Cinematic Parallels

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Eden 2.0, or the Trials and Tribulations of A. J. Crowley, Game Programmer and Absolute Disaster

Chapter 1: First-Time User Experience

good omens // aziraphale/crowley // human AU, game development AU // rated T // chapter 1/?

Crowley – just Crowley – is a programmer at a video games studio, coasting from project to project with a bare minimum of emotional investment. He gets a good paycheck, his coworkers leave him alone, and, well, the misgendering really doesn’t bother him that much. So what if he’s tired and constantly on the verge of changing his job on a whim– he’s fine. Really. But then along comes Aziraphale, fantasy author, consulting writer and, worst of all, a kind-hearted bastard who still sees the good in people. So maybe there is a point to it all. And maybe it’s enough to change one person’s life.

read full chapter on AO3 here!

Crowley glares at the coffee machine.

The coffee machine, clearly not considering him a worthy opponent, does not glare back, no matter the intensity of Crowley’s gaze.

It’s been a long week. Every week in the lead up to the release date is usually a long one, gah, not to mention the background talks of a brand new project. No rest for the wicked, as is the industry way. It’s this time of the year when Crowley spends his free time idly browsing LinkedIn and various tech job boards.

Not that he’s really planning on changing his job. The devil you know, right? Far less effort than endless job interviews and email chains.

So, it’s been a long week. And the coffee machine is broken. Of course, it’s already been replaced with a new one, but then thing is – the thing is, the new one is just as broken. Crowley wants to scream. He doesn’t. Instead, he bangs his hand against the top of the stupid machine and promptly winces in pain.

“Oh!” A voice from somewhere behind Crowley interrupts his miserable train of thought. “Are you okay, dear girl?”

Crowley flinches at the word, but he says nothing about it. He turns around and there’s a tight smile on his face. “I’m fine,” he grumbles. “Just–” He waves a hand at the machine. “New coffee machine. Broken piece of junk.”

“Let me?”

With a shrug, Crowley steps out of the way. “Be my guest.”

While the stranger approaches the counter, Crowley leans against a nearby counter and takes a look at him. He has blond hair, white almost, though it looks natural, unlike Crowley’s signature red. His clothes are something else – vintage, beige and brown and blue; and, most peculiar of all, he’s wearing a bloody bowtie. He looks horribly out of place against the white-grey walls of a modern game development office.

“And… all done! I believe your coffee machine is actually in a tip-top condition!”

“Tip-top… what?”

Crowley circles around the stranger and looks over his shoulder at the culprit. The coffee machine continues to be suspiciously quiet and so his gaze bounces between it and the man standing at his side. Perhaps sensing his disbelief, the stranger picks up one of the cups and places it underneath the muzzle. He smiles at Crowley and gestures for him to do the rest. Fine. One eyebrow raised, Crowley slowly reaches out and presses a few buttons on the touchscreen at the front of the machine. It whirrs and clanks and bonks and at last dark liquid pours out and into the cup.

Crowley exhales in relief.

“Consider me impressed,” he drawls. “You are a real miracle worker.”

“Oh, hardly.” The stranger waves off the compliment, though his cheeks appear to take on a distinct shade of pink. He takes a step back, putting some more distance between the two of them. “I worked at an office with this type of machine. They can be rather fiddly, so it’s no wonder you were struggling with it.”

“Well, either way.” Crowley picks up the cup, downs the coffee like a shot and immediately places it under the muzzle for a refill. The stranger gapes at him wordlessly. “I suppose I should thank you.”

“No need, truly.”

Crowley hums. “You new around here? Or are you remote? Dropped by to finally see our glorious office, did you?”

“Ah.” The stranger folds his hands on his round stomach and smiles politely. “The former. I quite enjoy these face-to-face interactions, far too much to give up on office work entirely.”

“Lucky if you got to choose,” Crowley mutters, mostly to himself. “I’m Crowley,” he adds, offering his hand for a handshake.

“Aziraphale.” Crowley’s hand is enveloped by one much thicker and warmer than his. “I’m a new writer. Well, consulting writer.”

Now that rings some bells. “So you’re that author everyone’s been raving about.”

“Dear me. In a good way, I hope?”

Crowley lets go of his hand and shrugs. “Mate, I don’t know. I don’t read and I’m certainly not consulted on these decisions.” Seeing a brief flash of hurt on Aziraphale’s face, Crowley sighs and continues, “But, you’re here. So you must be good.”

It works. Aziraphale’s face lights up in an instant, like a bulb with a far too high wattage. Crowley’s glad he’s wearing sunglasses. “Thank you, dear. Now, tell me, what do you do? Oh, I know! You must be one of the lovely women making art! You look like an artist.”

Two strikes, there. Women, immediately followed up by, so you must be making art. Bloody hell. At least he didn’t guess at QA. Or, worse, that he’s a producer.

With a blank look on his face, Crowley responds, “I’m a programmer.”

“You must excuse me, dear,” Aziraphale says, looking as though he does feel bad. “I didn’t mean to make assumptions. Lord knows I’ve heard enough of those myself.”

Crowley looks him up and down, making a rather clear point of it.

“Oh, yes, I know, but there really is–”

“There you are, Aziraphale, buddy, my man!”

The booming voice that interrupts them belongs to Gabriel – the creative director. Crowley sighs, already planning a strategic exit – you never want to get accosted by Gabriel, not under any circumstances. Thankfully, he’s always been the type of creative director who mostly stays hands off, letting the individual teams do their thing as they please, but, well. He’s also very talkative, irritating and horribly American.

There’s also the other matter – namely, that the new project is entirely Gabriel’s idea. Which means Aziraphale is going to be spending a lot of time chatting with the guy. Oof.

“It is so good to finally meet you in person–” Gabriel continues and Crowley takes this opportunity to slink out of the kitchen before he’s spotted.

He doesn’t say goodbye. He does make sure to catch Aziraphale’s eye, though, and mouths a silent good luck at him. Then he’s gone.

Back to the grind it is. Maybe it’s about time that Crowley called in a favour from that guy at EA. See if he can wriggle his way in there before the new project properly kicks off.

He won’t. But it’s still nice to daydream.

read full chapter on AO3 here!

i'm back with some incorrect good omens yay :)

A: occupied Poland.

First Felon has over 3500 court cases.

Now that he is a convicted felon, fraud, and adjudicated rapist, he wants to skip judicial process and one-way ticket innocent people to concentration camps in El Salvador.