Clacomat, she/hermassive Good Omens fan
153 posts
Latest Posts by clacomat - Page 5
💍❤️🔥✨ hair-over-flames in love!
thanks to @thatskindarough for the idea ily buddy<3
I wrote something and it didn't really seem long enough to post on ao3 but like... vaguely adult content I guess? I've still not figured how that works (or doesn't) on Tumblr. so have it under the cut. short ineffable phonecall about wall slams
"are you on your way?" Aziraphale asked cheerfully down the phone by way of hello.
"oh. er. Angel, look, I've had a really shitty day, I think I'm going to stay in my flat and watch shitty TV until I fall into a shitty sleep. I think there's a new series of Love Island on."
Aziraphale had no idea what that was but he didn't think it sounded like particularly good viewing. "if you're going to wallow and sulk, you can do it at mine. I've got wine, and you can tell me about your awful day and I can make very sympathetic noises."
"no. I would be extremely poor company." Crowley made a point of switching on the TV and turning it up loud enough it could be heard through the phone.
"oh I've been tolerating your moods for thousands of years," Aziraphale replied airily.
"Angel." Crowley gritted his teeth. "I am trying. to tell you. that I don't WANT. to take my bad mood out. on you."
the pause that followed was unreasonably long. Crowley felt his layers of irritation grow; he was trying to do a considerate thing, trying to grow as a person. if Aziraphale didn't appreciate his efforts he could go stick it. and if he didn't stop being so difficult he was going to find out exactly where in some graphic detail.
"but..." Aziraphale began awkwardly. "I rather think the angelic thing to do would be to absorb your bad mood for you. if you let it fester out into the world, that would be terrible, wouldn't it? but I, well I am a creature of, of love and such like, you couldn't harm me by being grumpy."
this was utter bullshit and it made Crowley's teeth itch. what the fuck was he doing now? was he actually angling for Crowley to snap at him?
"I don't mind. I could leave all the doors ajar so you could slam them. I... I'll stand near the wall so you can pin me up against it."
there was another intense silence, but this time it was Crowley's doing. oh, he was. he was deliberately goading him into this. why would the angel want to be roughed up? completely unwanted, a voice whispered into Crowley's brain: maybe he's into that. angels aren't into that sort of thing, Crowley hissed back in his thoughts. and definitely, absolutely, neither am I.
"I think it would make you feel better," Aziraphale added very quietly.
Crowley remembered the last time he had done that very thing; in Tadfield, in an ex Satanic nunnery. he'd pressed his hips up against Aziraphale, just to hold him in place of course, and he'd briefly thought, and then thought it was ridiculous, that the angel might just have had an erection at the time. angels definitely don't get erections from being roughed up in Satanic nunneries.
"just to be clear," Crowley said, and he'd already switched off the TV and picked up his car keys, "are you doing this to be self sacrificing or because you're... you're..." oh Jesus Christ, Mary, Joseph and a stable full of donkeys, he was actually going to say this out loud because if he didn't say it out loud he was going to spontaneously discorporate. "because you're... getting off on it?"
there was a very guilty silence. eventually, Aziraphale replied, "are you judging me?"
"yes. massively. hugely."
"only I did rather think that time in Tadfield that you definitely got hard holding me against that wall."
the sound of the Bentley roaring to life rattled out of Aziraphale's old rotary telephone. Freddie Mercury launched into Tie Your Mother Down. "Angel, I'll see you in five minutes. think of something incredibly irritating to say to me as a greeting." and with that Crowley hung up the phone and put his foot down.
Been missing them a lot lately and they just make me so extremely soft. So cozy, cuddly, comfort ineffable husbands for it is- I deeply enjoyed making this and I’ve needed to just sit down and draw so desperately😭 they are so deeply important to me. Hope you enjoy.
Rhianna Pratchett confirming her father wouldn't be a """gender critical""" activist (whatever the hell those GCs stand for) if he were still alive
The mysterious Golden Bullet
Or a take on Aziraphale and Crowley’s Wild West Era
And to this day…
Glass
After it was all over, Aziraphale sat on the edge of a bluff and let his feet hang over the side. Rivers and farmland stretched before him. In the distance he spotted a church crouched behind a copse of trees. His heel knocked loose a pebble. He watched it tumble into empty space and wondered what it would feel like to follow.
Behind him he heard the gentle rumble of an engine. The sound of a door slamming shut was muted, as was the crunch of boots on gravel as someone approached. He didn’t look around.
A wine bottle was thrust before his eyes. Automatically, he noted the vintage. He must have gone to some effort for this.
“Drink?”
Aziraphale nodded.
Crowley dropped beside him, sending another cascade of pebbles down the cliff. He produced two wine glasses and handed one to the angel.
Once the wine had generously been decanted, Crowley knocked his glass against Aziraphale’s with a bright ring that vibrated through his fingers.
“I believe congratulations are in order,” he said, taking a swig.
“Hmm,” Aziraphale murmured. He peered into his glass. He could see his reflection along the outer rim.
Crowley cleared his throat. “They underestimated you.” He hesitated, then made an aborted gesture with one hand. “I underestimated you.”
Aziraphale took a long pull from his glass.
Crowley planted his elbows on his knees and leaned forward, trying to catch Aziraphale’s eye. When the angel didn’t look up, he turned away, face etched with resignation. He kicked a heel against the cliff and watched dirt shower down.
Aziraphale took this opportunity to eye the demon’s profile.
“How does it work?” he asked.
Crowley looked over his shoulder. “How does what work?”
“No Heaven. No Hell.” The icy hand that had been stalking him the last few months seized his heart. “How do you know good from evil?” A dark void threatened to open up beneath his feet. If he put one foot wrong he would fall in and keep falling, forever. He struggled to breathe. “What if you can’t? What if there…isn’t? At all?”
Suddenly there was a hand on his arm. He could hear his breath harsh in his ears as he looked at it. He looked up into Crowley’s yellow eyes.
“It’s okay angel. Breathe.”
Aziraphale could feel tears gathering in his eyes. “The sheer – arrogance,” he murmured, “to think that I – ”
“Arrogant?” A strangled laugh struggled in the demon’s throat. “Aziraphale – you are the only person I met in all of Hell or Heaven who cared – at all – to even try to figure out what was right and wrong,” he said intently, every line of him leaning forward, eyes wide, trying to make him understand. “The arrogance to try? What about the arrogance of thinking you don’t have to?” His breath pulled rapidly in and out of his chest.
The tears Aziraphale had been fighting spilled over.
“I’m not sure this is going to be comforting but – I don’t think anyone knows for sure, certainly not me,” Crowley said. His grip on Aziraphale’s arm tightened. “I’m not sure that what the Almighty imparted in the garden was knowledge of good and evil so much that it was knowledge that everything is complicated and all of it matters so much. It deserves your conscience and your doubt. It deserves your best effort.”
He tilted his head, tried to catch Aziraphale’s eyes. “I am not worried about you at all,” he said, lips quirking in an attempt at a smile. “You, who gave your sword away at the very Beginning. You’ve always had a heart for these things.”
Aziraphale raised a hand to wipe his eyes and Crowley let go, turning to look out over the landscape below. Aziraphale immediately missed his grip; but he was still close, shoulders brushing together.
“’Sides,” Crowley said, aiming for nonchalance and falling staggeringly short, “I’ll still be here. It’s easier together, I think.”
Crowley looked out at the fields and Aziraphale looked at Crowley. He was swamped by the urge to put his head on Crowley’s shoulder and only just managed to resist it.
Aziraphale looked into his glass. “About what you said – in the bookshop –” he began.
Crowley flung up a hand to head him off. He drained the rest of his glass in one go. “We don’t need to talk about that,” he rasped.
Aziraphale raised an eyebrow. “Don’t we?”
Crowley shook his head emphatically. “It’s okay. I’m sorry I said anything. Or…” He hesitated, his eyes dropping to Aziraphale’s lips before careening away. “…did, anything. You don’t need to say…what you’re going to say. I promise I won’t do it again.” He sloppily crossed his heart and pushed himself to his feet.
Aziraphale listened to his footsteps crunching back toward the Bentley. A kind of calm anger poured in and began filling up his chest. His face set like stone. “That’s a shame,” he said out loud.
The footsteps paused. “What was that?”
“I said – ” Aziraphale pushed himself to his feet and turned around. Crowley stood halfway to the car, bottle and glass in one hand, keys in the other.
“I said,” he said, “it’s a shame that you will never again tell me that you love me; will never kiss me again.” He twisted his hands together, fingernails biting into skin. “I was rather hoping you would.”
Crowley stared at him.
Aziraphale moved forward until they were only inches apart. He held Crowley’s eyes.
Crowley hesitated for a long moment, searching his face. Finally he swayed forward, almost helplessly, head tilted, and pressed his lips to Aziraphale’s.
Aziraphale inhaled sharply and leaned into the kiss. He brought one hand around to grip Crowley’s shoulder, and used the other to cup Crowley’s face. A tremor ran down Crowley’s body. Aziraphale brushed his thumb along Crowley’s jawline and deepened the kiss. That icy hand retreated and Aziraphale dared to hope he would learn how to keep it at bay. He felt like he had stepped outside in winter and found a patch of sun.
He pulled back and smiled to himself at the dazed expression on Crowley’s face. “Do you want to get rid of…” he indicated the bottle and glass still in Crowley’s hand.
Crowley slowly dragged his eyes away and looked at the offending objects. “Hm? Oh, right.” Unceremoniously, he tossed them away, stuffing the keys back into his pocket as he did so. His arms encircled Aziraphale and pulled him back in for another heady kiss.
The glass hit the ground, but instead of shattering into shards, it shattered into seeds, which germinated far too rapidly, extending tender green shoots and fragile white roots until a patch of wildflowers had rooted in the gravel beside the road, an eddy of pink, red, purple, and impossible blue.
Someone recently retweeted/reposted Michael Sheen’s fandom post from New Years Eve 2019. And I just wanted to repost it here because sometimes it’s reassuring and comforting to read his words and know he appreciates it and loves fandom as much as we do. ❤️
https://x.com/michaelsheen/status/1212168111279001600?s=46
I think the good omens fandom is one of the best I’ve ever been a part of. I am sad that he’s been driven off social media by people who are not true fans, and I miss his posts and silly chaos. I keep hoping to see him over here someday. I hope he knows how much he is loved. 💕😊
No Nightingales (a Clue!)
Um.
I don't know why it took me THIS LONG to remember that this line is from Romeo & Juliet.
ROMEO: It was the lark, the herald of the morn, No nightingale. Look, love, what envious streaks Do lace the severing clouds in yonder east. Night's candles are burnt out, and jocund day Stands tiptoe on the misty mountain-tops. I must be gone and live, or stay and die.
Can I please just draw your attention to the last line, please?
I must be gone and live, or stay and die.
Romeo is telling Juliet that he has to leave now before he is discovered and they are forced apart/he is killed.
Hmm, sounds suspicious to me...
They've been talking in coded messages since... well, always. No nightingales means Crowley is trying to tell Aziraphale that has to go, he's trying to tell him that it's dangerous - but what's promising about this is that if he's speaking in code, Crowley knows they're being watched.
I still can't say for sure what's going on at the end of the Final Fifteen, but I do believe this is a Clue.
An eco-friendly angel...
Incorrect Good Omens Quotes Masterpost Part 1 : here
Incorrect Good Omens Quotes Masterpost Part 2 : here
The South Downs cottage . . . . .
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