longer and doubled back to pick three pears, immediately biting into the first and holding it between his teeth as he shoved the other two in the overwrought pockets of the trousers he’d been obliged to borrow from the shelter last week after his last pair had finally fallen to little more than threads.

That was another thing he was going to buy, he thought, trousers. Trousers that fit him and didn’t feel like he was wearing a tent. He never felt quite like himself when his legs weren’t free to move and bulky, cargo monstrosities made his skin itch and his hands dance and his chest feel tighter than he thought clothing probably should do and so he was going to buy a good pair and if that meant the blanket and the area rug had to wait then that was alright.

Crowley frowned to himself as he mentally calculated what would cost what and adding it up in his head, no matter how he spun it, food would be the most important - he could buy a water bottle to keep filling up and a couple of gallons of water on the side for cooking would be cheap as well. Hell, he could probably use water from the hose if it came to that. A blanket would be good and likely doable if he went second-hand shopping instead of buying new, and if he couldn’t get a proper rug that way then he would at least be able to splurge on some of those mass-produced packs of socks from Tesco when he went for cheap groceries. A thought interrupted his happy musings of warm toes, stopping him in his tracks.

Eve– Eve might not mind if customers couldn’t necessarily tell–if he got a sufficiently baggy sweater from somewhere and grew out his hair a little more–he could wear a skirt. They wouldn’t be as cumbersome as the damned cargos he wore currently or grate on his skin. Long skirts would probably be just as comfortable as the tight jeans he preferred. Cooler too, he thought, the greenhouses were comfortable now, but he knew they would be unbearable in the summer. A breeze on his legs would be a welcome change.

He realized that he’d been dithering outside the main building for quite some time and took a deep breath to calm himself.

Eve wasn’t going to throw him out, he thought. She’d seemed tough, but not cruel, not someone who would give him hope that he might have any sort of future at all only to snatch it away.

She wasn’t like that, wasn’t like-

She was different. He just knew it.

So, he straightened the hem of his threadbare t-shirt, quickly giving up on seeming any more presentable than he had yesterday in it, and strode in as if he were the picture of confidence. Eve raised an eyebrow at him from behind her cuppa, slow and still a little sleepy from the morning haze that settles down habitually over cool London mornings.

“Mornin’.” Crowley sketched a sheepish wave, unsure exactly where he was supposed to fit here (other than beneath the Ailanthus tree where Eve had found him sleeping last night). Nothing else seemed like it would know what to do with a Crowley-shaped person next to it, none of the other rows of plants and flowers looked like they could handle his bumbling hands sitting next to their pristine plots. He didn’t know what to–

Crowley was shocked out of his inward spiral by Eve’s hand on his bicep, squeezing just tightly enough to be reassuring instead of scolding. She smiled at him like someone might smile at a dog on the side of the road, bleeding from where it was hit and left for dead. Crowley grimaced in his head, the metaphor was more apt than he’d wanted to admit.

“You know what weeds look like?” Eve asked him, all her pretenses of grumpiness up front at full force, though to Crowley it felt like a welcome, somehow.

“Y-yeah, of course I know what weeds look like!” Crowley stuttered, what little pride she’d let him scrounge up the night before when he’d gathered up his bag and stood to leave when she’d found him curled up behind the roots of the tree furthest from the door was coated his tongue like lead. Heavy and tripping. It dripped down the back of his throat and the molten, toxic metal burnt on its way down, churning his stomach until he was nauseous and coated his heart so that it felt like bands wrapped around it and every beat and every breath pressed uncomfortably tight.

Ping!

Crowley’s phone chimed and he sucked in a surprised breath, tearing himself from his uncomfortable recollections on how he came to be here, nearly a decade ago. It would be nine-and-a-half years soon. And almost ten years exactly from when he’d been kicked out in the first place as a teen.

Crowley blinked at his messages unseeing, lost in his thoughts of Eve and her garden center. And then he blinked some more after he set the phone down, dazed with a stupid grin threatening to overtake his face. How bold! And not in a disgusting way like some people were on dating apps. “To see if we mesh well, ” Crowley’s grin ticked up a bit further at the thought. Posh and poncy, but not in a holier-and-richer-than-thou way, and he could already tell he’d like this Azira guy. Quickly he typed out another reply.

[Anthony Thursday 12:05 pm] I’m certainly interested in meshing with you.

[[Full Chapter]]

#AO3 link #good omens #azcrow #gomens #The Mathematical Improbability of Reaching the Stars #Tinderfic #Tinder fic #My writing #help i'm lost in good omens and can't get out #good omens fanfic #good omens fic #crowley #Crowley and Aziraphale #aziraphale/crowley #crowley good omens #Aziraphale #Find On AO3 #Read in Full on AO3

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hamiltonian-operator · 5 years

Text

So I wrote a thing for Good Omens because why not? I’m as obsessed as the next person with the antics of the angel and the demon so have this ficlet entitled “Local angel finally catches up to this century’s technology with help of demon husband” or alternatively, “Crowley gives Aziraphale a smartphone.”

“But I already have a phone, Crowley,” Aziraphale says, turning the box over in his hands. “I don’t need another one.”

“Yes, you do,” Crowley disagreed, shoving his hands deeply into his pockets. Or as deeply as the shallow pockets of skinny jeans would allow for that. “The one in your bookshop isn’t portable. You can take this one with you and then if you need to call someone, you don’t have to get all the way home first. Or find a phone box. They’re on the way out, angel. Soon there won’t be any working ones left.”

“My dear boy, you’re the only person I call,” Aziraphale pointed out, still holding the box slightly away from his body like he was afraid it might grow teeth and try to bite him if he let it get too close.[1]

“Or if someone wanted to call you.”

“You’re the only person who calls me. Unless it’s a customer looking for something from my bookshop, in which case, they call my bookshop.”

“Look, it’s got apps and things on it too now, you’ll like it,” Crowley took the box back, persevering despite the obviously wary look Aziraphale was shooting in the box’s general direction, and slid the lid off the top of it. He tossed it over his shoulder, letting it fall somewhere behind a pile of books with a clatter. “It’s got – book apps. Probably. And – and music. You could have all your records in your pocket. And you can check out reviews of new restaurants and buy books and –“ he trailed off, shrugging his shoulders up around his ears. He swayed his hips slightly from side to side with a fake nonchalance that was fully betrayed by the underlying anxiousness; something that Aziraphale, who was well tuned into Crowley’s frequency after 6000 years, picked up on easily. Crowley wanted him to have this, for some reason that he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

“Yes, it may well have – apps,” Aziraphale’s brows drew together into a minute frown as he said the word, as if he wasn’t quite sure he was using it in the right context. “But I don’t need any of those things. I have a telephone that works right here.”

“You have one that’s plugged into the wall. It doesn’t go anywhere with you,” Crowley argued. “Look, I’ll show you how to use it. It’s not hard, Aziraphale. I bet there are games on it that you would love and you would have voicemail too on this –“

“Voicemail?” the frown on Aziraphale’s face deepened into a canyon.

“Yeah?” Crowley said, sounding equally uncertain. “You leave them all the time for me.”

“I do not.”

“You doooo.”

“I do not leave you mail, Crowley,” Aziraphale huffed, straightening the lapels of his jacket indignantly. “I think I would know if I did.”

“You do. It’s what happens when I don’t answer the phone. There’s a message that plays. You’ve left me hundreds of them.”

“A message?”

“Yes,” Crowley rolls his eyes exasperatedly. “You know ‘Hi, this is Anthony Crowley. You know what to do! Do it with style!’ That message. And then there’s a beep. And then you talk.”

“That wasn’t you?” Aziraphale blinked. “I thought that was how you answered the telephone. You nearly always answer with that.”

Crowley was dumbfounded. He stared at Aziraphale, his mouth hanging wide open before the beginnings of a hundred different thoughts he had about that statement all tried to force their way out at once and left him with a garbled mess of sounds in place of anything even semi-coherent.[2]

“You thought that was me?” he exclaimed incredulously. His glasses slipped down slightly from the bridge of his nose as his eyebrows raised towards his hairline, revealing a glimpse of surprised yellow eyes underneath. “Angel, did it never once occur to you that I wasn’t speaking back? That’s a recording and it records you so I can hear it later and I know what you called for.”

“I thought you were listening!” Aziraphale answered indignantly, feeling his cheeks pinken in embarrassment. “How was I supposed to know it wasn’t you?” he said, making a very elaborate hand gesture at all of Crowley.

“The – I – uh – I – ah – mm,” Crowley said elegantly, pinching the bridge of his nose with his free hand, giving himself a brief reprieve to try and think his way through the tangled mess of possible answers to that that were bombarding the inside of his skull. He knew Aziraphale wasn’t exactly the most up-to-date on all the latest technologies but he hadn’t ever considered having to explain voicemail to him. Especially with the frequency at which Aziraphale filled up his answering machine.

“Okay,” he said slowly, holding up a finger in Aziraphale’s direction. “Let’s come back to that.” One thing at a time. They could circle back to voicemail later. “Just try the phone. I’ll show you how it works.”

“Crowley, why can’t I just keep the one I have? I know how to use it already,” Aziraphale whined.

“You said that about carrier pigeons too. Please, angel,” Crowley pleaded, his voice softening. That in itself was odd enough to catch Aziraphale’s attention. His focus shifted from the abhorrence of having to look foolish while Crowley patiently talked him through the usage of a phone (again) to the demon holding the phone outstretched between them. He looked tired all of a sudden. His face had gone pale and drawn and his whole body slouched, or slouched more than it usually was. His shoulders were slumped in a way that suggested he wanted to crawl into a deep, dark hole and possibly not see daylight for the next twenty years or so. The sight of it made Aziraphale’s heart squeeze painfully in his chest.

“Crowley,” he started gently and Crowley sighed silently, letting the arm that was holding the phone box up to Aziraphale drop back to his side. “Why do you want me to have this?”

He looked up at Aziraphale shiftily over the rim of his glasses and averted his eyes again as his stomach sank into his shoes. He considered lying. It would be so easy to make something up, to tease the angel about how he was living in this century and maybe he should try and catch up with some of the technology before the next one came around and maybe, before, he would have. But after the almost-Apocalypse had come and gone, well, he had already faced the worst thing that could ever happen to him, had even thought it was real for a while and he couldn’t face it again. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t ever go through it again. So what if he was being a little bit paranoid? Sue him. At least this way, he could always be in touch with Aziraphale and the angel could always reach him and if something ever went horribly wrong again, then Crowley could at least know about it instead of stumbling into his best friend’s burning bookshop and not being able to find him. At least he would know.

Aziraphale must have been able to sense Crowley’s distress because the next thing he knew, Aziraphale had taken his free hand in his, locking their fingers together and was rubbing tiny circles into the back of his hand with his thumb. Crowley glanced down at their intertwined hands and forgot himself. He blinked. Everything else in the world had fallen away around them until all that was left was the two of them, floating in their own little space, holding hands of all things. It was the most preposterous thing Crowley had ever witnessed and it was making his heart thud wildly in his ears.

“All right, dear,” Aziraphale murmured with a smile so gentle, it could have made flowers bloom. “Show me how this mobile device works.”

[1]In his defence, that had almost happened on one occasion when Crowley had fallen asleep in a drunken stupor in his snake form and Aziraphale had accidentally disturbed some boxes next to him and frightened the life out of him. Neither of them speak of it. [back to story]

[2]See also: ‘ashdgajfgash’ or ‘keyboard smash’ sounds. [back to story]

#Crowley #Aziraphale #good omens #ineffable husbands #fic #ficlet #fluff #domestic #maybe a hint of angst briefly mentioned but we just skip right over that #apologies to mobile users #apparently the hyperlinks don't work there #whoops

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