#Crowley would put it where only he could find it so aziraphale would never know how much it meant to him

[ineffableteeth]

I wonder if Aziraphale gave Crowley any gifts, in 6000 years he must’ve right?

If Aziraphale has one of Crowleys feathers maybe Crowley has one of his

Perhaps he keeps it hidden in a compartment in the Bentley so he has it wherever he goes

[i-only-ever-asked-questions]

Map of Soho Good Omens Season 2 - Part 1 (Location and general map)

Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Update: Map now identifies Lucky Snake and the coffee shop listed in Aziraphale's clipboard may indeed be Give Me Coffee I think we all have wondered how the GO Soho looks like and where it would be in real London. So using all the screenshots, BTS pictures and videos I could find I did my best to map out where things are. It is not to scale but everything I could see is there. I originally had all the pictures and explanations in this post but soon it became obvious it was going to be too long and impractical so I had to split it in different posts and I hope I got it right. The map has five reference points (circle with two diverging lines); imagine the circle is you, standing in the set, and the lines are your viewpoint if you were taking a picture from there. The left side of Whickber Street (#1 and #2) is in Part 2, the intersecting street (#3 and #4) is in Part 3 and the right half of Whickber Street (#5) is in Part 4.

As to where the bookshop would be in real London. We know that Whickber Street is supposed to be Berwick Street so let's start there. The intersecting street is not obvious from the show. In this post Neil said he imagines the bookshop to be where Gosh! Comics is (Peter Street) while Michael Ralph and Douglas McKinnon probably put it at The Week (on Broadwick Street). Because it is ambiguous and really you can do whatever you want, I just left it as "intersecting street". We know from the book that Crowley takes Wardour Street after the bookshop fire. Wardour is behind Berwick so in our map it would be where the Chinese Buffet Restaurant is, considering they run more or less parallel. On the other side, we have the Windmill Theatre located on Great Windmill Street. From Berwick St. and Peter St. it takes three minutes to walk to the theatre, it is that close! (yes, I know, Crowley was conducting business two blocks from the bookshop while not talking to Aziraphale for 80 years). I have never been in that part of London so I used Google Maps streetview and based only on that, I like the corner of Berwick St. and Broadwick St. better. It has the crooked intersection but the proximity of the theatre matches Peter St. better, so whatever works better for you!

There is one place missing from the set map though: Brown's World of Carpets! It is nowhere to be found, we simply don't know where it is My very personal headcanon is that it is nothing but a desk inside the furniture store. I find that idea of the guy most worried about storefront looks being the one without a storefront very amusing, but don't mind me, it is just my very silly hc XD Now, we know Aziraphale has a list for the shops he needs to visit. And we know he wrote it in alphabetical order which begs the question: Where is the Dirty Donkey?! Are they not invited? And what about the fabric shop? And Bilton Scaggs? Battye and Palm? The News Agency? Is "Mo Coffee? No Coffee?" supposed to be Give Me Coffee or Give Me Death? Or is there another coffee shop somewhere? @crow-bee23 suggested it could be "Me Coffee" which it is entirely possible, the full name is kind of long. So many questions to ask Mr. Brown.

Anyway, I put pictures and details on the shops in parts 2, 3 and 4. Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

[actual-changeling]

Crowley moves into the bookshop purely because he returns the next day to make sure Muriel isn't setting it on fire or selling books, and then - never leaves.

Mind you, a part of him was gritting its teeth and trying to force him back into the Bentley, back to his cold, lonely Mayfair flat, back to a bed that could swallow him whole, back to nothing.

The bookshop, on the other hand, is everything. It is memories, wine-drunk, clumsy touches they both pretend didn't mean anything, hours saturated with soft chatter and candle smoke, Aziraphale's cologne, still the same, and his books. Crowley knows the place and name of every single one; he knows when he bought it, why he bought it, how many times he has read it, and if he would ever sell it (the answer is a resounding 'no').

It is Aziraphale as much as his vest, coat, and tartan patterns are him. as much as the breath in his lungs and the angel on the tip of his tongue are him. It is a fragile fantasy of what could have been and what they almost had.

So yes, Crowley moves into the bookshop, Muriel sells no books, and sometimes, when the wine bottles go empty too quickly and too early in the evening, he closes his eyes and pretends.

"...and that was when he..."

Crowley isn't really listening anymore, contentedly sprawled across the couch and occasionally taking another sip from his half-empty glass. Watching him talk has the same appeal as watching him eat: the damp slide of his lips, his tongue darting out, the reverence with which he shapes his vowels and consonants.

He shuffles closer to the backrest when his hips threaten to slide straight off the cushions, and Aziraphale pauses, eyes locked on his exposed collarbone as his shirt refuses to move with him.

It is warm, too warm, the candles are almost close to burning down into puddles of wax; and they have been on the wrong side of midnight for a while now. For a few seconds, Crowley allows himself to indulge.

Never breaking eye contact, he could gracefully push himself upright (shut up, let him have this; we all know he'd look about as graceful as a newborn foal) and slink over to Aziraphale, who is sitting frozen in his armchair.

He could pluck his wine glass from his grasp and put it right next to his own, swallowing when he licks a lingering drop of red from his bottom lip. He could lower himself onto his lap, thighs spread apart and bracketing his, and he could press his fingers to his flushed cheeks and gently pull him in.

Crowley could kiss him and taste their shared wine, the lamb roast he had for dinner, and the vanilla cupcake, which watching him eat almost drove Crowley insane. Beneath it all, a spark of fresh air and ozone; lightning and power prickling right beneath his skin.

Crowley could kiss him, and Aziraphale would kiss him back, and the world would finally be alright.

"Are you alright, dear boy?"

Crowley hasn't moved, Aziraphale has picked up where he left off, and they're five feet apart, but it might as well be an ocean.

"'think I've had enough to drink," he mutters, and when the disappointment in his angel's eyes hits, he gets up (clumsy, not graceful, panicked, and attempting to flee) and is gone before Aziraphale has a chance to stop him.

Crowley's head hurts something awful, and he blinks himself out of his stupor, ignoring the cooling track of tears on his cheeks. Aziraphale is gone, he reminds himself, and he reaches for another bottle without taking his eyes off the empty armchair staring him down.

Crowley kissed him, and he kissed back for one marvellous second, and then the world was not alright.

And then he left.

The lights are off, as they always are nowadays, and so he drinks as much as he can in one go and falls back with creeping dizziness in his periphery.

Crowley's eyes flutter close on their own volition, and so he rewinds and rewinds until he finds the one fantasy where everything turns out alright.

It's the one that hurts the most.

It's the only one he watches over and over again.

[bi-bard]

When a Demon Stumbles onto the Doorstep of a Bookshop - Crowley Imagine [Good Omens]

Title: When a Demon Stumbles onto the Doorstep of a Bookshop

Pairing: Crowley X Reader

Word Count: 1,944 words

Warning(s): **SEASON 2 SPOILERS** mention of abandonment, drunk character

Summary: [Post-Season 2] After Aziraphale's departure, (Y/n) joins Muriel in the goal of taking care of the bookshop and the tasks that may come with that. One of those many tasks includes being prepared for the moment that a familiar demon finds his way to the doorstep at odd hours of the night.

Author's Note: Listen. I said that I was going to focus on my writing challenges. I know. But someone made this headcanon on Tiktok and I couldn't shake it. If anyone has the user, please let me know because I cannot find it, but I might also just be stupid.

-------------------

When I first found Muriel in charge of Aziraphale's bookshop, I knew that I needed to step in and help where I could.

Well, that's not quite right.

I actually started off very scared.

After what had happened the night before that with the legion of demons coming to attack and Crowley ushering everyone away from the building, I knew that I needed answers. The only way to get those answers was to get back to the bookshop when the coast seemed to be clear.

If I had slammed the doors open any harder, then they would have surely popped off the hinges.

What I saw was Muriel standing in the middle of the room with a stack of books in their hands. They jumped at the sudden noise, quickly scrambling to keep from dropping the books.

"Oh, you scared me," they said before placing the books on the table. "Hello!"

"Who are you," I asked, ignoring any introduction.

"I am a human police officer," they motioned down at their all-white uniform. Angel. Got it. "And bookshop owner... now."

"Where's Aziraphale?"

"Oh, just... off."

That was the very moment that my fear turned to annoyance and anger. "Off?"

"Yeah... y'know, off."

"Where?"

"Oh, well..."

I stepped forward. "Listen. Aziraphale has been one of the dearest in my life for years now. I know about the angel thing. I know about demons that were here last night. Hell, I know about the failed apocalypse. So, when I hear that he's 'off' and has left his beloved bookshop in the charge of some random angel that I've never seen, I get very upset and very worried. I suggest that you tell me what happened to him."

"I can't-"

"And I suggest that you do it quick because he is not the only celestial being that I have on speed dial."

That seemed to be the only push that Muriel needed to tell me everything that had happened while I was gone. Gabriel's memories coming back, Gabriel and Beelzebub running off together, the offer that Aziraphale had taken, and the one that Crowley had apparently turned down. All of it. Well, as much as Muriel knew at the time.

I stood there for a few moments. Stunned into silence.

"Are you-"

"He didn't even say goodbye," I muttered.

"Well, the Metatron seemed very insistent that he needed to go right away- where are you going?"

I had already turned around and walked out of the bookshop again. I looked down the street before going to grab my phone. I frantically clicked Crowley's contact.

It rang a few times before going to voicemail.

"Crowley," I murmured. "Please, answer. Please. I... I found out about Aziraphale and I... I don't know what to do or where to go. Please."

I hung up and walked a little further down the road, wiping my eyes as tears started falling.

The moment that I went to call him a second time, I heard a car engine racing closer to me. I looked down the road to see the all too familiar Bentley pulling up to the curb next to me.

I put my phone away as he got out of the car.

"Crowley-"

I was cut off by him pulling me into a hug. I hid my face in his shoulder for a moment.

"He didn't even say goodbye," I repeated pathetically.

"Trust me, it would've been worse if he had."

It was then that I knew that we were losing the same person, yet grieving two very different things.

After that day, I made myself a new home in the room that had previously been used by "Jim". I had thrown a bit of a fit about the bookshop being entrusted to some random angel instead of a friend. Muriel was kind enough to let me stay. I think that they needed the help, but I was willing to call it merely an act of kindness if it made them feel better.

I didn't know how beneficial my presence would be in the shop.

I knew that I could help organize and clean. I could protect Aziraphale's precious books and keep Maggie's record shop safe. I could try to teach Muriel how to appear more human. I knew that stuff.

I never expected to become accustomed to Crowley turning up at odd hours of the night, often- if not always- drunk.

He would knock on the door or just barge in, yelling for Aziraphale. He wouldn't stop until I had gone down there and broke the news to him that Aziraphale may not come back. That he might be staying in Heaven forever and we may never be able to see him again.

It hurt. And I imagine that it always will. Having to put him to rest on the couch or watch him stumble back outside.

He always wore his glasses, but the heartbreak was so clear that it passed the lenses too easily.

It was one of those nights that he told me the truth of what happened before Aziraphale left. What happened between them.

I had been startled awake by the loud sound of the door slamming open and shut.

I walked out of my room immediately. Muriel stepped out, but I held a hand out. I had been taking care of this since it all started. I wasn't going to stop now.

I walked downstairs, hearing Crowley calling for his angel as I made it downstairs.

"Angel!" he was spinning in circles as he yelled. "I know that you can hear me! Come here and talk to me!"

"Crowley," I said gently as I approached him. "Stop it."

"Angel!"

"Stop it!"

He didn't listen to me, instead still walking around and spinning as he yelled for Aziraphale to just talk to him.

He didn't stop until I grabbed his wrists and forced him to look at me.

"Stop, Crowley," I tried to keep my voice firm. "This is not going to get Aziraphale to come back! I don't even think that he can hear you! Stop it!"

The demon fell quiet as he stared at me. There was a long pause between us. I immediately began to question what I had said. I was constantly terrified of being too harsh. I didn't want to be some additional reason for Crowley to be hopeless over the whole event.

I grabbed the wine bottle that was sitting in his hand before placing it on the table nearby. "Come on... you're staying here tonight."

He didn't follow me when I tried to drag him over to the small couch.

"Crowley..."

"I don't... I don't want to sleep on that couch."

I frowned at him. "I'm not letting you sleep in your car right now, Crowley."

We both stopped. I had learned a lot about stubbornness over the course of my friendship with Crowley. And he knew that. And I'm certain that some part of him despised teaching me that skill.

"Come on," I said, dragging him toward the staircase. He followed me begrudgingly.

I pulled him to my room and motioned to the small bed in there.

"Go on," I pushed when he didn't move at first.

I heard him grumbling under his breath as he walked over. He somewhat flopped on the mattress, and I shook my head as I went to pull the blanket over him.

"Better?"

"Yeah, sure," he grumbled.

"Want to take off your glasses-"

"Leave them."

He hadn't taken off his glasses in front of me since Aziraphale left. Not that he often did anyway.

I took a deep breath and went to walk away.

"Would you...," he trailed off.

"What," I asked.

"Nothing. Never mind."

There's that stubbornness and closed-off attitude. "What is it, Crowley?"

"Would you stay?" he finally muttered.

"Just stay in here? Sure-"

"I meant lay with me. Please."

I glanced at the minimal empty space next to him for a moment. "Are you sure that you'd be comfortable with that?"

"I'm a demon. I have spent my nights in far more uncomfortable places than a small bed."

One day, I would need to question him on those 'I'm a demon' excuses.

I awkwardly shifted my way under the covers, fixing them over him as I did so. After a few more awkward moments, I reached out and wrapped my arms around his torso quietly. I expected some grumbling or some kind of fight. Nothing happened. Instead, Crowley merely sighed and seemed to relax into the pillow more.

I spent some time thinking. Mainly about whether or not demons actually had any need for sleep or for blankets to keep warm. I had thought about it before.

There was plenty that I knew.

I knew that food was more of a luxury than it was a necessity. I knew that they had a lot more control over things around me than I thought before. I knew that they could travel to and from Hell with a particular elevator or particular stairways.

I also knew that Crowley had the ability to sober himself up in an instant.

He had shown me that trick ages ago because I was curious.

So, when he began showing up at the bookshop while completely drunk, I questioned why he wouldn't sober himself up when on the couch or in his car or on any occasion like this.

It didn't take me very long to figure out why that was the case.

It was grief.

Not just normal grief, but grief for someone who was still very much living and breathing.

There was something so much worse about grieving someone who wasn't even dead yet.

When they aren't dead, there's always some remaining shred of hope that they will choose to come back. Which should be comforting, in theory. But when they don't come back... it only feels like a constant reminder that you truly may not be enough for them to fight for or want to fight for.

I could only guess that those thoughts were going through Crowley's mind because they were going through my mind.

"I kissed him."

My ears pricked up at his sudden words. "What?"

"I kissed him," Crowley repeated.

I knew that Crowley and Aziraphale loved each other. It was painfully obvious. I always thought that one of them finally saying something about it would have a dramatically different ending. I imagined them both hiding away in the bookshop. Not much changing... just what was normal for Aziraphale and Crowley but with a little more hand-holding. Not this.

I took a deep breath. "When?"

"After I rejected his offer to become an angel," he explained. "He had told me all about the Metatron's plan. I would have rejected it no matter what, but I had just been scolded by Nina and Maggie for not telling Aziraphale about how I felt. It just... It felt like the only chance that I had left to get him to stay."

I wondered if Crowley was telling me this because he trusted me or if it was merely because he was drunk.

"I miss him."

"I know," I muttered, hugging him a little tighter. "I miss him too."

I closed my eyes as I did that.

What else could I offer?

There was so much that I could understand. So much that I could offer him in terms of help and comfort. All I could do was hope that everything would eventually work itself out.

And at that point, that hope was getting harder and harder to hold onto.

Maybe some force in the universe would keep me from letting go of it completely. Eventually.

-------------------

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[takeme-totheworld]

You Can't Go Home Again

I'm someone who walked away from my childhood religion almost twenty years ago, and I'm very firmly at a place in my life now where I am very happy to be through with it and have zero lingering desire to go back. I've also been out as some kind of queer person for the same almost-twenty years, and I've been out as trans for almost fifteen of those years.

If you knew absolutely nothing else about me or my life except for those major plot points, and the fact that I'm a Good Omens fan, it would be reasonable to assume that I would identify with Crowley far more than Aziraphale. At least at this point in my life. And in fact, I've seen many fans with backgrounds similar to mine say that they used to be much more like Aziraphale when they were younger, but nowadays they see far more of themself in Crowley. Which makes sense, as a trajectory for people who grew up in controlling religions and then left!

I've been trying to figure out what it is about me that makes me so automatically take Aziraphale's perspective when watching this show, even though the most aggressively Aziraphale time of my life was literal decades ago now. And I think that's probably a very complicated answer, but I realized today that I see an emotional struggle happening in him that I still wrestled with for years and years after leaving the church before I was finally able to completely put it to rest—the struggle to accept that some things can never go back to the way they were.

I seriously suffered so much over this for so long after I left the church. Despite all the damage it had done to me, my entire life had been intertwined with the church and a lot of things that were good—or at least deeply comforting in their familiarity—had also been a part of that. I had plenty of genuinely happy memories all mixed together with the harmful ones (which, in case you were wondering, is confusing as hell). There were fundamental human needs that I had only ever gotten met through the church, and as double-edged as what the church provided was, it was all I knew. Learning to get those needs met in new ways was much healthier, but it wasn't what I had always known growing up and it was a loss.

And I spent a long time refusing to fully accept that going back to any version of Christianity or the church just...wasn't ever going to be in the cards for me.

That is in the cards for some people, I know. Some folks who leave or get kicked out of ultra-dogmatic and controlling churches eventually find new homes in much more progressive and nurturing ones. And that's great! But that was never going to be my path. The process of seeing my childhood religion for what it truly was, losing my beliefs, leaving everything the church was to me further and further behind, and gradually learning who I was without it, changed me too much for me to ever be able to go back again.

I am fine with that now. More than fine. I'm healthier and happier now than I've ever been. Over time I grew into a version of myself that no longer has a church/religion/faith-shaped gaping wound in my life I'm trying to fill. But it was hard and painful and it took a really long time for me to get there. I spent a lot of my twenties and even a bit of my early thirties trying to find something...some new church community that I could be connected to in some way, that would give me back some of what I'd lost when I left my childhood church. But none of them ever did. I was never going to get the same things out of belonging to a church again, because I wasn't the same.

You can't go home again.

I see Aziraphale on that same journey and that's part of what makes my heart automatically go out to him and hurt for him, over and over again. He's still desperately holding onto the idea of a hypothetical version of Heaven and being an angel that can be home again one day. One where all the good things he remembers are still there, and still every bit as good, and all the bad parts have been fixed or gotten rid of, so that being there will be like the old times, only even nicer.

Except that even if he actually succeeded at somehow making Heaven the exact flavor of like-the-old-times-only-even-nicer that he is imagining, it wouldn't matter. Heaven is not his home anymore. He's already changed too much to be able to go back. He just hasn't accepted that yet.

[paperclipninja]

This thought struck me while I was driving and I don't know if it's a) tenuous at best, b) me finding meaning where there is none or c) possibly a thing. So naturally I'm going to throw it out there as a possible maybe-theory/foreshadowing.

As we all know, this handshake moment in the magic shop in s2 has the sword very deliberately positioned right where Aziraphale and Crowley's hands meet and we see the three swords in Aziraphale's back as he moves forward.

And when Aziraphale walks back to the counter and Crowley turns to watch, we see three swords now towards Crowley's chest - it's nicely and clearly pointed out with pictures in this post by @newfangledfancy

As many have noted, if Good Omens is anything, it is deliberate in its choices, especially when we're looking at something as obvious as this. What exactly it means, we'll no doubt find out later, but it certainly seems somewhat ominous and foreshadowing, with the sword down the middle arguably already in play with the separation of Crowley and Aziraphale at the end of s2.

My take? The sword in the middle is the breaking our two faves apart, the swords in Aziraphale's back are an indication of betrayal by Heaven (he still trusts they are the 'good guys') and the swords to the front of Crowley, to me, is indicative that part of that betrayal will involve trying to harm/destroy/get rid of Crowley.

The 'offer' to reinstate Crowley to angel status was such utter piffle (sorry, couldn't help it) because the Metatron knew he'd never go for it, but it also served another purpose; to lead Aziraphale to think he'd misjudged the Metatron (even if Aziraphale didn't really think that and doesn't have a choice about returning to Heaven, I do think part of him still also believes the system can be changed from within).

That extremely pointed, horrible look that the Metatron shoots Crowley just before he and Aziraphale leave the bookshop to go discuss the promotion (with accompanying danger music and all), you know, this one:

reveals to us that this performance the Metatron is putting on for Aziraphale really is just that, a performance. He wants Aziraphale to think he's misjudged him, I'm sure he was hoping he could convince Aziraphale to trust him. I think the angel is too clever to fully trust the Metatron, but what it does do is maintain Aziraphale's trust in Heaven and, I believe, the possibility he could make a difference.

So why the offer that Crowley could come to Heaven too? Yes, to entice Aziraphale but also, the offer makes it seem as though the Metatron has no gripe with the demon after all. It may be 'irregular', but he was willing to let Crowley be reinstated, it puts any notion of the Metatron potentially wanting to hurt Crowley off Aziraphale's radar (at least for now).

It's interesting too, in the 1941 magic shop scene, that the swords appear to be going into Crowley only once Aziraphale has moved past him, has his back to him. If I was following the separate, betray, destroy sequence of the sword set up, then I'd take that to suggest that any move against Crowley will happen while Aziraphale has his back turned, so to speak, and can you imagine the kind of fury that would unleash in our no. 1 angel? Coz I can and it is amazing! But I digress...

While speculation is fun (so, so much fun) and all, the point, the POINT of this rambling post was to say that if indeed that 1941 magic shop sequence is foreshadowing Aziraphale being 'stabbed in the back' and Crowley attacked in some way, it's not the first time we've seen a potential nod to that.

Look it may be entirely coincidental but I have to say, there is mighty similar symbolism right back in s1 when Aziraphale and Crowley are hit with the paintballs. Where does the pellet land on Aziraphale? On his back (and how, from where he's standing? Is there someone behind him??). And where does Crowley cop the 'bullet'? Right there in the chest.

I just wouldn't put it past this show to have planted the seed that early on. And look, if it's nothing of the sort, then they're just fantastic stand alone sequences. That's the greatest thing about Good Omens, if it was a Clue, then it's amazing and if it's not, it was still amazing. We simply cannot lose.

[onceuponapuffin]

Fanatic Intervention Part 7!!!

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It will not surprise you at all, dear Reader, to learn that Aziraphale keeps very little in his kitchen cupboards. There is no stove or oven, and the only thing in the fridge is milk (for his tea no doubt). When you start opening cupboards, you find one pack of custard creams, and a second one of chocolate digestives. Well, it will have to do. You find yourself a small plate and fill it half and half before heading back into the shop just in time to say goodbye to Anathema and Newt.

As they leave, you turn to the supernatural entities in the room.

“So,” You say, “If we’re going to the States, then we have a few problems. First, I don’t have my passport or any ID at all, so airport security is going to be fun. Second, I have no money. Third, I’m gonna need a Walmart or something because I don’t even have a toothbrush, my dudes. Fourth, these,” You indicate the cookies, “are fine for a snack, but overall they’re not gonna cut it.”

“You just leave the airport security to us,” Aziraphale replies. You make a note that he glided right past ‘my dudes,’ they’re getting used to you already. Dammit. “As for the rest of it,” Aziraphale continues, “I suppose a trip to Tesco’s is in order.”

Crowley produces a shiny black credit card from nowhere and hands it to you. “We’ll take the Bentley,” he says. He starts to stand, but you shake your head.

“Nuh-uh, you both stay here,” You say. Crowley raises his eyebrow.

“You realize we can take care of ourselves,” he says, “We’ve been doing it for a few millennia.”

“I’m not talking about that,” You say, “Look, what we’re going into is really dangerous. And I know that your pattern is to just wait to talk about things until you’re in the clear, but that’s not a good idea anymore. I mean, I get that I’m not exactly an expert, but I read just as much as you do and I’ve heard a million stories by this point in my life, and in NONE of them do people ever say ‘I’m so glad I never told them how I feel’ - you know? It’s always ‘I wish I would have’ or ‘I should have told them every day.’ So Muriel and I will go ask Maggie to take us to Tesco, and you two need to talk. Please. While it’s safe, while you have the chance, before things get dangerous and possibly deadly.”

Crowley and Aziraphale are silent. You notice that they aren’t looking at each other. Well, you’ve done your best. Now you need to trust them.

At this point, dear Reader, you are probably thinking to yourself ‘well I would snoop and spy on them while they talk! I want to watch them make out!’ But here is the thing – in this world they are real people, not characters. It’s one thing to say that you would creep on them from the other side of this fiction, but when they’re very real and looking at you in person, things are a little different. For one thing, you realize that real people deserve things like boundaries and privacy, especially for sensitive conversations.

And so, you take Muriel over to Maggie’s shop, where you explain that Mr. Fell has sent the two of you on an errand and you need to stop for dinner somewhere and have no idea where anything is. You flash her the credit card and say ‘It’s all on me,’ and she conveniently agrees with a look on her face that says something like ‘least they could do after all that shit they put us through.’

So the three of you go for dinner at the nearest Weatherspoons, where you and Maggie eat while Muriel watches in morbid fascination. Then you all take the bus to Tesco where you buy yourself a small wardrobe, and manage to coax Muriel into some light blue jeans and an argyle jumper so they look a little less like the Beacon of Gondor. You quickly find out that Muriel has an adorable fascination with fuzzy socks, novelty mugs, and coloured pencils. Of course, you enable their fascinations with a happy heart, and as an afterthought, you grab them a small pot of orange daisies from the flower section. It will give them something alive to tend to while you’re gone. Muriel appreciates the thought. All in all, it’s a long but good time.

You don’t know about the talk, and you’re worried about asking when you get back.

THAT BEING SAID

You and I, dear Reader, not actually being in that world, are allowed certain privileges.

The bookshop is silent for a long time. Both of them are thinking, digesting, processing. Feelings are hard to feel, and harder to put into words. Especially when it has been made clear, twice now in the span of a number of hours, that you absolutely need to put them into words.

It isn’t until after Crowley notices you, Muriel, and Maggie heading down the street that he stands up and begins to pace. A few more minutes pass before he speaks.

“So...uhm...are you going to go first or should I?”

“Are we...are we actually going to do this? Have this talk I mean?” Aziraphale has been shelving books to try and take the edge off. Now he puts down the book in his hands and absent-mindedly fidgets with his ring.

“Well, I mean we don’t have to,” Crowley says, aiming for non-chalance and missing ever-so-slightly, “No one can actually make us.”

“Yes, except it feels very much like everyone is trying to.”

“Trying is the key word there.”

“That’s true enough I suppose.”

The silence returns and stretches. It is anything but comfortable. The air is full of words that they have been told they should say, words that perhaps they want to say, but words that have been dammed up with fear and uncertainty for so long now that they’ve become very hard to un-stick. After a while, Aziraphale clears his throat and speaks.

“I, erm, I suppose you had better go first.”

“Me, right, okay.” Crowley clears his throat now and stops his pacing near the desk. He looks down at the scattered papers and books, the pens and photos and newspaper clippings. The assorted clutter of Aziraphale’s life. Looking away makes it easier to start. He takes a breath. “Um..right...well...we’ve known each other a long time. We’ve been on this planet a long time – you and me, I mean. I’ve always been able to rely on you, and you’ve always relied on me,” another breath, “We’re a team, yeah? A group of the two of us. And...erm...we pretend that we aren’t. Always have. Safer that way I guess.” He looks up at Aziraphale. The angel isn’t looking at him, but he nods anyway to show that he’s listening. Crowley continues. “And I mean...I’ve tried not to think about it much before but...but it would be nice, I mean, UGH” He takes off his sunglasses and rubs a hand over his eyes as though he can massage the words and make them easier to say. “I mean, I would like to spend...mmm….I would like to spend the rest not pretending anymore. Be an us. I mean,” suddenly the dam breaks, and Crowley finds the words come tumbling out, “If Gabriel and Beelzebub can do it, we can. We don’t need Heaven or Hell, they’re both toxic. We can be an us, on our side. You and me. What do you say?” He looks at Aziraphale without reservation now. His angel looks back at him, eyes wide. When he does speak, it’s with a smile and a small nod of acknowledgment rather than agreement.

“That was very well done Crowley,” he says. This isn’t an answer.

“Nnyeah, thanks. Your turn though.”

“Right, I suppose it is.” Aziraphale takes a moment to gather himself. After hearing Crowley be so open about this, he feels more resolved himself to do this properly. He faces Crowley and folds his hands to keep himself grounded. “Crowley,” he begins, “I...I wish that this conversation were happening under better circumstances. Although it’s been pointed out that ideal circumstances aren’t a promise that we can wait around for. Well, the thing is that I would like the same thing. Very much in fact. My biggest concern by far is for your safety because, well, frankly I don’t see the point in saving the world again if you’re not around to enjoy it with me. An us, as you said. You and me.” He smiles. Crowley smiles.

“Guess we’d better save the world together then. And try not to die.”

“Yes, quite.”

“Aziraphale?”

“Yes, Crowley?”

“You’re my angel. No one else.”

“And you, my wiley serpent. No one else.”

The shop bell dings.

“We’re baaaaaack!” You sing as you waltz through the door, shopping bags in hand. Muriel follows after you, carefully carrying their daisies. “Did you miss us?”

When you eventually get the courage to ask them about their talk later, you get a “ngk” from Crowley, and a “We’ve said all that needs to be said, for now.” from Aziraphale. And that, you suppose, will have to do.

❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ 🖤

Beginning|| Previous || Next

[indigovigilance]

The Erasure of Human!Metatron

The elephant in the room is that Neil has [purportedly] denied the existence of a human Metatron. But I, for one, think an elephant really ties the room together. So let's get started.

First, I will address Neil Gaiman’s apparent denial of the Human!Metatron storyline (below the cut):

Caption: The Metatron in Good Omens wasn't ever human.

Which would seem to put the debate to bed.

Except.

Caption: That’s not really his father. It is. It is now, and it always was.

By Adam renouncing Satan as his father, we have in-story canon evidence that the past can be retroactively changed. So a storyline past can be divergent from an in-world past which has been modified. But only to a degree, because Aziraphale and Crowley clearly remember that Adam ~was~ Satan’s son, and Adam still retains some residual powers. Like pencil marks on paper, the past can be erased, but the shadow of its former self will always be there. But if that's not enough for you, there's also...

Lucifer!Satan

Neil Gaiman has also been pretty consistent with this characterization about the non-existence of the past in other characters, for example Lucifer!Satan:

Basically (not to be rude), if you think that these statements can be taken to mean that we will definitely not get a story about Enoch aka Human!Metatron in S3, you have fundamentally misunderstood how time, history, and identity work in Neil Gaiman’s Good Omens universe.

So what Neil said about Metatron never being human… can we just collectively set that aside for a moment?

Caption: Work with me, I’m extrapolating here. Yes? Good. Read the rest of the meta.

Evidence of Human!Metatron

Now that we have established that a former, no-longer-existing version of Metatron could have been human, let’s examine the in-world evidence. The best direct evidence is:

Caption: I’ve ingested things in my time, you know.

This is weirdly important in the Book of Enoch. Food is mentioned in the Book of Enoch at least fourteen times, and consistently it is associated with being human, and having earthly desires, and subsequently with sin, whereas the angels are described as not needing to eat food but instead being nourished by faith alone. Enoch!Metatron’s own relationship with food is also explicitly elucidated:

Enoch answered to his son Mathosalam (and) said: Hear, child, from the time when the Lord anointed me with the ointment of his glory, (there has been no) food in me, and my soul remembers not earthly enjoyment, neither do I want anything earthly.

I propose that "in my time" is a direct reference to Metatron's prior existence as a human, and the fact that this time is over serves to underscore his current inhumanity, making him all the more sinister.

Other Evidence Pointing to Book of Enoch

This next bit is somewhat dubious evidence, but the entire reason I wound up investigating this is that I was actually investigating Baraqiel:

…and for the God-fearing life of me, I cannot find any reference to Baraqiel except in the Book of Enoch. So this is a pretty big ✨Clue✨ to just leave hanging out there if it’s not supposed to lead us to this text.

The Scottish Mason

Okay guys, this the part where it all comes unhinged, but I promise the payoff is worth it.

The Book of Enoch was recovered from Ethiopia in 1773 by a Scottish explorer named James Bruce, who also happened to be a Mason. In 1774, upon his return, he was made a Fellow of The Royal Society of Edinburgh. And if this quote doesn’t get you, I don’t know what will:

Amazingly, Bruce brings back not just one copy, nor two, but three! Three copies of this text, which was previously thought to have been lost to the West forever. This inevitably led to all kinds of accusations as to where he had come by them, and more importantly how? Add to this that Bruce was a Mason in one of the most influential lodges, a Bruce descendant, and an imposing physical figure and 6 feet 4 inches tall, with dark red hair and an irascible temper, it is no wonder that so much excitement and mystery surrounded the man. [source]

So, you know, this guy:

In summary:

There are reasons that we should be looking to the Book of Enoch, and the story surrounding its reintroduction to the Western world, as source evidence for Good Omens S3.

If you enjoyed this, you may also like my meta on Baraqiel and Azazel, which draws upon the Book of Enoch.

My original (in retrospect, kind of terrible) Metatron meta is here.

[aziraphales-library]

Hi mods! I'm new to the fandom so I was shocked seeing the AO3 tag for the first time. Largest fandom I've joined by far (difference in fic count is in the tens of thousands), so thank you so much for your hard work!! After finishing S2 I've read great fics where Aziraphale apologizes/decides he made the wrong choice, but I've had difficulty finding fics with a POV that A + C were both asking the impossible of one another. I was wondering if you have any s2 recs where that's explored? TY again!

Hello and welcome! Here are some fics in which they talk and both of them acknowledge mistakes...

undercover by Lilian (T)

Aziraphale seeks a broken Crowley out to talk to him again. This time they do slightly better. Story picks up right from where the show left us.

Three Kisses…and then Rabbits. by impatient14 (M)

The thing is, Crowley didn’t know. Not entirely, at least. Not in the same way he knew the measure of every nebula, the heartbeat of every star. He wasn’t given the tools–wasn’t afforded the right–to know. He’d thought around it, of course. He’d spent many a moment (or century) daydreaming impossible things. He’d read enough books and seen enough movies to feel pretty confident about the mechanics, at least. He’d even written a little scene or two himself–carefully vague, of course, and never to the extent of his mind’s vivid imagination. Given an Effort, his body responded the same way theirs do; it was all pleasant ache, shivering heat, and dazzling hope. And yet. When the moment came, it wasn’t what he was promised. *** Or, three kisses between and an angel and a demon.

the human custom of wrong love by pinklemonades (T)

He supposes he should’ve seen it coming from the moment they met in the garden when their lives became inextricably intertwined to the point of mutually assured destruction if either of them tried to leave. (or in which Aziraphale realizes that Heaven will never care for him the way he wanted them to, Crowley can’t figure out why he can’t let go and leave as easily as Aziraphale did, and the two lovers realize they need to learn how to love without hurting)

You must remember this by HolRose (T)

Aziraphale and Crowley have their extremely alcoholic breakfast at The Ritz at the angel’s invitation. Important conversations are had, harking back to their shared experience of one night in 1942. A canon-compliant fix-it fic.

only then i am human by Angelofsmalldeath69 (G)

When his phone rang he let out a squeak, heart stuttering. He stood up so fast his chair almost fell over, and paced for a moment before grabbing the phone. “Hello?” “Hello, Archangel. The demon has arrived! I’ve been asked to let you know.” Aziraphale screwed his eyes shut, holding the phone to his ear with both hands so it wouldn’t fall from his trembling grasp. He managed a thank you, set the phone down, and grabbed the edge of his desk to keep him upright. He could do this. So what if he was the worlds worst liar? Who cared about his awful case of stage fright? None of that mattered, not when it came to him. If he had to put on a show to keep his beloved safe then Goddamnit- this would be the greatest performance of his life.

- Mod D

[book-place]

Even the Strong Crumble

Warnings: good omens spoilers, let me know if I missed any :)

Pairings: Crowley x reader platonic

Request: Hello! Could I request something for Good Omens? I was thinking a platonic (can also not be but I guess it would work better) Crowley x reader where reader comforts Crowley when they find him crying after the end of season 2 and just gives him a hug and reassures him? I love him sm he’s a big comfort character of mine so I want to comfort him as well 🫶🏻

Request by: Anon

*not my gif*

Summary: One of your best friend is so broken up over your other best friend that it breaks your heart into thousands of pieces

A/N: I miss this show so much

Please don’t plagiarize my work, you may reblog if you like but I’m asking that you don’t steal my hard work

“Crowley?” You knocked lightly on the slightly opened door, peaking your head through and peering into the bedroom.

The demon quickly whipped around so his back was facing the door and you could only see his hands wiping furiously at his face before he quickly picked up his glasses and threw them on his face.

When he turned around, you felt your heart break into thousands of little pieces in your chest.

Though he tried to hide it, his face was red and tear-stained. His hair was tousled and his clothes were out of place.

Never in your hundreds of years of knowing Crowley had you ever seen him in such a state- so utterly distraught.

You had been an angel still when you met him all those years ago, freshly out of heaven for the first time.

Back then, you had been out to visit your old friend Aziraphale, and had been introduced to the red headed fellow. Not only that, but you had also been introduced to the wonders of the human world. Of the beauties and the joys.

In the process, you had fallen in love with the human world and all it had to offer.

So, instead of returning to heaven after your visit like you had intended, you stayed on earth and, to your slight surprise, nobody came looking for you.

It wasn’t as sad as it sounded, though, you had been an angel of no real importance, and now you could live out your long life on earth without the fear of heavens interjections.

Each year that passed, though you yourself stayed immortal, you found a part of you growing more and more human.

Though you had frequently stayed in touch with Crowley and Aziraphale, it wasn’t until recently that you all got together again. Ironically, to stop the impending apocalypse.

Now, after doomsday had been sidestepped, you and your two friends found yourselves going on more and more adventures together, hardly being without the other two.

Now, though, Aziraphale had left with Metatron to Heaven, leaving you and Crowley behind.

You don’t know the exact details of what had gone down, you had been out showing the city to Muriel for the day, but when you had returned to the bookshop and were met with the sight of a heartbroken Crowley and no Aziraphale, it hadn’t been long to put the pieces together.

Your two best friends had been obliviously pinning over each other for centuries, of course you knew what had no doubt taken place.

Instead of pushing a clearly distraught Crowley to tell you what had happened, you had given him his space with the promise of being there when he needed you.

Now, though, it had been a few hours, and the worry that had been eating away at you had grown unbearable.

“What?”

You knew he didn’t really mean to snap at you, so you didn’t hold it against him as you took a step further into the room.

A silence ensued for a moment as your sorrow filled eyes raked over his face.

“I’m so sorry, Crowley.” Your voice came out so soft when you spoke to the heartbroken demon, taking yet another step closer to him.

Though he didn’t protest, his body tensed up and he just stared at you silently.

He was on guard, afraid of letting you in. Afraid of being hurt again.

Wordlessly, you wrapped your arms around him, holding him to you in a loving and protective manner.

Almost insaltanously, he melted into your touch, his head falling to your shoulder and his arms wrapping around you as his body began to shake with sobs.

“I’m sorry,” You whispered again, tears of your own filling your eyes as you rubbed his back comfortingly.

You knew that after that day, nothing would ever be the same again.

No longer would it be the three of you against the world. Against heaven and hell alike.

“W-why didn’t he-”

You had never heard Crowley stutter in such a way, his voice wobbling as he did so.

In return, you held him tighter, “I don’t know.” You answered truthfully, your voice soft, “But I know that Aziraphale must be a damn fool for him to let something like this happen.”

Crowley sniffled, refusing to turn his head up and allow you to acknowledge his tear stained face.

“I’ve got you, Crowley,” You mumbled, a singular tear slipping down your face, “Always.”

Ineffable Husbands 😇- @popfishjr @etanordoesbullsh1t

[nightgoodomens]

So how about a one shot where Aziraphale realises he has hots for Crowley getting his hands dirty?

😈😈😈😈

Aziraphale decided that he really should have fallen a very long time ago.

He never out loud admitted that he was putting himself in danger to get Crowley to save him - or in other words - to see him. It would probably be seen as pathetic or blasphemous considering he was pretending to be a poor Angel in need of saving by a Demon. But Crowley always showed up and never judged him and Aziraphale wondered if he knew.

He probably did. Crowley was a cheeky bastard but for some reason never tried to tease him about this, so Aziraphale decided he went along with it because he liked saving him. Or he liked him.

Hey, it worked for every heroine in the book. That’s where he got the idea from in the first place. They were always saved by the handsome bad boy that was only soft for them. Aziraphale decided to test out the little fantasy - and it worked. He liked the feeling of being rescued, he always struggled to pretend that he doesn’t really need the help, because his face was probably beaming from happiness. It wasn’t just the rescuing, it was seeing the demon and knowing he might be able to spend a few hours in his company.

But those days were long over. Now he and that demon had their own cottage and there was nothing to be rescued from… apart from a neighbour who tried to stick her nose in their business and Crowley found it funny until she said a mean thing to Aziraphale and he snapped at her in a way that ensured she never bothered them again.

Aziraphale was content and happy. They really finally had their peace. And he had Crowley all for himself.

Things were so peaceful in fact that he forgot that Crowley was a tempting creature. Aziraphale was used to him, he knew his flirt, he knew the seduction. He was lucky to have all of this in his normal everyday life.

But what was infuriating was that Crowley didn’t know of all the ways he was seductive when he wasn’t trying.

Or perhaps Aziraphale really should have fallen because he had a goddamn dirty mind.

Six thousand years! This is how long he knew the demon for, but only when they got the cottage he found out that Crowley was very much into sorting things out himself. He worked on the Bentley. He fixed the boiler. He fixed their appliances. He was so good at figuring things out.

And Aziraphale should had been a good partner who appreciated having such a hands on partner. Instead he felt himself swallowing hard seeing him working without a T-shirt on, sweat and dirt smudged across the uncovered body, as he twisted his slim hips to get behind the old boiler which played up again.

Or… it might have been… Aziraphale who broke it.

Why was he finding it so hot?! It was Crowley! He was hot and sexy and Aziraphale could have him whenever he wanted since that demon was last to say no, cheeky grin on his face majority of the time. They had a lot of years to catch up on, that was their excuse.

Yet somehow that bloody snake was not catching up that Aziraphale was breaking things on purpose to see him twisting, half naked and dirty.

Not even when he convinced Bentley to suddenly start losing oil because good lord Crowley covered in black smudges.

“You know what?” Crowley spoke up, one hand on the boiler, hot, sweaty and dirty. “I think we need to call someone over. I am clearly doing something wrong if it keeps on breaking. We can’t live here like this, it gets so hot. I’m sweating! I’ve never sweat in my life!”

“What?” Aziraphale’s voice was way too high. “Don’t be ridiculous, you’re perfect.”

Crowley would have given him a surprised look normally, but he was too busy wondering what was wrong with the boiler.

Aziraphale wondered if his miracle was a bit too good this time. They were really getting too easy for him to do at this stage.

God, help me.

God was probably laughing her ass off at him.

“It’s not that hot.” Aziraphale waved his hand dismissively.

“Angel. We are melting.” Crowley looked at him surprised, finally.

His hair was stuck to his forehead.

God, forgive me, for I am going to sin so badly, Aziraphale breathed.

God was definitely laughing now.

“What’s up?” Crowley was suddenly right in front of his face. Aziraphale groaned. “You’re being really weird.”

Get the hint you bloody demon.

“I am not weird!” Aziraphale scoffed, trying to be offended but his hands were touching Crowley’s chest, so that didn’t work out.

“You’re going to get your hands dirty, Angel.” Crowley said, still not getting the hint.

“I don’t mind.”

Crowley looked confused for a moment, but he finally did get the hint -when Aziraphale’s hands reached his belt and pulled him closer.

“Angel.” Crowley’s face turned into that smug smirk that Aziraphale loved but would never admit it. “Are you trying to tell me you like me like this?”

“Only for the past three months, dear.” He unlocked his belt and threw it to the floor.

Crowley laughed delighted. “You’re the one who keeps on breaking everything.”

“Possibly.”

“Aziraphale.”

“Just take your pants off, Crowley.”

He wasn’t planning to worship God tonight.

[tossyouforedinburgh]

I wrote a little something just to cheer myself up and I thought instead of just writing it in my head I could maybe share it here.

----------------------------------------------

The angel and the demon had several completely unspoken rules about drinking together that they always obeyed.

Never sit on the same piece of furniture while drinking. Never give compliments while drinking. Never touch each other while drinking. If you feel the urge to do the above, sober up with immediate effect.

They had broken all of them.

"No, no my dear boy I have no idea what you're talking about," Aziraphale giggled and then hiccupped. "Tell me again." He slapped Crowley's thigh affectionately, and then left his hand there.

"It's... it's... well it's ineffable," Crowley stalled, trying to work out what he was in the middle of explaining. "It's... everything does it. Humans, animals, angels, demons... love! That was it. Yes." He was very proud of himself for remembering this key point, and he put his glass triumphantly on the table. Fortunately it was empty, or it would have gone all over the floor.

"Demons?" Aziraphale questioned. "Are you sure?"

"Yessss," Crowley demanded. "I AM a demon aren't I? I think I would know what demons do."

"Well, yes..." Aziraphale looked as thoughtful as one can while persistently hiccupping. "But... love?"

"Yes!" Crowley was beginning to get cross. "That's exactly what I'm saying. That's just the way of things. The way of the world. It just is. That wasn't my department, I don't know who was in charge of that side of things. Lucifer, maybe."

Aziraphale reached for his glass and discovered to his great disappointment that it was empty. He picked up the bottle and found that too, was empty. Where was all his wine going? He summoned another bottle from... somewhere. Apologies to the diners down the street who would have to pay a large bill and be accused of stealing a bottle that seemed to disappear from their table when they weren't looking.

After he took a large swig and spilled some of it down his front (Crowley miracled it away before the angel could notice; nobody needed the kind of sulk that came from Aziraphale finding red wine on his waistcoat after he sobered up), he lent forward conspiratorarily and asked, "who is it that you love, Crowley? I won't tell anyone, I'm tremendously good at keeping secrets."

Aziraphale didn't always know the difference between thinking in his head and speaking out loud in front of an audience. Too many Shakespearian asides had confused his brain, perhaps. Still, Crowley was quite drunk enough to think it was a good idea to share a secret.

"Come a bit closer and I'll show you," he said with a smirk and a raised eyebrow, which was somewhat ruined by the fact that his eyes clearly couldn't properly focus.

"Why do I need to... oh!"

Crowley's kiss landed somewhere nearer to Aziraphale's chin than his mouth, but the angel's hand still on his thigh helped to steady him and he found his lips fairly quickly, only very slightly drooling on his face. Aziraphale kissed him back with perhaps too much enthusiasm, and tasted of nothing but red wine, and they kissed for several minutes until Crowley started to feel too dizzy and needed to open his eyes.

"Oh that was lovely my dear," Aziraphale beamed, his cheeks even pinker than they had been before, and his hiccups seemingly cured. "So, tell me... who is it that you love?"

[zionworkzs]

Anyone ask for a needlessly long and emotional dissection of when and how Crowley and Aziraphale fell in love? No? Too bad.

I'm going to start with something controversial.

Aziraphale fell in love first.

To explain this, we gotta get a few things out of the way first.

FALLING in love and KNOWING you're in love are very different things. And the whole concept of LOVING someone and BEING IN LOVE are also different things.

Aziraphale LOVES Crowley from, well from before the Beginning. Because they are both angels and angels love. I would even accept the argument that Aziraphale LOVES Crowley throughout their flashback scenes before the Arrangement (because again, he is an angel).

The Arrangement is born out of a symbiotic want of Crowley and Aziraphale to fuck around and not do their jobs enjoy humanity.

It is my personal belief that Aziraphale FELL in love with Crowley in 1941 when he saves the books (not a hot take, I know).

He REALIZES he is in love with Crowley when he gets the Holy Water for him and the closest we get to that is this scene.

Aziraphale thinks that Crowley wants to use the Holy Water as some kind of last-ditch attempt to get out of trouble. He knows it will kill him, and is incredibly dangerous in general. But he does it anyway. Why? Because he knows Crowley would find a way to get it regardless (most likely some dangerous plan that will result in death or grave injury). At least this way Aziraphale can feel somewhat at peace with the knowledge that Crowley no longer needs to do something reckless to get what he wants. He overtly goes against Heaven in this act, and this is one of only a few times we see him do this to such a degree (see Job).

It is my personal belief, and I'm sorry to be this person, but I don't think that Crowley was IN LOVE with Aziraphale in this scene or in any before it (def well on his way, but we'll get there).

I think that Crowley was still hopelessly intrigued by this angel who did fantastical things, like drink and eat and immerse himself in the aspects of humanity he adored.

And another controversial take I have is that the "you go too fast for me" is not Aziraphale saying he recognizes Crowley's feelings and his own and that Crowley is too fast for him in that respect. Because again, I don't think Crowley is IN LOVE with Aziraphale here.

I think Aziraphale is saying you go too fast for me, you treat life like a speedrun to get to the good parts. Hell, Crowley slept through the 19th century because he wanted time to move forward. Aziraphale recognizes this. He's in love with this demon who won't slow down and appreciate the mundane, human things that Aziraphale treasures. He goes too fast. He never settles down.

(I could do a whole analysis on this scene, but we'd be here till GO Season 3 came out)

I also could accept the argument that Azi realizes he is in love in this scene here when he hesitates before saying friends (Michael Sheen I'm in your walls what the hell was this shit).

Because it does make sense that this is the first time we really see Aziraphale say what they are. But he hesitates so much. Keep in mind this happens AFTER the whole book saving incident. Does he hesitate because holy shit the person I like just did something really sweet and I see them in a new light? Possibly. I still think that Aziraphale deciding to give Crowley the Holy Water was his declaration. But I could be swayed.

Crowley is different in this respect. Contrary to popular belief, I think Crowley falls in love with Aziraphale slowly. So slowly that he doesn't even recognize it as being IN LOVE until it's pointed out by Nina.

Because he falls in love slowly, it's hard to pinpoint an exact scene where he is FALLING IN LOVE. I think throughout the first season (and before when the two are meeting up semi-regularly), when he and Aziraphale are trying to co-parent Warlock and the subsequent hunt for the real antichrist is the clearest I can get to him being IN LOVE.

(Putting this gif in because holy shit, I mean, fuck, bro)

Let me explain.

Until this point (the handful of years prior to and during S1), he and Aziraphale were ships passing in the night. Crowley liked the mystery, the excitement of seeing the angel every so often. Got joy out of teasing him. But this is when Aziraphale becomes more than that. He becomes more of a constant in Crowley's life. And ever since his Fall Crowley has craved stability. A safe place to land. He changes his hair, his clothes, his accent. But Aziraphale doesn't. He just... is. He is constant, mostly unchanging, and still endlessly intriguing.

Crowley is IN LOVE with Aziraphale when he realizes that Aziraphale isn't going anywhere (yet). Crowley can rely on him. And for Crowley, that's something he's never had before.

Crowley LOVES Aziraphale. And he is IN LOVE with Aziraphale, but I genuinely don't think he recognizes it until he could lose him. (He's always been a bit dramatic; it would follow that his realizations only occur under dire circumstances).

Here, when he feels he is losing Aziraphale, Crowley does the one thing he never has before: says what he's feeling. Granted, it's sandwiched by a sassy one-liner and being shit at communication. But it's there.

And I think that he thinks, it's a fluke. One moment of weakness.

But then it happens again. When he's losing Aziraphale. And he can't say anymore. He's done his speech, he's thrown out the nightingales. There's nothing for it.

He KNOWS he is IN LOVE with Aziraphale when he's losing him.

[starryrain]

a long night

a cute little fic i wrote today! it is set like a year after s2 of good omens and you can read it just under the cut !! both of them are male presenting in this, but i might write a fem one because i am a sucker for sapphic stuff.

let me know if you want a part 2 !!

description: aziraphale and crowley aren't talking, but they decide to meet one final time.

Crowley looked out of the window of the Bentley, their glasses slung low. He turned his head, the phone in his palm buzzing absurdly. With a clench of his jaw, he flung it into the backseat, where it undoubtedly hit one of his new plants. 

“Sorry, darlings,” he said, patting a leaf. “But that’s what happens when leaves go the slightest tinge of yellow.” He sighed, slamming his foot down on the accelerator. He didn’t know where he was going. He didn’t care. 

A chirpy, familiar voice rang through the speakers of the phone. “I don’t have leaves, Crowley. And I’m a singular being!” 

A skid of tyres against asphalt. A chain of hastily muttered curses. And the scramble into the backseat to retrieve his phone. 

“I wasn’t talking to you!” He yelled into the phone. “I don’t talk to…to-” 

“What? Your friends?” Aziraphale’s voice was soft, and Crowley hated himself for having missed it. 

No. No. You did not miss a thing. You do not miss that cowardly bastard. 

“You are not my friend. I don’t have friends. I despise you.”

A soft laugh and a twinge struck the heart that Crowley didn’t have. “So you’ll talk to your plants, but not me?” 

He hung up the phone with no words, only a sigh, resting his hands on his temples. Flipping off the cars that were honking behind him through the window, he set his foot onto the pedal, heading for his flat, where he would put his new plant, and then drink copious amounts of alcohol. Whisky, preferably. Crowley likes whisky. Aziraphale hated whisky and had always complained about the sharp- 

NO! No thinking of that useless slop! He bit down on his tongue, driving faster and skidding as he parked the Bentley in front of his flat.

The door flew open with a flick of his hand, and Crowley walked through the hallway, his new plant in hand. Setting them down, Crowley flung himself onto his chair, taking his glasses off before leaning his head back and closing his eyes, before opening them again to find one of his bottles of Talisker. 

The Talisker was smooth and everything that Crowley needed. Before he knew it, night had begun to drape its’ sleepy embrace over London. And if he could see the stars, Crowley would’ve laid back on the roof of his flat, watching his creations dull out with the light pollution of the city. It was a punishment of the highest cruelty, but he had accepted it long ago. Running a hand through his crimson hair, Crowley cradled the half-empty bottle, his peace undisturbed. 

Well, his peace was undisturbed until the answering machine rang. He frowned, letting the caller talk. 

“Crowley! You answered!” Crowley shot up in his chair at the sound of hearing the angel’s voice for the second time that day. 

“No! I am not talking to you!” He went to hang up, but he tripped on the chair, hitting his head on the edge of his desk. “Fuck!” 

“Are you alright, dear?” 

“Shut up!” 

Crowley could practically hear Aziraphale’s eyebrows raising. “Very well.” He sighed and gritted his teeth. 

“Why are you calling, Angel?” 

A pause. Silence that Crowley hated. “It’s been a while since one of our dinners. I thought we could go somewhere and eat. The Ritz-” 

“Things have changed,” choked Crowley. “It’s like you said, nothing lasts forever.” 

A sigh came from the answering machine. “Just one last time? Then I’ll never talk to you again.” 

What was once a threat, now an offer. How the tables turned. Though it still felt like a threat.

Crowley sighed. “Just this one time. And then we’ll never see each other again.” 

“Done.” 

Aziraphale paced around the bookshop, ignoring the concerned look that Muriel was giving him.

“You haven’t actually sold any books, have you?” He asked, frowning. 

Muriel shook their head with a smile. “Of course not! Crowley comes in every week to check in, too! We’ve decided to keep it open one day a week and close the rest! And nobody even cares!” They let out a laugh. “Humans are so interesting!

Aziraphale continued pacing, adjusting his bowtie. The last time. It’s the last time. And then we’ll never talk again. That’s good, right? 

The door swung open, and a bell rang. “We’re closed-!” 

“I know, Angel,” remarked Crowley dryly, and Aziraphale spun on his heel, finding Crowley at the door, leaning against the frame, in an all black double-breasted suit that looked oddly similar to the one that he wore on their 1941 escapade. 

And Aziraphale was back in the same spot as a year ago, and the ghost of Crowley’s pressed his lips on his. It ran a shudder down his spine. Shaking himself out of the memory, Aziraphale smiled at Crowley, locking the shop up and sitting in the Bentley for a second before Crowley flashed a grim smile at him and slammed his foot down on the pedal. 

The Ritz twinkled with many lights, and as they passed through the building, Crowley settled into the familiar feeling of being with Aziraphale. They sat themselves at a miraculously empty table, ordering quietly and waiting for their food to arrive. In the meantime, Crowley popped open a bottle of champagne that he had swiped from someone else’s table, gave himself a generous serving of the drink, and then poured the same into Aziraphale’s glass, ignoring his bright smile. 

Bless him and his smiles, scorned Crowley. Stupid, pretty angel. 

“For the record, this doesn’t mean I like you,” he said, sipping on his champagne. 

Aziraphale shrugged. “Nor do I. The feeling is mutual.” 

“Very mutual. But I don’t like you more than you don’t like me.” 

Aziraphale frowned. “That doesn’t make sense.” He sipped his own drink, eyeing Crowley carefully. 

FUCK.

“So, what’s new?” He asked, setting down his glass and slouching further in his chair. “Y’know, in Heaven. Because you went there. And left me.” He smirked, drinking some more champagne and saying nothing, only making a bemused expression at Aziraphale’s face. 

“Well, doesn’t the food look lovely?” grinned Aziraphale as his plate was set on the table. Crowley rolled his eyes. It was going to be a long night.

Aziraphale and Crowley were both terribly, horribly full. And awkward. The drive back to the bookshop was quiet between the two of them; the air was heavy with tension. Crowley had played on Aziraphale’s feelings, and he seemed actually regretful about his actions. Aziraphale couldn’t do much; he could only eat his food and drink the alcohol. So he settled for looking at Crowley the entire night. 

Crowley noticed, of course. He noticed anything Aziraphale did.

It wasn’t hard; he looked fantastic. Of course, Aziraphale wouldn’t admit that out loud. Well, he would, with the right amount of alcohol and coercion. But Crowley didn’t really feel like coercing his… whatever Aziraphale and he were into admitting that he looked fantastic.

He parked a block away from the bookshop, a habit that he had clearly not forgotten. In comfortable silence, they walked inside and settled on chairs. Crowley’s chair crinkled with a sound of paper, and he realised that it was because he was sitting on a note. Standing up and tossing his glasses aside, he read the note aloud:

Mr. Sir Aziraphale, 

I am out for a walk to go communicate with the funny humans down the road. They said I can stay ‘for the night’, so I am going to do that, whatever it is. Mr. ‘I’m Not Nice’ Crowley knows what I mean. I think. Thank you!!!

-Muriel :)

Crowley raised his eyebrows. “Mr. Sir Aziraphale?” He laughed, putting the note away. 

Aziraphale shook his head. “Mr. ‘I’m Not Nice’?”

“Oh, shut up.” 

Aziraphale smiled that fucking smile. That. Fucking. Smile. And the fact that, from the angle he was at, it looked like he was kneeling- 

Crowley looked away, giving himself a moment to regain composure. “Why did you leave, Angel?” 

Aziraphale’s smile dropped. “Why didn’t you stay, Angel? I…I needed you!” He choked out, blinking hard. 

Crowley shook his head, clearing his throat. “And yet, you still have nothing to say.” 

“I didn’t have a choice.” 

Crowley scoffed. “Yes, you bloody did!” 

Aziraphale stood up, his hands trembling. “No. Look at me, Crowley.” Crowley, against his will, looked at Aziraphale. “I. Didn’t. Have. A. Choice.” 

“You still left,” sulked Crowley. Aziraphale threw his hands up, scoffing. 

“What are you scoffing for? I have a genuine issue, and you’re all, ‘Oh, it’s not my fault’, like that’s going to help!” 

Crowley was frowning now, his hands on his hips as he ranted. Aziraphale had turned around, pressing his hands to his temples.

“And you’re all wishy-washy and nice, and-” 

Crowley stopped talking. Because Aziraphale was holding his head in his hands. And he was kissing him. And Crowley was kissing him back. 

“Oh, shut up, will you?” Aziraphale whispered, his breath tickling Crowley, before kissing him again.

Crowley pulled back, his chest heaving with heavy and rapid breaths. Clenching his jaw, he pushed a confused-looking Aziraphale back onto his chair, cradling the angel’s jaw. 

“I still don’t like you,” he whispered. "But... there are some things I need to do,” he said, before clambering on top of Aziraphale. 

Oh, it was going to be a long night.

[avocado-writing]

Heyy I recently found your account and love love love your writing. I would absolutely die if you wrote anymore Jim or Gabriel fics. Would love something like fluffy or domestic between Jim/Gabriel and reader or aziracrow finding out that reader is in a relationship with Jim. No worries if you’re busy though 💕

notes: a sequel to this! a plot? in my drabble? it’s more likely than you think.

pairing: jim x reader

rating: T

“I brought you flowers.”

He has. He brandishes a huge bouquet at you, chock full of sunflowers. You take them with a smile. 

“Thank you, Jim. They’re lovely.”

“Mr Fell said I should bring roses, but I liked these ones more, because they’re happy like you are.”

“Oh, Jim,” you say, softly, genuinely taken aback with the kindness of it. You’ve never had someone who’s brought you flowers because they reminded them of you. “That’s so kind. Let me put these in some water and I’ll be right with you.”

Jim waits patiently at your door as you scurry back inside. From across the street, Aziraphale holds up a newspaper to hide his face. He’s cut eyeholes in it, and thinks he’s being very clever. Crowley cringes. 

“Angel, at some point, you’re going to have to accept that they’re going to be fine. They’ve had plenty of dates at this point and nothing untowards has happened to either of them.”

“I know, I know. I just want to make sure. You know that I worry.”

Crowley sighs. As you and Jim head off, he and Aziraphale follow at a decent pace behind. Neither of you have noticed that you have hangers-on. You and Jim are quite in your own world. He’s asked you about your day and you’re telling him, he’s hanging on every word without interruption. You walk at a lazy pace and, as you go, your fingers tangle together and you end up holding hands. Aziraphale sees the way he looks at you: as if you hung the stars.

You like walking, and Jim likes being where you are, so you’re taking a turn around the park. Jim’s brought a small sandwich bag full of frozen peas so you can both feed the ducks. He found it fascinating when you told him why bread wasn’t the best option for them, and for the following week spread that fact with anyone who would listen.

Jim’s… a little strange, but honestly, he’s one of the best people you’ve dated. He’s kind, attentive, and happy to take things slow. After the rapid-fire world of app-based romance and online matchups, it’s nice to have someone who just wants to take a stroll with you.

Aziraphale notes with pride that Jim stops to buy you an ice cream from the cart. You grin and thank him and, even though he can’t hear your conversation from here, he’s reasonably happy that Crowley’s right, and the two of you will do perfectly well on your own. He doesn’t want to tell Crowley that, though, or he’ll make him do the dance; for now he’ll just keep observing.

The two of you sit down on a park bench by the pond and eat your ice cream. At one point you get him to hold yours while you get your iPod out of your pocket and offer him one of the earbuds, and the two of you listen to some song and chat in animated detail about it. The ducks are fed, the ice creams are finished, and you lean your head on Jim’s shoulder.

“I’m so glad I get to spend time with you, Jim,” you tell him, softly, taking his large hand in both of yours. “You make me feel like the only person in the world while we’re together.”

“Is that a good thing?”

You laugh, not unkindly.

“Yes, Jim, it’s good.”

“Then I’m glad. I like spending time with you too. I’d do it all the time if I could. You make me feel…warm.”

You look up at him, at his sincere smile, his kind eyes that crinkle a little.

“Jim, can I kiss you?”

“Oh. Yeah, of course.”

Aziraphale and Crowley have explained the basics of kissing to Jim, knowing this would likely be coming. It’s where humans put their lips together and move them around a bit. Jim hasn’t quite seen the appeal, but when you reach up and press your mouth to his, his whole cosmos changes.

Above you, the bulb in the dormant streetlamp pops, and a burst of sonic energy shoots out from between you with such force that it startles all the poor ducks. They take off flying. 

He understands. He understands why people like doing this. He takes your face in his hands and deepens the kiss, stealing your breath away from the passion of it. You taste like vanilla and strawberry sauce. 

Gabriel pulls back and looks at you with violet eyes. And for a second, he remembers.

“Look at you,” he whispers, deep and longing, swiping a thumb across your lower lip, “you’re gorgeous.”

You furrow your brow.

“Jim?” you ask, perplexed at the change of attitude. 

He shuts his eyes, and when they open again, they’re the colour they usually are. You figure it must have been a trick of the light. He blinks a couple of times, clearing his mind from whatever fog just took it over, and smiles at you.

“That was nice!” he says, in the cheerful way you’ve become accustomed to.

“Are… are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m great!” he laughs, and there’s no trace that he even realises what just happened.

Across the way, Aziraphale and Crowley stare, having witnessed the whole thing.

“That’s not good,” Crowley mutters. Aziraphale purses his lips.

-

Taglist: @nix-rose

[skyefullofdaisies]

I wish I had any writing talent whatsoever

I have these two ideas that are barely anything, lol, but if I had any writing prowess I think they could be good.

1. Aziraphale has been The Supreme Archangel for anywhere between 2-3 years. He is very good at the job. To the shock, and fear, of the other archangels and even The Metatron. He rules with an absolute iron fist. He tolerates no disrespect. His kindness is still there but it’s under a layer of ice. This is what being robbed of Crowley, and being forced back to Heaven against his wishes, has done. (It’s OOC for him, I know. I don’t actually think in the show he or Crowley would be robbed of their base personalities without the other but it’s fan fiction, so…🤷‍♀️). He’s been watching Crowley from Heaven however. Just to have some piece of him. Until Crowley disappears completely one day. Az goes to earth and can’t find a trace of him. He even checks Heaven over to make sure Crowley wasn’t abducted & being held there. Aziraphale, who is angry and tired of being without his demon, knows there’s only one other place he’d be: Hell.

During the time Aziraphale has been in Heaven word of his iron fist rule has gotten to Hell. Who have been, quietly, panicking. They laughed at first hearing of the “soft” Angel being made Supreme Archangel. Figuring he’d be The Metatron’s puppet for The Second Coming. Just for The Dark Council (using their back channels) to realize how wrong they are. So they decided they needed a plan. Given who is important to Aziraphale they go after Crowley. The members of the Dark Council knew Crowley when he was an angel. They remember he was powerful (I know we don’t know his identity but for the sake of this story he’d have been someone very powerful before The Fall) and acknowledge that if Crowley wanted he could be a Duke of Hell, easy. If he put any effort whatsoever in being an actual Demon Hell would have had a powerful weapon.

The Dark Council abducts Crowley and tells him this. Our demon scoffs and goes through his usual bravado before realizing he can’t get out of this. Miracle blocked and bound to a table he is forced to drink water from the River Lethe. Unconscious and robbed of his memories for the last 6,000 years Crowley has new memories forced into his head (no idk how they would do this, I’m not a writer remember lol).

Aziraphale arrives in Hell in all his The Supreme Archangel splendor. Dagon meets him not the least little bit impressed. Az demands to know where Crowley is, if Hell has him. Dagon says that falls under the jurisdiction of their Prince. Az demands a meeting expecting Beezlebub’s replacement while a bad feeling niggles at the back of his head. They enter the throne room just to have the new Prince of Hell on his throne be Crowley much to Aziraphale’s shock and horror knowing Crowley would never agree to this. It doesn’t take Aziraphale long at all to realize Crowley’s memories are gone and the ones he does have are wrong. Crowley believes he’s been Prince of Hell since The Fall. Azriaphale has no choice but to leave Crowley where he is for the time being. As he’s still his suave, charming self but there’s a cruelty that has never been there before and he loathes all angels. He’s certainly not about to trust the new Supreme Archangel.

That’s as far as I’ve got. Somehow this would lead to Aziraphale bringing Crowley back to himself. A fabulous kiss and smutty times. Lead to the defeat of The Second Coming and the two of them in love and together in the end.

Thanks for reading this far if you have! I have another idea I’ll write up and post. This one is already too long to add it here