fremulon:

“So,” Crowley said, stretching his legs out and taking another sip of wine, “what’re you up to these days?”

“Nothing particular,” Aziraphale said. “Although I do have to pop over to Nice for a blessing next week, but that shouldn’t take long.”

“Next week, huh? Mind covering a minor temptation for me, then, while you’re in the area?”

“I suppose so,” said Aziraphale. “What precisely is it?”

“It’s in Monte Carlo, actually,” Crowley said, “just popping in to the casino for a smidge of troublemaking. Nothing complicated.”

“Ah—” said Aziraphale, and shifted uncomfortably. “I’m afraid I can’t go to Monte Carlo.”

Crowley snorted. “What, are you too virtuous for gambling now? Don’t go using that line on me. I’ve seen how you get over baccarat.”

“No, no, it’s not that,” Aziraphale said. “It’s just—I can’t go to Monte Carlo.”

“Why not?”

“I’ve been banned,” Aziraphale muttered.

“Sorry, what?”

“I’ve been banned. From Monte Carlo.”

“What did you do?”

“In my view,” said Aziraphale primly, “I wasn’t doing anything wrong at all. I simply took the time to implement a bit of strategy and mathematics. Anyone could do the same. It’s hardly cheating.”

Crowley took a second to parse this. “You got kicked out of a casino for counting cards.”

“Not before I’d accumulated several thousand pounds doing it,” said Aziraphale, in a most un-angelic fashion.

Crowley had a sudden image of him, all buttoned up in waistcoat and bowtie, spectacles perched on the bridge of his nose, sitting at a blackjack table, his soft hands laying down the cards, the complete sincerity in his voice as he’d say oh, dear me, it looks like I’ve won again, fancy that, the canny glint in his eye that anyone looking less carefully than Crowley would miss.

It was a remarkably compelling image, and Crowley let out a low, inadvertent whistle.

“So, I can’t help with your temptation, I’m afraid,” Aziraphale said. 

“Yeah, no, that’s all right,” Crowley said, “but, uh, have you been…banned anywhere else?”

Aziraphale went pink. “It is possible,” he said, carefully, “that I might find myself unwelcome at several establishments in Las Vegas, as well.”

“You’ve been on some sort of casino-defrauding world tour, and you didn’t tell me?” 

“Don’t make fun,” Aziraphale said. “It’s only a hobby.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Crowley said, “getting booted from gambling establishments, right up there with manuscript collection on the list of your notable hobbies.”

“This is exactly why I didn’t want to tell you—”

“Look,” Crowley interrupted, “have you, ah—ever been to Atlantic City? In America?”

Aziraphale shook his head. 

“Well,” Crowley said, “pretty sure New Jersey could do with a bit of divine intervention.”

A small smile crept onto Aziraphale’s face. “It’s a tempting thought,” he said. 


Tags:

#Good Omens #fanfic #anything that makes me laugh this much deserves a reblog #gambling

incorrect-good-omens:

“One time my Nanny and the Gardener were having a heated argument in the car and he took her Queen tape out of the player and threw it out the window with rage and she looked him dead in the eyes and pulled out a second copy of that same tape and put it back in the player.”

— Warlock, probably

 

my-sins-might-be-your-tragedies:

@meowl00 @personification-of-anxiety @gayvetforlife

 

personification-of-anxiety:

Warlock becomes a stand up comedian when he grows up. He becomes the John Mulaney of his time. This is his equivalent of “one black coffee”.

 

feamir:

I can totally envision Warlock’s version of the duck story!

One day when I was ten, the gardener comes into the house soaking wet and says, in that voice one usually reserves for toddlers or small animals, “Ah! One feels like a duck splashing around in all this wet! And when one feels like a duck, one is happy!” And then Nanny yelled, “Ooh, ducklings!” To which the gardener replied, “Too old to be a duckling. Quack, quack.” And then walked into the kitchen. I think about that every goddamn day.

 

incorrect-good-omens:

I can’t believe I never saw this until now. Headcanon accepted. This is beyond hilarious. Also….

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I can’t believe this one was hidden in the replies.

 

flamingfoxninja:

“I love my family, or at the very least people would assume so. People would think that growing up as a politician’s son would be easy, and they are right. I got everything that I ever asked for, spending money the only way Rick People could spend money.

“Dad! I want a Pony” Boom, Pony is at my feet

“Dad! I wanted it black” Boom. Done. Pony now looks like it crawled out of the Black Lagoon.

“Dad! The Pony glared at me!” I get a bottle of glue the next day. I was living the Rickie Rich lifestyle. I can have anything I want.

But the best part of growing up rich, the absolute best part, was that we were able to afford our own nanny.

I love her so much but am goddamn terrified of her to this day. I am a 28 year old man and I live in my own bodyweight of fear towards her.

When I was 1 to when I was 11, we had a nanny in our house. Her name is Nanny. If you call her anything else you will die. Somedays I think that my parents made a Rumpelstiltskin Deal with her before I was born, where instead of taking baby me she just moved in to our house to raid our fridge and judge the world from lofty windows. This is just the first part of the mystery of my nanny.  

She dresses like she is preparing to go to a funeral. And the difference between preparing to go and actually going is that they hadn’t found the body yet. You know when friends say that they would kill someone for you? Nanny would gut a cat if I wanted to play the violin that’s how hardcore she was. She wore red sunglasses because her glare alone could turn anyone to stone. If you squint hard enough you can actually see lasers coming out of her eyes.

Now you need to remember, I lived with this woman for Ten Years. Since I was a baby. This shit was normalized to me. While my parents were in West Wing I was living in the Addams Family. Nanny loved me and raised me and so what if she told me that I was going to lead Satan’s Army someday. That’s just Nanny. But throughout all of this, I never truly understand how terrifying she could be until I was 8 years old.

Picture this: a little 8 year old me, plump and trimmed with baby fat, standing next to Mary Poppin’s evil twin. One day we were going out for brunch so I can, and I’m quoting here “practice giving out orders when the army of hell arrives”

I’m still waiting for them, just to let you know.

So we get inside Nanny’s car, an old Black 1933 Bently which plays nothing but Queen music on cassettes.

I know this sounds fake, but she is a real person and not some Baba Yaga who decided not to eat me.

As we were about to leave, Brother Francis ran out to us. Francis was out gardener. He worked for us for as long as Nanny has, wears suspenders and a sun hat, and I’m pretty sure he ran away from a monastery. He walks up to Nanny and asks for a ride to the local gardening store for supplies. So he gets in the front seat, I’m in the back, and all three of us get on our way.

At 1000 miles per hour in a 55 zone.

Now I’m 8 years old. And no matter how cool your Nanny is, you just don’t pay attention to boring adult stuff like meetings, or finances, or traffic safety laws. So I’m lost in my own thoughts on how to direct my hell army to build myself a waterpark.

I don’t know how long I zoned out because when I snapped back in Nanny and Francis were arguing. Not in the pleasant passive aggressive way that makes you rethink your life choices, but full on yelling. So we are speeding down the road like death is chasing us. Bohemian Rhapsody is playing on blast. Nanny and Francis screaming at each other. Sulfur filled the air, radiant light pulsed menacing around us. Exactly how I imagined what parents fighting would be like. Things came to a head right as Freddy was about to hit his last “For Me!” because that was when this meek looking gardener snapped. Francis turns to Nanny and screams “YOU’RE DRIVING TOO FAST!” yanks the cassette out and pitches it out the window.

And then time stood still.

Have you ever been on a rollercoaster where at the top of the first hill staring down you regret every decision you’ve ever made that led you to this point? That was where we were all at.

Because there were three rules to Nanny’s Bently. Nanny always drives. Nanny always drives fast. And Nanny always drives fast with Freddy Mercury blaring down like her own personal angel.

This is all new uncharted territory for me. I’ve never seen anyone even dare disrespect her angel and plan to live to tell the tale. I was just watching in fascinated horror as this moment just searing into my mind.

Nanny’s looking directly at Francis, you can feel her eye’s heat laser’s charging up. I was trying to think of reasons to tell my parents why we don’t have a gardener anymore. Because even at 8 years old I know a death marker when I’ve seen one and by the end of the trip I was expecting Francis to be nothing but a smoldering piled of ash and a $15 hat.

She looks at him, and takes one hand off the wheel. Still barreling down the road like a madman mind you. But it alright because time’s frozen so we don’t hit anything. And with one hand, she reaches in front of him to the glove compartment, gently pulls out another cassette tape, and places it in the deck.

[pauses]

[sings] “FOR ME!!!!!”

We pull into the parking lot by the time Bohemian Rhapsody ends and I have never looked at Nanny the same way ever again. Because anyone who can play the exact same song on two different cassettes without missing a beat is their own god and needs to be feared.”

-Warlock in his comedy special

 

roanoaks:

OH MY GOD I’M CACKLING

 

incorrect-good-omens:

That’s it. The “Warlock grows up to be John Mulaney” AU is the only AU I’m here for.


Tags:

#Good Omens #fanfic #I didn’t actually laugh aloud but it still amused me enough to reblog #death tw

Good Omens Stylometry — Elizabeth Callaway

{{Title link: http://www.elizabethcallaway.net/good-omens-stylometry }}

neil-gaiman:

This is fascinating, and from what I remember pretty accurate (although the opening, which is primarily green, is so evenly split it should be some kind of chequer-board). What’s mostly interesting is how little there is that’s pure red or pure green, which is how I remember it. Christmas, as they say in New Mexico, in answer to the State Question. It’s also why we were so unimpressed by anyone who thought they could tell us who wrote what, because when they cited things, they were mostly wrong.

Using a training set of texts by Pratchett and Gaiman, I used the R package Stylo to analyze Good Omens. (Specifically rolling nsc classification with 50 features and 5000 words per slice). The figure below shows my results. The words of the novel progress along the x axis. The pattern below the horizontal white line represents the signal from the author to whom the program attributed the majority of the authorship (Gaiman is in red and Pratchett is in green). The top, fainter pattern roughly shows how much signal there is from the other author. Together they add up to 100% in each section of the text.

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I was amused to see a tiny sprinkling of me in Moving Pictures. Because there was a sprinkling of me in there. Terry would send me the book as he was writing it, and call to bounce ideas off me, and I’d cheerfully suggest lines and ideas. (There’s a sprinkling of me in Guards! Guards! and Moving Pictures, with a lot of me in Pyramids and Eric.)

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Tags:

#Good Omens #neat #fun with statistics

goddamnshinyrock:

Aziraphale can manifest a halo, which he mostly uses as a reading light

 

demonic-mnemonic:

He would

 

all-the-usernames-are-gone:

The halo isn’t really a ring halo either, just like Crowley doesn’t have horns. Instead, his entire head lights up like a glowstick.

Either that or no matter what angle you look at it it’s always behind his head like this:

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Like Mickey Mouse’s ears.

 

echoing-artemis:

I blew the dust off my tumblr and dug out this post (which I originally saw on Instagram) just so I could say thank you for inspiring this ridiculousness.

Crowley likes to sleep, Aziraphale likes to read. A bed is comfy for both of these things, so sharing works. Usually.

After all, Aziraphale was just enough of a bastard to be worth liking. <3

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because honestly you guys were exactly right

(more nonsense over at Ineffable Wives on Insta)

 

goddamnshinyrock:

holy shit this is the best possible addition to my post, this cosplay is amazing


Tags:

#cosplay #Good Omens #anything that makes me laugh this much deserves a reblog #headcanons #fanfic

bethanythemartian:

neverwhere:

maniacalmole:

AJ Crowley and Harry Potter bump into each other in public:

Harry Potter: Oops, sorry about that.

Crowley: No, it was my fault, don’t worry about it.

Public: *stares at the two men making strange hissing noises at each other*

Both: Wait…

I need this fic immediately

Someone passing, whose business this whole affair was not, said “Speak English, this is England for fuck’s sake!” 

The young man and Crowley turned as one and hissed at the person, who suddenly remembered an urgent and important errand elsewhere and ran off to sort it.

Then they turned back towards each other. The young man scratched the back of his head. “Um, this is awkward,” he said, in English, “I don’t run into this often. On the street. Or… Ever. Actually.” He had casually laid a hand on his hip, and Crowley was suddenly sure that there was a wand concealed in that pocket. 

Crowley remembered that it was very common in England for serpent speech to be considered a trait of evil. Which, well… anyway. “It’s not common,” Crowley allowed. “Special circumstances all around, I’m sure.” He tried to think of a good way to defuse the situation. “Fancy a pint?”

The young man looked relieved. “Yeah.”

“Crowley,” he said, offering a hand.

“Harry.”

“C’mon, I know a pub nearby. First round’s on me.” 

If Harry was surprised by being led to the Cauldron Bottom, he didn’t show it. It was one of the few wizard pubs not attached to Diagon Alley in London- they were a growing population, but still unusual. It was middle of the afternoon and there were a few regulars at the bar, but it was otherwise quiet. 

Crowley nodded to the one-eyed barkeep, who nodded back, and then gave a friendlier wave to Harry. “Evenin’, Mr. Crowley, Mr. Potter,” she said. 

“Room in the back open, Jane?” Harry asked. “We’ve got some business to discuss.” 

Jane nodded. “Usuals for ya both?”

They nodded.

“Go on back, I’ll be right there.” 

Keep reading


Tags:

#Good Omens #Harry Potter #crossovers #fanfic #I didn’t actually laugh aloud but it still amused me enough to reblog

221blilli:

Script for the unaired scene of Aziraphale opening his bookshop in 1800

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I’m not saying that we were robbed, I’m just saying that we were EXTREMELY robbed

“Michael’s a wanker” OHHH COME ON! WE DESERVED THIS SCENE


Tags:

#Good Omens #anything that makes me laugh this much deserves a reblog #(I don’t know how to tell whether this is a genuine deleted scene or if it’s fanfic) #(but it’s great either way) #long post

ariaste:

thebibliosphere:

Do you ever think about Aziraphale going out of his way to learn internet lingo just to make Crowley cringe in his own skin? Cause I do. (I’m still not entirely unconvinced that wasn’t why he learned to do sleight of hand magic. “You’r an angel, Angel! You can just summon the right card!” “But wouldn’t that rather be like cheating!” “IT’S HUMAN MAGIC, IT’S ALL CHEATING”)

Like the first time he says “LOL” out loud. “Ell-oh-ell, as the kids say” he says cheerfully and Crowley nearly slams the Bentley into a duck pond cause his brain just tried to escape what his ears just heard and subsequently goes off on a ten minute rant about how no one says it out loud, you’re not supposed to say it out loud, Angel. All the while Aziraphale is feigning politely confused ignorance, and thoroughly enjoying the tangent Crowley has now sneeringly diverted onto, snipping and snarling his way through his syllables, eventually admitting that while he claimed responsibility for the addition of YouTube comments on videos, that was just another thing humans came up with all on their own.

“Fascinating,” is all the angel has to say for himself, and the incident is quite forgotten until he does it again, this time responding to something Crowley says simply with “meirl” and for a split second Crowley thinks it’s some sort of German word he’s actually forgot exists until he realizes Aziraphale just said “me in real life” and whatever last few dregs of his soul that exist shrivel and die.

And it just keeps happening until one day Crowley catches the flutter of amusement behind Aziraphale’s benign and guileless expression and realizes the smug git has been trolling him this whole time, and he’s simultaneously torn between being hopping mad about it (because that’s his job dammit) but also weirdly proud.

“You bastard,” he says, unable to keep the serpentine smile from spreading over his face, “how long were you going to keep that up?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, my dear,” the angel replies placidly, taking a sip from his teacup and pulling a face, “this tea however is absolutely scorching. I do hope I don’t spill any. That would be quite the mood.”

SCREAMING


Tags:

#Good Omens #language #fanfic #embarrassment squick #anything that makes me laugh this much deserves a reblog #(I have not seen the show‚ and have not read the book in a long time) #(but some of the stuff coming out of the fandom right now is hilarious even at my current level of context) #(so you will be seeing some Good Omens reblogs)

little-brisk:

i’m sorry but it is insane to look at david tennant and think that of any possible pair of men or indeed people of any gender he is not the aziraphale

My reaction to this post was “wait, you mean he *isn’t* playing Aziraphale?”, so I think that means I agree.


Tags:

#Good Omens #reply via reblog

hapfairy:

WHO WROTE WHAT BIT?
Ah. Another tricky one. As the official Keeper of the One True Copy, Terry physically wrote more of Draft 1 than Neil. But if 2,000 words are written down after a lot of excited shouting, it’s a moot point whose words they are. And, in any case, as a matter of honor both of them rewrote and footnoted the other guy’s stuff, and both can write passably in the other guy’s style. The Agnes Nutter scenes and the kids mostly originated with Terry, the Four Horsemen and anything with maggots started with Neil. Neil had the most influence on the opening, Terry on the ending. Apart from that, they just shouted excitedly a lot.

The point they both realised the text had wandered into its own world was in the basement of the old Gollancz books, where they’d got together to proofread the final copy, and Neil congratulated Terry on a line that Terry knew he hadn’t written, and Neil was certain that he hadn’t written either. They both privately suspect that at some point the book had started to generate text on its own, but neither of them will actually admit this publicly for fear of being thought odd.

Good Omens: The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, Witch (2006 edition) – appendix by Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman
 

#Good Omens #anything that makes me laugh this much deserves a reblog