Compilation of Good Omens One Shots

William's inspiration

– Hors-série –

Context: Aziraphale and Crowley have met Shakespeare, and we know it. But what if he had known them for longer than they thought?

For the theme "Shakespeare" of the Good Omens contest, sorry this one's weird and short

701 words (no inspiration for me)

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  Someone once asked Shakespeare what inspired his famous play “Romeo and Juliet”. He smiled mysteriously, and left without a word. But whatever he would later say, his inspiration was not himself.

  – 1591, London –

  ‘Hey there, Angel.’

  A dark silhouette slithered at Aziraphale’s side. He didn't need to turn to know who was beside him now. The angel smiled, but it wasn't true.

  ‘You know we can’t keep seeing each other like that.’

  Sitting under a tree, William Shakespeare lifted his head. He had a thing for finding potential good stories, and it seemed like the beginning of a great plot. He grabbed a new piece of paper and waited.

  ‘Oh, come on. They won’t find out, I promise. Nobody will.’
  ‘Don’t be so sure. They have eyes everywhere.’

  It was with evident disappointment that the redhead left, and the other seemed not to like it. The writer started working, a smirk on his face. A forbidden love, probably. And even if it wasn't the case for the two men, it would still be a good plot.

  The blond man left, and he continued writing furiously.

***

  ‘Come on, Aziraphale! I know you better than anyone. You don’t want to stay there your whole life. We can go off together!’

  Recognizing the voice of the red headed stranger of two weeks ago, Shakespeare hid to listen.

  ‘We are enemies, Crowley! We can’t possibly do that!’

  Crowley hurriedly took Aziraphale’s hands in his.

  ‘They’ll never find us, we’ll be free!’
  ‘Who said I wanted to be free with you?’ Aziraphale looked away.
  ‘You can’t lie to me, Angel,’ stated the demon. ‘Look, I have a plan. We can pretend we killed each other.’

  William frowned. No, no, no. That wasn’t good for the story, that. Death wasn’t good in the theatre.

  ‘I would never…’
  ‘It’s just pretending, okay?’ answered the demon. ‘While we’d actually fly away. Please, Angel.’
  ‘Out of question. Even pretending, I can’t kill you.’
  ‘Then it could be a pretended suicide.’
  ‘It wouldn't work,’ sighed Aziraphale.
  ‘But if it was certain that it would, would you do it?’

  Shakespeare held his quill up, waiting for the other’s answer.

  ‘It won’t. Now please, we can’t,’ insisted Aziraphale.

  The writer made a disappointed expression. His characters would do it anyway. It would be way better. Oh, and while he was at it, it would be a tragedy. An impossible love, how romantic! And if they both died in the end, how tragic! It would be a success, he was certain. But what would he name his masterpiece? Not something too elaborate, too meaningful…

  ‘Let’s see…’ he muttered under his breath. ‘A desperate love between a boy called Romeo and a girl named Juliet… let’s keep it simple. Romeo and Juliet? Yes, it sounds good. Romeo and Juliet…’

***

  – 2006, A. Z. Fell & Co., London –

  Aziraphale looked lovingly at his copy of the play, dedicated by William Shakespeare himself. Though Crowley didn't like it, Aziraphale thought it was one of the most precious pieces of his bookshop – apart from the few scrolls that he saved from the Great library of Alexandria, of course. It reminded him of the plays he and Crowley used to watch together, trying not to catch the attention of both their sides. And though it was “Hamlet” that Crowley had given a little bit of help, he couldn’t help but think of him whenever he saw a copy of “Romeo and Juliet”. He put the book back on the shelf without even opening it – where was the need, when he already knew it all by heart. At this moment, the demon came in, the doorbell rang an instant.

  ‘What do you think he inspired himself from?’ asked the angel. ‘Shakespeare, I mean. When he wrote “Romeo and Juliet”.’
  ‘Who knows what’s going on in that man’s brain?’ replied Crowley. ‘Probably just a random couple would have startled the creativity in his weird mind.’
  ‘Probably, yes…’ murmured Aziraphale, still gazing at the book.

  There was something strange about it, not so negative, more like a familiar thing, like…

  ‘Up for some wine, Angel?’ the demon miracled a bottle right in his hand from the car.
  ‘Yes, dear. I’d like that very much.’