Latest Posts by raistorms - Page 6

and they say wine is romantic

me lately once again

they made their own stupid hell on earth.

listen, we were all thinking it.

I was thinking about Anthony J Crowley, as all normal ones do, and how it is that he seems to exist alone outside the dichotomy of Heaven and Hell. Crowley wasn't obedient enough to be an angel, he couldn't toe the party line, he wasn't deferential enough to God or any authority. But he's also not cruel, or apathetic enough to be a demon; he's too soft for Hell.

So what is Crowley? Not an angel, not a demon ("Former demon," he says in s2). But he's more than what he's not. Crowley is outside the Heaven/Hell binary because of who he is, the one identity that sets him apart from all other demons and angels: Crowley is the Serpent of Eden. The snake in the garden was the instigator of choice, the inspiration to humans to use free will. That's who Crowley is, and when he inspired Eve to eat the fruit of the tree of knowledge, he aligned himself with the fate of humans.

Crowley doesn't belong to Hell, and he certainly doesn't belong to Heaven. Crowley belongs to humanity.

🐍🏠

I need a season 3 renewal soon, I just want them to get that calm South Downs cottage ending they deserve.

sorry for the shit quality i just recorded my screen from my phone but this is making me INSANE

Good Omens 2.02, Job minisode

Crowley shifting into protective husband mode

the only heaven I'll be sent to is when I'm alone with you

@softest-punk ‘s amazing writing was the inspiration behind this, ( the text here is from the fic) !please go read their work it is divineee!

Hiya, could you pretty pretty please do a 12. and 33. prompt for the ineffable husbands? I keep thinking of Bentley just locking them in and not letting them out until they talk cupboard trope style 😔

Yessssss :D

---

"Now you listen to me Crowley, you are going to tell your car—"

"Our car."

Aziraphale stops. Blinks. Gives up on fighting with the door handle.

"What did you say?" he asks.

"It's our car," Crowley repeats, more of a mumble this time, looking away from Aziraphale. A raindrop runs down the window, and he follows it with his eyes until it pools at the bottom, joining the great conference of former raindrops gathering there. They're in for a night of it, by the looks of the sky. "You said that. You made that true. So you're as much at fault as I am for it locking us in."

"I don't see how this is my fault. You kidnapped—"

"Kidnapped? I rescued you. That's. That's what I do. That's what the almighty made me for, I think," he huffs, still not looking at Aziraphale.

One rescue does not a rift mend. He's owed an apology. And even though everything's gone to heaven, like he predicted, he still hasn't gotten one.

He'd take a lot less. He doesn't need to hear that he was right. He needs to hear that Aziraphale's sticking with him this time.

The Bentley is, at least temporarily, seeing to that. Crowley gives the steering wheel a gentle pat. He genuinely has nothing to do with the doors being locked and apparently immune to miracles or temptation, but he thinks it's trying to help.

If nothing else, the constant itch of not being able to reach out and touch Aziraphale, if he wanted, has vanished for a bit. The ache of missing him has eased back just a fraction. It's a good car. A good, loyal car.

"You're cold," he says, shrugging out of his jacket without even having to look at Aziraphale. It's cold out tonight, in the middle of bloody nowhere, and he gets cold easily. Crowley doesn't want him to be cold.

"You'll be cold," Aziraphale says as Crowley shoves his body-warmed jacket at him.

"Demon," he says. "Don't get cold."

Theoretically, an angel ought not to get cold either. Thing is. Aziraphale's never actually been a very good angel. Not that Crowley would ever tell him that to his face.

Besides, he's his angel. He's allowed to be not very good.

"Thank you," Aziraphale says, taking the jacket and spreading it over himself like a blanket.

Silence, except for the pit-pat of rain against the car, falls. And Aziraphale's breathing. Crowley's missed the way he breathes.

He literally twiddles his thumbs in his lap, trying to think of something to say or do.

"Things are a bit of a mess," Aziraphale says after what might have been several eternities. Crowley's lost count.

He opens his mouth to say something—something comforting, like that it's not all that bad, or that they'll figure it out, they're a team, they always figure it out.

And then Aziraphale continues, "and you tried to warn me."

His voice sounds so small that Crowley, naturally, like he always does, deflates like a sat-on whoopee cushion. Because the thing about Aziraphale is that he always really is trying to do the right thing. Because he still believes there's one true Right Thing to do. Because he's precious and wonderful and optimistic and good. Not a good angel. But a good person.

"Did you ever wonder why I might try to do that?" Crowley asks.

He's not sure he wants an answer. Either one's going to hurt.

Aziraphale falls silent again, which is probably for the best. The way the moonlight's hitting the window now, Crowley can see him reflected in it. Still the same Aziraphale. Heaven hasn't really changed him.

"Do you really think God created you to look out for me?"

Crowley sighs. "I don't know. Plan's, y'know, ineffable."

"Well it would explain why you keep doing it," Aziraphale says. "If it's all in the plan."

"Right," Crowley draws in on himself. Not getting through right now, then. "No other possible explanation for it, really."

"Well. There is one other possible explanation," Aziraphale offers hesitantly.

"Oh?" Crowley asks.

"Well... you might. I suppose. Be fond of me?"

Crowley glances over at him. Sighs. Okay, well. He's come to that conclusion, then. It's only taken a little over six thousand years. Practically no time at all.

He takes his sunglasses off. Stares out of the windscreen. Wonders if he can actually be discorporated by way of stomach knots. Gnaws on his lip.

And then gets very, very brave. "I might be," Crowley says, forcing himself to look Aziraphale in the eye. "I might even be in love with you."

Aziraphale swallows. He looks like he might either be sick or pass out from what Crowley realises at the last second isn't disgust.

It's nerves.

"You might," he says, looking away as he fiddles with Crowley's jacket. "And. And if you were. That would be very convenient for me. Because I... I think I've been in love with you for a very long time."

Crowley means to say something to that, but the nice satisfying thunk of the Bentley unlocking beats him to it.

"Well," Crowley says, running his tongue over his teeth. "That's probably enough to save the world, then. Shall we?"

Aziraphale lights up, bright and beautiful and good as always. "I think we really must."

quick 60s ineffable wives fanart

American 60s female presenting you say????? Well don’t mind if I do!!!!!

the only heaven I'll be sent to is when I'm alone with you

Aziraphale's favorite color is yellow #confirmed

𝓵𝓲𝓵𝓾𝓶

If a fella makes a nebula right in front of you, how are you not gonna pine after him for 6000 years?

look at you, you're gorgeous!

i love taking jabs at The Ineffables' horrific communication skills as much as the next guy but i hope you all understand that their piss-poor communication is built upon centuries of having to deny the truth of their relationship and having to take orders from Mega Powerful Organizations that they don't necessarily agree with but could kill them if opposed

all of their interactions until the end of Armageddon't had to be hidden under layers of deception, excuses, and plausible deniability — clandestine meetings at St. James' Park, risking discorporation via guillotine for a lunch date in Paris, "go back to my place" "my side won't like that", not accepting each other's gratitude. the same could be said for anything they did that their head offices don't agree with — doing good deeds because laudanum might not make him accountable for his actions, saving the Earth against heaven's wishes under the guise of thwarting a demon, having sushi to "live like the locals" when really he just likes sushi and interesting restaurants where they know his name. they never learned to be completely honest with each other, or with anyone (including themselves) for that matter.

it's honestly a testament to how strong their connection is that they've grown to trust each other so deeply ("i knew you'd come through for me, you always do" / "i can rely on you and you can rely on me"), given the circumstances. how do you place all your faith in someone despite the fact that you two could only ever whisper half-truths and read between the lines? god i love them

now that the walls are down, they're learning how to voice everything they never could out loud. it's clumsy, and painstaking, and they might cause each other grief along the way, but they'll get the hang of it, little by little

DONT WATCH GOMENS 2 IT RUINED MY LIFE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Love like yours will surely come my way

#i live there

Crowley’s hairstyles/looks - down through the ages ...now including Good Omens Season Two

The original Season One post [ x ]

Small fry relocated from hiking path

happy silly day trafficblr

making thibgs... to send people

If anyone wants to know any of the symbolism/meaning behind any of the clocks send an ask :)