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@arpazia
From this post by @ineffable-bastard-crowley
I made a little change. Crowley casually removes Aziraphale’s pinky ring himself when fidgeting with Aziraphale’s hand and tries it on jokingly, and the rest happened like so.
And of course, the aftermath…
aziraphale first becomes aware of it when he says to crowley, here, look at this, and crowley not only looks up from the sofa, but slinks all the way across to the desk and perches himself on the edge. he does it in that quick, snapping way he has of moving, and he curls his hand around that edge like he’s staking a claim, planting a flag: mine.
there are lots of little places in the shop that crowley has planted flags. a fern next to the register; an armchair by the windows that’s angled perfectly to catch the midafternoon sun; a space heater by the sofa; a collection of albums by the gramophone that filter bass guitars and drums and overexcited vocals into the evening’s quiet. there are two wine glasses on the table; there is a box of pg tips next to aziraphale’s earl grey in the cabinet. crowley’s presence in the shop is heavy and obvious, and the more aziraphale notices it, the more there seems to be to notice.
at first, he thinks that crowley is simply spreading himself out, making himself comfortable, and aziraphale lets him. more than lets him: encourages him.
but then aziraphale begins to realize that there’s a method in crowley’s madness, and that this slow takeover has direction. having started in the outskirts of the shop, it’s making its way in. it’s tightening - no, coiling - around something in the centre. waiting for its chance to strike and claim whatever it is crowley’s after.
the desk’s been claimed. shortly after that, it’s the desk chair - crowley slings himself down into it and props up his feet, leaving an inch of space between his heels and the desktop just to appease aziraphale’s suddenly stern look. he starts rifling through the books on the little table next to aziraphale’s armchair, asking about this and that, tossing one or two aside and replacing them with his own recommendations, which he claims, somewhat unconvincingly, to have gotten from oprah’s book club.
“you could just make your own stack of books,” aziraphale says to him one night, awfully prim, when he finds that crowley has shelved his copy of paradise lost in favour of victorian fairy tales - crowley always did like stories about myth and magic, as if he were looking for himself in them - “instead of mussing up mine.”
“not as fun,” crowley grins back. he slinks around to lean over the back of aziraphale’s chair and snap a finger against the book in aziraphale’s hand. mine, aziraphale thinks for him. “besides, you’ve got terrible taste in books. do you good to read something a little less serious once in a while.”
“everything’s serious,” aziraphale answers, “or nothing is,” and he tilts his head back to look up at crowley.
and, oh.
they both breath in. the moment stops.
crowley’s right there, still leaning half over the back of aziraphale’s chair, looking back at him. his eyes are bright in the half-light of the evening, and they meet aziraphale’s without blinking, without flinching away. it’s me, aziraphale thinks suddenly. i’m what he’s circling. i’m what he’s waiting for.
it should, perhaps, feel like being prey, but it doesn’t. crowley’s eyes are hungry, but not with starvation. with want, maybe. with desire, even, and something that looks like a little like resignation turned to hope: a spark being fanned into a flame.
he looks at aziraphale with love.
aziraphale’s reaching before he even realises it, reaching back over his shoulder for one of crowley’s hands without breaking their gaze. can crowley see the answer in his own eyes? does crowley see the wish, the acceptance, the need? the hope, so newly born into flight - the love, so ancient and deep its roots: does crowley see it in aziraphale the way aziraphale sees it in him?
he takes crowley’s hand, and places it slowly, carefully, over his own heart: not a claiming, but a giving.
“you can muss with my books,” aziraphale tells him. “and move my furniture. you can bring all the plants in london into this shop. you can move my chairs, and sit on my desk, play your bebop, drink your terrible tea. you can stay, crowley. i want you to stay.”
crowley’s hand spasms against aziraphale’s chest. “angel,” he says, half-choked and uncertain.
“you don’t have to claim it,” aziraphale goes on, and he covers crowley’s hand with his own. “it’s already yours, crowley. i’m yours.”
“aziraphale,” crowley says, gasping, and it’s like unclicking a lock and letting a door swing open. his hand grasps a handful of aziraphale’s shirt, and he’s leaning down - still over the back of the chair, at an angle so awkward he must be half off his feet to be crossing the distance - but it doesn’t matter because aziraphale is reaching up, reaching for him, hands and cheeks and breath and it takes forever, it seems, to cross the distance of six thousand years, and only half an instant to cross the distance of six inches.
aziraphale kisses him.
crowley’s mouth is soft with surprise, and he tastes desert-hot and salt-warm, and he makes a noise in the back of his throat that sounds like please and sounds like what else would i be, an aardvark, sounds like oh, all right, that one’s on me and like what’s for lunch, sounds like stopping you from getting into trouble and like let me give you a lift, anywhere you want to go and we’d be godfathers, sort of, and you can stay at my place, if you like. it sounds like mine, and it sounds like yours. aziraphale chases after it, and crowley lets him, invites him, gives him his depths and his hands and his mouth and his heart.
when they part, there’s a sound like crowley’s two feet finding the floor behind the chair again, and aziraphale breaks into giggles as crowley blushes.
“i love you,” crowley says loudly, to shut him up. it works, rather splendidly, and aziraphale doesn’t even mind. “even if you do fuss at me about your books.”
aziraphale laughs again, and tugs him out from behind the chair - finally - and into his lap, a haphazard mess of limbs that don’t really fit until there’s a snap, and suddenly the space is much larger. “i’ll love you whether you fuss with them or don’t,” he promises. “though do stay out of them, dear boy, it’s such an inconvenience when i can’t find the text i’m looking for–”
“don’t ruin the moment by bringing up bloody milton again–”
aziraphale doesn’t. instead he kisses crowley again, deeper and slower, and finds something else entirely for them each to lay claim to.
*banging pots and pans together* this is it!!! this is all i can do!!!! life is busy and hard and i just wanna post official versions of this before i am swamped entirely!!!!
ok so this technically isn’t finished, but it’s probably as close as it’s gonna get for A While because i just don’t have a lot of energy rn dsdfjss but!! i like what i have and i even made the alternative version with pre-Fall, Raphael!Crowley cause i really adore that headcanon uwu. plus i was inspired by my discord chat to make his pre-Fall robes look like they had stars woven into them :’)
Inspired by The Angel’s Kitchen painting by Bartolome Esteban Murillo
[blease click for better quality]
warlock got stood up at his first school dance :(
Aziraphale takes the brick before Crowley can throw it. “If you do this, darling, you will be teaching Warlock sinful vengeance.”
“But I—“
“If I do it, however,” Aziraphale continues serenely, “I will be showing him divine justice.”
*glass shatters*
Considering the country Galar takes inspiration from… Can we have this, nintendo, pls.
Extra: The story behind the shaymin
I know its heavily established that God wanted Eve to eat the apple and all that, but you really have to hand it to the angels for taking "dont ask questions" so much to heart. Because we know that demons' preferred way to travel is straight up through the ground (we see Crowley do it in Eden and in modern day, as well as Hastur, Ligur, and Beez), so guards with swords outside the wall is a moot point. If not for the whole "no questions" thing, you'd think an angel would go, "Well yes, but wouldn't it make more sense to patrol inside the garden? Perhaps with shovels?" Like smack smack bitch have a mouthful of dirt.
What I'm saying is au where Crowley and Aziraphale's meet-cute involved Crowley getting hit with a flaming shovel.
A: BEGONE, FOUL SNAKE
C: *screams gay*
Cat discovers oranges and discovers that he doesn’t like them. (via nevermndthealbatross)
AO3 won the 2019 Hugo Award for Best Related Work!
Here’s the speech given by Naomi Novik when the award was accepted:
All fanwork, from fanfic to vids to fanart to podfic, centers the idea that art happens not in isolation but in community. And that is true of the AO3 itself. We’re up here accepting, but only on behalf of literally thousands of volunteers and millions of users, all of whom have come together and built this thriving home for fandom, a nonprofit and non-commercial community space built entirely by volunteer labor and user donations, on the principle that we needed a place of our own that was not out to exploit its users but to serve them.
Even if I listed every founder, every builder, every tireless support staff member and translator and tag wrangler, if I named every last donor, all our hard work and contributions would mean nothing without the work of the fan creators who share their work freely with other fans, and the fans who read their stories and view their art and comment and share bookmarks and give kudos to encourage them and nourish the community in their turn.
This Hugo will be joining the traveling exhibition that goes to each Worldcon, because it belongs to all of us. I would like to ask that we raise the lights and for all of you who feel a part of our community stand up for a moment and share in this with us.
*stands, salutes, cries a little*
good non gendered words to say instead of dude to someone who doesnt want to be called a dude
buddy
bud
pal
neighbor
*australian voice* mate
*cowboy voice* partner
don’t forget
*strong Russian accent like Siberian winter* COMRADE
*Harsh demonic voice* MORTAL
*metallic voice* FELLOW DECEPTICON
My Good Omens reverse where they know each other only 6 months and demon Aziraphale calls Crowley “love” (not “my dear”). And angel realized it only recently.
More Birb Omens ^^ Including Angelic for and Demon for for them! :D
crowley&stars.
kinda related to this piece, in that they’re all me playing around with the gold foil aesthetic. both pieces are available for sale via redbubble and society6~
I love Good Omens and the Regency fashion style, so I had to draw my take on how these two dorks would have looked in the “bookshop opening” missing scene!
Here’s part of it:
So adorable XD
i am SO unbelievably softe
One thing I've noticed about Good Omens (the book), is that people seem to find it at a time in their life when they really need it. Maybe they're struggling with home or identity or health. And they need a story about love and overcoming hardship and being human. A story with a happy ending. That's exactly what Good Omens is.
I found a book about the end of the world - an end of the world which didn't happen - when I felt like my world was ending. I fell in love with characters as incompetent as I felt, as loving as I wanted to be. As hopeful as I needed to be.
And guess what - my Armageddon didn't happen, either.
I hope that this book, and now the TV show, will continue to find people in their hour of need. I have no doubt that if will. That we will continue to overcome our Armageddons.
Cards Against Humanity Heaven and Hell
“Where are the people?” resumed the little prince at last. “It’s a little lonely in the desert…” “It is lonely when you’re among people, too,” said the snake.” ― Antoine de Saint-Exupéry
let me tell you, deciding between this quote and the sad-looking-at-sunsets was A Challenge
jzeten at instagram/twitter/tumblr/artstation, prints here!
please do not edit or repost without permission
