A Longing.

Please, let him be soft.  Credit: Pencap

Back on the bench

And again, and again…

Crowley's angelic essence (Dominion)

It's them!!

everything u need to know about me can actually be explained by the fact that i read that poem about the serving girl wearing the pearls so they're warm for her mistress when i was like 11 and it rewrote my brain chemistry forever

like this Changed Me

they are husbands (do not separate)

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.

Ballet Dancer Crowley, anyone?

It’s been a hot minute, but I’m back😀. Also, if y’all want, you should check out my Bluesky account @shelba-larsen.bsky.social cause I am also posting my artwork there.

passing that single brain cell back and forth between them

I totally agree

good omens characters I would trust with my car (if I had one)

Who I would let borrow my car:

Crowley. That demon would take care of my car - I'm talking pristine seats, clean glovebox, the shiniest it's ever been. He would claim that he wasn't doing it to be nice (he's not nice) and complain about how dirty it was before but we all know the truth. All my CD's would probably be mysteriously replaced with Queen (if he has to listen to it all time, so does everybody else.) There would be 17 parking tickets in 5 different languages on the dash. When you get the car back you realise that you gave it to him with a nearly empty tank but for some reason he didn't seem to refill it? And it worked perfectly fine???

Aziraphale. Look we both know when I get it back it'll be bright yellow and probably look like it's off a 60s sitcom but I mean look at his FACE is that the kind of face you could say no to? Yeah, I don't think so. He would be all "pretty please could I borrow your beautiful car" and the keys would be his. I don't blame Crowley for letting him drive the Bentley I would also forfeit all my mortal possessions to this angel.

Anathema. She wouldn't ask she'd just grab my keys and be like "I'll be back at 6:02" and who am I to question it? it would be 6:02 exactly and the car would turn up in my driveway covered in dirt. where did all the dirt come from??? I don't think I want to know. There would be a sticky note on the dashboard with a cryptic prophecy involving an elaborate generation-long ruse and today's wordle answer. would I let her borrow it again? probably.

Who I would not let borrow my car:

Newton Pulsifer. This man would rename my car words that haven't even been invented yet. He would've used my number plate to sign up for a Spanish inquisition fanclub. Heaven forbid that I have a Bluetooth speaker inside (it would turn into a green tooth speaker or something I swear.) The car would end up in a ditch in the neighbour's cornfield. He would offer me toast as an apology.

Sergeant Shadwell. Let's just say he uses the buses for a reason.

Archangel Gabriel. My radio would exclusively play bible stations from now on. The car would glow pure white and float above the ground. He would get pulled over for going 3km on the motorway. His driver's license would say 'human Gabriel who's a completely normal human being. profession: definitely not archangel of heaven. (that'll fool 'em guys) age: human. He would sit and watch the windscreen wipers go back and forward for 5 hours like a cat.