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@fellandfeathers
25+ mutuals only, low activity, and highly private RP blog for aziraphale of prime's good omens. primarily show-based. multiverse, crossover, and OC friendly. rules below the read more.
secondary muses by request and with plotting only: gabriel, muriel, nina, lucifer
open starters.
BLOG ROLL: griefacquainted / aziraphalesballs (GO gif blog)
block #go3 spoilers to remain spoiler-free, though go3 is largely disregarded here.
WHEN ASKED WHAT ALL THAT WAS ABOUTβthe sudden and strange business with The MetatronβAziraphale had told Crowley, β Oh, nothing. Nothing at all! Shall we go somewhere? It's a bit... β
Mmmm-agh!
β Here. β
The coffee, with one single hefty jigger of almond syrup and one single barely noticeable sip missing, was placed upon an end table. And there it would stay until Miriam examined it forty-two minutes later. After a poke and a sniff, they were summoned back to Heaven posthaste, though they made sure to bring the coffee with themβSOUVENIR!
Now, Aziraphale sits across @xflashbastardx at a miraculously available breakfast table at the Ritz. The plump Cumberland sausage sits amidst eggs and grilled vegetables, utterly untouched, whilst he looks out the window for, well, he's not entirely sure what.
But a glass is poured next to him, and as bubbles of Barons deΒ Rothschild race to the top of a champagne fluteβhe's not entirely sure if he ordered that or whenβAziraphale finally looks back at Crowley and blurts out, β I WAS OFFERED A JOB. β
He gulps, a touch of wince upon his face.
β By The Metatron. He offered me a position. To return. To Heaven. β Each addition is tacked on with emphasis, as though it would explain more of what's already been explained. β He askedβwell, he me to take up the position of Supreme Archangel. β
And he waits. Waits for Crowley's response.
one thing i did enjoy from the finale was them getting dim sum together. who can resist dim sum!!
i think my favorite version of this universe at the moment is where the final 15 & finale didnβt happen. itβs literallyβ¦ so much easier to write.
the smile which graces the angel's face is something he isn't sure he'll ever get used to. it came far more often than one to his down face, but still a welcome sight anytime he saw it. his hands lingers on aziraphale's shoulders a touch longer than perhaps they should have. β i knnnnew i'd get you to come around. β the 'n' sound in knew dragged out into the higher pitch 'e' that directly followed. very smug of him.
crowley took a step away and leant against the corner of a bookshelf. head tilted towards the ceiling as he thought for a brief moment. β nothing that i know of. the postie should be here before the day is up. β
the second part of the question came and his nose wrinkled and sniffed. β is there anything of jim β gabriel's still up there? i'd like to box it all up and throw it out the window .. as soon as possible. β even though aziraphale rarely used the room, it was overwhelmingly of him. scent neutral, a bit like the pages of his old books, but warm. as if angelic influence wafted up the stairs dancing in swirls of gold dust in the sunlight as it streamed through the window which woke him each morning. face finally lowered to settle upon the angel's face. β otherwise, it's ... it's perfect. β
β OH. Oh. β Aziraphale smiles, warmed delightfully so from the way in which that final word falls from Crowley's lips.
β Well, I collected all of his material belongings. They're in box under the bed, but youβwell, you are most welcome to THROW THEM OUT THE WINDOW if you fancy. I don't believe he'll be needing them... ever. β
Angel eyes brighten with a twinkle of mirth.
β Aside from that, all he left behind was a touch of his essence, which I regret to say is still lingering in the air. But I do believe it'll pass with time. β
Or if enough new energy overwhelms the space.
Pointing over his shoulder toward the spiral staircase, Aziraphale's eyebrows raise.
β Would you like it now? The box? Might be, um... CATHARTIC. β
And for more than just Crowley!
there's a snort that comes after aziraphale's first sentence. mistake, indeed. the large teeth didn't fit a face such as ... well β his brain shifts gears, unable ( or unwilling? ) to go there. β yes, you did pick a position that relies on being outdoors a lot. i wonder why you didn't try for something like being their personal chef. β he feels more laughter threatening to bubble up at the thought.
β then again, your knowledge of food lies more on your palate than making it. you'd run through too many miracles trying to make them breakfast. β and it was his fault, aziraphale discovered the joy of partaking and imbibing. at least as quickly as he did, it might have been discovered on his own a few hundred years later. those would have been a few hundred years the angel had with less joy. the knowledge of cooking wasn't necessary because crowley always insisted on them going out for whatever new delicacy, meal, or restaurant he'd heard of. and since they didn't eat for bodily sustenance, they could go out whenever they pleased.
he ponders the question on changing appearance and answers honestly. β i think the dowlings are much too busy to notice anythin' most days. if you'd be happy with your own teeth, go ahead. the only one who may notice is little warlock, but he's easily distracted. β it would be nice to not have to go out into town to see the angel's true face.
AZIRAPHALE GAZES OFF as a couple across the dining room receives their shared dessert, and a tender smile stretches across his lips.
β Miracles do happen every day, β he speaks wistfullyβfondly. β And I do believe the gardener at Winfield House is quite deserving of one. β
Looking back at Crowley, Aziraphale beams, preening with utter delight.
β If anything, it just might give Brother Francis the opportunity to speak to Warlock about the BLESSINGS THAT BEFALL THE GOOD. Though, of course, if he were to do good deeds only to get something in return, I fear that wouldn't count as truly good, but it is certainly better than evil. β
Appetite having returned, he pops a bit of lamb upon his tongue, for which he is instantly rewarded with the reminder of the joy of fine food. Eyes slip closed to savor, and when the morsel has been enjoyed to the fullest, the angel finds himself glancing at THE CLEVER DEVIL across from him.
β And what of you? Does Nanny Ashtoreth have any intents to update her appearance or wardrobe? Not that she needs to, but... it's been a few years. I'm sure you could, too, if you were... interested in change? β
GOOD OMENS TV TROPES β Aziraphale
"Should be." He hopes, anyway. "Hell's probably in chaos right now. Can't imagine I'm quite at the top of the list of priorities."
Though he's probably not far from it. His grip on Aziraphale's hand tightens minutely, anxiety clawing its way up his throat. How grateful he is that the gesture was not rebuked. The solid warmth of a hand in his is the only thing grounding him at the moment, a firm reminder that he's not in this mess alone. If there's any chance of survival, they'll find it in each other. Of that much, Crowley is certain.
"Our stop," he murmurs in the moment before the bus does exactly that, and the pair make their exit.
It isn't until they reach the door to his flat that Crowley relinquishes his grip on the angel's hand, and only because, as the door swings inward, he needs to take a wide berth around the mess in the entryway. Whether or not Holy Water is still potent when diluted with melted demon is one mystery he prefers to leave unsolved.
"Mind the, erm, Ligur," he nods towards the puddle that had once been a Duke of Hell.
Drawing a hand up, a sharp snap of his fingers sends the flatscreen television off to...well, wherever things go when he miracles them away, thus eliminating at least one way Hell could barge in on them. It does precious little to ease his nerves.
"Well...this is it." Given the dire matters at hand, he feels more than a little foolish being so self-conscious about showing Aziraphale his home.
"I'd offer you something, but I don't keep much around. Not really one for guests."
β CROWLEY, β the dove coos, almost apologetically on the serpent's behalf. At his side, Aziraphale fingers twitch at the air, now noticing the presence of an emptiness that he'd never been aware of before.
He steps forward, a grateful smile upon his lips, and Aziraphale rests his palm on Crowley's shoulder as he does what they've always agreed not to do.
β Thank you. β
Warmed as he is to be the sole guest of a rather lonely flat in Mayfair, they haven't the leisure of time. He reaches into his waistcoat pocket, procuring Agnes' prophecy and offering it to Crowley for closer inspection.
β From Agnes. It fell out when you returned the book to the woman you hit... WHO HIT YOU with her bicycle. I believe it's safe to say it was meant for us. What do you make of it? β
welp. guess i gotta use more em dashes so i can beat the machines.
Kabaiel gives a shallow, unenthusiastic nod, eyes on the design but not really looking at it. It's difficult to summon up his usual excitement for his work now that he knows it's all going to be gone in a handful of millennia.
"I don't get it." Fingers fiddle with the edge of the parchment, and his brow draws together tighter.
"I thought this whole thing was supposed to be Her big, special project. I mean, She's got all of us working on it, it's got to be a big deal, yeah? So...what's the point of doing all this if She already knows She's going to destroy it all?"
At last, he turns his gaze back to Lucifer, anxiety glinting in his eyes as he braces himself to be admonished again for doubting Her Plan.
NO. Kabaiel's gazeβit's heat on his skin. Lucifer diverts his own, teeth gritting at the twist in his chest, for there are roots growing within his heart. The first appeared with an unspoken question: an single WHY in response to the Almighty and Her desire to make a total of ten thousand planets with the conditions to harbor life.
And then only one of them that would fulfill such a privilege.
Strange it was, the manner in which his inner landscape served as rather FERTILE SOIL for this root system. Grow and grow it did of its own volition, each tendril burrowing deeper within him, suffocating him from the inside as doubt tightened in knots and doubled over itself.
A silent ailment has plagued the Morning Star: one he hasn't spoken of aloud, though it's presented symptoms nonetheless.
He's supposed to give the political responseβhandle this diplomatically. SAY SO MUCH WHILE SAYING NOTHING; it's what Gabriel would do. Lucifer supposes, in a way, it's a good thing he isn't Gabriel.
β That is the Plan, β he whispers a confession as honesty wields its unforgiving blade upon the tip of his tongue. The one word spoken by another questioner that was too exposed to ignore. β DESTRUCTION. She's making them all to destroy them. But WHYβI... β
Knots winding tighter and tighter, Lucifer looks back at Kabaiel.
β I don't know why She's doing it this way. And it's VEXED ME that I can't figure it out. It doesn't make any senseβit's maddness. β
THE ROCK TUMBLES FROM YOUR FINGERS as you stumble forward β the sound it makes as it hits the ground doesn't sound all that different from the sound it made when you struck your brother β and all but trip over your own two feet as you stare at a corpse your brother's body. warmth soaks your clothes as you kneel in abel's blood, soaking the earth you once tended your fields in, and you cradle his head in your lap, whispering to him so low you're not even sure he will be able to hear. " abelβ " and here, your voice cracks like it has not done since you were very small, since THE VERY FIRST TIME YOU EVER GOT ANGRY at him for things you don't even remember anymore. here, in that crack, there is a hysterical sort of panic welling up inside your chest. " abel, get up. i'm sorry, i'm sorry, i didn't mean to hit you so hard, but it's not funny! get up. get up! GET UP! " you don't mean to yell, but it does not matter for he does not move β abel, your brother, the only person in the world who has ever known only this world OUTSIDE THE GREAT GARDEN besides you, your twin β he will, and you know this fact deep down in the core of your bones, never move again. it has not occurred to you that you're being watched until you feel the hair on the back of your neck stand straight like the bundles of wheat you'd presented to the lord only that morning. it occurs to you plainly then that ABEL'S STILL WEARING HIS BEST CLOTHES β and so are you, & both are being soaked in his blood. your eyes lift from his face ( how long have you been staring at his face, waiting for him to finally stare back again? ) and find a man β a being, something in the back of your mind, some instinctive part of your brain that sees things for what they are & not what they should appear, corrects β LOOKING BACK AT YOU. adverting your gaze in easy; it is DECIDEDLY LESS SO to quell the questions that spill from your lips like water from a stream: " who are you? whereβ where did you come from? " another look down at the body your brother. " can you fix him? "
HE'S TOO LATE. Had Aziraphale been here soonerβeven but a moment... No, he doesn't understand it. He's crouched beside Abel, inspecting the boy as blood of the innocent paints his hands and robes.
The air that was once within Abel's lungs, life that poured forth from him, love for the Almighty in a heart that beat stronger every day.
Gone, evaporated with the wind.
Shock clings to the angel's face like sweat upon a brow in midday heat. Though the blood... well, he's not sure if that will ever truly leave the first children of Eve and... others, and his head swivels up to look at Cain.
β WHY? Cain, why would you do this? It was an accident, yes? Aβan accident of sorts? You hadn't meant toβyou didn't... β
β NO? β
ππππππ, ππππππ, ππππππ πππ ππ πππ ππππ π ππππ by πππ ππππππ Good Omens S1 & S2
crowley was damn near giddy. as close it could be for him, that is. certainly a spring in his sauntering step. he'd been very carefully arranging a spot for his stereo to go all morning : each stack of books kept in perfect order just moved ever so slightly ... a couple of feet away from where they were. there was a black feather duster in his hand ( used to be yellow, but anything of the angel's that is that color turns black for his use until picked up by the other again ) furiously cleaning the space when aziraphale addresses him.
β look, look look look. β the feather duster is abandoned on the table as he hurries over behind the other and takes him by the shoulders. demon directs him to the spot with haste and does a quick sweep of 'ta da'. there is a space next to the gramophone. a lovely little table he picked up that matched the wood tones of the rest of the shop. the flat top of the table was where the boxy, but stylish ( in his opinion ) speakers would be housed. while below, hidden inside two wooden doors are where all the knobs, buttons, and other features of the 80s stereo system would be hidden. and underneath all of that, there was a shelf where tapes and cds could be neatly stored. he knew his angel well and the gadgetry of it would not suit the space, which would send aziraphale into a bit of a nervous titter. β it'll all be contained just here, angel, don't worry your pretty little head about it. β
THERE'S SOMETHING ABOUT THE MOMENTβthe way Crowley moves through the space, the lightness in his step and voice, and the careful arrangement. Oh. Well, it does something to sway the heartβbut more importantly, ease it.
The angel's final protest manifests in a quick twitch of his nose.
β Oh, ALL RIGHT. β And Aziraphale can't help but smile at the sudden spell of cheer that has befallen his new housemate.
Long-time friend. And, er, well, the rest is a matter for another time.
β Is there anything else we need to do to prepare for its arrival? Also, I've been meaning to ask you: THE BEDROOM. Is it to your liking? Because we can certainly make adjustments as needed. β
Lord knows the most it's been used in the last century ( other than storage ) was for Gabriel, and one can only do so much to miracle away any LINGERING PRESENCE OF ARCHANGEL ENERGY ( down to scrubbing the nitrogen molecules in the airβand still it sticks! ).
also crowley deserves to take all of jim's stuff in the bedroom and throw it out the fuckin window. thank you & goodnight.
it's 8:40 & this smoke detector hasn't stopped blaring since, um, 11 am. this morning. ha haaaa. it was nice knowin yall.
hate when i sit down ready to write & i get *one draft* done before my brain starts feeling like ice cream on the sidewalk in july.
both of them returned safely to the earth, feet planted steadily, metaphorically speaking. they no longer tread on uncertain ground. there was less deviousness in the demon's expression now that aziraphale had managed full sentences that validated him. β you're right. he's not even eleven, so how would he know true beauty? likely not unless it smacked him in the gob. β crowley gave a sniff of satisfaction. his neediness had been quelled for a short while at least.
β your mutton chops when you're brother francis ... they are a nice touch. β compliments are so rarely conceded by his kind ( at least that is what he tells himself to sleep well at night ) that he then cushions it with a critique. β the teeth though, β air is sucked through his own in mock disapproval. β but, they do go a long way in making you believably from the countryside. β there's a smile threatening to pull at the corners of his mouth. something that happened far too often around the angel. another thing he chose not to acknowledge.
SETTING HIS GLASS DOWN, Aziraphale groans with a dramatic roll of his eyes. Oh, the mutton chops! The teeth! Had he enough foresight to consider the longevity of his design, perhaps he'd have approached it differently.
β I fear I prioritized believability over comfort, and I shall not make the mistake again! β Eyebrows raise as he tilts his head toward Crowley. β I hadn't considered the burden of WEARING OUR PARTS day in and day outβand in the hot sun, no less! Far too many times I've battled with those finicky rose bushes Mrs Dowling loves so much. β
The corner of his lip pulls in a lopsided frown.
β You don't suppose it would draw too much suspicion if their homely gardener encountered a sudden blessing, in which he was able to receive proper dental work? β
It warms himβthe thought of their work togetherβand that warmth pulls a smile upon Aziraphale's lips. Strangely precious this time has been, a period AWAY FROM THE WORLD TO SAVE THE WORLD. One might almost forget their respective sides if he were to permit himself to get too comfortable, but he can't have that, now can he?
