#aziraphale & beelz have tea together

[ohmyglobwhatthefrickamievendoing]

Here's my one season 3 prediction;

Everything sorts itself out in the end, Aziraphale & Crowley finally talk and listen to each other, everything's swell and they get to runaway to a little cottage in the south downs, they've still got their own spaces in london but this is their space, their home, it's quaint and comfortable and they're finally together. they move in and take their first steps out the door to their lovely little garden and make direct eye contact with beelz & gabriel coming out of their own quaint little lovesick cottage. Roll Credits. The End.

[shego1142]

It’s roughly six or so months after the Not-So-Great-After-All-Plan had failed and Aziraphale and Crowley happened to be in the kitchen of the flat Aziraphale had come to realise he owned (it had been hidden under a couple hundreds of books) when they showed up, four arms raised over their respective heads.

The signal of surrender didn’t make much of a difference, as both Aziraphale and Crowley reacted the way most people would when surprised in the middle of their lazy Saturday morning tea.

At least, that is to say, they reacted as most people who happened to be supernatural entities that were, despite their best efforts to relax, still hyper-vigilant of their surroundings, all things considered might react.

Meaning to say that Crowley was up in an instance, his fingers clasped around the electric tea kettle as though it weren’t in fact a tea kettle and were in fact a heavy blunt object filled with boiling water. He was ready to fight, to defend himself and his angel.

Said angel had been reading a newspaper beforehand, and while a tea kettle made for a fine makeshift weapon a newspaper did not, so his wings were extended instead, and Aziraphale found that, this time, he was more than willing to make a run for it, alongside his demon, if need be.

Of course it was Crowley who noticed first, because truly of course it was. The beings in front of them had stepped back, their heads bowed and arms remaining up. The golden tinted blood of an angel was dripping slowly behind one of them, and both their eyes were wide with fear.

Crowley, who was decidedly not a being of love, was still the first to sense the love that was there, perhaps it was because he was always on the look out for it, and Aziraphale, who was a being of love, was always able to feel it freely. He set down the tea kettle and shocked his angel by doing so. He nodded to Aziraphale, their own language, asking him to wait, to see how this plays out.

The two in front of them jumped at the noise the kettle made but continued holding their hands up, frozen on the spot. They did have the decency to look ashamed, which was surprisingly gracious of them both.

Finally they spoke, both at once, their voices raspy and raw, as though they’d been screaming recently.

“We need your help.” Gabriel said sheepish, eyes on the floor he was staining with his golden blood.

“We didn’t mean to.” Beelzebub admitted at the same time, their cheeks dusting to pink. They looked helplessly over to Gabriel and worried their lip nervously.

Crowley laughed without humor and shook his head, stepping a bit closer to the pair. Aziraphale followed him, obviously equally uncomfortable but still curious about their surprise visitors.

“You didn’t mean to what?” He asked, still somehow oblivious. Crowley would try to be shocked if he needed to but honestly after six thousand years with his angel he had learned not to be surprised by Aziraphale’s cluelessness. He did of course adore it all the same though.

Beelzebub had taken to shuffling closer to Gabriel, hiding their face in his side but stretching their arms around him as well and looking all together lost, like a beaten puppy attempting to protect its equally downtrodden home. They made a noise of frustration at Aziraphale’s question and a noise of embarrassment at Gabriel’s somewhat broken answer.

“Fall in love.” He said, more shame colouring his pale face. The shame finally won out and he looked sincerely at the two in front of him, lowering an arm he wrapped it protectively around Beelzebub. “I believe I owe you both quite the apology.” He admitted, tears staining his cheeks as he said so. He lethargically raised his bloody wings to show the many missing feathers before dropping them slowly again, seemingly unable to fold them or tuck them away.

“Oh dear.” Aziraphale had his hand over his mouth, his eyes wide at the sight. He looked to Crowley, instinctively seeking out his love, and resting his head against his shoulder.

Crowley found Aziraphale’s hand with his own, squeezing it lightly.

“Other angels’ do that, did they?” Crowley guesses, and Gabriel nods weakly.

“Sandalphon and Michael. Uriel suggested hellfire, said I was like... like you two. They were right really but Sandalphon was convinced I was being tempted, I was under some spell or power... a feather for every time I said it wasn’t Beelze’s fault. Then two, then five.” He looked down, like a child with his hand caught in a cookie jar. Or more like an angel that felt quite a lot like a hypocrite. Which he was.

Beelzebub had, by that point, become so emotional they’d stopped trying to hide their flies, the small animals were, instead of flying, demurely crawling on them, apparently just as scared as their demonic counterpart. Their voice was trembling.

“He found me. I’m not sure how but he did. I... I had to burn... some of the wounds were bleeding so much I...” They shook with the aparent memory, having to hurt a loved one to save them was something both Aziraphale and Crowley knew far too well. Though in their case it had always been only emotionally.

“Would... will you please help us?” Gabriel asked once again, and it was obvious he wasn’t on sure footing, standing in the middle of Aziraphale and Crowley’s kitchen, in Aziraphale and Crowley’s flat.

Aziraphale knew Crowley’s answer before even Crowley himself did, in the same way Aziraphale knew that the Ark would, by some demonic miracle, suddenly have plenty of room for every human being who could have been in the area of the flood. In the same way he knew that Crowley had done a lot of explaining and apologising and reuniting with his houseplants before he’d moved all of them, even the “imperfect” ones, into the spare room of Azirpahle’s flat.

“If either of you go near him, it won’t be just your wings that get ripped out.” Crowley says irritably, having miraculously located a pair of sunglasses just beforehand. “You can sleep on the couch I guess.” He said finally, ushering them out so he could speak to his angel.

(Part 2)

[liz-taylors-hamster]

Good Omens Besties!

So, I've seen a post about the fandom tending to ship characters rather than thinking of them as platonic besties, and I found this perspective really interesting, so here's my take on Good Omens besties:

Anathema and Adam, because they basically have the same values and priorities and it's canon.

Shadwell and Madame Tracy, because I love the idea of them being friends who move in together for convenience and fun rather than a couple. It's probably really hard to be friends with Shadwell, but I think Madame Tracy can pull it off.

Beelzebub and Dagon, because I can easily imagine them during tea breaks (or what do they drink down there? blood of sinners?) bitching about work and life in general. And yes, it is Dagon who gave Beelz the fishnet socks and vest, because who else (this is not originally my headcanon, but I love it).

Gabriel and Sandalphon, because I can easily imagine them engaged in long conversations that they think are intellectual but are actually as dumb as Gabriel and Sandalphon combined, i.e. extremely dumb.

Aziraphale and Crowley are obviously besties, but not exactly platonic lol. Gabriel and Beelzebub are madly in love but besties? No way! (At least they think so).

[auroral-melody]

Are u still doing prompts? If so, how bout Aziraphale trying to get an oblivious Metatron to realize that it loves Beelzbub and Beelz loves it back? Or maybe Lucifer stumbling upon Michael who was in the middle of a PTSD blackout in the middle of a weirdly empty park If not, that's fine and thank u for listening

GOD THESE ARE BOTH SO GOOD AND IM SO MAD TUMBLR DIDN”T NOTIFY ME????? HOMOPHOBIA

“Aziraphale,” a perfect, even voice intoned through the radio, while Aziraphale was quite busy doing the daily crossword puzzle, and definitely, definitely performing acts of good will upon the Earth. Unfortunately, Heaven had caught wind of the infernal communications using electronics. Aziraphale leaped out of the chair, throwing the pencil aside as the voice continued. “We would speak with you. Ah… I would speak with you. The Metatron. I request to come through.”

“Have - have I done something wrong?” Aziraphale asked, anxiously, waving a hand. “Er. Come on in.”

There was a flash of light, and a figure stood, draped in Heaven’s swirling robes, six wings protruding from its back. It looked around, furtive, and after a moment, its robes dissolved in a flash of glittering gold to close-fitting jeans and a light blouse. Aziraphale blinked. It was what Crowley might admire as decent attire, and it was unusual, because generally Heaven wasn’t too caught up with the idea of earthen dress.

“No,” it said, tugging on its sleeves. “Nothing wrong. I only wished to speak with you. To seek… advice.”

“Erm,” said Aziraphale. “Certainly. Sit down. Would you like some tea?”

“That…that would be lovely,” it said. It sounded far less, well, poncy, far more normal, dressed like this, as it sat nervously on the couch across from Aziraphale that Crowley tended to occupy. Aziraphale nodded, and went to the kitchen to collect his thoughts. Unfortunately, what in the goddamn - ? was all that was running through his head. On repeat.

When he came back, he was no more the wiser on what was going on. He set a mug of tea on the coffee table, and settled back in his own chair. “So. Er… Metatron.”

“Hi,” it said.

“You…”

“I needed to… speak with someone. About… these strange feelings that I have been experiencing.”

“Ah,” said Aziraphale.

“Yes,” said the Metatron.

There was a brief, awkward silence.

“You see,” it said. “I’ve been… I’ve been… seeing someone. And… I have been, of late, feeling… it is difficult to explain. My heart quickens when I see… him, and he makes me smile, and my face…” It lifted one hand to trace its own cheek, apparently abashed. Its wings fluttered. “Becomes warm.”

“Blushing,” Aziraphale said. “You’re… er, blushing. Even now.”

The Metatron covered its face. “Ah. And he always holds me as though I am… fragile, though I am not. When I kiss him -”

Aziraphale held up a hand. “Alright. Alright.”

“- I find it affects my heart, and he has explained he feels the same way, and I simply do not know what is happening to us. I want to be by his side, although that is quite possibly the most irrational and foolish thing I have ever experienced, considering our… positions.”

Aziraphale sank into his chair. He rubbed his chin and neck. “You know the human concept of love. Romantic love.”

“Yes,” said the Metatron.

“Do you care dearly for him? Is he your confidant, your friend; do you wish to express your affection constantly?”

“… Yes…,” it admitted, sipping its tea nervously. 

“That’s what it is,” he told it, bluntly. “You’re in love.”

The Metatron looked perturbed, and they sat in silence for a while. “Is this your diagnosis?” it asked. It held out one hand and manifested a bottle of what the label proclaimed was 192 proof Spirytus vodka, dumping several shots’ worth into the tea. Aziraphale could only watch, helplessly, as it proceeded to drink half the mug.

“What?” he said.

“Is this true?”

“… Yes?”

The Metatron frowned. “That is… hardly… convenient.”

“Mhm.” Aziraphale was uncomfortable. He didn’t want to get mixed up in this.

“Our situations are similar.”

Aziraphale’s head snapped up. “What? I’m not in love.”

The Metatron looked at him quizzically, setting the bottle down. “But… the symptoms you have listed. Is it not obvious?”

“No,” said Aziraphale, sipping his tea.

“You and the demon… Crowley…”

“What?”

“You… you are not… together?”

“What? No! Crowley is just a, a friend.”

“But he… and you… you held hands. He said Crowley was commonly noted to spend time around you…”

“Who said?”

“I was… under the impression that you two…”

“Why on Earth would you think that?”

“Er.” The Metatron squirmed. “Perhaps this was not quite a good idea.”

“I like Crowley. I care for him dearly, and I -” Aziraphale was suddenly very pale. “…Ah. Oh dear.”

“Most inconvenient,” the Metatron said, slumping down in its chair.

“Most…inconvenient,” Aziraphale agreed, weakly, reaching for the vodka.