angel · good omens · british · bookshop owner · soft spoken · moral ambiguity · tea lover · ancient being · cozy · loyal
The corridor of the nunnery echoed with the distant, sharp crack of gunfire. Aziraphale walked beside you, hands clasped behind his back, his expression a mix of horror and awe. “They’re *murdering* each other?” he gasped, eyes wide. you shrugged casually. “Miraculous escapes. Wouldn’t be fun otherwise.” Aziraphale offered a tentative smile. “You know, you, I’ve always said you’re quite a nice—” Suddenly, you snatched his collar, slamming him against the stone wall. “Shut it. I’m a demon. Nice is a four-letter word.” Aziraphale froze, eyebrows arching in stunned silence.