#no wait. if that's the seat of god then is aziraphale going to be up in the holy of holies with the stinkbombs. oh no

[mcbitchtits]

This doesn't feel relevant to anything except my own pet peeves, but it feels notable because it's Off— the way the Metatron misunderstands "give me coffee or give me death". It's not an offer of choice, it's a demand, a threat. (C.f. people not understanding what "trick or treat" means. It means bribe me to not egg your house.)

Like they're not *asking* for death. It's the consequences of fighting for what they do want, but losing. Which I suppose feels purposeful perhaps in the sense that Heaven doesn't understand People, really (nor Aziraphale)

[aziraphales-library]

Hello!! :) I don’t know if I should make different posts for different requests but here goes- i’d appreciate it a lot if you had any recommendations for aziracrow fics set in/near the edinburgh, 1827 flashback OR fics where crowley and his bentley are connected in some way (like in s2 ep3). Thank you!

Hi! We have #the resurrectionists and #the bentley tags, so check those out. Here are a couple of fics to add to each tag...

one demon’s peril (is another car’s pain) by gravitron (T)

It’s Soho’s second Christmas without Aziraphale, and things are bound to go wrong. Muriel finds a book, Crowley has a panic attack, and the Bentley goes berserk due to the intrinsic connection she and her owner have to share. Surprisingly, this does not end all that bad.

Custom-Made Comfort by EdosianOrchids901 (T)

But the Bentley also quickly learned something else about its owner, something it didn’t understand. Some days, Crowley moved slowly, made strange noises, and sat in the driver’s seat for a long time once he got in. Not wanting to go anywhere, not doing anything. Just sitting there, silent aside from the occasional groans and ragged breaths. Something was wrong with him. But what?

Lean Your Weight To Me by YamiSnuffles (T)

Aziraphale is filled with dread when Hell takes Crowley for his good deeds in Edinburgh. He can do nothing to help. Nothing but wait and be there when the demon finally returns.

Elspeth and the Beanstalk by Dragonfire42, JustZrero (T)

What if... Aziraphale drank the laudanum instead of Crowley? A reverse AU from the minisode "The Resurrectionists," where Aziraphale changes size instead of Crowley after drinking the laudanum, inspired by the fairytale Jack and the Beanstalk. “Did he just shrink?” Elspeth screeched. “One problem at a time, hen,” Crowley said, stepping past the gaping girl to carry Aziraphale outside. The angel held tightly to his thumb to keep from falling off, and started giggling. “I guess you could say I’m performing Sleight of Hand!” He looked at Crowley’s large thumb and laughed even harder.

Twin (s Up In) Flames by gravitron (T)

Crowley and the Bentley go way back. With miraculous coincidence, money, and a wee bit of drunk demon dealings, he and the Bentley grew a bond no other being and his car could craft. They were basically stuck together for the rest of time, almost functioning like interchangeable beings. All it did was cost a bit of Crowley’s soul. Well—maybe not a little, more like a quarter, but you couldn’t blame him. It’s not like he planned to damage the thing anytime soon, and Crowley could take the pain if needed be. That was part of the deal, after all. They’d be just fine. (or; good omens, but crowley and the bentley are actually magically linked together and feel each other’s pain. this causes some things.)

The Night I Met God… The truly honest and merciful confessions of Mrs Elspeth McConnell, fee McKinnon. (Wife, Mother, Parishioner, Pub Landlady). by PhoenixLeigh (G)

The year is now 1882. After her mother's funeral, Elspeth's daughter returns to her childhood home and ends up "vaguely sauntering" down memory lane when she comes across her mother's diary, with only a few entries written inside... But each one opens up doors to a tale of biblical proportions! You may remember her mother as Elspeth McKinnon, a former grave robber and experiencer of something magical and life-changing one night in a graveyard in 1827. But her only child remembers her mother as steadfast, faithful and too busy in her church. But all that changes as she continues to read... For all the girls, who became mothers while missing their own x

- Mod D

[rinawrote]

Hell on Earth

Furfur (Good Omens) x Reader

This fic is on AO3 (link here) but I thought I’d upload it here too!

Summary: Furfur, a grouchy demon, is assigned to Earth with a simple mission: collect a mortal's soul marked for damnation. But when he meets her, nothing about the mission stays simple.

Warnings: Swearing, mild violence

Chapter 1 - Damnation Pending

Furfur hated Earth.

It was too loud, too bright, and far too overcrowded with humans. He adjusted the lapels on his trench coat as he strode through the rain-soaked streets of Soho trying his best to “blend in” as per his orders. Subtlety is essential; everyone will be watching.

He checked the infernal scroll again, her name glowed in red script: (Y/N)(Y/L/N) - Soul pending - Likely damnation. The young woman’s death had been long overdue, and with Hell in dire need of fresh souls, they were eager to claim this one before Heaven could intervene. According to the Dark Council’s briefing, something - or someone - was protecting her. Unfortunately for Furfur, a senior operative in Soul Requisitions, that meant he was the one assigned to correct the imbalance and ensure the natural order was restored.

She was supposed to be easy. Lonely. Spiritually adrift. One nudge and she'd tip over into Hell’s waiting arms. Simple enough. But when Furfur found her, it was anything but.

She wasn’t cowering in fear or muttering incantations under the moonlight, like so many mortals he’d encountered before. She was laughing. Seated cross-legged in an armchair tucked inside a cozy bookshop, a steaming cup of tea in hand, she laughed - freely, unapologetically. This was the girl who had cheated death. Furfur watched from the shadows beyond the glass, unnoticed. For the first time in his infernal career, he didn’t know what to do. She wore a worn denim jacket, her fingernails chipped and imperfect. And she was - undeniably - beautiful. Her laughter hit him like a spell: melodic, fearless, utterly human, and completely disarming. Furfur blinked. Demons weren’t supposed to blink. Then he noticed the man sitting across from her. Aziraphale.

That explained … well, everything. Every failed attempt, every inexplicable interference - of course. An angel had been shielding her all along. Protecting a friend. Furfur stared, the pieces falling into place with infuriating clarity. He wondered if she knew. If she had any idea what kind of divine favor had been trailing her like a shadow. He might be out of his depth here, Aziraphale had fooled him before. Lost in thought, he lingered. He should have reported this to Hell immediately, but he didn’t. Not yet. Maybe later. When she went home. It wouldn’t hurt to wait for her there, would it?

Inside the bookstore, you and Aziraphale were still giggling over one of his many stories - another wild tale involving him and Crowley, spanning centuries of improbable misadventures. You’d been friends with the angel for two years now, and in that time, your world had quietly cracked open. Angels and demons, Heaven and Hell, - it was all real. And somehow, you’d been let in on the secret. You were grateful Aziraphale had trusted you - and that Crowley, at the very least, tolerated you - enough to share the truth after you’d accidentally witnessed them performing a miracle. They could’ve easily gaslit you, made you question your sanity. But they hadn’t. And for that, you were deeply thankful.

"God, look at the rain," You spoke softly, gazing out the window. "I should probably get going before it picks up anymore."

Aziraphale offered you a gentle smile,

“Of course.” The warmth in his eyes was genuine and kind. Handing you your umbrella, he waved goodbye as he saw you off at the door. You deftly opened the umbrella and held it above you as you began the fifteen minute walk back home through the bustling streets of Soho.

The closer you got to your flat, the more something felt … off. Not just nerves - this was deeper. A gnawing sense of dread that settled in your chest and made your bones feel brittle. You’d been brushing it off as anxiety lately, but this time, it clung to you like the rain soaking through your jacket. Inside the building, you snapped your umbrella shut and shook off the water, your other hand clenched tightly around your keys. The lift was out of order. Of course it was. You swallowed hard and started up the stairs, each creaking step warning you to turn back. Your instincts screamed, but you kept going. At your door, you moved slowly - too slowly - slipping the key into the lock with careful precision. The door clicked open. You stepped inside. The hallway was dim and still. Keys back in your pocket, you closed the door behind you. And just as the tension began to ease from your shoulders, you heard it. A voice. Low. Husky. Male. And he was … talking to your cat?

As you edged down the hallway, the voice grew louder, clearer - impossibly real. And then you saw it: your little black cat, Sooty, perched regally atop the coffee table, locked in what looked like a serious conversation with a strangely eccentric man. The whole scene teetered on the edge of absurd.

"Well, y'see, I completely disagree on that point becau-"

"Meow."

"I understand but-"

"Meow."

"Right, can you stop interrupting me please I'm trying to make a point he-"

Thwack.

You hit him as hard as you could in the back with your umbrella.

"Ow! What did you do that for?! That really hurt!" He exclaimed as he hunched over, grimacing at you in pain and confusion. He’d never been hit by a human before, let alone one brandishing an umbrella as a weapon.

"Who are you and what the fuck are you in my flat?!" You demanded, wielding your umbrella above your head as threateningly as you could, like some sort of weather-conscious valkyrie. "And why are you talking to my cat?" You added, confusion lacing your tone.

"He has terrible taste in literature." The man casually remarked, shaking his head.

He stood at full height now - modest in stature, but still taller than you. His scent was a crisp blend of rain and earth, grounding yet elusive. His grey hair was styled with an eccentric flair, streaked with hints of green at the temples. Dressed mostly in dark green, he wore a leather harness wrapped around his right hand, an odd but compelling detail. Your eyes drifted to his hands longer than you intended. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t noticed - and lying again if he said it hadn’t stirred something unexpected in his mind.

Something deep inside told you he wasn’t of this world. You met his gaze, steadying yourself, refusing to let fear or confusion show. Suddenly, your umbrella felt woefully inadequate - a fragile weapon against something so undeniably otherworldly, even if it did have a wooden handle. God, you didn’t think you’d ever seen eyes quite as blue as his. Furfur hated himself for thinking it, but he was certain he’d never seen eyes as striking - or as beautiful - as yours. There was something so inherently disarming in your gaze; it began to fracture centuries of iron-clad resolve within him. The longer your eyes lingered on his, the more it chipped away at the cold certainty of his mission. You were so soft, so beautiful, and so different from the harsh sights of Hell.

The demon cleared his throat, feigning composure, and gestured vaguely, “Look, love, don’t take it out on me - I just work in requisitions. I’m here to collect your soul. You’re … overdue.” He outstretched his gloved hand toward you, then hesitated when you flinched. Your expression stayed firm. He let out a frustrated sigh and looked you up and down. “Come on now,” He muttered, more to himself than to you,”Let’s not make this hard.” His voice carried a weariness that betrayed more than he intended.

“Fuck off!” Your voice was shaky but certain

Furfur’s tongue flicked out, licking his bottom lip. A deep, weary sigh and a bitter chuckle escaped him as his gaze dropped to the ground. He thought of Aziraphale again. Maybe the paperwork wasn’t worth it. He took a step back, his face clouded with the weight of a decision he already regretted. Then, with one final glance at you, he twisted the gem set into the large ring on his finger. In an instant, a swirl of indigo smoke enveloped him, and just like that, he was gone. You stood dumbfounded and motionless in the centre of your living room for at least twenty minutes after that. Only when Sooty brushed against your legs, softly meowing, did you snap back to reality.

You looked down at your cat with a newfound curiosity and murmured to him gently, “You’re a dark horse, you are.”

next chapter

[writings-of-a-demigod]

Crowley heard the door open and the bell ring. You came into his sight dragging your feet, back hunched forwards.

“You don’t look good.” He pointed out.

“I don’t feel that good either.” Your voice was rough.

You groaned and laid on the floor of the bookshop “I just want to die.” Your face was flat on the floor.

“Oh don’t be that dramatic you’re gonna be fine.” He took his seat on the couch.

“I don’t feel fine bitch. I’m on the verge of death.” You told him.

“Well then don’t walk into the light.” He smirked.

“I don’t see the light but I do feel the heat. Wait does that mean I’m going to hell?” you raised your head his way and asked “Well it seems right with literally everything I did in my long slash short life.”

You took a deep breath “Goodbye you cruel world. You were always an asshole but I don’t blame you.”

“What in heaven’s name is going on in here?” the angel walked into the room seeing you laying on the ground and Crowley sitting on the couch with his feet up on the table.

“I’m dying Aziraphale.” You reached your hand up in his direction. Crowley rolled his eyes behind his sunglasses.

Aziraphale glanced at the demon and saw the smirk on his face, he just knew it was one of your dramatic breakdowns and sadly he’s the one who’s usually having to deal with you while Crowley was enjoying the show you put on.

“Don’t worry dear I’ll make it better.” He retreated to his backroom to make you your favorite hot coco with marshmallows and cinnamon.

“Did he just leave me here?” you turn your head towards Crowley who’s holding his laugh.

“Well what did you want him to do? drag your ass up?” he asked.

“Mmm yes?” you raised your eyebrow “or at least take pity, I am dying you know?”

The demon huffed “If it was up to me I would’ve dragged you outside and left you in the street.” He smiled.

“Thank God it’s not up to you.” You got up and dusted your clothes “You psycho.”

He just laughed at you. You took a seat next to him and sat crisscross then turned to look at him, he was watching your every move.

“Are you done with your dramatic mental breakdown?” he asked you.

You squinted at him “Shut up.” You told him and he laughed.

Aziraphale came back with more than just a cup of hot coco. He brought a basket that was filled with all the goodies that you liked.

“Here you go my dear enjoy.” He gave you a soft smile.

“Aziraphale you’re an angel.” You told him before digging in.

“Do you feel better?” the angel asked you.

“Much better.” You say with a mouth full.

a/n: Not my best but I needed to write something. The next one will take place out of the bookshop.

*gif not mine*

[marys-little-cringes]

Burns

Fandoms: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett

Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)

Additional Tags: Romance, Post-Canon, Curtain Fic Crowley scratched his burned hip and grinned. His eyes flashed yellow in the Bentley's rear-view mirror.

He hadn't felt physical pain in centuries. The itching of the feet in the cathedral in the forties didn't count. It was nothing compared to what he had experienced, having done too many good things by the end of the nineteenth century. That girl in the cemetery was the last straw. Since then, Crowley had sworn to himself that he would not take a step without a bottle of holy water. No one would dare to hurt him with impunity, especially not one of them.

The burns itched under the patches and healed reluctantly, but this time he was glad. Happy. He adored each and every one of them. He wanted more. He was ready to become a firebrand himself.

As he was scratching his palm, he caught Aziraphale's eyes on him.

''Crowley—''

''Keep your eyes on the road,'' the demon waved away. ''If you think I've come to terms with everything you're doing with my Bentley, you're wrong. God forbid you — ugh! — scratch her.'' With an even more worried look, Aziraphale's eyes travelled up the bandaged arm.

''Crowley.''

''Don't even get started on me, Angel,'' Crowley rolled his eyes. ''We've talked about it a hundred times! Focus on the road.''

Aziraphale only sighed heavily, but obeyed. Crowley knew that the he kept squinting at him all the way. He was already thinking of setting his watch by the angel.

He didn't care and yet he was also a little flattered. He could have driven the car himself perfectly well, his burned hands wouldn't have been a hindrance to him, but Aziraphale was looking at him with that special look that only he was capable of. Crowley couldn't refuse him.

‘'Crowley, when we "talked about this a hundred times," you promised to be careful!’' the angel finally blurted out.

Crowley was waiting for this. He had been waiting since this morning. Aziraphale didn't know how to pretend that everything was okay when something was bothering him. Literally, his whole being began to scream as soon as he tried to hold something back and it was evident in everything: in the anxious sighs, in the cursory glances, in the busyness of his hands, in the incessant fidgeting in his seat.

‘'Crowley, I'm telling you this now in all seriousness, I give you my word that I’m not going to do this anymore if you can't keep your word.’'

‘'You're not going to do what?’' the demon chuckled. '‘You're not going to have fun to spite me? Well, that's a threat!’'

''Cro-o-owley…''

''Okay, okay, just kidding!'' Crowley raised his bandaged hands in a gesture of helplessness. ''Trust me, I like this, Angel.''

''He likes it!'' Aziraphale clicked his tongue, almost jumping on the spot from the overflowing indignation. ''I... I... I'll tie your hands next time, that's what!''

Crowley choked on a laugh.

'‘If you're into it, Angel, you can tie me up completely.'’

Aziraphale shut his mouth, unable to find anything to say, and blushed.

''Eloquent,'' Crowley summed up.

''You said that you just like to watch,'' the angel finally squeezed out, confused. ''If I had known that you would touch, I would never have agreed.''

''But it's true, I like to watch,'' Crowley looked at him and involuntarily broke into a dreamy smile. ''You're gorgeous.''

Aziraphale's only response was to blush even more than before.

''I don't want to hurt you, Crowley,'' he said plaintively, hunching over the wheel. ''There's nothing in the world I'm more afraid of than hurting you.''

''Oh, Angel...'' Crowley reached out to his cheek, passed the back of his hand, Aziraphale leaned towards him. ''My dear Angel, nothing can hurt me anymore. Two thousand years sounds more painful to me than what I feel touching you. It's not a pain, it's a blessing.''

‘'This is the price of a blessing,’' he added mentally.

His angel was shining next to him — Crowley would give anything for that. A flash of blinding light, a loud voice woven of millions, an innumerable multitude of blazing eyes and wings shining with unearthly whiteness. Crowley could have died for this, and burned palms and angel handprints on his hips are a ridiculously low price to pay.

In truth, Crowley wasn't thinking at all last night. The desire to touch the radiant face, frozen in a moment of ecstasy, was so strong that he could not help himself, even if he really wanted to. Perhaps if Aziraphale hadn't caught on in time, his hands would have been burned to dust. The human shell failed Crowley this time. However, he didn't spare a second: Aziraphale was in front of him, naked in his true form. In all his deadly splendor. He felt so good, and it was all thanks to Crowley. The rest didn't matter, really.

Every moment after being deprived of his Divine Spark was agony for Crowley. An angel was created with it, an angel cannot be an angel without it. That's right, otherwise it wouldn't be a punishment for... transgressions against Her will. That Spark was ripped out of Crowley, and with it the wings, and with it the chance to touch his angel. Crowley loved his human shell with obsessive love and for no reason in the world would he be ready to leave it, even if all the troops of Hell would come to him this minute and proclaim him the new ruler.

Hell be damned, Heaven be blessed! This place is where he can be with his angel. The burns will go away. Now they're together — to the end of this fucking world and beyond.

The Bentley pulled over to the side of the road and stopped. Aziraphale was puzzled, turning the steering wheel and pedaling, when Crowley grabbed him by the collar of his jacket and pulled towards him. The angel giggled shyly into his lips, and the demon looked at him and couldn't tear his gaze away.

[bayntons]

✨ GOMENS FIC RECS ✨

i asked for people's favorite fics and sharing is caring :)

(i included my own recs as well)

feel free to reblog and add more!

❤️ recommended by @oldzhishen ❤️

Crown of Thorns series by irisbleufic (rating G-E)

This series was never intended to be a series as such: I wrote "A Better Place" in the wake of rather accidentally getting to ask a certain question (What are Aziraphale and Crowley doing on the South Downs, anyway?) of both authors within a week of each other back in 2005 and actually getting an answer (Sharing a cottage), thinking it'd just be a happy little one-off. But something curious happened when my Good Omens Exchange 2010 assignment resulted in "The Walls, the Wainscot, and the Mouse." From that point onward, interest in this little 'verse slowly, but steadily picked up momentum, and I kept finding more stories to tell. Some of the characters that appear herein (Phillippa [Pippa] Morrison, the Mouse, Amanda [Mandy] Tomlin, Uriel, Raphael, et al.) first turned up in my one and only attempt at a second-Apocalypse dark mirror universe, A Crown of Stars (AO3 posting of same) and its follow-ups, which predates this series considerably. The two universes parallel each other, but this one is, for our purposes, post novel-canon and set in our reality. That's pretty much what you need to know. Thank you all for continuing to read and also for giving this project life. I'll continue to add stories and ficlets until I run out of ideas or until my heart stops (whichever comes first)! The current existing pieces are complete; the series overall is ongoing on an as-and-when basis, which means that the time between additions may be weeks or months or, in rare instances, up to a year.

Madman and a Fool by loserchildhotpants (rating E)

God considers Crowley's unyielding pining for Aziraphale, his acts during the End of the World, and his very genuine desire to protect Aziraphale, worth rewarding. She can't make him an Angel again, but She can nudge Aziraphale in the right direction. If nothing else, She'd really just like Crowley to stop using Her prayer inbox for endless soliloquies about Aziraphale.

Demonology and the Tri-Phasic Model of Trauma: An Integrative Approach by Nnm (rating T)

As soon as Aubrey Thyme, psychotherapist, had opened her office door and seen her new client, Anthony J. Crowley, sitting in her waiting area, she was observing and assessing him. At first glance, she paid attention to the following: --His clothing was expensive and stylish; --He wore very strange but noticeable cologne; --His relationship to the seat he occupied could only, very loosely, be described as “sitting;” --He looked angry; --He was wearing sunglasses. What Aubrey Thyme, a professional, thought, upon first seeing her new client was: you’re going to be a fun one, aren’t you?

A Home at the Beginning of the World by stereobone (rating E)

"Oh," Aziraphale says. "I think Crowley might have moved in with me."

For the Angel Who Has Everything by triedunture (rating E)

Crowley likes giving Aziraphale things. Whatever he wants, actually. Which, happily, includes Crowley himself, as it turns out.

I'm the treasure baby, I'm the prize by stereobone (rating E)

"Are you working for Mrs. Sandwich?" Nina asks. "No," Crowley says. "Well, yes. Well, define 'working'." -- Or, Crowley is very good at faking sex work, as it turns out.

🧡 recommended by @reloha 🧡

let me feel your heartbeat (grow faster, faster) by thehoyden (rating T)

Aziraphale saw him sometimes in all-staff meetings, sitting toward the front but off to the side, lounging against a wall. Even then, he’d had style—wings tipped in gold and face painted with gold flakes in the pattern of the first constellation he designed. He was amazing, and eye-catching, and it was no exaggeration to say that he did not know Aziraphale even existed.

You'll Find Something Waiting (Right There Where You Left It) by PrimalBeatsOurHearts (rating T)

"Lets go in the Garden, "You'll find something waiting" "Right there where you left it" "Lying upside down" ------------ Or What if Crowley was Erased from The Book Of Life?

Moving Forward While Standing Still by Justanothernerdsstuff (rating G)

“Uh, yeah, sure! Thanks,” They replied and walked away, not sure why this specific book was so important to the angry man, but they were £50 richer, so they didn’t really care. Crowley flipped through the book, stalling making the decision to go into the bookshop to confront Muriel. He turned to walk away, stopped, groaned, and stalked his way into the bookshop. *** Crowley finds himself at Give Me Coffee Or Give Me Death a month after Aziraphale left to run Heaven, and ends up back at the bookshop, something he never planned to do again.

7 minutes in heaven by waddlesthejoghog (rating T)

"If Crowley and Aziraphale couldn’t figure it out, Muriel would have to take a different approach. It wasn’t enough to put them in the same location. They had to plant some seeds of conversation. They had to come to a conclusion naturally, but with a push." OR Muriel reads every book in the shop, then comes up with a plan to get Aziraphale and Crowley back together.

In the Pocket of the Universe by indieninja92 (rating E)

Immediately after the church scene (and The Slow Zoom of Homosexual Panic), Aziraphale takes Crowley out for dinner in the only place still open in the middle of an air raid. Feelings closely follow.

How to Run a Bookshop by IneffableDoll (rating T)

Muriel has been running Aziraphale’s bookshop ever since his promotion Upward. Mr. Crowley seems intent on sticking around, and Muriel has no idea what to do about that. Then, Muriel stumbles upon a collection of sketchbooks full of a familiar redhead. Did…Aziraphale draw these? Has Mr. Crowley seen them? * (“No. No. Put that back.” “Oh, but isn’t it cute? A little cup with wings! I don’t suppose it can fly like those birds can? I don’t see what a cup needs wings for, really.” “You can’t use that.” “Of course not! These wings are too small for me, and I have my own if I want to get around.” “Wh – okay, first off, you can’t go flying about London. You’ll freak people out, cause a bunch of chaos – actually, you know what, do what you like. Heaven if I care. But don’t touch that mug.” “Is it dangerous?” “…No. But it’s not yours. And it’s not polite to use something that’s not yours. Not very angelic of you.” “Oh! Of course. I knew that.”)

💛 recommended by @cheeekycharchar 💛

Together We're Golden series by Guardian_Rose (rating G-T)

Crowley & Aziraphale move to a small town, into their own little cottage but it's not without its difficulties.

True Disaster by NuriaSchnee (rating E)

After Crowley saves him in 1941, Aziraphale realises he's fallen in love with the demon. Scared this dangerous feeling of his will cause problems to his friend, he tries to break their relationship. However, his plan to push the demon away fails and they end up admitting their feelings to each other. To be able to be together and keep it a secret, Crowley stops time every time they meet. However brilliant this seems at first, it doesn't take long to backfire, opening new wounds and raising more barriers between them.

Nanny Knows Best by DictionaryWrites (rating M)

Being a nanny, that should be simple. Simple. Easy as pie. Crowley wished that were true.

💚 recommended by yours truly 💚

Strange Moons series by racketghost (rating G-E)

“At least they were together for a time,” Crowley says, staring at the lit end of his cigarette, “maybe that’s enough.”

tales from a bookshop by Rizandace (rating T)

Post-season-two. Crowley's moping, Aziraphale wants to fix things, and turns out, there's enough blame to go around. ----- "You're being ridiculous." Crowley very nearly falls over. Like, actually. He very nearly loses balance for no reason at all and tumbles to the sidewalk next to his car. He’s been playing Aziraphale’s voice in his head for weeks, he’s been trying very hard to drown out the sound of it, in fact, and now suddenly, abruptly— “What are you doing here,” is all he can think to say. He whirls around, and there he is. on Crowley’s right, standing there like he’d never left. Where he belongs, Crowley’s mind helpfully supplies. He wishes he could punch himself in the brain, knock the thoughts right on out of there.

Meanwhile the World Goes On by lineslines (rating G)

Crowley looked at him. He was still wearing his suit, there was tartan in it, but it had become polished, the worn edges returned to pristine, boring perfection. He looked prim. Proper. Perhaps this hurt most of all. (Crowley is on earth, Aziraphale is not. Meanwhile the world goes on. Plans, great and possibly ineffable, are set into motion. They are--always, inevitably--drawn back together. Long before reconciliation, long before they can bear it. The only thing they can bear less is staying apart. Oh, and Heaven seems to have misplaced Jesus.)

So You Need To Get Into A.Z. Fell & Co.; Now What? (A Guide For Unfortunate Bookworms) by c4llistrad (rating G)

London’s antique enthusiasts and rare lit nerds alike know that if you’re looking for a specific vintage or antique book, you have a good chance of ending up in A.Z. Fell & Co. as a last resort. And if you’ve ever been in (or are currently in) this predicament, you know how much of an absolute nightmare it is trying to even get in the door. Luckily, this handy guide, the fruit of a months-long collaborative effort to create the perfect formula for gaming the A.Z. Fell system, will tell you everything you need to know, complete with a comprehensive breakdown of what, exactly, the opening hours are. Compiled by pageknight and inky of the Rare Antique Forums.

Like Icarus Before Me by Arokel (rating T)

If Aziraphale were a Good person, a virtuous person, he wouldn’t have taken Crowley’s hand at all. Aziraphale muses on the nature of Goodness, and finally shares those musings with Crowley.

It's Something Like a Corkscrew by Arokel (rating G)

“How do you live with this… this inevitability? This knowledge of what’s to come?”

So let us melt by Arokel (rating G)

Of the two of them, Crowley thinks Aziraphale has held on to more of his faculties than Crowley has, but then again, he is putting off angelic heat like a particularly virtuous furnace.

So Much to be Consoled as to Console by Arokel (rating T)

“What are you,” Crowley drawled, “the patron saint of queer kids?” A series of lost souls over the centuries who prayed, whether they knew it or not, to the Angel Aziraphale.

Factory Settings by Anonymous (rating T)

Crowley gets reinstated as an angel.

such surpassing brightness by bibliocratic (rating G)

The revelation that Aziraphale might have been in love with him for thousands of years is surprising. The fact that literal books have been written on the subject comes as even more of a shock.

knowing this will I reach for you by Aria (rating E)

It wasn't as though his interest in Aziraphale was entirely appropriate. Of course it wasn't bloody appropriate. He was consorting with the Enemy, nothing about it was appropriate.

The Sandford Flower Show by Mussimm (rating E)

Crowley had waited six thousand years, kept it all in check. But this was the slipperiest slope he’d ever set foot on and as soon as he’d indulged in a few discretionary acts of kindness he was falling face first into pining, tumbling into flirting, about to dislocate his knees on the sharp rocks of intimacy. Was this really it? What he had waited six thousand years for? A stupid flower show? Aziraphale wasn’t pulling away from him. Maybe… maybe this time he wouldn’t? Maybe they’d hold hands again. Maybe tonight with a bottle of merlot in them he’d finally work up the courage and just kiss him and he wouldn’t pull away. The very moment he’d thought it he spotted the problem at the flower show.

you knew my name on sight by brinnanza (rating G)

“This wasn’t me, you know,” Crowley says, the words out of his mouth before he’s made the conscious choice to utter them. “Not just the library, but the whole civil war. You know me; I’ve mostly been getting drunk at Bacchanals.” “I know,” says Aziraphale.

The Longest Night series by charlottemadison (rating T-E)

The night the Apocalypse doesn't happen, an angel and a demon share a bus bench on the way home to face their fates. This is the story of their evening spun out line by line, all the little moments that carried them through the night they knew might be their last.

Witness the Fall by Waifine (rating G)

Crowley never talked about his time as an angel. Aziraphale never asked. But when Hell sends Crowley a package containing his most painful memories, it is Aziraphale who is plunged into the nightmare history of when his beloved friend, the angel who had once been Crowley, was hurled from the Heavens into the bowels of Hell.

An Angel who did not so much Fall In Love as Settle Into It Gradually by TheLadyZephyr (rating G)

Crowley was standing in the middle of the room, hands in his pockets, looking a little lost. Aziraphale eyed the distance between them. Five steps. Five steps, and six thousand years, and a battlefield spanning an eternity. The story of the little moments over the millennia that shape an angel’s regard for a demon, and the way he slowly, with great reluctance but inevitable surety, falls in love.

This Soul Outstreaming by Rend_Herring (rating E)

“Why did you come here?” Aziraphale interrupts. “Why do you keep doing this?” All the saving, he means, all the chasing after Aziraphale he does. It can’t only be that he’s not keen to endure a replacement. That can’t be it, not anymore. He’s going to get himself in trouble, and then it’ll be Aziraphale’s fault. Crowley’s mouth shuts with a click. He shifts uncomfortably in his seat, reaches for the handle of the fork and taps his fingertips against it before setting his hands in his lap. When he speaks, it’s very soft. “Don’t you know?” he asks. Aziraphale, unnaccustomed to his heart refusing to translate why it throbs with such haste, shakes his head.

a lighthouse (burning) by books-and-omens (rating M)

In good weather, one can see the lighthouse at the Rock from the shore: a dot on the horizon, a distant star flashing red and white and red again. It’s been dark for a fortnight, of course—ever since the incident that every newspaper had breathlessly written about, that the paper-boys on the corners had shouted themselves hoarse over. This is where Aziraphale is headed: it is his duty, after all, to find out what happened, to make sure that the beacon can be safely lit once again. He does not expect Crowley to follow him to the windswept isle, to the lonely lighthouse at what could just as well be the edge of the world. Crowley follows him anyway.

paint the skies by ToEdenandBackAgain (rating G)

“This was one of yours, wasn’t it?” Aziraphale remarks casually, and Crowley feels like the warmth of the room has been sucked into space. A cold, uneasy feeling begins to creep into his gut. One of yours thrown out so casually. One of yours said like he... like he knew “What.”

Good Endings by WyvernQuill (rating T)

A Narrative of Certain Events following the Ending of the World (Except Not Quite), as vaguely hinted at in The Slapdash and Not Very Helpful Prophetic Tidbit of Agnes Nutter, Witch (And Matchmaker.) "Their lives are in horrible, terrible danger that only we can save them from!" Anathema held up the Prophetic Tidbit. "It says so. Right here." Madame Tracy peered at the page. Raised a meaningful eyebrow. "Dearie, as a woman of, well, considerable experience, I really don't think that's what 'the lyttle Deathe' means in this context..." "Huh." Anathema squinted. Flipped the page. Read another bit. "....huh." (Or, alternatively: Eight - give or take - matchmakers trying really, really hard, honest; two clueless ethereal/occult beings mutually pining their endless days away; and one witch, who can't leave well enough alone when it comes to matters of the heart, no matter how many centuries ago she died.)

If We've Got Nothing (We've Got Us) by Kedreeva (rating G)

Two months after the failed apocalypse Aziraphale finds the first dark feather growing in his wings. A story about middle grounds, ineffable plans, and what happens when the world doesn't end.

lit in the darkness by ToEdenandBackAgain (rating M)

Aziraphale returns to Crowley's flat for the night after Armageddon. After all, it's hardly the first time they've shared sleeping arrangements. Or: Times throughout history Crowley and Aziraphale have shared a bed.

💙 recommended by @vonlipwig 💙

Petrichor & Parchment by MrsNoggin (rating E)

“Mr. Crowley, I presume?” Aziraphale asked in lieu of an introduction, which was not forthcoming. The guy hadn’t even removed his sunglasses. Oh God, he had a tattoo on his face. Aziraphale wasn’t one to judge, but… what kind of gardener had a snake tattoo on his face?

💜 recommended by @darthbreezy 💜

post-professional endeavours by darcylindbergh (rating T)

Retirement is a four-letter word.

💗 recommended by @thegeekyartist 💗

Fire, Bridges, and other Sensible Idioms by KiaraMGrey (rating E)

To: The person who stopped the washer in the middle of my wash cycle and took my clothes out just to wash your own… You are an arsehole! Unfortunately for you, so am I. You can find your wet clothes frozen outside in the snow. If you have any problems with this, come see me in 301. or Aziraphale has a new neighbor, and they certainly don't start off on the right foot.

❤️ recommended by @weiwnxian ❤️

Any Other Name by mostlyanything19 (rating T)

“The Angel of the Eastern Gate.” Crawly grins. “What’s your name, anyway? You never said.” “Oh...” Apologies, Aziraphael almost says, but then he doesn’t. That would be taking things a bit too far. This is still the Enemy. “Aziraphael.” “Aziraphael,” repeats Crawly—or tries to, because halfway through the word he chokes. Quite badly. Or: What if Aziraphale’s name was originally "Aziraphael", in keeping with the conventional spelling and pronunciation of angel names, but because of its divine nature Crowley is physically unable to say it out loud.

[mimisempai]

You're the only light in my blurry world 4/10

Chapter summary

Back from the weekend, Aziraphale and Crowley set up a coffee date, but an incident forces Aziraphale to reveal the truth about his condition.

On Ao3

Masterpost for this fic : here

"Come on, everybody get on the bus! You can pick the seats you want for the ride back!"

As they boarded the bus, Aziraphale turned to Crowley and asked, "Should we sit together?"

Crowley didn't have time to answer as Eric stepped between them and said, "Nope, guys, all five of us are going in the back row."

Aziraphale, though a little disappointed not to be traveling with just Crowley, was looking forward to spending some time with his new friends.

Muriel had boarded the bus by now, and as Aziraphale, followed by Crowley, arrived at the back, she said, "Azi, at the end by the window, Crowley next to Azi, then Maggie at the other end, Eric and me. I want to be in the middle."

Amused, Aziraphale and Crowley took the seats Muriel had indicated.

Moments later, the bus pulled away and the five friends were happily chatting and reminiscing about the good times of the weekend.

Gradually, the chatter died down, Maggie fell asleep, and the two lovebirds spoke in hushed tones.

Turning to Aziraphale, Crowley asked, "So you're going straight home when we get there?"

Aziraphale nodded and said, "Yes, I'll take Maggie with me since we're neighbors. Do you have to work in the morning?"

Crowley replied, "Not before eleven."

"Our shops don't open on Monday mornings."

Crowley seemed to hesitate for a few moments before asking, "Would you like to have coffee with me tomorrow morning?"

Aziraphale asked, "With Maggie?"

Crowley chuckled and then, turning serious again, replied, "No, just you and me.

Aziraphale, delighted, immediately replied, "Yes, I would love to!"

Crowley grinned and said, "Then it's a date."

Then, without waiting for Aziraphale's reply, he leaned back against the back of his seat and, after dropping his head on Aziraphale's shoulder, closed his eyes.

"Wake me when we get there."

"O-okay."

Aziraphale took out his mp3 player, stuck the headphones in his ears, and settled into his seat. He allowed himself to be lulled by the music, but that didn't stop him from being aware of the warmth of Crowley's head against his shoulder throughout the ride.

*********

The next morning, Aziraphale was a little late as he walked through the door of the coffee shop across the street from his bookshop.

He looked for Crowley and saw him from behind, sitting at a back table, recognizable by his flaming hair. His heart beating a little faster, the bookseller took a quick step toward the table, then placed his hand on Crowley's shoulder and said softly, "Good morning, Crowley.

But what a shock when he turned his head to face Aziraphale.

Aziraphale didn't recognize his features and felt a cold shiver run down his spine. 

That was it. The miracle was over.

He tried to put on a show as he sat down and spoke without pausing, "I'm sorry I'm a little late. So you've recovered from our weekend? Not too tired? I'm knackered, thank God I'm not working this morning."

Getting no response from his friend, he began to panic when someone suddenly called his name, causing him to turn his head. There he saw Crowley approaching.

Feeling embarrassed, Aziraphale turned to the person sitting across from him, and as he stood up, he apologized, "I'm so sorry, I mistook you for someone else."

"Yeah, well, you better get some glasses, you idiot!"

Crowley stepped forward and leaned toward the red-haired man, "Hey, no need to get nasty."

Then he grabbed Aziraphale's wrist and pulled him all the way outside.

"Crowley, wait."

Aziraphale held him back, causing Crowley to turn to him and say, "He didn't have to talk to you like that. You didn't do anything wrong."

"Yes, but I got the wrong person, that can upset people you know?"

"He could have been understanding. What's his problem?"

They hadn't seen the guy following them and only noticed him when he snapped at them, "My problem? This guy's got one."

"Watch your mouth," Crowley replied in a cold voice, stepping between Aziraphale and the angry man.

"Are you a friend of this guy?"

"Can't you tell?"

The guy walked over to Crowley and, taking off his cap, continued, giving Aziraphale spiteful looks, "He started saying all kinds of stuff to me. I thought he was nuts, so I ignored him, but the idiot kept going.

Then he showed his face with his hand and added, "Tell me, do you think we look that much alike?"

"You!"

Crowley felt Aziraphale take his arm before he said softly, "Come on Crowley, let's go."

The bookseller didn't wait for an answer and pulled him along.

"Hey!"

Despite Crowley's interjection, Aziraphale started to pull him toward the bookshop, but Crowley stopped him and exclaimed, "Aziraphale! Tell me, is he the one with the problem, or are you?"

Aziraphale looked down and muttered, "Sorry... sorry I haven't told you yet, but... I really thought I was going on a bit without having to, and..."

He took a deep breath before continuing, "I actually have a condition that causes me to not recognize faces. It's commonly referred to as face blindness, and that's why..."

Crowley interrupted, "What? That's why you're acting so weird?"

Aziraphale, his throat tightening, nodded.

"Are we really friends?"

Aziraphale raised his head sharply, clearly seeing Crowley's angry expression.

He replied immediately, "Of course we are!"

"Then why didn't you tell me? Such an important thing?"

Aziraphale murmured, "Sorry..."

Crowley shook his head and replied, "I don't want you to apologize. This condition is not your fault!"

Aziraphale didn't know how to respond and remained silent.

Crowley shook his head and started to walk away, saying, "I'm not in the mood. I'm going home."

"Crowley... I..."

"No. I'm too angry. I don't want to talk about it right now. Don't follow me, okay?"

Aziraphale watched him walk away with a heavy heart.

He remembered a similar scene.

Another figure he'd let walk away just like that.

Without a fight.

He shook his head.

He was not the same Aziraphale anymore.

He'd changed.

He ran after Crowley and grabbed his sleeve, saying urgently, "Crowley, please don't go like this. Come with me to my bookshop, let me explain. Let me explain. Please. Let me explain why I didn't tell you, and then you can do whatever you want. But I can't let you go like this. You have to know. I don't want to go through this again. Please!"

Crowley remained silent, then let out a long sigh before saying, "All right."

Aziraphale let go of him and murmured, "Thank you," before walking back to the bookshop, followed by Crowley. 

A few moments later, they entered the Aziraphale's bookshop.

He motioned Crowley to the sofa and sat down in the armchair across from him.

Once Crowley was seated, Aziraphale, not daring to meet his friend's gaze, looked at his hands and said again, "I'm sorry."

"Stop apologizing, damn it! There's nothing to forgive. I'm just angry that you didn't tell me, and I wonder if you would have told me if the incident at the coffee shop hadn't happened."

Crowley ran a hand through his hair and continued, "I'm the one who should apologize for getting carried away. I know I'm too emotional."

Aziraphale shook his head and protested, "No! No! You were right. I'm so grateful that you're willing to listen to me. Before... before I met you, before this weekend... I was... I was so lonely. I don't want to feel that again. I don't want to lose you and what I..."

He couldn't continue, his throat too tight with emotion.

Crowley waited a little and then said in a softer tone, "Aziraphale, this isn't going to work like this, come here and sit beside me, you're too far away."

"Oh... uh, okay."

Aziraphale stood and came to sit at the other end of the sofa.

Crowley chuckled softly and shook his head.

"Closer, idiot. That way you're as far away as if you were sitting in your armchair."

Aziraphale slid closer to Crowley, trying to regain his composure. He didn't notice his hands tapping nervously on his knees until Crowley calmed him by putting his hand on them.

He said quietly, "Hey, it's gonna be okay."

Then he took Aziraphale's hand and asked gently, "Is that okay?"

Aziraphale nodded and Crowley added, "You can start whenever you want."

Aziraphale swallowed several times before saying softly, "Four years ago, I was with a man named James. He was my first love and my first lover. He was a little older than me, confident, handsome, or so I think when I try to remember. I was head over heels, so I accepted everything. He wasn't out then, we only saw each other on weekends. He'd pick me up on his motorcycle and we'd go to a little motel on the beach. It was on one of those weekends that we had a serious accident. The motorcycle was hit by a truck. James had only minor injuries, but I had a severe cranial trauma that put me in the hospital for several weeks with the consequences that you know. My face blindness. The last I saw James' face was right before I lost consciousness. And now I can't even remember him. Or only vaguely."

"Oh, Aziraphale..."

Aziraphale shook his head and said with a self-deprecating smile, "I've gotten used to it, it's no big deal."

Crowley stroked the back of his hand with his thumb and said softly, "You're not too used to people caring about you, are you?"

"What?"

"No, nothing. Go on."

Crowley hadn't let go of his hand and Aziraphale continued, "After the accident, James came to see me a lot, I realize now it was probably out of guilt, but at the time I was just glad he stayed with me. When I got out of the hospital, we were together for another six months. But one day..."

"Zira, I want to break up."

Aziraphale, not expecting this, gasped before turning to James, who continued without looking at him, "I've tried, I swear, I've tried to be happy with you, but I can't accept the fact that you don't recognize my face. You can't even tell the difference between my face and someone else's. And I can't accept that from my lover."

Aziraphale, in shock, saw his lover hold his head in his hands and then add, "Actually, it makes me sick."

"But I..."

James shook his head and, standing up, said, "I can't take it anymore."

"Then he left, and I did nothing to hold him. I erased all my memories of him. I tore up the photos where I no longer recognized us. I really thought I'd never get over it. He was the first to disappear. Even my mother found it harder and harder to spend time with me and still doesn't accept it. After her, my other friends gradually drifted away, leaving only Maggie to keep me from completely shutting myself off in my own world. That's why we seem so close."

Aziraphale sighed and said quietly, "There, you know everything. This weekend was the happiest I'd been in a long time, even before my accident. I didn't want to spoil it by talking about my illness when I could almost forget about it for a while. So I didn't say anything. I know it's selfish, but..."

Crowley shook his head and said gently, "No, no, I understand. I totally understand wanting a break from your life and wanting to enjoy it. Believe me, I do. Thank you for telling me all this, even if it was a bit forced."

Aziraphale replied, "I was going to tell you, just not necessarily today, on our first date."

Crowley smiled slightly and asked, "Did you say first?"

"You noticed."

Suddenly, Crowley exclaimed, "But you recognized me! You recognized me at the coffee shop!"

Aziraphale swallowed and replied, "Yes. I don't know why, but you're the only one whose face I recognize. I made a quick call to my neurologist this morning, that's why I was late. He doesn't know where it comes from, but he advised me to try to recognize more faces. Right now, you're the only one. You have no idea how shocked and then pleased I was to be able to see your face so clearly."

Crowley asked, "Is that why you stood up so abruptly and dropped your easel when I arrived at the class?"

"You remember that?"

Crowley chuckled before replying, "You're hard to forget, you know?"

Aziraphale replied with an embarrassed chuckle, then looked up at Crowley, whose kind eyes and gentle smile gave him the courage he needed.

He cleared his throat and, looking into Crowley's eyes, said in a firm voice, "Crowley, would you like to go out with me?"

_________

Still not beta'd

Still not my native language

Still hoping you'll enjoy this story  🥰

Still thanking you for bearing with me 😝

Ineffable Husbands masterlist : here 

[creelkobblelaufeyson69]

Beautiful the way you are *part two*

Warnings: smut (reader has a vagina) angst

Tags for series: @jaziona92

Y/n sat at the passenger seat, and sighs. “I’m gonna set Gabriel on fire one day” they said as they lowered the passenger seat now. “And I’ll be front row to watch you set him on fire” Crowley says as he takes his glasses off now

“He’s called me half an angel before as well… but he’s right, you know? I am half an angel” they say as tears start to leave their eyes. Crowley looks at them with concern written all over his face. “You’re still an angel to me dear” they smiled a bit as they wiped their tears away

“Thanks Crow” he smiles as he finds himself on top of them soon. They blushed madly once he was on top of them comfortably. “We’re in your Bentley, Crowley” he quirked up his brow, and asked them when that’s ever stopped the two in the past

Y/n blushes at the memories as the two were now naked. “So fucking stunning” he praises as he sticks a finger into their pussy. Their head arches back as he begins to rub them. “Crowley” they moaned out, which makes him smirk

He continues to rub them until they came on his finger. Crowley takes his finger out of them, and then licks the cum off of his finger. The cum then vanished, and now he lines up his cock with their pussy

He then slams into them, causing cries of pleasure to leave their mouth without hesitation. Their hands went onto his back without them thinking about. Their head continued to be arched back as he now begins to thrust

“Most beautiful angel out there” he says and then lets out a moan. “Yeah?” A knock on the Bentley’s door could be heard by Crowley and Y/n, but the two didn’t feel like answering the knock. “Yeah” he says in a husky voice as it was met with another knock

Crowley groans as he stops now. He gets out of them as they remove their hands from his back now. The clothes that had vanished off of the two were now back on; Crowley peeks up to see Gabriel

He groans again. “It’s Gabriel” Crowley said, which makes them annoyed. - “That’s not how that happened at all. Why on Earth would god lie to you about what happened to Y/n?” Aziraphale asked Gabriel

“I don’t know. It also sounds like it was only me he lied about the whole Y/n situation with. I’m not quite sure why though” Aziraphale thinks now as Gabriel thinks about all the shitty stuff he had said to Y/n

He was becoming more understanding on certain situations since he was with Beelzebub now. Gabriel stood in front of Y/n in heaven. This was after they had changed, so of course not many angels In heaven were gonna be too polite to them

“You don’t look different” he starts, which makes them sigh. Y/n shows him their wings, which makes him freaked out. “You’re hideous!” He says right away, which makes them frown. “But I’m still the angel you’ve worked with for so many decades Gabriel! I’m still me”

“Umm… no you’re not. You’re a monster! You’re even half an Angel” Y/n’s eyes widened at that as tears started to leave them now. “I bet Crowley is having a better time in hell since he doesn’t have to see this creature”

“I really need to apologize to Y/n” Gabriel said, which makes Aziraphale smile. “I think that’s a wonderful idea! I believe Crowley’s Bentley is still outside. You should go talk to them now” Gabriel nods his head, and then walks out of the bookshop

“Why would Gabriel want to bother us when he’s constantly bothering us?” They asked him, which makes him shrug his shoulders. “Y/n, I need to talk to you” Gabriel says, which makes them appear outside of the Bentley. “I’m in the middle of something right now Gabriel” they said in annoyed tone

Crowley sits up to watch the conversation. Gabriel looks at Crowley, and then back to them. Their arms were wrapped around their chest as they waited for him to respond. “I can see that, and I could hear it too. But I really need to talk to you”

“About what?!? You don’t respect me, so why should I have the time to respect you?!“ Fire starts to spread around the two. “Oh shit” Crowley says as he grabs his glasses quickly, and was quick to get out of his car

“Maybe you’re not even an Angel Gabriel. Maybe you’re some sick demon!” They shouted as Crowley now stood out of his Bentley. Crowley’s heart broke at that, and now he felt angry. “Some sick demon, huh?” They turned to look at Crowley now

They felt their heart sink to their stomach as they saw how hurt he looked. “Crowley… i didn’t mean it…” they said as they began to shake now. Y/n was now on the verge of a panic attack. Their whole world was quickly shattering around them

“You definitely sounded like you meant it” Crowley walks off now without looking back at them. They felt numb, and even more angry at Gabriel. “THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT!!!!” Y/n shouts as they looked back at Gabriel

“You’re right, and I’m very sorry for ruining your relationship with Crowley. I’ve been very selfish, and god even lied to me about what happened to you. God shouldn’t have done” he says, which makes them confused on how to feel now. They obviously were gonna take a while to accept his apology, but they needed to run after Crowley now

Y/n just runs off after Crowley without saying anything else. “Good luck Y/n” Gabriel says as he vanishes now

Part three

[feralbutfluffy]

54: Crowley

Chapter 54 of Too Wise to Woo Peaceably

******

Well.

Thousands and thousands and thousands of years of waiting for the metaphorical scales to fall from Aziraphale’s eyes, and he’d gone and forced the issue - again - with his inability to just leave things well enough alone.

He mentally slow-clapped himself on the back. 

The silence was loud, and Aziraphale said nothing, and Crowley let himself turn inward...

During his Fall, he had lost parts of himself. Some had never returned; memories snapped out of existence with the sort of ruthlessness that could only come from a deity in a fit of pique.

Others, he had clung to fiercely.

After it was over, and he'd come back to himself, he had felt around in the darkness for the shattered pieces. He'd fumbled to fit them back together, gathering them close and hiding them deep inside himself. He had curled himself around these surviving pieces of himself like a dragon guarding its horde.

One of these was his love of potential.

It was the excitement of possibility that enchanted him. He couldn’t remember much from before, but he had a vague recollection of creating a nebula, and the only point of clarity in that memory was delight at creating a star nursery with the potential to create millions of stars. 

After his Fall, he had learned it was mostly possible to stay out of trouble by skirting along the boundary between right and wrong, smudging the line a bit with every footstep. He’d stayed away from anything overly loathsome, preferring to sow seeds of doubt or mild annoyance.

He created the potential, in other words, for anger, displeasure, outrage and violence… But never actually dabbled in it himself.

He just didn’t have the stomach for it. 

That was partly why temptations had always suited him.

Temptations were really just Crowley's love of potential, twisted to fit his new, unwanted role as a reluctant demon. 

The way Crowley looked at it, that’s all temptations were; they offered the potential of… something. Something yearned for. Something taboo. He could lay it out, whisper it in someone’s ear, show them their heart’s desire, offer it up… create the potential for sin, the potential for evil. 

He never forced it. If he was being honest, Crowley much preferred for them to do the right thing, turn the other cheek and all that. He felt a deep-seated sense of satisfaction each time he was rejected out of hand. To err was human, however, and he had plenty of successful temptations under his belt to attest to that. It was his way of going along with Hell as far as he could. 

His way of staying on the right side of the wrong path.

When Aziraphale had accused him of tempting him with his kiss, Crowley had wanted to shake him. They'd spent their lives circling each other, enjoying each others’ company and everything that humanity and life on Earth had to offer. They'd often discussed ethics and philosophy deep into the night, over multiple bottles of wine. They'd dealt with difficult situations together, even when disagreeing on the best way forward.

And yet sometimes, like with his ridiculous accusation, Aziraphale would say or do something that’d make him want to change form, make him want to elongate himself into a venomous serpent and coil up in a corner, protected by scale and fang. Sometimes he’d acted in ways that made Crowley feel like Aziraphale didn’t actually see or hear him at all, that all he was to the angel was a vaguely interesting avatar. The demon. The antithesis. The foil. The opposition. Always the bad one, always fallen, evil, wrong.

The living embodiment of Aziraphale’s ‘There but for the grace of God go I,’ when Crowley was quite sure the grace of God had very little to do with it.

The double standards of God, more like.

It was supremely irritating.

For example, when Aziraphale hadn’t told Crowley about the Antichrist. He’d lied when Crowley had asked him. Lied directly to his face, even knowing that Crowley was in trouble for misplacing the boy - which could have happened to anybody, really - and Aziraphale had told Heaven instead. As if Crowley were any other demon. As if they hadn't spent thousands of years in each others' orbit. He had denied their friendship over, and over, and over, like Peter at Gethsemane. He had trusted Heaven to do the right thing - like a bloody idiot - and then he’d accidentally discoporated himself, leaving Crowley to believe he’d lost him. He’d thought that would be the worst moment of his long, long life. He’d thought, kneeling on the floor of the bookshop, that it was the loneliest moment he would ever face.

He should have known better, really. 

Still, he was no angel. Obviously. 

Crowley had - many times - thought of what it would be like to tempt Aziraphale. He’d pictured oysters and wine, low lighting and lower music. He’d pictured Aziraphale’s face of perfect contentment, the way he looked after a particularly satisfying meal. He’d pictured him lounging back the way he did when he was drunk, far too proper to ever really sprawl out.

And that was as far as he’d ever been able to take it.

Even after 1941, which had seemed like a dream before unraveling into a nightmare, he had never managed to get further than just… being with Aziraphale, sitting with him, appreciating the way satisfaction radiated from him when he was enjoying himself.

A true temptation would have worked like this: He would flirt. He would touch them lightly, but innocently. He would lean back against the nearest available vertical surface. His lips would be parted in a wicked smile, his eyelids would be lowered, and the temptation to kiss would hang in the air between them, an unspoken invitation.

He wouldn’t lift a finger to make it happen. He wouldn’t lean in for it. He wouldn’t initiate.

He felt very strongly about that part.

He had no interest in pushing boundaries. As far as Crowley was concerned, a temptation wasn’t a test; it was a decision. It was their decision. They had to want it.  Crowley created the potential for them to succumb to temptation; he created the potential for them to reach for what they desired. That was the entirety of it. 

They could always resist. They could turn away and walk out.

Or they could surrender to their desire to sin. They could do the “bad” thing. They could have what for one brief moment they thought they most wanted.

All they had to do was lean in and take it. 

When thinking about Aziraphale, Crowley had never known how to progress the fantasy. He’d never known how to tempt Aziraphale into wanting him - into loving him - without stepping all over the lines the angel had drawn in the sand. Even without Aziraphale’s constant reminders of his demonic status - as if he’d ever needed those - he knew that even lightly touching Aziraphale would earn him a reproachful frown at the very least. 

The very idea of casually reaching out to touch the angel’s hand or face had always seemed beyond the realm of possibility. Something that with others may have meant nothing at all would, with Aziraphale, have been imbued with such significance their friendship might not have survived it.

That is, of course, assuming Aziraphale would have understood the significance.

Which he may well not have, because Crowley suspected that Aziraphale had spent thousands of years wearing religious blinkers that blocked out everything other than the narrow way forward: the Righteous Path. For the longest time he had been blind to nuance, had been completely unable to look at things from different angles, and honestly he was so knotted up in denial and self-restraint Crowley thought it was a wonder he could see anything at all.

He had spent thousands of years trying to gently peel the wool from Aziraphale’s eyes at such an excruciatingly slow pace that sometimes he had wondered if he was making any progress.

And then of course he had kissed Aziraphale after that awful conversation that had involved less talking to each other and more talking past each other, and how could Aziraphale have thought that could ever be a temptation? He’d seen Aziraphale looking confused and lost and talking to him about being together as angels and all he’d been able to think was your together and my together are two different togethers, and he’d needed him to understand.

He’d needed to seal Aziraphale’s decision with his lips and the kiss was his desperate, burning brand, marking his stance on a matter already closed.

How could the angel ever have thought it a temptation when there was no choice in it? Not for either of them?

And then after all that, after watching the angel leave because he refused to join him in Heaven… Of course he had ended up there anyway.

And hadn’t that been fun?

He distractedly ran a fingertip over the cut on his face where it sliced through his eyebrow. Somehow, rescuing Crowley and defeating The Metatron had provoked an odd sense of affectionate urgency in Aziraphale. In the past day, the angel had:

told Crowley he wanted him

kissed him on the mouth

held his hand

called him beautiful

kissed his neck

wrapped himself around his shoulders

When he thought of it all together like that, listed neatly in his mind, he didn't know what to think. Compared to the rest of their existence, the speed at which this was all happening had scrambled Crowley’s brain. That was really the only explanation he could come up with for why he had just wrenched his own heart out and practically shoved it into Aziraphale’s hands.

Truly it had been the weirdest couple of days.

He wished he was wearing his sunglasses. He felt so exposed he might as well have been flayed alive. And he’d actually experienced that unpleasantness once, so he supposed he was qualified to make the comparison. He stared at the ground, acutely aware of Aziraphale next to him.

Much to Crowley’s relief he wasn’t crying any more, but his breathing was still hitching and he hadn’t said a word.

Which naturally made Crowley feel like he should say something, because they’d been sitting in silence for at least two minutes.

At least two minutes.

Possibly as much as thousands of years.

[metatronhateblog]

The Opening Sequence Pt. 3 featuring Duck Duck what the Fuck.

So I actually decided to skip my post taking a look at the backs of the theater chairs because I feel I don't need to reiterate something that's been stated and pointed out before. And I've skipped ahead to this thing that has been plaguing @lady-of-the-puddle and myself for who knows how long. Fucking ducks.

I have a lot of thoughts, and a lot of things kinda go hand in hand so it's either a make one really fucking huge post...or I go little by little in multiple parts. I'm going to try to keep these short(ish) and in multiple parts.

So bear with me, and here we go.

By now you probably know I've been tearing the opening sequence apart piece by piece to see what it holds. Well today I'm talking about the duck with the accordion.

'Why?' you might ask, and in a very Neil fashion I wave around my pages of notes and say 'wait and see.'

If I'm remembering correctly, Peter Anderson mentioned that there's ducks with accordions in the opening sequence as a reference to a newspaper being read in the Dirty Donkey. Nothing too bizarre, not on the surface I guess?

Here is the first point in the season 2 sequence where we see the accordion duck. Our little motley crew is continuing their march into the theater and lo and behold, right there in sight is the duck. Did you catch it?

If you did, good for you, I'm proud. Can you please tell me the relevance? If you didn't, allow me to zoom in...

Here he is, hidding under the bleachers/seats/whatever you wanna call them, in what almost looks like a hidden room. Phantom of the Opera vibes much?

But then as our waltz towards the end times continues on, we see our beloved little feathered friend join in with the march, possibly to give a little serenade to trudge along to.

Don't see him again?

Right here up front, next to our mains, Aziraphale, Crowley (who appear to be leading this march towards the end), and Jimbriel and Beelzebub. Now I know there's this seemingly habit of more people/creatures, and objects joining in our march to death as the sequence goes on...but why would the duck be at the forefront? Unless maybe the characters most relevant in an episode appear at the front, hence Crowley, Aziraphale, Jimbriel, and Beelzebub. In episode 6 they're pretty damn integral to our story.

But what is up with this duck?

Now I know there's a duck of sorts in the season 1 opening sequence, and it's a strange looking thing if I ever did see one.

Here is a...completely different duck in the season 1 opening, though it appears to be covered by something...a cloth of sorts?

And he makes his appearances throughout the season 1 sequence. Sometimes he's there and sometimes he's not...in some cases there's more than one.

Hello there? Who are you and who is your little friend.

And the first thought that comes to mind is that line God says in season one when she's talking about how the ducks know when people are having a clandestine meeting, and how that would be relevant here I'm unsure. But what if the ducks are more important than we realize?

I've looked it up and found some mixed results that I don't even know how legit they are, but don't really see them as worth sharing because they don't seem to fit? So again if you have any idea behind the symbolism of ducks, please tell me. I'm desperate.

But there's more to this than I've said here.

Keep an eye out for my next update.

The Opening Sequence Pt 1 and Pt 2

Special mention Mount Zion

[averageanonymous]

Summary: Aziraphale is gone, but Crowley finds himself back at the Bookshop

☆~☆~☆~☆~☆

Even after Aziraphale returns to Heaven, Crowley still visits the bookshop. He blames the Bentley for taking him there, but for all his protest, it doesn't stop him from going inside on his own two feet.

He finds himself standing in the entry, looking around like he's just woken up and doesn't quite know where he is or how he got there. It's so quiet. Part of him expects that any moment he will see Aziraphale come around a shelf, or down the stairs, a smile shining on his face, blue eyes bright with laughter. His voice echoes in the silence:

'Well, are you going to just stand there?'

Crowley steps down, wanders aimlessly, running a hand over the spines of books, looking idly at papers and other odds and ends left on desks. Untouched. As though the angel has just stepped out, and he'll be back in only a moment. It's like the bookshop is holding its breath, waiting. Then again, maybe it's him that's waiting.

He sits in Aziraphale's chair, taking his glasses off and setting them on the desk. He sighs, rubbing his eyes to chase away the sting of emotions he's been keeping at bay. He's not sure what he's doing. He shouldn't be here. The memories hurt. And there are so many... Too many to recall them all, but oh how his cursed mind tries, leafing through them one by one like so many pages of a forgotten journal.

It's a horrible disparity, the peace, the contentment, the happiness in those memories, overshadowed now by the pain of losing Aziraphale. Like he's lost everything else. He lets out a sharp breath as it washes over him again, suffusing him with every breath he takes.

He supposes that, perhaps, it was always going to be this way. Perhaps it was just a matter of time. Angels and demons... What sort of future could they have ever had, really. Maybe there was only room in God's ineffable plan for one pair of subverted expectations. After all...what was it they'd said? Ah, right. Once makes a good story; twice makes it seem like an institutional problem.

Crowley slouches deeper into the chair. He wishes he could just stop feeling so damn much.

'It's alright, my dear, to let go,' the angel who isn't there whispers to him. He can almost feel a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"I don't want to let go," Crowley growls.

'But... you're miserable...' The voice sounds like it's the one who's miserable.

"I'm a demon," Crowley says to the empty shop, "Miserable is part of the job description."

'Oh, Crowley - '

"STOP." Crowley snaps, his temper flaring dangerously. He uncoils from the seat and paces the room. His voice is raw, crackling with energy, "That is enough. You don't get to go back to Heaven, leave me behind, and then give me this shit about being miserable and letting go. This was your damn choice. You're the one who let go. Don't tell me to let go of... I can't let go -" His pacing takes him to a pillar, and he presses his head against it to stop the pounding behind his eyes. His throat aches for wanting to scream and scream until there's nothing left in him to feel this.

"Mr...Crowley?"

Crowley's head whips up. Muriel is standing in the bookshop entryway.

"I thought I heard someone shouting in here," they say. Their voice is just chipper enough to set his teeth on edge.

"I was just leaving," he mutters, stalking back to the desk and shoving his glasses back into place.

"Oh, you don't have to!" Muriel cries, "You're always welcome here. Aziraphale told me-"

"Shut it," Crowley hisses at them as he shoves past, "Whatever he said, keep it to yourself."

"...I guess, if that's what you want..." Muriel turns, gaze following him as he reaches the door. They debate saying anything more and abruptly call just as Crowley steps out, "You should know, I think he's pretty miserable... without you, I mean."

Crowley hesitates for only a moment, and Muriel thinks they hear him say, "I guess that makes two of us." Then the bookshop door closes behind him.

☆~☆~☆~☆~☆

Thanks for reading ☺️

[coal15]

**whew** so after a long day of basically nonstop writing and editing, I've got Ch.7 of All Roads Lead Back posted. The Chapter is titled No Other Gods Before Me, and here's a small teaser:

Aziraphale paces back and forth waiting for the massive amphitheater to fill up. Delegations of several hundred Angels from each department, all subdepartment managers or management teams as well as another several hundred voluntary attendees from the lower ranks. It adds up to a crowd of well over a thousand. The Supreme Archangel makes a great show of eager impatience as everyone files in and shuffles about in search of a place to sit. When it seems everyone has settled in he waits a few more minutes to account for stragglers before doing a miracle to amplify his voice and begin his speech. 

Please let this go according to plan, he prays to a God who may or may not be able to hear him. Either way, the prayer calms his nerves. As it always does. The way a small human child will cling to their favourite stuffed toy or blanket in times of stress, prayer plays a similar role in Aziraphale’s life. Right, no more gadding about. Time to do this . . .

“Is everyone seated? Comfortable? Lovely. So I am sure you’re all wondering why I’ve called you here to such a large assembly. Well my Angels, I have been getting reports of rumblings, quiet frustrations in our ranks. And questions.” (not one such question had been reported to him by anyone but Muriel of course, but he, they, and Crowley agreed it was a smart bet to assume Muriel was not alone in harbouring such sinful curiosities) “As such, I thought this would be a good time for a . . . well, I suppose you could call it a pep rally!” He says with a wide, cheery smile. “To make sure we’re all on the same page and fired up about the Great Plan. We should be excited! But we also must remember our roles and serve faithfully each and every day. And to work in harmony. As a team. Now then, for our first team building exercise we-”

Crowley storms in through the stage entrance just to Aziraphale's left dragging Muriel along by the arm. "SUPREME ARCHANGEL!" He rages.

Aziraphale spins around in mock surprise. Magnificent! He thinks. Both of his co-conspirators are thus far doing an amazing job with their end of the show. Crowley seething with anger and Muriel looking for all the world like they are struggling to remain defiant in the face of terrible fear. 

“Sorry to interrupt your thing but this is urgent. And quite frankly they-” he gives Muriel’s arm a hard jerk- “deserve a good public shaming for what they've done before you discorporate them.”

“A shaming? Discorporate?” Aziraphale hopes his play at bafflement is up to par. “There must be some sort of mistake, Muriel is one of our most loyal servants. Not terribly important, but loyal.”

“Oh really?” Crowley yanks a crumpled piece of paper out of his pocket and waves in the air. “I found this in their quarters when I popped by for a visit. Seeing as they vouched for my good character when we returned to Heaven I thought we were close.” He glares down at Muriel and says with a bitter snarl, “I thought we were friends!” He shoves the paper into Aziraphale’s chest and steps back, still tugging Muriel along for the ride.

Aziraphale gasps, looking from the paper to the audience and back again. It is important for all to sense his shock and horror. “It’s a whole list of, of-”

“Questions!” Crowley cuts him off.  “Exactly. And some of them are outright treasonous.” 

“Oh dear. Oh dear, dear, dear.” Aziraphale shakes his head mournfully. Perhaps I missed my calling as an actor . . .  

“Look at the ninth question down!”

Aziraphale clears his throat and reads aloud: ‘does God make mistakes or have regrets?’”

Gasps and mutterings ripple through the packed amphitheater. 

*******To read from the beginning, go HERE

[ritz-writes]

word count: 2,082

Aziraphale and Crowley had a bond. Not in the metaphorical sense—though he liked to think there was one there as well—but a literal bond.

After The Arrangement was put into action, they saw more of each other. It wasn’t just chance meetings throughout the centuries, but rather the two of them occasionally seeking each other out. It started off small, small enough to where Aziraphale hadn’t even noticed at first. But as the years past, he found it incredibly easy to locate Crowley, easy to tell when he was nearby. He had no idea if Crowley felt the same as him, if he felt the same tingle in his mind when Aziraphale was close, and Aziraphale never asked. He found it awfully silly at first, to think an angel and demon were close enough so often that they could pick up on each other’s presence. But it became obvious that that was exactly what it was.

Still, he kept it to himself. And Crowley never mentioned it, so Aziraphale assumed it was just him. As time continued, he grew used to it, and eventually even found it as comforting. And when they plotted to stop the Apocalypse together, that feeling, both proximity and safety, only grew in strength as they spent more time together.

So when Aziraphale felt that familiar tingle crawl along the back of his neck while he read his book upstairs, he could only smile. He was no stranger to Crowley showing up to the bookshop unannounced, though not normally this late. Regardless, he had no qualms with the sudden company. He sat straighter in his seat and waited. It was like a game, almost, when Crowley showed up like this. Aziraphale didn’t go upstairs to read very often, almost always lounging by his desk or on the sofa. He sometimes he wanted a change of environment, though, and found himself in one of the many rooms upstairs, just like tonight. And when Crowley would show up like he always did, he’d look in the normal spots before calling out for the angel.

This time, however, there was no call. Aziraphale waited a minute before putting his book down. He knew Crowley was in the shop, could feel the familiar occult energy. So why wasn’t Crowley making himself known?

A low level worry settled in his gut. Aziraphale stood and peered outside the room. “Crowley?”

No answer.

Worry growing, Aziraphale sped-walked to the railing overlooking the bound level. “Crowley?” he called again. This time a muffled groan of confirmation answered and Aziraphale sagged in relief at the sight of Crowley face down on the sofa. The worry was replaced with confusion as he made his way down the stairs. “Crowley, what are you doing?”

Crowley mumbled something into the cushions.

Aziraphale rounded the corner of a bookshelf, looking the demon up and down as he got closer. “You aren’t injured, are you?”

Crowley grumbled and managed to turn onto his back. His glasses were still on his face, though they were lopsided after being shoved into the sofa. “Not injured. Jus’ very, very, very drunk.”

Aziraphale clicked his tongue and carefully took off Crowley’s sunglasses before he could break them. “Yes, I can see that. Why aren’t you at your flat? I’m sure your bed would be far more comfortable than my sofa.” Not that Aziraphale minded, of course. Assuming Crowley had been at the pub across the street—which he probably had, now that Aziraphale thought about it. He’d been so absorbed in his book that he hadn’t noticed the fluttering feeling until the demon had gotten closer—he was glad Crowley came to him instead of trying to miracle himself home, or, God forbid, drive home.

Crowley made a frustrated noise. “Dun’ got it.”

Aziraphale set the glasses on his desk, brow furrowing. “What do you mean ‘don’t got it’?”

Crowley waved a hand expressively and closed his eyes. “Nrahh, Shax took it. ‘S hers now.”

“‘Took it’?” Aziraphale parroted.

“She’s Hell’s new repsen… repree…repa—demon ‘n charge of London now.” He dropped his hand and it landed against his chest with a thump. “Hell pays for the flat, so…”

Aziraphale frowned. “But you—Crowley, where have you been staying then?”

Crowley made a gesture toward the window before dropping his hand again. “Bently’s been fine. Not very comfy, but, ehhh...”

Aziraphale’s jaw dropped. He looked out the window to the Bently, parked in its normal spot on the curb, then back to the demon. “Crowley, you said Shax has been in London for the past two years.”

A hum of confirmation.

“And now you mean to tell me that you’ve been living in your car all this time?”

Another hum of confirmation.

Aziraphale sighed and ran a hand down his face. “Good Lord, Crowley,” he muttered, taking in the information.

Crowley grumbled and turned on his side, eyes still closed. “Nhg, don’ tell Zir’phale though.”

Aziraphale turned back to him, shocked. A small part of him wondered just how much Crowley drank to get inebriated to the point that he forgot who he was talking to. “And why not?” he asked, more snippy than he meant to.

“No point. Jus’ gonn’ worry him. ‘S no big deal.”

Before Aziraphale could question him further, his face went slack, soft snores falling from his lips. Aziraphale closed his eyes and leaned his head back, silently praying Her for the patience needed to deal with his idiotic demon.

He looked at Crowley, then to the car, then to the upper floor, then back to Crowley. “Hm. That could work.”

---

There were very few things Crowley enjoyed about being a demon. The best one, in his opinion, was that he couldn’t get hungover. However, that didn’t stop him from getting drunk enough to black out.

He was no stranger to getting blackout drunk, of course, but he was still shocked to wake up on a familiar couch instead of his Bently.

Crowley groaned and covered his eyes with an arm. Of course his liquor addled self would stumble his way to the bookshop of all places. Maybe if he was lucky Aziraphale was out for one reason or another. That hope was quickly tossed aside at the sound of footsteps hurrying across the floor upstairs, followed by the familiar energy he’s long since associated with Aziraphale.

“Good morning, Crowley,” Aziraphale greeted happily.

Crowley opened his eyes and raised a brow at the angel leaning on the railing. “Still morning, is it?”

Aziraphale glanced out the windows. “Ah, I suppose not. Closer to evening, actually. Anyway, come up here, will you? I have a surprise for you.” Before Crowley could question him he moved away from the railing, wiggling in the way he always did when he got excited about something.

Crowley sighed and shoved off the sofa. So Aziraphale was here now, but maybe there was a still a chance he wasn’t here last night? Highly unlikely, but at least he wasn’t getting lectured about his alcohol intake, not that drinking could effect him in the long run psychically as it did humans. Aziraphale always got on his ass about it anyway.

He made his way upstairs, biting his tongue to keep from smiling at the sight of Aziraphale eagerly waiting for him next to one of the rooms, the door closed. It seemed the angel had no issues with smiling, though, a grin taking over his face when he saw Crowley.

“Come, come, come,” he said quickly, gesturing for Crowley to move faster.

Crowley rolled his eyes, feigning disinterest despite being extremely curious as to what had Aziraphale so giddy. “I just woke up, Angel. Moving as fast as I can.” He stopped in front of the door, the sparkle in Aziraphale’s eyes nearly blinding him. “What’s gotten into you? You look like you’re about to pop.”

“Oh, I am, truly. I was working on it all night, and I do so hope you like it.”

Oh, now he was really interested. He motioned toward the door. “Well, show me then.”

Aziraphale smiled brighter, though there was a hint of nervousness in it now. He twisted the knob and pushed the door open, stepping back to let Crowley see inside.

He’d been expecting new books, maybe a pet, maybe even a person.

But instead he was greeted with a bedroom. Not just a room with a bed in it, but an actual fully decorated bedroom.

There was a bed in the corner, not as big as the one he had in his flat, but styled the same way. His plants were placed in corners and on windowsills, joy coming off them in waves, most likely at finally being out of the car. There were a few nick-knacks along shelves, a lamp on the nightstand, and a James Bond poster on the wall. There was a chair in another corner near the window and a small bookshelf next to it, filled with texts about astrology, plants, and music. The paint was different as well the normal yellow turned to a soft gray, matching the color of the cement walls of his old home.

It looked nice. It looked really nice, actually.

Aziraphale shifted next to him, still smiling wide. “Do you like it?”

Crowley let out a breath and stepped inside. “I—well, yeah. It looks great, Angel, really. It really does.” He spun around slowly, taking it all in, before looking at Aziraphale in the doorway. “Why though?”

A confused pout. “Why what?”

He gestured around him. “Why all this? I love the room, I do, but I’m not really over here often enough to use it, am I?”

Aziraphale gave him a look that was both sad and annoyed. “I know you’re homeless, Crowley.”

Oh. Well, shit.

Apparently black-out-drunk-Crowley was a snitch.

Crowley pursed his lips and looked away. “Nhh, well, I wouldn’t say homeless. ‘S just a bit of… temporary displacement, is all.”

“Yes, well, call it what you may, it’s over. You’ll be staying here from now on.”

Crowley looked back at Aziraphale. “What?”

“I can’t have you living out of your car, Crowley, I just can’t. I’d feel dreadful. I already feel bad enough about not having noticed for so long. If you had asked me for a place to stay, I would have gladly offered one, you must know that.”

Crowley turned away again, glaring at one of his plants as if it was its fault for all of this. “’S not that big a deal, Angel. Didn’t think I needed to bother you about it.”

“It most certainly is not a bother, I assure you,” Aziraphale said sharply, but not unkindly. He paused, then sighed. “If you truly wish to live in your car again, I won’t stop you, however I doubt the Bently will be very happy about that, and I as well. But just know that you are always welcome here, Crowley. You can stay as long as you like.”

Crowley felt something warm sink its metaphorical teeth into his chest at that statement. He did kind of already see the bookshop as his home in a way, had for a long time, and apparently that thought became more solidified while drunk. He looked around the room again, eyes landing on the poster. He gestured to it. “Is that an original?”

He could practically feel Aziraphale beaming behind him. “Oh, yes. One of the first ever printed, actually. I found it in storage. Believe I meant to give it to you before and forgot.”

Crowley nodded, spinning around slowly again. Aziraphale really outdid himself with the room. It felt more like home than his flat ever had. He sat on the end of the bed and looked at Aziraphale, giving him a small grin. “Am I expect to pay rent now?”

Aziraphale smiled, eyes crinkling. “Don’t be silly. Your company is payment enough.” He gave a small nod before retreating back downstairs.

Crowley looked around the room for the umpteenth time, still not fully convinced he wasn’t dreaming it all. He leaned back, spreading out on his bed. His bed. He had a bed again, and his own room. His own room in Aziraphale’s bookshop, put together lovingly by the angel himself the second he realized Crowley was living in his car.

He smiles and breathed in the familiar scent of old paper. For the first time in six thousand years, he actually felt like he was home.

imagine how many times crowley who had been drunk beyond logical thinking had stumbled over instead of to the bentley to the bookshop. he’s made his way to the bookshop so many times it’s become muscle memory for him, so whenever he’s drunk instead of clambering into the bentley, he quietly makes his way into the bookshop, trying his hardest to be gentle with the lock and then dropping on aziraphale’s couch. aziraphale notices, obviously, hearing crowley make himself comfortable on his couch.

maybe aziraphale just has a sixth sense to where crowley is, a radar that goes off when crowley is near. how neat would that be?

[mediacircuspod]

“The Magic Trick You Didn’t See” is an essay written by an author who is on Tumblr, user ariaste. I think it’s a very well put together argument for “The Book of Life Theory” that has merit. However, I think there might be too much editing going on. I will explain.

I want to start this by being completely honest. I’m not sold on any theories because in the past I was so incredibly wrong about countless theories on Game of Thrones that made complete sense, I swear. But also were me just making up reasons for how the story could go my way. I’m actually really into the concept of “wait and see” because it places me firmly in the seat of “audience” or “consumer” and those are, in my opinion, the best seats in the house. 

So I’m not really a subscriber to the coffee theory or the book of life theory or the body switch theory, NOT because I don’t think they’re true or smart or have merit, but because I would genuinely like to “wait and see”. Even if that wait is until 2027. I waited this long for season 2, I’m not afraid of a few years for a good story.

Anyway, go read the very long, but very intelligent google doc, because even if you’re not sure about the theory, it has some REALLY cool meta, and some interesting easter eggs that you might have missed upon viewing the season the first go around, the very long document is HERE.

Alright here’s some highlights. Basically the essay is about how The Metatron could be pulling strings on Season Two with the help of “The Book of Life” for a number of reasons. Corresponding evidence being the lack of God’s narration, Maggie as a character, Eccles Cakes, and a whole lot of meticulous details. I really, really love the format of the essay too, but that’s just me being a nerd about magic tricks and “The Prestige” as a concept and as a movie. 

Where I diverge on this theory is simply how liberally it is applied, as well as the use of “bad” to describe certain ways of writing. And this is where my hot take kind of lies; I don’t think Good Omens 2 was bad. On purpose or by accident. I’m not saying my opinion is right, I’m just stating that that is where my perspective comes from. Now. Let’s get into why I like this essay. 

It’s so cool. And detailed. And smart. I love reading things that connect dots and describe a persons critical thought process, and wow, this essay is incredible at doing all of that. The sheer amount of information I learned from taking the time to read it gave me a lot of insight about the things I missed on my watch of the season. I found I was a lot more distracted by the Austen-esque pacing than the author of the essay who noticed things like disappearing eccles cakes, how no one else’s power went out during Crowley’s lightning storm and a load of other things. But also, being “along for the ride” made me kind of protective of the story being told. Because Season 2 isn’t the beginning, middle, and end of a story, like season 1 was. It is the “quiet, gentle, and romantic” middle of a plot sandwhich.

In any case, the essay poses quite a few things. The only major issue I have is the idea that The Book of Life can alter will, and not just situation. I don’t think Crowley or Aziraphale are changed by the Book of Life. Their actions seem distinctly them throughout the entire season, which is exactly why the season needed to end on the note it did. Obviously from a story point, we need Aziraphale to go to heaven for what I imagine is the conflict of season 3; The Second Coming. But from an internal perspective, Aziraphale’s character demanded to make that decision. It wasn’t out of character, it was distinctly in character. And yes, he could have been influenced, or manipulated, or hiding something, but he’s been affected by all of those ideas for the entirety of his existence anyway. He’s had 6000 years of The Heavenly Host manipulating him, and he’s had exactly 4 years of being on his own side(openly) with Crowley. He’s going to still be susceptible to their tactics, especially if they say exactly what he’s been wanting to hear for his whole existence. “We were wrong, and you were right.” Metatron really pulled out every stop of the proper apology except for the little dance. We were wrong about you, We were wrong about how to run things, We were wrong about Crowley. You can come back and you can bring him and you can fix everything. Crowley refusing isn’t heaven’s fault, they still offered. It’s Crowley who rejected Aziraphale. (For good reason, but that’s not what this meta is about.) I made a post about Crowley and his relationship to forgiveness HERE, if you were interested.

So maybe things were changed by the book of life, the analysis on the opening credits is amazing, like great job. But I don’t know if they were. But that’s literally just me holding onto the plot of season 2 and shouting from the top of my lungs, “ITS ACTUALLY GOOD THOUGH BECAUSE I LIKE IT AND WHAT IT SETS UP” And who knows, we might be all wrong and what actually happened is that the whole thing was a very detailed dream that Aziraphale wrote down in one of his journals.

[ineffablelunatic]

earth angel (will you be mine?)

Rating: General Audiences

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Category: M/M

Fandom: Good Omens (TV)

Relationship: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)

Characters: Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley (Good Omens)

Additional Tags: GOmensEveryday Countdown Event (Good Omens), Fluff, Love Confessions, Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), Mild Time Travel, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), gabriel is not around, thank god, maybe Muriel is looking after him, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens)

Language: English

@gomenseveryday Five days to go!

AO3 link if you want to read it there:

The Ritz, early evening. He hadn't been able to get time alone with Aziraphale since Gabriel showed up. The separation was starting to wear on him.

Aziraphale looked so beautiful, like a star plucked from the sky. There was a glow to him, untarnished even after so many years of being crushed down. That glow had always guided him, had been his lighthouse in the darkness.

His angel was fiddling with the gold ring on his finger, twirling it one way and then another. He wished he could have done this somewhere more private, but he couldn't carry this burden for another day. After everything, after six thousand years of treading on eggshells and glancing over their shoulders, he thought they were finally safe.

Then bloody Gabriel showed up and the precious, fragile life that he had built for himself caught aflame, and now he knew that if he waited any longer he might never get the chance.

He drained the last of his wine, warm and burning in his throat, his heartbeat sluggish, content in his chest. Aziraphale cleared his throat, half-rising from his seat, but Crowley caught his hand, stopping him dead. Palms facing, the angel's fingers soft, smooth, delicate. It felt good.

"Crowley?"

He sounded unsure. This was it, the moment. No going back now.

"Angel, there's something I've been meaning to tell you, and it's going to sound stupid and sappy, but you have to promise not to freak out."

He blinked, slow, elegant. "You know you can tell me anything, Crowley."

He could do this. He had practiced over and over again, in the mirror, alone in St James' Park, reciting it to his plants, a mantra, a spell that he cast to protect his heart. Then Aziraphale smiled at him, and his stomach flipped into his throat, and all of those carefully crafted words left his head.

"IloveyouAziraphale."

It came out as one long word, and he swore under his breath. Aziraphale's face went pale, eyes wide. That wasn't the reaction he had expected. He looked like a deer trapped in the headlights.

Damnit. Damnitdamnitdamnit. He had royally messed up this time. Nerves rose like a sea within him, roiling and crashing, salted with holy water. Undo it, undo it, undo it. Unravel the threads, try again, hope that he could do better next time.

The Ritz, early evening. Aziraphale's hand in his, but before. Before he had spoken.

"Crowley, dear - what was it you wanted to tell me?"

"Nothing important, angel. I just wanted to know - y'know, it's a nice evening, I wondered if you wanted to go for a walk in the park or something. We could feed the ducks - and - and - get ice cream."

Aziraphale's brow furrowed, bright eyes concerned. "Are you sure that was all?"

"Yes, very sure. Totally, completely sure. Certain."

---

He leaned against the railing, breathing in the crisp night air. The night was pressing in on him, the stars sitting on his shoulders like a funeral shroud. The ice cream shop had been closed - of course it was, it was 7PM at night, what had he expected?

"Are you quite alright, Crowley? You seem out of sorts this evening."

Second time lucky. He had tried once. He knew what to expect now.

"Aziraphale, what I've been meaning to tell you is that -"

Wide blue eyes watching him, innocent and soft and lovely, nothing like his own. He released a shaking breath. This shouldn't be as hard as it was.

"I know you think I go too fast for you, but I wanted you to know that I wouldn't mind spending eternity with you. If you're alright with that, that is."

"Well, we've already spent an eternity together. Six thousand years, in fact."

"I mean - not as we have been. Not as friends. As - something else."

No, that wasn't quite right. He needed time to think. He needed to be more eloquent, to be something that Aziraphale could want, could respect, could love. A snap of his fingers and the world slowed to a halt, the wind ceasing its steady sway and rustle.

Hands through his hair, pacing up and down. He ran a finger over Aziraphale's frozen cheekbone, dropped his head into his hands, pressed on his eyes until it felt like they might burst. He would try again. Another shift, the stars moving backwards in the sky.

"I really like you, angel."

"I like you too, Crowley."

"I want to be with you all the time. I would always be there if you needed help. Like I always have been. And I would buy you books and bring you cake, and I could watch you eat -"

He shouldn't say that. That sounded creepy. For someone's sake, why was this so difficult?

"I'm here, angel. Why won't you see me?"

"Of course I see you."

"Not like I want you to."

Again, again, again, watching as words failed him time after time. Damn scripts and practiced words. Damn the park and the sky and the stars and the moon that watched him from above. Damn the Almighty and her Ineffable Plan. He was too tired for this.

He turned away, shoulders shaking, blood boiling. He needed a stiff drink. He needed to hibernate for a thousand years and forget that he had ever tried this. He needed to sleep somewhere other than the Bentley, needed Gabriel to be out of his life, needed Aziraphale to see that he was right here and he always had been.

A hand on his shoulder, fitting like it was made to rest there.

"Crowley?"

"We should go home, angel."

"What's the matter?"

"Nothing." His shaking voice betrayed him.

Aziraphale turned him around, reached up, pulled off his sunglasses. "Hey. Look at me."

Soft blue eyes met his, the last trace of magic in the world, holier than anything he had seen before. Beautiful. A thumb traced the delicate skin beneath his eye, and he shook at the slight touch.

"There you are. You've been so distant lately. I've missed you."

He couldn't speak. His bones were aching, fatigue dragging him down. He didn't have enough energy to reverse time again. He wasn't sure he wanted to.

"And Crowley?"

"Hm?"

"I love you too."

That woke him up. "What? I didn't say - how did you - what?"

Aziraphale just smiled, leaning against him, a solid, comforting presence. "That little trick with reversing time doesn't work on me. If you'd given me more time to think before trying to reset everything, you would have gotten my answer without draining yourself."

He pulled back. "So why the Heaven did you let me?"

"I thought it was sweet. I wanted to know what other nice things you would say to me."

"What have I told you about calling me nice?"

"I wouldn't know. I was otherwise distracted."

His head was spinning. This didn't feel real. He wanted the ground to open up and swallow him, for the sweet release of darkness to take him in its hold.

"So you - you - really?"

"Really and truly. I think I always did, but it took me a long time to give the feeling a name. I just knew that you made me feel safe."

He regained a little of his composure. "Well, clearly I wasn't doing my job very well, then."

"When have we ever done our jobs well?"

He chuckled despite himself. "Does this mean I can stop sleeping in the Bentley?"

"Mr. Crowley, are you using me for my bookshop?"

"Certainly not, Mr. Fell. I would never do such a thing, but it's very cold out there. Since you love me, I thought -"

"Alright, you wily old serpent. You can sleep inside. On the floor."

He winced. "It's better than nothing."

One arm around his waist, Aziraphale began to pull him towards the gate. Maybe this was all some strange dream, but for now, all he knew was that he didn't want to wake up.

[aziraphales-library]

hi! i'm pretty new to the fandom, could you recommend some some popular fandom favourite fics?

Hello and welcome! Here are just a few of the most popular and well-known fics in the Good Omens fandom. I’m counting on our followers to add more in the comments. Happy reading!...

Pray For Us, Icarus by Atalan (G-T)

For three centuries, Crowley has been reincarnated over and over as a human with no memory of his past. Aziraphale has tried to find a way to restore him to his true self, but all he seems to do is hurt them both. This time, he only means to steal a brief moment when he walks into Crowley's flower shop. But Crowley can't let it go...

Slow Show by mia_ugly (E)

In which temptations are accomplished, grand romantic gestures are made, and two ineffable co-stars only take four seasons of an award-winning television program to realize they’re on their own side (at last, at last.)

Demonology and the Tri-Phasic Model of Trauma: An Integrative Approach by Nnm (T)

As soon as Aubrey Thyme, psychotherapist, had opened her office door and seen her new client, Anthony J. Crowley, sitting in her waiting area, she was observing and assessing him. At first glance, she paid attention to the following:

--His clothing was expensive and stylish; --He wore very strange but noticeable cologne; --His relationship to the seat he occupied could only, very loosely, be described as “sitting;” --He looked angry; --He was wearing sunglasses.

What Aubrey Thyme, a professional, thought, upon first seeing her new client was: you’re going to be a fun one, aren’t you?

Petrichor & Parchment by MrsNoggin (E)

“Mr. Crowley, I presume?” Aziraphale asked in lieu of an introduction, which was not forthcoming. The guy hadn’t even removed his sunglasses. Oh God, he had a tattoo on his face. Aziraphale wasn’t one to judge, but… what kind of gardener had a snake tattoo on his face?

If Not Now, When by ineffablefool (T)

Anthony Crowley has learned by now that anything that makes him happy will be temporary at best. His quietly desperate routine is challenged when he happens to strike up a conversation with a customer at work, and he starts realizing three things, in this order: 1. oh huh this Aziraphale guy is actually interesting; 2. he can't stop embarrassing himself by accidentally flirting with him; and 3. oh no this Aziraphale guy is actually extremely attractive what do I do.

Car Trouble by summerofspock (E)

Aziraphale's car breaks down so he takes it to the first mechanic he can find. From there, his mundane life changes drastically as he finds himself befriending the man fixing his car.

- Mod D