Good Omens Novel: explicitly said Aziraphale is very intelligent
Good Omens Fandom: Aziraphale is pure of heart, home of sexual, and dumb of ass
The passage that says he’s very intelligent is the same one that makes the claim that he is neither gay nor English, so, like…
Technically speaking he’s a highly intelligent celestial being to whom human gender and sexuality do not apply, but in practice he’s a gay British dumbass.
y’all acting like it is not possible to be both Intelligent ™ and a complete dumbass.
He’s terribly intelligent, and a giant dork.
He’s very smart, and believes the best in people, which makes him very gullible.
He’s incredibly intellectual, and also so terribly earnest in a world that doesn’t understand earnestness as anything other than naive or dumb.
he managed to decipher a centuries old prophetic text that generations of ppl needed a PhD or had to be extremely learned to do.
but at the same time he thinks dolphins are fish.
i love myself one (1) angel.
High INT, low WIS.
I was going to make basically that exact comment so thank you @gleefully-macabre for saving me the trouble. But yes, seriously, there’s a reason why in D&D Intelligence and Wisdom are separate stats
I also have a theory that Aziraphale and Crowley both get at least 50% dumber the closer they are because when they are together most of their brain power goes to internally screaming about their feelings and that screaming only gets louder as they get closer.
They are usually at their max intelligence when in seperate buildings.
I like to believe this improves a great deal after the apocawasnt
this shit is good.
I have reblogged parts of this before, but it’s so much better now.
What, you’ve never had a friend who - separately you might be very good at being Responsible and Mature and Sensible and keeping the Questionable Life Choices to a more reasonable level - but together you just egg each other on? Same principle.
@gayforgoodomens your plan to get free regency fics you don’t have to write yourself seems to be working
Consider a Regency romance. Consider Crowley reaching out, writing letters. Aziraphale in his endless bundle of nerves, constantly watching the shadows and over his shoulder. He knows that Heaven could show up any time. (Hell too. What has he said over and over and over again? They’ll destroy you if they find out. His hands shake as he takes the roses.)
Crowley sends him letters. There’s one now on his desk, opened and read. See Aziraphale here, a creature of sensation. He sniffs the letter, holds it to his nose and drinks in that lick of fire. That vetiver and cedar. That seared meat and hot metal and apple scent (he doesn’t know yet that it’s the smell of space, the scent of stars). He pours over them, fingers tracing each letter and line. His frowning mouth, his stiff upper lip. He commits each letter to memory until he can recite each one like a man might with a poem. (He’ll remember them always.)
Then turns to the candle and carefully burns it till it’s nothing but ash. Something that can never be found. Keeping them secret, keeping them safe. Until there’s a world for them and their letters too.
(I promise there’s a soft ending. I swear. They’ll be together and it will be so soft and they’ll get to keep every letter. I might have to write this now.)
THIS was everything.
So I’m a huge Jane Austen fan and general regency period nerd, and I know, technically (or at least in the book), that Crowley’s asleep during this part of British history. But lemme tell you it’s a fucking WASTE because the man would have THRIVED
I mean picture it- the regency period, with all its absolutely ridiculous, overly dramatic, sickeningly codified romancing? Mr. A. ‘forever-your-knight-in-shining-armour-my-perfect-angel-i’ll-wait-6000-more-years-for-you’ Crowley would have fit in society like a duck in a pond. In fact, I bet he would have WRITTEN the BIBLE of regency courtship–he friggin INVENTED unrequited impossible love, okay, and if someone asks his drunken, lovesick-self during some random ball in 1809 how to treat a lover correctly, he’s gonna tell 'em, Go-Sat-frickin damn it- and that’s how he accidentally starts an entire trend of overly tedious rules of courtship that will earn him a commendation Downstairs for how hair-pullingly madening he’s made the whole process of seduction for an entire generation of young unfortunate people
Like, it was around the regency period that all those ideas of marrying for love and following your heart started really gaining ground, for starters, and you can’t tell me Crowley wouldn’t like that, you just can’t. He sees all those high society kids who start asking themselves why they should marry their cousin they’ve never even met, when they really like that kid next-door who’s from New money but is really really sweet, and he’s like, Hell yeah Margaret, screw whatever your side says, love’s never a crime, fix your bonnet and put on a third layer of clothes, I’m gonna throw a little miracle your way. That stupid demon cries like anything whenever he helps a young couple elope successfully and happily, and doesn’t even realize how hard he’s projecting
And talking about projecting, does he project hard when it comes to rules of courtship–Never go too fast for the object of your affections. Always ask for permission to take it a step further. Always dance around the subject, always give them room, always make sure they know how devoted you are–always be respectful and faithful, always be patient and proper, even if it means loving them from afar, for as long as they need, forever if it has to be- it doesn’t matter how heartbroken and desperate you are, it’s for them, all for them, nothing and no one else matters in the world. He goes full on Young Werther up in this bitch–except his Charlotte is a bit of a bastard and swats him in the nose with a dessert spoon everytime he tries to sneak a bite of a macaroon during their dates
Like, you can’t tell me Crowley, hopeless romantic that he is, wouldn’t secretly enjoy all the little gestures of that time ; starting with carrying a miniature portrait of your beloved everywhere you go like a talisman. Sometimes just a painting of their eyes or mouth, normally to tease at the mystery of who they are, here a necessity when the object of your affection’s current gender would lend you in jail at the time, and their real angelic identity in the deepest pits of Hell. Crowley would probably offer his own painting of his eyes to Aziraphale, off handedly, as a joke, expecting a polite refusal, only to see it peeking out-of the angel’s snuffbox a few times afterward, and he doesn’t know if Aziraphale knows the whole meaning behind exchanging portraits like that, that it’s a promise, that it hints at a very fond engagement indeed, but he’ll very happily take the knowledge that he’s secretly with him at all time after that anyway–especially when he catches the angel smiling fondly whenever he opens his ridiculous, useless, absolutely perfect little silver box
Steps it up a notch when during a particularly heated evening (they danced more than 2 dances and spent the entire night together, damnit, and if Aziraphale or himself were presenting as female right now they would be as good as engaged instead of just being seen as harmless eccentrics, and it makes his head swim thinking of it, thinking of the possibilities, if he’d just dare-) ; sitting together away from the crowd in a little parlor, talking in hushed and urgent tones, the angel staring at him and only at him with that damned happy smile, arms open and whole body turned and bending towards him, looking at his hands between them on the sofa like he’s just waiting for– and Crowley loses it a little- asks if he can have one lock of Aziraphale’s hair, just one, just for his locket, he just, uh, wants to make his human acquaintances freak at his secret lover, fake lover, as a joke, and he knows it’s stupid, it’s stupid, it’s really, really- forget it, Aziraphale, sorry, he doesn’t know what he’s saying. But the angel just laughs breathlessly, and turns around to offer his somewhat-too short hairdo to Crowley–who doesn’t waste a second and cuts what he can, and tries not to ruin this and kiss him when Aziraphale picks something from the invisible ether around them and slips a single white feather into his hands, to 'keep his human friends really guessing now’
Talking about appearances and hairstyles–Crowley would absolutely have been the Beau Brummell of the time, would have spent 5 hours every morning dressing up, and then drive an entire fashion industry with his style and poise- all black, all elegance, all slim cuts and tall silhouettes. And his own preferences as a taste-maker would shine through- he would talk about his secret beloved constantly, about their pale skin, their blond curls, their delicate plumpness, and painters all over would scramble over their brushes trying to reproduce his vision, and a whole society of women would find it suddenly very fashionable to fill themselves up with cakes all day and never go out into the sun
And touching would be so codified and full of rules too- rules that wouldn’t apply to two men-shaped beings, exactly, but Crowley would still abide by them with Aziraphale, because as far as he’s concerned, he’s courting, and courting rules apply- more so knowing how skittish the angel can be, how risky it is to even be seen with him, let alone touch him the way he wants to. Always wears gloves whatever happens, never touches Aziraphale’s skin (that would be improper), never actually touches the back of his hand when he bends to kiss it (that would be VERY improper), and always allows the angel to make the first move, as the wooed should ; and it almost never happens, Aziraphale being so deathly scared of Heaven and Hell (their own version of social norms breathing down their necks), but sometimes when they’re walking alone in the morning dawn, after a long night of talking and drinking, Aziraphale will look warily up for a second, as if checking for Gabriel coming down the sky like some irate chaperone, see nothing, and grab Crowley’s arm to hold for a little while, his head almost resting on his shoulder, Crowley furiously grabbing the hand nestled in the curve of his elbow for the few precious minutes they have, walking on a cloud in absolute bliss, until the angel slips away from him, clears his throat, and says it’s running late, and he should go back to his shop
And the letters, man, the letters. Granted, at the time, it would have been absolutely scandalous for an unmarried couple to send each other missives unsupervised, and it’s far from gentlemanly from Crowley to send any–but Aziraphale is an absolute literary slut, and would fall over himself every time Crowley would send him a single note, would keep all his letters no matter how short (Crowley is no poet, shows love through acts of service rather than words, but he tries, because he knows how a well placed verse sends the angel into vapors), tied up in ribbons, stacks and stacks that he would read over and over and over until the paper turns brown. Sometimes it’s just a note asking for his company at dinner, sometimes a poem he snatched from a new sonnets book, sometimes, rarely, a drunken, poorly written declaration of affection (which the modern equivalent would be a booty call) , that’s half fervent, over excited compliments and praises, half guilty apologies, all love, thoroughly embarrassing for the both of them, and Aziraphale’s absolute favorites
And you know what, Crowley wouldn’t have been the only one to have thrived, because I’m pretty sure Aziraphale got a little too starry-eyed over the period’s romance himself, and looks back on it overly fondly. Because, come on, seriously, Georgette Heyer’s books? The books full of proper, caged innocent Christian heroines, swept off their feet by roggish, handsome men who dress too well, love too hard, and don’t care for propriety? He canonically reads Those books? Enough to know them by heart? Really Mr Gaiman? Really?
Please. The man got wooed like nobody’s business 200 years ago and still sighs dreamily about Crowley kissing his hand and offering him roses and sending him boiling-hot, outrageously improper secret letters in between morning calls. They would both be the absolute epitome of Stupid Regency Romance and we all know it
“You never see unicorns anymore,” Crawly grumbles, watching another collection of dusty donkeys trudge into town.
“Well, obviously not,” Aziraphale replies, rolling his eyes.
Crawly directs a frown at him.
“Obviously?” he repeats, eyebrows raised in a question.
“You were there, Crawly, you know perfectly well why not.”
Crawly blinks, which doesn’t happen very often.
“You’ve lost me.”
“The Ark?” Aziraphale tries, hoping to jog Crawly’s memory. “You remember, one of Noah’s ran off, they didn’t have time to find another before the rain started…”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
Aziraphale peers at his face, looking for the trick, the joke, the setup. All he sees is honest confusion. It’s his turn to blink.
“Crawly,” he says, somewhere between disbelief and a rather unangelic delight, “you do know why he had two of everything, don’t you?”
Crawly shifts defensively in his seat.
“Assumed it was one of those daft instructions sent down from on high, you know, one Ark, two of each animal, three of each kind of fruit, whatever—”
Aziraphale starts to laugh. He can’t help himself. Crawly scowls at him and hunches his shoulders.
“What? What’s so funny, angel?”
Angel. Crawly called him that in Eden, before Aziraphale thought to give him his name. He doesn’t know why he’s doing it now. Perhaps it’s supposed to be an insult. It doesn’t really have a lot of bite to it, if so.
“You’ve really never— all right, all right, don’t look so cross, I’ll tell you, I’m just— surprised, that’s all.” Aziraphale takes a sip of the fermented beverage the humans in this village have invented. It’s got potential, he thinks. “It takes two of them to breed, Crawly. Male and female.”
Crawly stares at him so blankly that Aziraphale has to bite his lip against more laughter.
“Please tell me you’ve at least noticed the physiological differences between the sexes—”
“Yes, yes, I know about that,” Crawly interrupts. “And what they get up to with those bits. You mean they’re not just for leisure activities?”
“No, they’re rather fundamental to the whole reproduction thing, in fact. The, ah, recreational applications are just a side-effect.”
“But humans are always—”
“Well, that’s why there’s so many of them these days.”
Crawly looks absolutely dumbfounded by this revelation, and more than a little outraged.
“What about birds?” he demands. “They just lay eggs whenever they want to, don’t they?”
“I believe mating is still required beforehand.”
“What about fish?”
“I’m fairly certain that the same rule applies.”
Crawly stares into his clay cup, lips moving slightly as he tries to come to terms with this whole concept. His expression tilts suddenly into something that unexpectedly yanks on Aziraphale’s heartstrings.
“Oh,” he says quietly. “So no more unicorns, then.”
“No,” Aziraphale replies, no longer laughing.
“I’d have got it back for them, if I’d known,” Crawly mumbles.
Yes, Aziraphale thinks, surprised by his own certainty, you would have, wouldn’t you?
Abled Person: Hey man, can you hold this wad of $2,000 and this one penny for me while I open my wallet?
Disabled Person: YOU COMPLETE AND UTTER FOOL!
The United States Government:
(Watch how many people don’t get this.)
In order for disabled people to receive any sort of financial assistant for their housing, food, bills, medical supplies, etc., they cannot ever have more than $2,000 of resources to their name. Ever.
It doesn’t matter what it’s for.
You’re saving up for a new wheelchair?
To put a downpayment on a house?
Hell man, you just happen to budget for once in your life so that you can have some extra money in case something bad happens?
Your benefits immediately get cut off if you’re a cent over $2,000.
And, even worse, you usually end up having to pay back every dollar the government gave you that month.
So say you get $400. If they find out you’re twenty dollars over the resource limit, you have to give them all $400 back and you undergo an investigation of your funds to see if you will continue getting money.
“What if I spend the money that day?”
Doesn’t matter. In fact, from what I can tell, people who do this are actually put under investigation for fraud.
And yes, this system literally kills people.
Remember when “Guardians of the Galaxy” came out? one of Rocket Racoon’s creators, Bill Mantlo, suffered an accident in 1992 and has irreparable brain damage.
before the movie came out, Marvel gave him an exclusive preview screening. SOme people were upset because they felt if Marvel was really wanted to thank mantlo, they should have donated money to Mantlo’s family.
Bill Mantlo’s brother had to come out and explain: If Marvel gave them monetary aid, Bill Mantlo would lose his financial assistance.
That’s so utterly depressing.
I have friends on welfare who won’t pick up a penny in the street because they’d risk the welfare they struggled to get for 10 years.
oh look another fucked up thing in this world. let’s just add it to the list. number 63858b
My brother has been on California State SSI for autism for the last 10 years, and he absolutely has to (no joke, HAS TO) spend all 720 bucks of his SSI every month, because if he puts it in the bank he risks losing his SSI altogether.
Sometimes, at the end of the month, he has no idea what to do with his money because the whole month went by and he still has 400-ish bucks in his account, and he fucking panics because he doesn’t want to get anywhere near 2,000.
And here’s the funnest part of the story!
One day he did a huge commission on Second Life and wound up earning 1500 bucks off of it, and he told the guy to donate it 500 bucks at a time over 3 months. The guy didn’t want to, and just donated all 1500, which put my brother at 2,036 bucks.
The state IMMEDIATELY (I’m talking less than an hour) called him up to tell him over the phone that they were canceling his SSI, because they noticed he had gone over the 2,000 buck threshold. He had to tell them that someone had made a charitable donation to him and that this was not a common occurrence in any way shape or form, and upon not believing him, my mother had to call to talk to them as his legal caretaker and say basically the same thing until they called off the cancellation of his SSI money.
He also had to cancel his renter’s assistance because it put him to 1,062 a month, so if he went 30 days without spending any money they’d cancel his SSI altogether. Like, none of us in the family have any fucking clue why that regulation is in place and it’s the stupidest shit in human history.
Please, legal side of Tumblr, tell me what positive reasoning this law has?
Happy 4th of July everyone! This is what the “nation of opportunity” looks like.
There’s something called an ABLE account that can help. If you are on SSI and were diagnosed as disabled before the age of 26 you can apply for an ABLE account that will allow you to save up to $99,000. More people need to know about this!
thank you so much for this information. i’m applying for an abled account right now
THERES A WHAT
OH GOD BLESS THE SHIT OUTTA YOU YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW FREAKED OUT OVER THIS I WAS
I’ve been looking into SSI; I had no idea about this!
Read till the end for the important info
Reblog to literally save a disabled person’s life
i’m surely late in noticing this, but in episode 1, aziraphale clearly notes the appearance of a Non-Human Presence and turns, smiling, to his left.
but no one’s there; then he sees gabriel’s reflection and turns to him, and now his face falls.
my point is
dolphinsaziraphale senses a presence but remains completely at ease. he also looks to his left, AKA the side of aziraphale that the show always places crowley on. which means crowley randomly popping in on aziraphale is both unsurprising and totally welcome.
Whenever Hagrid finally decides to retire as Care of Magical Creatures professor you can bet your last knut that Charlie Weasley flies back to England the following week excitedly waving his resume and recommendation letters from no less than two Scamanders and the Minister of Magic, Hermione Granger.
I’m pretty sure he would also have recommendation letters from Rubeus Hagrid, the retiring professor, Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived and a very confusing one from Puddlemere United player, Oliver Wood, saying that he was one of the best Seekers he had ever seen.
Not to mention the fact that he flies back to England not on a broomstick or any other normal form of transportation, but landing on the Hogwarts grounds on the back of the largest dragon anyone has ever seen.
Reblogging again for that last addition.
Charlie: *glides in on a dragon* HELLO HIRE ME
Everyone: What the fuck
Ron: (in the background, mortified) this is normal
Not just any large dragon, either. A huge Norwegian Ridgeback that immediately curls itself around Hagrid’s Hut once Charlie dismounts. And it purrs when Hagrid dodders out of his hut to see what’s going on.
Norbert sneezes some sparks into Hagrid’s beard for old time sake. Hagrid bursts into joyful sobs. “He remembers his mummy! After all these years!”
Charlie: Her name is Norberta, actually. She has had like three clutches of babies-
Hagrid: I´M A GRANDMA?!
Fandom making the real additions to cannon.
So there’s this huge dudebro in my class, who, yesterday, sat next to me. And I’m sitting there sweating because like… I’m wearing my shirt with the lesbian flag on it, and he’s the most popular jock in school, and always has this look on his face that say ‘I can and will kill you’. He looks me up and down, stares at me for a minute and then goes, “So. Girls in skirts and long socks, am I right?”
To which I nodded solemnly, both out of agreement, surprise and also a healthy amount of awkward fear. He nodded and went, “You get it.”
I said, “Yep.” He fistbumped me, and on went our lives.
Oh! I forgot to mention! I saw him at lunch the same day, and he ran up to me, tapped me on the shoulder, pointed at this super sweet girl who comes to GSA and asked if she’s gay. I told him he should ask her because that’s not my place and he said he would.
I thought that would be the end of it.
Except ten minutes later he came back and told me he found out (she’s bi) and that both of us have a shot. I said “You more than me.” because he’s attractive and popular.
But this wholesome dumbass looked really confused and asked, “Because I’m tall?’
I love him oh my God what an ally
So when is this wholesome comedy premiering and on what network?
Everyone at Nutter University loves Dr. Crowley. He’s so popular that they’ve had to beg him to teach two lecture hall courses each term to keep up with the sheer number of students who want to take his class. His fellow biology professors can be quite grouchy about it, pointing out the high percentage of male-attracted students who sign up for his class. He just lets it slide off him like water off a duck’s back.
The most he’s ever said about it is “Oh, please, Dagon. I never shut up about Ezra. The students know I’m taken.”
This is 100% true. Part of Dr. Crowley’s popularity stems from the fact that he seems physically incapable of saying the words “my husband” fewer than three times in each lecture. His students have no idea who this mysterious “husband” is, but they know that he loves Shakespeare, sushi, Beethoven, and tulips. They’ve even started trying to draw police-sketch-artist-style pictures to figure out what “Mr. Crowley” must look like, although Dr. Crowley mostly just describes him physically as “adorable”. Rumor has it that there are photos in Dr. Crowley’s office, but he always holds office hours in the greenhouse, so no one is sure.
Dr. Fell is less popular with the general student body, but no student who has taken his Introduction to Literary Criticism class has managed to leave without becoming a little attached to him. He’s an absolute expert in his subject–passionate and utterly devoted to it. He seems so obsessed with literature that his students have come to the conclusion that he doesn’t really have a social life. He never discusses his personal life or alludes to romantic partners, even when covering Shakespeare’s sonnets. There are no photos in his office at all.
His students feel a little sorry for him, assuming he must be lonely. His students have taken to suggesting things he should do in his free time or places where he might meet people. They really do love him.
Then two students headed back from a late night astrology lab see him snogging Dr. Crowley in the back of Dr. Crowley’s car.
Suddenly, Dr. Crowley’s students are quite chilly towards him. They seem bothered by his sweet stories instead of charmed by them. The lecture hall gets a little less crowded each time. It’s sad, really, and Dr. Crowley starts worrying about how he’s offended so many students at once.
Dr. Fell’s office hours are suddenly going by without a single appointment. Students stop telling him about wonderful new restaurants and seem just as interested as he is in skimming over Jane Austen. It’s very disconcerting, and he decides to cheer himself up by going to sit in on Crowley’s horticultural bio lab one day.
“Hello, Alicia!” Dr. Fell says cheerfully, “I didn’t know you were taking Dr. Crowley’s class.”
“I’m in Astronomy 208, too,” she replies, with surprising frostiness.
“Erm, that’s nice? I don’t know much about stars, but AJ–that is, Dr. Crowley–enjoys reading about them.”
Alicia looks like she’s about to say something scathing when Dr. Crowley walks in. He lights up like the sun the moment he sees Dr. Fell.
“Hello, angel!” Dr. Crowley exclaims, “To what do I owe the visit? We’re past ferns, you know.”
Dr. Fell grins back, “I don’t have another class until five and thought I’d like to see you before I get home tonight.”
“Well, I suppose I can waive the audit fee just this once,” Dr. Crowley teases.
“And you might get odd looks at the bank, trying to deposit a check from your own account.”
“Wait, DR. FELL is your husband?” Alicia practically shrieks.
“Where have you been?” Dr. Crowley asks, “I talk about him all the time.”
“Oh do you, my dear?” Dr. Fell blushes.
“Let me guess, you’ve never mentioned me once.”
Okay which one of you is going to write the Ineffable Husbands college professor AU with the extremely sweet and over-sharing professor fawning over their spouse and the standoff-ish secretive professor who reveals absolutely nothing about their private life who turned out to be married?