azira-crow
Good Omens + Oscar Wilde 2/?
“I don’t want to go to heaven. None of my friends are there.”
We think about Crowley and da Vinci, but my god I also really need to think about Aziraphale as one of the muses of Oscar Wilde
gay and wise and achingly lonely
decadent and lush, afternoons filled with books and touch and words, the wonderful sheer magic of a turn of phrase, and of course, a biting wit that would remind aziraphale very much of someone he’s in the midst of fighting with
and because the end of Wilde’s story always devastates me, please allow me:
“What’s this?” Wilde looks up from his knees. There’s no way he’s seeing what he thinks he’s seeing, the cruelty of the trial and prison has got to him after all, because there is no way Mr. Ira Fell can be standing, in his typical tidy cream-colored suit, in the Reading Gaol cell with him. Wringing his hands and glancing about.
“There’s really no time for explaining, Oscar,” Ira says, his voice low and frantic. “They’ve no right to keep you here, and they mean to ruin you upon your release, and I simply can’t have that happen, darling, so you need to give me your hands.”
For the first time since the trial, since his lover forsook him, Oscar Wilde finds himself at an utter loss for words.
Ira Fell had found his way into Wilde’s circles early on, never staying too late at the parties or involving himself too seriously with the younger boys. He disappeared at times but found his way back, seeming to be content just to spent his evenings surrounded by men in secret and solidarity, sharing witticisms and wine with Wilde. He was an older fellow, and Wilde hadn’t taken to him as a lover, apart from the occasional tipsy peck or hand hold, mainly because it was quite evident he was pining for someone else. This was true of many of Wilde’s companions, and Wilde had never thought much of the funny man, merely enjoyed his company when it was offered, but of all his friends he thought might come for him, he never suspected…
“But how did you get here?” he asks, bemused, and Ira rolls his eyes.
“Now is not the time for you to think logically, my dear,” he hisses. “If you would please give me your hands…”
With no idea what’s going on and nothing to lose, Oscar does, rising on aching knees, and placing his tired hands in the other man’s soft ones. He looks into the eyes of this peculiar creature, and he wonders if he ever really knew him at all. In the next moment, Ira blinks, and then Oscar is sure he’s dreaming, for the gaol has dissolved and they’re standing instead by a cozy cottage in the countryside.
“Right,” Ira says, releasing Wilde’s hands to clap his own together. “I know it’s not what you’re used to, but it’s the best I could manage without getting noticed, and I still might be in a heap of trouble if I get caught, but I couldn’t — anyway, the village down the hill is quite known as a sort of safe haven for men of our persuasion, and I’ve seen to it that the cottage is all tidy for you, there’s a sum of money in the lockbox, password’s my very favorite of your sayings, it’s not enough to lavish over but it should keep you quite well, I believe, and I might check back in in a couple years to see how you’ve been getting on!”
Oscar stands with his mouth agape, still trying to wrap his mind around how they got there in the first place, much less the rest of this.
“Ira,” he manages at last, for the other man seems quite ready to set off about his other affairs now that Wilde’s been successfully rescued, “are you…my guardian angel?”
A look of something like delight crosses the man’s face.
“You could say that,” he murmurs, “I rather suppose you could.”
Wilde had not expected that answer, but something of a miracle had happened, that much was certain, and he feels suddenly positive he owes Ira Fell his life.
Being Wilde, though, he finds himself incapable of more than stammering a thank you, but Ira’s face softens, and Wilde can tell the man understands.
“You’ll be all right,” Ira says kindly. “And now — you’ve taught me quite a bit, Oscar. There’s someone I need to talk to,” and this enchanted little man is actually blushing. He begins to set off purposefully toward the woods, but Oscar realizes something with a jolt.
“Wait!” he calls out after him. “What’s your favorite of my sayings? For the password to the lockbox?”
Ira Fell looks over his shoulder, flashes a cheeky smile, and bites his lip.
“The only way to get rid of a temptation is to yield to it.”
dailyloki
moki-dokie
good-omens-fan-comics
softer-omens
fishyfishyfishtimes
