Average Anonymous

No. No we have not.

Needless to say, spoilers ahead

Basically my thoughts can be wrapped up in... it was okay. It was just okay, ya know? I only have a few overarching thoughts that stand out and kind of umbrella all the other things I thought and felt while watching.

Primarily...

It was obviously meant to be a season, not a movie

Painfully so. Pacing, terrible. Rushed. Choppy. So many underdeveloped plot threads. I fully understand that they were under extreme circumstances and limitations with this project, but it couldn't have been more obvious that they took a 6 Episode (6+ HOURS) season and condensed it into 90 minutes. That was a horrendous choice. It needed to be written from a clean slate with 90 minutes in mind to make it work, and they didn't do that. The easiest cut? Jesus should not have been in this movie. He didn't do anything. His role was pointless. There was no reason for him to be there. The Book of Life going missing should have been the only focus. That would have left more time for a mystery to unfold and be solved. We could have seen the devolution of Michael's sanity. There could have been comedic threads with Muriel "on the case". We could have had a more satisfying arc of Aziraphale and Crowley coming to terms with how they left things, Crowley forgiving Aziraphale naturally, all that jazz, so their emotional arc didn't feel truncated. And truly, the Book of Life missing was a big enough reason for Aziraphale to go to Earth and/or seek out Crowley. A couple of other things that could have easily been cut out... The Bentley-being-owned-by-a-gangster thing. Most of Hell's scenes. I'm sure there's more. These would have been fine in a fully developed season. They didn't work in a 90 minute film that needed to be focused and clearly targeted.

The end was written for people who enjoy soulmates/reincarnation tropes

Which I do. So it didn't really bother me that Az & Crowley became humans. Human life is beautiful, and it being fleeting doesn't make it less so. I certainly don't agree with the critique that "It isn't them" etc. Because I enjoy soulmates/reincarnation tropes, I enjoy the idea that even if the memories are absent, the soul remembers. Their history isn't gone. It's just carried in their hearts, rather than their minds. I love the concept of them finding each other over and over and over in lifetime after lifetime. So that was fine by me.

That said... I don't think "Creating a New Universe" was necessary

And it felt like a bit of a disservice to everything that came before. I think they could have just reinstated the old one, minus angels/demons/interference from divinity. I don't love that they gave up on their own universe and just said "Let's just try again". This was the world they loved and fought for for so long, I wish that they would have put it back, accepting that they would no longer be a part of it. And THEN their souls were incarnated as humans. That's just me, but honestly, it seems like everyone's souls made it into the new-and-improved-edition so whatever.

Overall...

I think it is better than nothing. I'm at least glad to be able to close the book on the story. I don't anticipate a lot of re-watching of Season 3 in my future though because, ultimately, the technical flaws of the story and pacing made it somewhat unenjoyable for me, despite how much I adore Aziraphale and Crowley as characters. I look forward to the influx of fix-it-fanfic though.

But I almost wish it had been fully canceled.

I'd rather eat no cake at all than a cake that is raw in the middle.

I'd rather rely on my imagination and fanworks than be served a half-assed consolation episode.

I hate not knowing how it would have gone.

I hate how much screentime these characters are losing.

I hate the missed opportunity and lost potential.

I hate that I'm almost dreading this thing that I've been so in love with.

I'm sick of good things being canceled.

I hate Neil Gaiman for ruining this for me.

Word Count: 4,837 Fandom: Good Omens Rating: General Audiences Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley(Raphael) Summary:

Raphael was the best of Angels. Kind, and good, and pure, and Aziraphale loved him. He couldn't accept that the Almighty would cast him out, and he would follow him into the dark if that was what was required. But perhaps God had placed them where they were needed. Perhaps she had meant for it to be this way. Perhaps the Fall had been part of the Ineffable Plan all along.

Excerpt: 

He searches cluster after cluster of angels. With each new group, he feels himself teetering further on the cusp of panic. The trembling and shaking of Creation is coming more frequently now, each wave more violent than the last, and no one knows what is happening. No one knows, and his Starmaker isn't to be found among them, not among any of them. And then, suddenly, finally, he feels an aura that is bright and beautiful, and aura that feels like home. Aziraphale follows it until at last he comes into view beyond a shining nebula. There, amongst a group of young cherubs. He's speaking to them calmly, touching shoulders and holding hands. Of all the angels Aziraphale has seen, these are the first whose auras are not shot through with fear. Aziraphale pulls up short, feeling lightheaded with relief. He puts a hand on his heart to feel it still beating, breathes slowly. Then his Starmaker turns and sees him. His honey-gold eyes light up and his wings give one strong beat. Then Aziraphale is in his arms, and the fear, the sorrow, the pain, fall away. He buries his face in the curve of his neck and grips him tight.

“Raphael,” Aziraphale gasps, his voice pitched with anxiety, “I was looking for you.”

Raphael draws back, just enough so he can bring up Aziraphale’s face, enough to meet his eyes.

“I'm here,” he says, running a hand over his white curls, then letting it rest on his cheek. “Always.”

Aziraphale returns his gaze, breathes, and allows himself to be reassured. He nods. His Starmaker smiles and rests his forehead against Aziraphale’s. Aziraphale closes his eyes again, and feels the edges of their souls overlap; the lines between them blur until they are nonexistent. Their hearts beat together. They breathe as one.

Always.

That was the promise they'd made, witnessed only by the light of a million million stars and the calm, peaceful quiet of Creation.

Yours, Always.

Together, Always.

No matter what.

The largest tremor yet shakes them back into the moment.

Raphael's head jerks up and he winces as the emotions of God flood the Celestial plane anew.

“Have you spoken with the Archangels?” Aziraphale asks him.

Raphael shakes his head once, then gestures to the cherubs, “Too busy settling the lower ranks.”

Aziraphale warms at his Starmaker's gentle kindness. He strongly doubted that any other archangel would stoop to comforting Cherubs. They didn't have the heart for it. But as much as Aziraphale admires it, there isn't really time for it, not now. He takes Raphael’s hand, squeezing it, and says “We have to find them without delay.”

He starts to fly away, towing Raphael behind him, but the archangel grabs his other hand and pulls him back down, drawing him close and folding their clasped hands against his chest.

“I'm needed here,” Raphael says to him, golden eyes steady.

Aziraphale frowns. “But we need to… to find Lucifer, and the others,” he argues, though he can sense Raphael has set his mind, “We need to find out what is happening; there isn't time-”

“Look,” Raphael murmurs, interrupting him gently. He tilts his head to the side, urging him to look. Aziraphale does, and he sees the lower ranks mingling anxiously, gazes darting in their direction. Without Raphael to calm them, the fear is returning.

Aziraphale's brow furrows, “I see them. They're afraid, we all are, but-”

Raphael kisses him. Aziraphale's protests scatter like stardust before a solar wind. Raphael's hands lift to gently cradle his face. He kisses him slowly, once, twice, and then pulls back, but only just.

“I am not afraid,” he whispers.

Aziraphale purses lips still warm from those tender kisses. He rests his hand over his Starmaker's heart and feels it beating steadily, searches his Starmaker's eyes and finds them sure.

“No, you aren't, are you?” Aziraphale sighs.

“Everything is going to be fine,” Raphael says, “Trust me.”

“I do,” Aziraphale says softly. They look at one another for a long moment then Aziraphale sighs again. “Okay,” he finally agrees.

Raphael smiles and presses a kiss to his forehead. “Go,” he says, “Find Lucifer, see what this is all about. Then come back to me. I'll be right here. I'm not going anywhere.”

Aziraphale nods and extends his wings. Raphael holds his hand tight, and for just a moment seems like he won't let him go. But then he does and Aziraphale takes off. He looks back over his shoulder as he leaves, watching Raphael rejoin the group of Cherubs.

They sit on the bench. It is an almost perfect day. The sun warms them, though the air is crisp and chill, the scent of autumn leaves and distant snow sharp on the breeze. The pond ripples where leaves drop to its surface.

The angel closes his eyes, turns his face to the warm afternoon light that kisses his cheeks. He sighs, content. Then smiles as a light touch brushes the back of his hand. Fingers tracing the contours of each finger, following the path of each vein. Easy. Slow. Gentle. The angel doesn't open his eyes. He savors the sensation; turns his hand over, letting the fingers softly trace the lines of his palm. They stay like that for awhile, until eventually the fingers settle and interlock with his, lacing together, and it feels like home.

The angel squeezes the demon's hand gently.

The demon squeezes back.

The sun warms their skin.

"I can't say that I have, no. It isn't, ah, really proper for an Angel to participate in such a frivolous activity."

"Nah, come on, why not?"

"It's unnecessary!"

"Oh, right. And food is necessary."

"Well certainly the humans would notice eventually if I never ate anything."

"But you enjoy it."

"...Your point?"

"You'll enjoy this too. It feels great. Can even be relaxing."

"Crowley, I don't think... I dont think I could."

"Angel. Do you trust me?"

"You know I do."

"Then trust me. I'll be right there with you. If you're having anything less than a good time, we'll call it a night, and we never do it again."

"Well..."

"Come onnnnn,"

"...Alright, alright, fine,"

"That's the spirit!"

"I suppose you'd continue to harangue me on it until I give in anyway."

"I know the perfect place. Real fancy, but all natural. It's a thermal spring. No better place for your first time swimming."

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30 Minute Time Limit

Prompt: Ducks, Messy, Garden

“Get OUT, feathered bastards!” 

Aziraphale started as Crowley’s voice shattered the pleasant silence of a Sunday afternoon in late spring. He looked up from the recipe for an lavender-almond cake he’d been reading and rushed outside to see what the commotion was about. 

He found Crowley in the garden. The demon stood, chest heaving, the air around him crackling with Infernal energy. He was covered in mud, caking his boots, coating the knees of his pants, smeared across one cheek, and somehow clumped into his hair. Aziraphale looked him up and down, then tried and utterly failed to hold back a laugh. 

“What in the world are you getting up to out here?” He asked, covering his mouth with one hand in an attempt to stifle the fit of giggling. 

“The DUCKS,” Crowley snarled, eyes blazing. 

Aziraphale looked around, and sure enough spotted a small group of ducks waddling idly in the grass just beyond the flowering hedge that bordered their yard. They quacked quietly to themselves and generally appeared to be minding their own business. 

“You like ducks,” Aziraphale said.

“Not those ducks,” Crowley retorted sharply, “THOSE are ungrateful avian savages,” 

“I see…” Aziraphale nodded slowly, “And we are angry with the ducks because…?” 

“Because,” Crowley growled, “The damn things keep sneaking in here when I’ve got my back turned, and eating the damn lettuce!” 

“Ah,” Aziraphale said, making a show of glaring sternly at the ducks, “Feathered fiends, the lot of them,” 

“That’s right!” Crowley snapped, heedless of Aziraphale’s teasing. He started stomping around, carefully covering the young greens that could be salvaged with churned soil, plucking out the ones that could not. 

“Crowley,” Aziraphale chided gently, “The ducks don’t have a vendetta against you personally, I’m sure,” 

“The hell they don't,” Crowley muttered, glaring at the ducks as he passed the hedge to grab his tools, “They wait out there, minding their business, until the second I walk away.” 

“Of course, that is generally what wild animals do,” Aziraphale said, “And it doesn’t help that we haven’t put in the garden fence yet.” 

“Ah! Oh, I see! Put the blame on the victim, will you,” Crowley accused as he brandished a trowel in Aziraphale’s direction, “Some angel you are!” 

Aziraphale smiled warmly and shook his head, then he stepped into the torn up garden beds and took Crowley by the hand, leading him back to the cottage. Crowley grumbled but didn’t argue, dropping his tools in a bucket. 

“Shoes,” Aziraphale said as they got to the door, and Crowley stepped out of his mud-coated boots. Then they went inside and to the bathroom attached to their bedroom. 

Crowley’s expression was set in a frown, brow ridged with deep furrows. Aziraphale paid it no mind and undid the buttons of Crowley’s shirt, peeling the muddy fabric away from his skin. That done, he took a cloth, wetted it with warm water, and began wiping away the muck where it had dried on his hands and arms, working his way up to his neck. As Aziraphale worked, Crowley closed his eyes, and gradually the severity left his features, the harsh lines of his face softening. Aziraphale took a comb and gently pulled the mud from Crowley’s hair, brushing it smooth. He took up the cloth again and dabbed away flecks of dirt that had crusted on his eyebrows, finally working at the large clump of mud that was thoroughly smeared across his cheek. When Aziraphale pressed the cloth to the demon’s cheek, though, Crowley’s eyes opened and he caught his arm, holding him still. Without a word, Crowley took the cloth, placed it on the counter beside him, and then took Aziraphale’s chin and kissed him. Aziraphale leaned into the kiss, letting his hands wander down Crowley’s neck and over his bare shoulders, wrapping around him to trace the notches in his spine, down to the waistband of his jeans. 

“These,” he said against Crowley’s lips, drawing his fingers around the demon’s hips, “are absolutely filthy. It won’t do.” 

“Guess you’ll have to take them off, as well, then,” Crowley murmured back, running his hands into Aziraphale’s hair.

And Aziraphale did.    

☆~☆~☆~☆~☆