#When Crowley is an angel he still has that bright red hair

[not-original-after-all]

Demon Aziraphale

If Crowley hadn't fallen And it was Aziraphale instead It would barely change who he is

[rosettyller]

some analysis of this scene from 2x02, because i am going absolutely insane over it:

first up: it's 2 500 BCE. They've known each other for around 1500 years at this point, but they haven't been meeting up very often; it's implied at this point, that they've only met at the Garden, and the Flood, and now here (as well as in Heaven, but there's varying interpretations about how much they each remember of Heaven).

(worth noting that these meetings are all bible-related meetings)

So, they don't know each other very well at all. This is why Aziraphale approaches Crowley so cautiously (apart from the fact that he thinks Crowley's going around murdering goats and soon kids). He doesn't know what happened to Crowley when he Fell, how he changed when he fell in with Lucifer, how God's rejection has warped Crowley's perspective or changed his morals (their meeting at the Flood seemed quite short, not enough time to get a definite picture.)

Aziraphale is still seeing Crowley as demonic, although there's already that thread of doubt - can you really see him trying to talk Hastur or Ligur out of this the way he does Crowley?

Aziraphale clings to the memory of Angel Crowley - Crowley gets quite defensive.

Here, Crowley reinforces that he's changed - personally I don't believe that he did fight in the War, but his views of God's Plan definitely got more extreme than "thats terrible god should get a suggestion box".

But, I also believe that here, Crowley is reinforcing that he is no longer an angel, and therefore no longer has to play by angel rules. He can do what he wants. He's a demon, it's in his job description.

And of course, that he is a demon, and he is Evil, and of course he would kill goats.

(more under the cut, because I just can't stop talking)

This shot is very yellow. Crowley's hair being the season 1 orange rather than red, the yellow walls, all accentuate the colour of Crowley's eyes, highlighting the physical reminder of Crowley's demonic nature.

I couldn't be bothered to gif it, but here, Crowley leans forward into Aziraphale's face. There are two reasons for this:

Get his yellow Demon Eyes right in Aziraphale face, just to hammer home his point.

It's an aggressive action, moving into someone's personal space like that. Saying, I could hurt you, I'm violent and aggressive and dangerous, I killed those goats, the kids are next.

The way the light hits Crowley's eyes in the above shot and the below shot also make them a very bright yellow. (Edit: I think someone pointed out that Crowley is making his eyes glow, but the overall yellowness of the scene serves to highlight this)

Clever wording on Crowley's part, because as we will find out, he faked the destruction of the goats to keep them safe, while making himself sound very evil.

You'll notice the repetition of "blameless"; this makes him seem even more evil, hurting the innocent, but also gives deeper insight into one of Crowley's biggest issues: hurting the innocent. What have they done to deserve this? Nothing.

This ties in quite nicely with what we have seen before of Crowley and free will; he gives people the option to sin. It's their actions that decide whether they end up in Heaven or Hell; they get what they deserve for their actions. He just makes it easier to choose Hell. (see: phone lines being down making people crankier and encouraging them to be horrible to each other, but it still being their choice, setting the holy water bucket above the door, so it's Ligur's choice to come in after Crowley that gets him killed.)

Note also the use of "long":

Aziraphale says to "tell me you want to do this". "Long" has rather stronger connotations than "want", but also rawer, more fundamental. Crowley is reminding Aziraphale that he is a demon, and that he has the traits of a demon, this is what he is now. He longs for violence, for destruction.

Aziraphale looks quite sad here. If you watch the video I linked, his previous conviction that Crowley doesn't want to do it is very strong. He fully believes in Crowley, that all he needs to do is reframe not killing the kids as within the rules of Hell, the way Crowley so often comes to do for Aziraphale ("Then you can't be certain that thwarting me isn't part of the divine plan too. I mean, you're supposed to thwart the wiles of the Evil One at every turn, aren't you?" "If you put it that way, Heaven couldn't actually mind me thwarting you.").

Aziraphale believed Crowley was still good, that the angel he remembered was still in there. But Crowley rejects it - and it hurts. Crowley has become what a demon should be.

Crowley looks quite sorrowful here, too: he already cares for Aziraphale (he fell in love at the Garden), and it hurts to decieve him, to disappoint him, to hurt him.

I would argue that here, Crowley is scared.

He's in shadow, which dims the yellows; his undemonic nature is about to be revealed.

And that is not safe, because Hell does not send rude notes. And here, Crowley is not doing just any temptation, but trying to help Satan win a bet (supposedly). And out of every demon in Hell, Satan is the one you want to piss off the least.

But here, Crowley is scared because Aziraphale could reveal him - because Aziraphale is on God's side, and because it is revealed that Crowley is not nearly as demonic as he makes himself out to be. He's vulnerable. Aziraphale could scorn him, hurt him. But instead:

Aziraphale is incredibly smug. "I knew I was right", he says. "I knew you were still good".

And here is another issue: Aziraphale conflates God/Heaven/angels with good, and demons/Hell with bad.

And Crowley does not see Heaven as good. He doesn't want Aziraphale to see his angelic core past the demonic exterior. He's on his own side.

This, for Aziraphale, confirms that "the angel you knew is not me", is not correct.

And I think, out of the three minisodes, it's this one that does the most for fleshing out Aziraphale and Crowley's frames of mind this series, and why they choose what they choose in ep6.

Aziraphale has been proven right about Crowley's angelic nature, and that he wants to do good, but can't, for fear of Hell's retribution.

And Crowley does not see Heaven as good. He recognises that being an angel again will not allow him the freedom to do good. (as Aziraphale had to try and talk a demon into helping him save the kids from God.)

[tanpopomugishu]

I'm trying my hands at Reverse Omen AU.

Even as an angel, Aziraphale's bratty attitude and penchant for indulging in worldly pleasure were pretty obvious. Imagine him as a demon. With the freedom to do and say anything he wants, I'm pretty sure he would be excellent at temptation. With his eloquent speech and ethereal looks, he leaves a trail of broken hearts everywhere he goes, as demons are supposed to do, I guess.

While Crowley, as an angel, will probably still have his rebellious and angry nature, he's, as always, repulsed by the absurdity of heaven, but at the same time, he still has to hide his contempt in fear of heaven making him fall. Watching his fellow brethren, especially Aziraphale, fall into hell in the great war still traumatises him. He somehow always finds a way to evade his duties to have fun with Aziraphale while being stationed on earth.

----

Aziraphale's animal inspiration and more details under the cut

Aziraphale's animal form is an albino screech owl, which means that even as a demon, his wings will stay white in colour. Albinism is quite a common condition that also afflicts humans, even with his red eyes, he could easily blend in between them. On a second thought, with his overall bright colouring and the way he dressed, probably not, but at least no one will question if he's a human or not. 

I gave Crowley bright amber eyes, a mesmerizingly rare eye colour that stood out, and long hair that he could style however he liked. With his taste for quality clothes, he's definitely attracting attention wherever he goes, which is not ideal when he's in the middle of a secret mission.

tl;dr They are fabulously gay..

----

🖌

I had a lot of fun creating their characters, what is not fun is drawing and rendering that bloody throne. 1 star would not recommend.

Also, I thought I was going to take a break from drawing, because I ran out of inspiration, but this idea struck me out of nowhere, and I had to draw it before I forgot the details. 😂

@goodomensafterdark

[talesoftheunimagined]

[Mistaken Identity] Chapter 2

Rating: General

Fandom: Good Omens (Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett)

Relationships: Aziraphale x Crowley, Aziraphale/Crowley

Tags: Angst, Fluff, Heartbreak, Love, Georgian Era

Summary: The year is 1797. King George has just gotten over a bout of illness and a member of the English royal family had just gotten married to a Duchess of Holland, so why not throw a masquerade ball to celebrate the occasion and invite all the noblemen and women of The United Kingdom and surrounding areas?

Crowley and Aziraphale meet at the ball. Crowley, though, mistakes some identities.

Chapter one can be found here

Notes: Thank you for all the love for chapter one! <3

😇😈😇😈😇😈😇😈😇😈😇😈😇😈😇😈😇😈😇😈😇😈

If you'd wondered how big the ballroom was, it could hold an entire 60-person Classical orchestra. You might not think that's a lot. But consider the musical instruments and then also consider how many hundreds of people would appear at the ball; Dukes, Duchesses, Barons and Baroness, Kings, Queens, Princes, Princesses, foreign diplomats and attachés, counts and contessas. Then a whole armoury of staff plus the dresses and clothes they were all wearing. So it was no surprise to Aziraphale when he had lost Crowley for nearly three and a half hours. In his tipsy-nearly-drunk state, he had thought that he'd seen Crowley at least four times but it was just a mask that looked similar to his.

It was nearly ten o'clock when Aziraphale had spotted Crowley by the open doors of a balcony absent of the Swan lady he had danced with earlier. He was leaned up against a doorframe idly and looked out downwards out into the sconce-lit courtyard. Crowley had found out that the name of this woman was Frederica (but he hadn't found out that he had bedded crown Princess Frederica Charlotte of Prussia - daughter in law to the king) and that she was rather good in the bedroom. His hair was ever so slightly out of place but this wasn't extremely noticeable unless one had paid scrupulous attention to his hair before and after he'd vanished into a guest room. The demon was enjoying the cool summer night breeze (not that he actually needed it) and was also, rather squiffy.

"Having a rather good time, aren't we?" Said Aziraphale with light amusement.

"Mmh." The demon hummed, not looking at him. Probably just too drunk to speak.

"She'll confess you realize?" It wasn't a question but more or a statement. It still came out with a wistful, dreamlike tone. "We'll get her back on our side-"

"You're gorgeous, y'know that?" The demon cut him off. Aziraphale blushed deeply. "And - And - And - I would like to, to very much dance. With you. Now." Crowley, still not paying mind to Aziraphale, took his hand awkwardly and stumbled out into the center of the room. It all happened so quickly. Aziraphale's head spun from the sudden and unwarned movement - like when you stand up too fast and become dizzy and when he came to his senses, he found himself being thrown into an underarm spin by Crowley. He winced slightly as he drew the alcohol out of his system and sobered himself. The angel's heart raced. He suddenly became very aware of the situation: Crowley's slender fingers firmly grasping his waist, his smooth palm resting against his, both their chests pressing together and the feel of other women's dresses brushing against his legs and ankles as well as his own coat tails on the backs of his calves and knees. His heart fluttered and his face and ears glowed a brilliant bright red.

"Crowley-"

"I've been admiring you all night, you know."

"Well, Crowley, I must admit that I-"

"You're- you're angelic. Positively glowing in brilli- in brilli- you're beautiful." The demon slurred.

"Oh well, thank you, my dear-"

"And-" Crowley spun Aziraphale again. He was quite a skilled dancer even if he was drunk. He placed his hand firmly on the angel's hip once more and rested his chin on top of his head as they both fell back into a simple box step.

"I'm quite sure that you want what I'm after," His voice came out low, sensual. Almost a purr that would weaken anybody's knees. Aziraphale nearly melted.

"O-Oh, Crowley, I feel the exact same way I've just been rather too shy to admit! I thought it would be far too forward of me."

"- Frederica." Frederica. Bloody Frederica.The angel's heart sank down to the depths of hell and he could now feel his face heating up for another reason. This was now humiliation. His face fell, he tensed every muscle in his body. It was clear now that the demon had confused Aziraphale with the swan woman. After all, they did have similar masks and their heights and frames were similar. Similar enough for a drunkard to draw the conclusion that they may have been the same person. He hadn't even been listening or looking at him. He was far too drunk to even realize that she was not him. Tears stung his eyes. He wished, after nearly 6000 years of being on Earth, that he had never been sent down to this infernal planet!

"Crowley." The demon continued muttering things. Aziraphale ripped his hand out of Crowley's and threw his hand from his waist. He ran as fast as his legs could carry towards an open balcony before anybody else could catch on to what had just happened. The humiliation! Oh good heavens how could he have ever believed for one second that Crowley had meant those words for him?! Of course, he didn't! Couldn't! Wouldn't. Ever. A hard lump formed in his throat and he felt his lip quiver. He collapsed behind the door and bought his hands up to his forehead, staring down at the paving stones. He had let himself be tempted by the very force he was meant to have thwarted. How dare he! The stupid, foolish, hopeful angel.

Crowley stood in a daze in the middle of the ballroom. Then he realized the full weight of what had just happened as he miracled himself sober. A handful of couples stared at him in disgust - or maybe it was annoyance that he'd upset the mood of the party. His insides churned and twisted in a way he was quite sure shouldn't have worked in this human body. He felt like a true demon for the first time in centuries.

"Aziraphale...Aziraphale!"

Aziraphale leaned his head against the stone of the balcony railing. His head was thrumming. He could quite clearly hear the calls of his name getting nearer and nearer to him. The angel slammed the balcony door with such ferocity that the pigeons on the roof scattered scared into the night and the glass pains almost shattered. The last thing he wanted was to face Crowley and cause any more humiliation on his own part - thank you very much!

"Oh! Oh!" His face scrunched up in almost pain. "OH! Will you please just fuck right off!"

[aziraphales-library]

Hello extraordinary mods!

I was wondering if you knew of any fics where madame Tracy was trying to get Aziraphale to confess his feelings to Crowley or just trying to get them together in general.

Thank you! 😇😈

Hey there! You might want to check our #matchmaking tag for fics like this. Here are some where Tracy meddles in Aziraphale's love life...

Doorway to Paradise by TawnyOwl95 (E)

Crowley is the guy everyone goes to for a good time. He’s the fling, the hook up, even though he hopes for more. Still, waking up to an empty bed the morning after a one night stand is not something he should be surprised by. In Aziraphale’s defence, he's never had a one night stand before, and really doesn't know how they work.

I’ve Got This Friend by Ambra_Sue (T)

Neither Aziraphale nor Crowley needs help in the dating department, or so they claim. Their friends Anathema and Tracy have other ideas.

Honeysuckle and White Jasmine by HolyCatsAndRabbits (E)

While on a bad blind date at a coffee shop, bookshop owner Aziraphale meets a gorgeous red-haired barista. Also Aziraphale knows flower language and he's not afraid to use it. So now Aziraphale was going on a date with someone Tracy knew. Since Tracy had arranged it, Aziraphale let her pick the place as well: Double Double, a new coffee shop. Tracy had promised that the shop was lovely and had a selection of rich desserts, which was honestly the part that had convinced Aziraphale. Aziraphale’s one bit of defiance was the flowers. He had a book or two in his shop on flower language, and he’d decided that the bouquet was going to be the sweetener for the day (besides the dessert), the spoonful of sugar that helped the medicine go down. Yellow carnations: Disdain, disappointment, rejection. Red snapdragon: Deception. Purple columbine: foolishness. White candytuft: indifference. And finally butterfly weed, a bright little orange cluster flower, which meant Let me go! Armed with his passive-aggressive (but quite lovely smelling) bouquet, Aziraphale took a cab to Double Double.

Vary my days by Aracloptia (G)

He could not recall how much time had passed between the invention of the book and himself owning a lot of books. He had simply woken up one day surrounded by them, as if he always had been. Crowley had been the first one to point it out. He always was. Except this time, he had not so much pointed it out as tripped over a pile of them, shouting ”FUCK, Angel, what's the DEAL with all these bloody BOOKS?” Aziraphale had tutted, put a drink in his hand and miracled up a sofa behind him without answering the question. The sofa was still there. Surrounded by piles and piles of books. ------ After Crowley leaves, Aziraphale needs a change. He sorts through his books, makes new friends (or tries to), and discovers the beauty of ansaphones.

I keep coming back to you by ducks_elise (T)

Aziraphale volunteers at the university library. Crowley usually doesn't go there but he went with two of his classmates to study. He keeps coming back to see Aziraphale, their relationship develops from there

The Invisible Touch by AppleSeeds (T)

Aziraphale is reduced to a quivering mess just looking at Crowley’s face smiling up at him from the programme, let alone sitting in the front row of the theatre watching him perform, or standing face-to-face with him, with Crowley's hand on his arm, after he summons him to the stage to help him with one of his tricks... When Aziraphale reveals that he too is a magician and the two actually become friends, Crowley soon realises that someone has severely knocked Aziraphale’s confidence, and becomes determined to do whatever he can to restore it.

- Mod D

[checkyourcomms6]

Absence

Aziracrow, but post-season 2 angst.

Word Count: 1,277

Summary: Crowley's first time back in the bookshop goes about as well as can be expected...

Ao3: TrustMeImTheAuthor

Crowley feels the worn softness of a well-kept book cover skim over her fingertips. She’s come to a rigid stop next to a small, round table. With as much fondness as he can possibly spare, he rakes his shaded gaze over the tiny statue atop it. The stallion there is the same as ever, reared back on its hind legs to face Crowley with unwavering stillness. Just by habit, he reaches up to grasp at the frame of his glasses. It is a stunted, hollow mimicry of old choreography. There are customers here now… And there’s certainly no one around to look upon her yellow-sapped gaze the way she aches for. Their hand withers and retreats to their side once more.

As their feet swivel them back to face the rest of the bookstore, Crowley knows with absolute certainty that this is a mistake. Muriel has been doing a wonderful job with the shop. Crowley has no understanding of whether this news pleases her or is jagged grains of salt dragging over open flesh. It looks healthy. The store. Reds and honeys still sift together to cast a spell of warmth and comfort over the senses. It still smells of paper and wax and…

Crowley can’t help the grit of his teeth behind closed lips.

The few patrons here mill about in a way that sours his tongue. They’re all relaxed smiles of contentment and bright eyes of innocent curiosity. Completely unaware of the black hole of absence bending time and space around them.

Crowley slinks forward, daring her feet to at least help her make it to the center, circular carpet.

“Aziraphale?” a voice questions softly. Before he knows the thought, Crowley has already turned, head darting about to search for the downy white puff of hair. Instead, a young person stands to the side a few feet away, nose pushed into a book titled An Almost Entirely Accurate Breakdown of Angelic Hierarchy. At the sight of its sickly green cover, Crowley’s nose wrinkles in disgust. A pair of piercing brown eyes flick up over the offensive text to peer back through into Crowley’s own. The demon tries to save herself the grief of a human interaction, sniffing as she scrambles to occupy herself with the nearest object. Their fingers find a tiny booklet: Gale’s Guide to Eternal Glee. She snorts. God has a sick sense of humor.

“Excuse me, do you work here?”

Crowley sighs, their red wine curls tumbling over their shoulder as they tilt their neck back to acknowledge the human that just spoke.

“No… but I might as well,” he huffs. “If you’re trying to buy a book you should know the answer is probably no-”

“-I had a question, actually. I’m Paisley, by the way.”

“‘Course you are,” Crowley mutters imperceptibly, as this ‘Paisley’ person continues.

“This book,” they tap the book’s heavenly cover, “do you happen to have experience with the topic?”

All Crowley can manage is the longest- and most exhausted- stare possible. Paisley, chuffing the heel of their boot against the ground, seems to be full of unexpected patience for a twenty-something. For a moment, Crowley considers the usual tactic of walking away or pretending the pesky creature doesn’t exist. It’s a useful skill when she’s in a hurry or otherwise in a hellish mood. She breathes in, expecting her feet to carry her along to seek out Muriel, as originally intended. Or perhaps to flee this place, which is beginning to feel less like a bookshop and more like the gaping maw of a haunted house. Everywhere her sharp eyes flick to, there is another memory to swallow back.

“What do you want to know?” The question leaving Crowley’s lips is a static shock.

“I’ve got a report due for a religion course. Gotta pick an angel,” Paisley explains, fingering lazily at the open page. “Aziraphale seems like a cool name, but there’s like no info in the book. You know anything?”

Paisley George, of course, is just another university student trying desperately to write a research paper they’ve had a month to do in a record 47 hours. Their whole world rests in the fate of its completion. How are they to know they have also just been thrown mercilessly into the middle of the greatest of love stories in its most devastating chapter. The distance between the question young Paisley has asked and Crowley is just about 6,000 years of tireless longing.

Crowley’s mouth is a bit ajar, enough to betray him as his jaw quivers. He shuts it again, looking down as he feels the gravity of millennia upon already burdened shoulders.

“Yeap.” He pops the ‘p’. “Know that bloke.”

“What was he supposed to be like?” Paisley charges on, burning curious and bright like a righteous halo. “This book came recommended by the class, but it says fuck all really.”

In the several seconds it takes Crowley to conjure their answer, so many versions of the truth come to mind. She wants to call Aziraphale an idiotic, selfish creature of habit without a clue in the world. An angel, trained from inception to inflate the ego of Heaven at any cost. God’s most loyal pet.

Crowley wants to leave.

He hates the smell of him, still vacantly present in the background. The way his eyes dart to Aziraphale’s empty chair over and over and over makes him sick. Why is Crowley here? What could this have ever done but cause them a slow and effortless agony? Her name is, as always, playing on loop- a feather-soft siren song. Aziraphale. Aziraphale. Aziraphale. 

“Aziraphale was the angel at the Garden of Eden,” Crowley murmurs gently, rubbing a palm over her face as she does. “Headstrong in his conviction, and loving, in all things. They are an angel of peace, knowledge, and comfort,” the demon expands. Somehow, the words just spill out. Aziraphale can be anything, after all, when told from Crowley’s lips- the only lips that have known the taste of his divinity.

“All the best food, all the best books… and magic. Magic is her thing, too. She’s the greatest admirer of planet Earth in all of Heaven. He’s…. Looking upon him is like… like plummeting helplessly forever through an endless blue sky, and thanking God for it. My angel…”

Crowley has drifted off from Paisley, gaze locking on the figure listening at the bottom of the staircase. In Muriel’s bright brown stare, there is an uncharacteristic knowing. The demon’s eyes are still covered from view, but Muriel seems to reflect it all back anyways.

“Mr. Crowley!” they call, just a bit too loudly for the hushed tone of the shop. “You can come up with me now, if you’d like.”

All Crowley would *like *to do is melt in between the atoms of the floor until there is nothing left of him. They look toward Aziraphale’s chair again.

This time, Aziraphale is there. Shirt unbuttoned just a touch, and body lazed against the backrest. She laughs. Crowley can’t quite hear her right. It’s just a copycat of the original. No one can do it like her anyways. The pale, wilting imitation of her voice curls around his ears. He hears his name on the angel’s breath, but it escapes him the moment he grasps for it. Then Crowley blinks.

The chair is empty.

Paisley is gone, long since given up on Crowley’s bizarre tittering.

The corners of Crowley’s mouth pull ever downward.

“Ms. Crowley?”

Though it is like ripping his eyes away from the birth of a star, Aziraphale’s demon turns himself from his love once more.

[quillyfied]

Things I’m noticing on this rewatch, which I’m hoping to take slow and ponder on but we will see how it goes, PART ONE (obviously major Good Omens season 2 spoilers throughout, specifically for S2E1):

- Angel Crowley’s hair is so bright and curly! The shade feels more like his new post-apocalypse ‘do, which I find curious. New hair is obviously still much darker but it’s that more unnatural shade of red that could be very bright indeed under the right lighting.

- Aziraphale trying to soften angel Crowley up for his warning by complimenting the colors of the nebula first. People pleaser already, I see.

- The opening: that bit where they separate. They’re on the wrong sides. Then they move past each other to the right sides. Then they separate backwards to the wrong sides again, and that’s when the bridge between planets behind them breaks apart. Pretty obvious visual representation of where they end the season, but I do have to wonder about the emerging “they swapped again” theory and if this back and forth motion could be pointing to that.

- Initial analysis about Maggie: cute as a button, blonde, runs a shop of antiques not particularly useful or lucrative in the modern world, formal style of writing, accommodating to the people around her (perhaps to excess), vintage aesthetic all the way around: immediate thought is that of course she’s a mirror to Aziraphale the same way Newton Pulsifer is. Let’s see where it goes.

- I COMPLETELY FORGOT ABOUT THIS SPY EXCHANGE ON THE BENCH BEFORE SHAX SHOWS UP. Also why aren’t we talking about Shax more??? She’s a delight! The way she’s absolutely befuddled by how humans outdo her at her own job, the weird strained but sort of mentor/mentoree and also informant relationship she has with Crowley, how she is also probably one of the best dressed in Hell without the smell and blemishes and obvious animal aspect…she’s fascinating and I can’t wrap my head around her. Is she supposed to be a dragon? I could deffo see dragon.

- “What’s the point of it all?” Oh Crowley. So correct.

- His hair matches her dress. Significant that they match??

- Half rations of what???

- The correction of the peas. I weep. Has the air of all the times Neil has probably been corrected about it on tumblr and elsewhere for the bread in the book XD

- There are a lot of Statues of Liberty in Nina’s coffee shop. Why??

- Initial analysis about Nina: cool, collected, blunt, friendly but not familiar, hipster vibes, popular store and business model without being a model business owner, seems like she has it all together but has a pretty big lingering anxiety in the form of a controlling relationship: perfectly fine mirror for Crowley, like Anathema Device. Continuing to see where it goes.

- John Hamm’s befuddled face is the highlight of his performance for me, bc he has such a commanding gregarious menace for playing Gabriel and it’s weird to see it replaced for just…gregarious :P

- I know this is a horrifying moment but can we take a moment to just appreciate the comedy of Aziraphale seeing Gabriel’s whole bare bottom before realizing whose bottom it is? Gosh and the hug. So awkward. (THE JIGGLE)

- John Finnemore also excels at writing idiots. Jimbriel has John’s fingerprints all over it. The conversation is golden.

- This conversation with Michael makes much more sense now tbh but. Want to talk about it in full later, when we have all the information.

- I’ve noticed it since we got promos but: Jimbriel using the angel wing mug and Aziraphale using the blue teacups just…strikes me. Could be because he’s having tea and not cocoa. But still. Hmm. Interesting.

- Aziraphale’s immediate panic over knowing what it’s like to be close to a person. Hmm. Yes. Quite. (And a moment to enjoy Gabriel, even in some pretty extreme amnesia, knowing Aziraphale is safe and will help him. Not so much warm fuzzies over GABRIEL knowing that as it is Aziraphale getting to HEAR that from someone who should by all accounts not feel safe with him at all. Guardian instincts being validated. This won’t backfire.)

- Listen maybe it’s just because I watched the Barbie movie the night before I watched GO2 but all I’m thinking when seeing Jimbriel is that his Kenergy is off the charts. And I know that basically just means he’s at peak himbo performance but Kenergy feels more appropriate right now. More introspections there later, I think.

- Formulating a thought about the box, about how it has very prominent double red arrows and “this way up” on it…and the instructions were on the bottom. Something something Heaven/Hell Gabriel/Beelzebub symbolism?? Foreshadowing for The Final Fifteen Minutes, maybe for season 3 itself????

- “You’re funny. I love you.” UH HEY JIMBRIEL. JIM CAN WE TALK ABOUT THAT. GUYS CAN WE JUST. DISCUSS THE LAYERS OF THAT. Not here, obviously, but at some point.

- The thing about writing an idiot is that they have exactly the wrong intelligence for the situation at hand. It makes them very funny. Even more so when their intelligence actually happens to be helpful.

- THE FLYYYYYYY

- Muriel!

- Oof. Sexy Bentley animations.

- “Now that I’m not reporting to Heaven” INGRAINED BEHAVIORS THAT NEED ADDRESSING, PERHAPS?

- I feel like we don’t talk about “six shots of espresso” enough. I realize it’s been like two days and there’s a lot going on but SIX. SHOTS. OF. ESPRESSO. CROWLEY. It expressly does not calm him down. Oh hey instrumental Bohemian Rhapsody!

- I paused just to fully take in the affronted look on Crowley’s face at “naked man friend” XD

- Crowley downs six shots of espresso in one go and then comes face to face with the exact being of his worst nightmare. No wonder he blows a literal lightning gasket.

- Aziraphale knows about Shax. Interesting.

- Ask him properly? Interesting turn of phrase. And Crowley leaps in immediately between them. Of course he does. Ask him properly meaning be threatening about it this time, I suppose?

- I. AM. DUSTING. ITS YELLOW. HHHHHGK.

- Crowley solution: get rid of the problem, run from it. Get away from it. Aziraphale solution: confront the problem, solve the problem, go charging into the helping of the problem. Hmm. Interesting.

- The whole “our exactlies are not the same exactly” IIIIINTERESTING.

- “I thought we carved it out for OURselves.” “SO DID I.” Y’all I cannot WAIT for the parallel gif sets. This conversation, the bandstand, the sidewalk, and The Final Fifteen Minutes. Phew. Knockout parallels.

- That was a surprisingly petulant lightning strike tbh

- Michael and Uriel sniping at each other. Somehow love it. BUT ALSO. This conversation has so many damn LAYERS now!! Heck!!!

- The floating armchair. Heck yeah.

- The distance between Muriel and the archangels, the way they talk down to her so thoroughly…heck.

- Like how the Resurrectionist matchbox has the skull and crossbones but also the Bible verse on the side. The two halves of the sign, brought together.

- MORE FLIESSSSSS

- Beelzebub’s tactic for trying to get Crowley to help find Gabriel is…interesting. I might have to make a whole separate post to analyze this scene. The matching chairs, the determined way Beelzebub’s pursuit of the hunt isn’t immediately suspicious, the flattery, but most importantly, it’s getting its own bullet point:

- The way Beelzebub shares the bit about Extreme Sanctions and how that is enough to flip Crowley’s Protect Aziraphale switch. He’s on the hook, because now there are actual stakes.

- I wonder, though, at how I didn’t immediately catch that Michael saying “anyone found HELPING him” was said. Anyone caught helping Gabriel. Why would helping an archangel be cause for Extreme Sanctions?? Surely it would be a good thing for anyone, even Aziraphale, to have kept a vulnerable Gabriel safe all this time. I’m chalking it up to first time watching excitement and sleep deprivation but huh. HUH.

- Anyway, back to Beelzebub; they immediately offer a reward to Crowley, a carrot instead of the stick. And Duke of Hell is on the table. Interesting. Weird. And their wording is anyone “involved in the affair.” Very slightly different context. Wouldn’t give away that Heaven is indeed on a manhunt (angel hunt?), but not for the exact reason you would expect.

- I wonder about the temporal implications of being erased from existence. And how this very serious and apparently mythological mode of punishment is coming back in season 3. Hmm. Hmm hmm hmm.

- Also Beelzebub’s “report to me first” I SEE YOU NOW

- Nina and Maggie’s lock-in is…hmm. The “no judgement” about drinking thing strikes me as something someone with a very religious upbringing would say to a friend who drinks. Bit clunky, lot condescending. Interesting way to get to a segue.

- Good old fashioned lover boy better have an amazing comeback next season XD

- LOVE seeing the onscreen effects for the text messages, love the way they’re like crumpled up notes, love the immediate energy that brings to this already suspicious relationship. Sigh.

- I knew “I’m back” had petty marital bickering energy from the trailer but I HAD NO IDEA HOW MUCH.

- Also brief moment of real sadness for how this is a rehash of “angel, I’m sorry, whatever I said, I didn’t mean it. Good? Yes? Get in the car.” Just smoothing over the rough patch so they can move on rather than. Yknow. Talking about it and fixing it.

- Also notice how the apology dance doesn’t actually involve saying “I’m sorry.” It’s more an admission of the other person’s intellectual or moral superiority. Which is. Funny! But also. Sad!

- Jim. Jim you were just outside earlier. Jim please.

- I notice the “little” miracle is done over the portal to heaven. Hmm. I thought at first maybe Jimbriel’s latent archangel abilities were at play but I much prefer the “together Crowley and Aziraphale are super powerful without meaning to be” interpretation, because it makes The Final Fifteen Minutes make SO much more sense.

- The miraculous plume is pink <33333

- The inherent comedy of “nobody will notice a thing!” *BLARING ALARMS* XD reminds me of “he’ll have an enormous hellhound with him! He’ll be easy to spot!” *cut to Dog* from season 1 :P

- Okay, final thoughts on this first rewatch: yeah the foreshadowing and scene-setting is impeccable. Great energy. Loving it! Picking up on so much more tiny hints and clues! Missing God’s narration but it really says a lot, actually, that She isn’t there anymore. No Agnes Nutter book for guidance, no scriptural references to necessitate God’s voice being present…different flavor.

Okay! Might do episode 2 tonight, as well, but I have Things to do first! We will see!

[simpforsimeon]

*Flash back when Yuu was a child*

Child!Yuu: Mama, the kids at the kindergarten said that the devil is not real, is that true?

Yuu's mother: Yuu.. the devil is real

*an image of a man with long indigo-red hair flashed through Yuu's mother's eyes for a brief moment*

Child!Yuu, nervously: Mama..?

Yuu's mother: And he is not a little red man with horns and a tail..

Child!Yuu, nervous and curious: He is not..?

*Images of the same man with long indigo-red hair appeared in Yuu's mother's mind, the same man who she trusted long ago, and still trusts*

Yuu's mother, sighing: He can be beautiful..

*Images of her younger self smiling at the same man, who was looking at her with bright aqua green eyes, smiling a small but a knowing smile at that*

Child!Yuu, confused: Huh?

Yuu's mother, smiling: 'Cause he's a fallen angel..

....And he used to be God's favourite..

*Present day, everyone found out that Crowley is the villain all along, everyone was injured and Crowley was standing there, chuckling a dark chuckle*

Crowley: So that’s what "my students" are made of, huh?

Riddle: You bastard! OFF WITH YOUR HEAD!

*the attack didn't to anything to Crowley as he dodged it*

Yuu, quietly chanting: Hear my plea, heal my wound, I, the one of a kind, call upon you, William, come forth and obey my command..

*Malleus, Lilia, Sebek Leona, Jack and Ruggie were shocked and confused why was Yuu chanting a summoning spell and they knew that Yuu has no magic*

*The room soon got dark, which confuse everyone, Crowley didn't know what was happening*

Ace, shouting: What is going on?!

*A glowing symbol appeared under Yuu*

Crowley, mad: WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?!

*A shadowy figure appeared besides Yuu, and glowing aqua green eyes could be seen*

Yuu, eyes somehow glowing: I am the righteous hand of God..

*The shadowy figure became a tall man with a lean build and long indigo-red hair, he smiled a smile but his gaze held a dangerous gleam*

William, eyes glowing and demonic voice: And I am the devil you forgot

*And only Crowley's screams were heard after that*

(And yes, "The devil is real" and "I am the righteous hand of God" are from tiktok cuz I was bored and suddenly had this idea, and you guys got some little information about William! And no, he is not a devil/demon, he is somewhat similar to a fae but he is not one? I don't know how to explain it)

[pinknatural]

(ao3)

Sometime after Cas gets his grace back, but before Dean knows that the angel riding his brother’s meatsuit is Gadreel, not Ezekiel, Dean finds himself in a pawn shop. Generally, he finds himself in pawn shops pretty often--not as often as like, someone who deals in pawns, but more often than the average person, Dean thinks. 

He’s there to see if they’ve got any guns for cheap, since he basically always needs more guns. None of the ones at that shop strike his fancy, so he walks around and looks at the other things. Browsing. Just in case--he has a house (well, a Bunker, but same thing) now, and maybe he should decorate. Maybe.

Dean passes by the jewelry without much more than a cursory glance, then he doubles back and stares. There’s a ring--a twisted band of white gold and silver, and something about it… It’s not something Dean would wear. He’s not sure what about the ring compels him, but he feels like Gollum as he looks at it and knows he needs it. What for, he has no idea.

Dean buys it. He doesn’t wear it, but sticks it in a flat little box originally meant for a bracelet and slides it into his jacket pocket. 

And he carries it, jacket pocket to jacket pocket, for years. He doesn’t tell anybody about it, but he gets into the habit of patting his chest to make sure it’s still there. Even when he’s a demon-- Crowley goes through Dean’s clothes one day, when Dean’s laying on the motel room bed naked, and he finds the box. 

“What’s this?” Crowley asks, and the First Blade is in Dean’s hand before he can process the movement. The First Blade is in Dean’s hand a lot, these days. 

“Open that and I’ll kill you,” Dean says, looking at Crowley dead in the eye so he knows that Dean isn’t fucking kidding, and Crowley stares back for a minute before he tosses the box aside and goes back into Dean’s pocket. He pulls out a condom, and the box is quickly forgotten. 

Anyway. The ring is there, in Dean’s pocket. It stays there. It’s there when Dean kills the Stynes, when he meets Amara, when he hugs his mom for the first time in thirty years. It’s there when he goes to the Apocalypse World, and the Bad Place, and Purgatory (again). 

And it’s there in that fucking dungeon, when Cas puts his hand on Dean’s shoulder and looks him in the eyes, smiling and crying. Dean feels it, burning a hole in his pocket, as Cas says things like most loving man in the whole world and you changed me and and one thing I want is something I know I can’t have and I love you and, worst of all, goodbye, Dean.

And Dean sits there, sobbing into his palms, and he knows what the ring was for.

--

Dean wraps one hand around an angel blade and curls the other into a fist. He nods at Sam, then Eileen, then he leaps into the dark pit on the wall that haunts his nightmares. 

The Empty is dark and, well, empty. His footsteps echo like he’s on a marble floor, but as far as Dean can tell there’s no difference between the walls and floor and ceiling. It’s just black. 

Dean tightens his grip on his angel blade, and he finds the first body. 

It’s a man in a grey coat. Dean doesn’t recognize him, and he keeps walking. 

Dean sees a woman in a leather jacket, a man wearing a torn polo shirt, and a woman dressed like a lounge singer. He sees a child in a pink dress and a man in a black sweater. Then there’s a fan of red hair, and Dean falters. 

Anna lays in the Empty, hair scattered around her head. Her eyes are closed and her chest moves slowly, as if in a deep, deep sleep. Dean swallows, heavy, and keeps walking. Next time, he thinks. Next time he’ll wake everyone.

The next body he sees is another unknown--old man in a brown blazer--but the one after that is someone familiar. Dean squints, decides it’s one of the douche angels he or his brother has killed over the years.

The body after that one is Ruby, and Dean gives her a wide berth. Then it’s Balthazar and Lilith and Hannah. Uriel and Raphael, Hester and Samandriel. Dagon and Ramiel. Azazel.

Alastair.

Dean keeps walking. For every body he recognizes, laying in a coma-like sleep, there’s four or five more that he’s never seen before. Some of them look vaguely familiar, like a demon he ran into once or Background Angel #5. 

Dean walks by Ishim right before he walks by Meg, and the next couple are random demons Dean vaguely remembers from his own time as one. Dean nearly trips over his own face, then he hustles to keep away from the alternate Michael. 

He’s not sure what he’ll do if he runs into Crowley. Not sure at all. But--

in the distance, a trench coat. 

Dean sprints, slides to his knees. Cups Cas’s face with his hand, leans in close. 

“Wake up,” he murmurs. “Wake up, Cas. Come on.”

Cas doesn’t stir. 

Dean shakes him. 

“Wake up, man,” he says. 

“Yeah, that’s not gonna happen,” a voice says, and Dean looks up to see a vaguely humanoid shaped black blob of goo. It crosses it’s arms. “You can’t be here.”

“I’m getting him back,” Dean tells it. “I’m taking him home.”

“And how do you plan to do that?” the Shadow asks. “He’s mine.” 

“No, he’s not,” Dean says.

“What do you mean?” the Shadow asks, tilting its head. Dean considers throwing his knife at it. “We had a deal, and now he is here, and he belongs to me. Fully and completely.”

“Fuck you,” Dean says. “He’s not yours, he’s mine, and I’m taking him home.”

And with that, Dean presses the tip of his angel blade to Cas’s throat. His grace spills out like smoke, spreading through the air, and Cas’s eyes open and he gasps. The Shadow shrieks. 

“No!” it wails. “You can’t do this!”

“I already did, asshole,” Dean spits, and then the last of Cas’s grace evaporates, and Dean grabs onto Cas’s arm, and everything goes white, then black. 

Then Dean’s on the library floor, and he stares up at the Bunker’s golden lighting for a moment before turning to face Cas. 

“Cas!”

“Dean,” Cas says. He’s still laying on the ground, and he props himself on his elbows. “What happened?”

“I got you out,” Dean says. He laughs. Cas is looking at him with wide blue eyes, and Dean feels like he might start to cry. Instead, he throws himself at Cas, tucks his face into Cas’s neck, holds him tight. Cas falls back to the floor, wrapping his arms around Dean, and for a moment they breathe together. “You stupid son of a bitch,” Dean breathes. “You can’t fucking do that again.”

“I won’t,” Cas says. His voice is rough and deep, right next to Dean’s ear. Dean thinks he might cry. 

“You have to stay,” Dean says. “You have to stay.”

“I will,” Cas says. Cas promises. “Oh, Dean.”

Dean pulls back, just a little, and cups Cas’s face with his hands. “Cas,” he says. 

“Hello, Dean,” Cas says, eyes bright and sparkly, and Dean kisses him. 

He kisses him, and Cas kisses him back, and Dean thinks--well, if he had an Empty deal that would take him when he felt true happiness--Dean would be dead right now.

He pulls back, drops his forehead to Cas’s. “God, I love you so fuckin’ much.”

“You do?” Cas asks, and Dean hates himself. Cas should know that he’s--he’s Dean’s favorite person and Dean’s best friend and Dean loves, loves, loves him. He reaches into his jacket, into the inside pocket. 

“Yeah,” he says, and he presses the ring box into Cas’s hand. “I do.”

[aethelflaedladyofmercia]

Fever Dream

(Written for @sicktember prompt #1 - Fever! I finished it in time for the first but didn't have the energy to edit.)

--

Angels didn’t get sick, precisely

They didn’t have bodies that were, strictly speaking, physical, and therefore couldn’t harbor any of the illnesses that plagued mankind and other earthly creatures.

An angel could, however, burn through enough of his own grace that his corporation began to malfunction.

He would then, as it were, fall ill.

This happened to Aziraphale far more often than to other angels.

A weak constitution was the general explanation; too much time mucking about on the strange old planet, not enough time bathing in the glorious healing light of the celestial sphere.

When he was down on Earth, he was always prying, poking, trying new things, many of which had never been approved, could have any manner of ill effects. He knew he should show some proper restraint, withdraw a bit more from the world, but he couldn’t help himself.

And when he did return to huddle miserably in a recovery ward, waiting for the chills to pass and his temperature to stabilize, Gabriel would always visit, dropping broad hints about the pressures of fieldwork and the under appreciated glory of a solid administrative career. Offering all kinds of advice as to what, exactly, a proper angel would cut out of his life if he wished to better focus on his ordained duties.

And so, when the symptoms next came upon him—muscle aches, irritability, sweat and chills until he didn’t know if he was hot or cold—Aziraphale decided to wait it out on Earth. It would only take a few days to recover and, anyway, he had business to attend to. Important business that could not wait.

“Angel, are you sure you’re alright?” Crowley demanded, a glint of gold just visible between black lenses and furrowed brow.

“Yes, I’m perf—” he turned his head to cough lightly, but an odd spasm came over his throat, transforming it into something deep and hacking that left his ribs aching and his brow dripping with sweat. “…tickety-boo,” he muttered, turning back to his mug.

“Keep it down,” hissed the demon, glancing around the common room of the inn. Perhaps one or two people had glanced over, but nothing out of the ordinary. “People will think you have the plague.” The last two words he barely mouthed.

“My dear fellow, do be serious. I have hardly any symptoms of the plague.” Only the last part sounded more like sybtobs otha blayyyg.

He cleared his throat and tried to sniff, which started a complicated chain reaction that ended with a mouthful of what he hoped was spit.

As Aziraphale’s eyes went wide with alarm, Crowley quickly pulled out a deep red handkerchief, which the angel gratefully spat into. Unsure what to do next, Aziraphale folded it over and offered it back, but Crowley leaned away, face contorted in horror.

“Oh, ah… thank you, then?” He took a quick glance inside and immediately wished he hadn’t, grimacing at the color of what his body had produced.

“Just… just eat your soup,” Crowley muttered, waving a hand at the bowl he’d been toying with until it was hardly above room temperature.

Aziraphale had ordered it thinking a bit of warmth would be lovely, as he’d been shivering fit for midwinter morning. But after one mouthful, he’d found himself sweating, tugging at his collar to relieve some of the heat. Now he could feel the shivers coming on again, but he couldn’t warm it back up. Until the illness passed, any miracles would just make it worse.

“Right,” Crowley said as Aziraphale poked at something that might have been a parsnip. “I’m going to be out of town for the next few weeks. Temptations all up and down the continent. Might take the rest of the season. Unless…” Using that lilting voice that suggested a coin flip might be imminent.

“Mmmh.” Aziraphale looked mournfully into his beer, finally hazarding another sip. The taste of hops struck him at the back of the throat and he quickly expelled the rest back into the mug. “Sorry, m’dear. Not this time. I got…” he waved his hand, waiting for the rest of the words. They didn’t appear to be forthcoming. “Things,” he finally said. “In the city. Until at least…” He rubbed his forehead, but it was hard to think when it was so cold. He pulled his heavy coat back on, bundling up.

“Oh, well. Things. Obviously can’t take you away from things.” Aziraphale nodded miserably, trying to focus on his bowl. “Angel, look,” and as Crowley leaned close, there was something new in his voice, something that sounded rather like concern. “You sure you’re alright? I mean, there’s nothing… nobody…”

Aziraphale blinked, his eyes feeling… sticky. What was Crowley getting at? He should really be more direct, clever Serpent, it was hard enough to think in all this heat. He struggled out of his coat, dabbing uselessly at the sweat on his forehead.

“Oh for Satan’s—are you cursed?” He hissed the last word even softer than he’d said plague.

“No,” the angel said, resting his head on his hand until his neck recovered enough strength to hold it up again. “M’not. S’just… things!”

In his attempt to gesture with both hands, Aziraphale forgot one was already occupied and very nearly wound up face-first in the soup.

“Azir—!” Crowley rounded the table in an instant, tugging him upright again. “What has come over you?”

“S’rry. People staring? S’not… not… proper.”

“Angel, you’re—you’re burning up!”

“Not. S’cold.” Then an icy hand touched his forehead and cheek, and Aziraphale groaned, trying to pull away.

“What the Heaven is going on?”

“Toldya. Things. Illness. From… from…” he tried to gesture with one arm, but it weighed too much to lift. “Being a… bad angel…”

A heavy sigh. “C’mere, you.” Crowley hauled him to his feet.

Aziraphale was pleased to find he could stand, just that his spinning head and aching limbs made it unpleasant. He couldn’t remember where he was supposed to go, but there was something solid nearby to lean on and a hand on his waist, guiding him forward.

It wasn’t until they reached the stairs that he realized something wasn’t right. “Crowley! This is—we—we can’t—where—what are you—”

“I’ve got a room upstairs.”

Aziraphale squinted dimly towards the upper floor. “Yes…?”

“Yes. And you, Angel, are in need of a bed.”

But.

But it was improper! Scandalous, even, talking of rooms, and beds, or rooms andbeds, or any combination thereof, particularly in the singular form. What if someone saw? An angel and a demon, bad enough, but two allegedly respectable gentlemen?

Or, wait, was one of them currently presenting as a woman? Likely not Aziraphale, though he sometimes lost track, but Crowley, well, that could also be hard to tell, but he seemed to have a good amount of jewelry and no facial hair, so there was a chance.

Still, male or female, angel or human, there would be rumor, gossip, talk about the town! It would get back to Heaven! This was worse than being thought weak and improper, Gabriel would think him some sort of reprobate!

Crowley paused, one hand on a door. “This is me. Um. I’ll go back down if it makes you feel better.”

What? And have all the rumor with none of the satisfaction? The shame of spending a night in a demon’s bed without the pleasures—oh, he knew what Crowley got up to. One of the Seven Sins that was, and Aziraphale would not be tempted into joining. No, not he!

“Right. Nh. Going to help you out of some of these layers, then I’ll go.”

Go? Go?After Aziraphale had come all this way, come so very close? No, he’d spent centuries imagining how it would be, and he’d never be truly satisfied until he had a reality to compare it to. Aziraphale very much wanted to know what Crowley looked like while he slept.

Yes, Crowley, Sloth is one of the Seven Sins, a demon should know these things.

And while Aziraphale had the general idea clear enough, he still had questions. Did Crowley snore, or did he breathe softly? He certainly would sleep on his side, curled up, but how heavy would his head be, pillowed on Aziraphale’s chest? If they talked, would his words become slurred as he drifted off, or would he listen quietly while Aziraphale spoke, running his fingers through bright red hair?

Come to that, how did his hair feel, or his cheek, or his lips? Aziraphale hadn’t thought much about lips, generally, but now that Crowley was always hiding his eyes, well, they had become the focus of his face, and that presented fascinating possibilities, ones that Gabriel certainly wouldn’t approve of, but he’d always been too curious for his own good. And really, what was a harmless little experiment between—

Oh, good Lord, was Aziraphale talking out loud?

He clapped his hand over his mouth, eyes wide with horror.

But Crowley chuckled, resting a hand on his shoulder; in only his undershirt, he could feel it so clearly—ice cold, but not unpleasantly so. “Your secrets are safe, Angel. Lay down.”

Too embarrassed to object, Aziraphale crawled into the bed and let Crowley pull a blanket over him. “Keep that on, yeah?”

“S’hot,” the angel whined. His voice sounded very odd, slurred, weak. Perhaps that meant Crowley hadn’t understood his rambling before.

“I know. Just try.” Something cool and damp wiped his face and Aziraphale sighed with relief. “Has this happened before?”

“Mmmh. Over an’over an’over.” In Heaven, they would assign him a recovery room, to sit alone and reflect on what he’d done to earn himself the illness, on what he could do to better serve in the future. Gabriel always had good suggestions.

The being alone. That was the worst part. Hated that.

Crowley was talking. Something would be right there, beside the bed. That was probably important, but the angel was already asleep.

In Aziraphale’s dream, Gabriel told him over and over that he’d failed again, that this was his own fault, that he was a terrible angel who didn’t deserve… something.

Possibly anything.Again and again, the Archangel took everything he valued—his books, his sweets, his day at the theater, the beauty of the sunrise, the way humans smiled at each other after many days apart, and something else, something far more important, but the name was forbidden—

Again, something cool pressed to his forehead, his chest. Fingers raked through his hair, helping the sweat to evaporate. “See?” A voice murmured. “Better already.” But everything was getting grey and distant again.

Now Aziraphale was in a room, an enormous room, empty but somehow still cluttered. All the things he loved were here, hidden, and Gabriel ordered him to find them all or they’d be destroyed. He searched frantically, among endless piles of brown packages, and found most of them—books and smiles and sunrises—mixed in with kettles, mittens and (for some reason) cat whiskers. But the last thing, the final thing, the important thing was still missing, and the room grew hotter and hotter—

“Try this now.” Something supported Aziraphale’s back as he sat up, leaning against… a thing… a thing that meant warmth and safety. A mug pressed to his lips. He wasn’t sure what he drank, but it felt good. “Now let’s get you settled again.”

He didn’t go down easily, though, reaching and writhing, somehow grasping the safe thing, pulling it close. If he let it get away, Gabriel would destroy it.

“I see. Alright. You stay there.” Fingers through his hair again, more resting lightly on his shoulder. “I got you. Nothing’s going to—”

Reality tumbled away and he was falling, possibly Falling, the voices of Gabriel and Michael and Uriel all around him, insulting him, taunting him, asking him why he hadn’t filed form HX-3 in triplicate. He clung desperately to the thing he needed as the temperature rose, more voices joining in, every voice. The Hellfire licked at him, even as he trembled and shook uncontrollably. This was the end, he would die here, he’d never said—

“Crowley!” He called, desperate. “Crowley don’t—don’t leave me!”

The thing he held shifted, and now there were arms wrapped around him, protecting him. “There we are. Not going to leave.”

It was too hot to bear, but still he burrowed closer. “Crowley, please. I can’t—I—I need you!”

“Not going anywhere, Angel. Not ever.”

“Crowley!” The Hellfire burst within him, a flash of heat up and down his body, his limbs, his soul—

And then he was… exhausted.

The shaking faded, the heat and cold gone, though he still found himself covered in sweat. Nothing remained but a strange sense of calm.

Still clinging to his lifeline, Aziraphale drifted off into a proper restful sleep.

He opened his eyes to find the late evening sun slanting through an open window. The blanket was largely twisted around his legs and the bed below him was oddly hard and lumpy, even if it was nice—

“You’re looking better.”

Aziraphale scrambled up in horror to find that the thing he’d been laying on—clinging to for dear life—was six feet of rumpled, uncomfortable-looking demon. A demon he vaguely recalled saying some very revealing things to…

“Oh, good Lord.” Aziraphale’s face burned again, but not from fever. He covered, his eyes turning away. “Crowley—you—you—how—”

“Gah! M’sorry!” He heard Crowley push himself upright, sliding away. “I—I—I shouldn’t have—didn’t mean—”

No of course not. It wasn’t as though Crowley shared his strange desires, his secret obsessions, his awful curiosity. Crowley was a—a perfectly normal demon who would have no interest in prolonged contact, particularly with a most clingy, damaged angel…

“What must you think of me?” he moaned.

“Stupid, stupid demon,” Crowley grumbled. “I saw you panicking but I didn’t know—shouldn’t have assumed—”

“What is wrong with me?”

“Crossed a line, and—and now look—”

“I’m a terrible, foolish, needy…”

“Didn’t want to take advantage—I’m sorry!”

“I’m sorry! Wait…” That wasn’t right. Aziraphale cautiously lowered his hands to see Crowley sitting frozen with the glasses halfway to his face. “You’re sorry?”

“Mnh. Yeah. Cuz… cuz I’m the one who…” his eyes dropped. “You seemed upset. Scared. I just… I made it worse, didn’t I? Shoulda known you wouldn’t want…”

“But…” Aziraphale swallowed, trying to recall anything clearly. “I… I seem to remember… propositioning you. Repeatedly.”

Crowley’s face turned red, but he smiled. Not his confident swaggering smirk, but something awkward and genuine that Aziraphale hadn’t seen since Eden. “Not… repeatedly. N’I’d hardly call it… besides it was… you know. But!” His fingers twisted on the metal frames of his glasses. “But, look—I don’t—you aren’t responsible for—for the things you say when you’re sick, ‘specially things you don’t mean—and I—s’my responsibility not to—” He ducked his head even further. “Just wanted to help. Shouldn’t have assumed… that you meant… what I wanted…”

“What…” Aziraphale reached out but couldn’t quite touch him. “What you want?”

“Um.” Golden eyes flicked up. “You’re… not the only one who wondered about… the sleeping stuff. Who doesn’t like to be… alone.” He cleared his throat. “Or, at least, I thought—”

“I believe I told you I needed you.” His hand hovered over Crowley’s shoulder. “I meant that. Precisely the way you took it. I—I meant most of it.”

Crowley’s eyes blinked, very slowly.

And the next moment, they were swept into each other’s arms, Aziraphale once again clinging to his friend like a lifeline. “I don’t think you’re stupid,” he managed.

“I don’t think there’s anything wrong with you.”

“Thank you,” Aziraphale pressed closer. “Thank you for staying.”

When they broke apart, Crowley was as bright red as Aziraphale had felt at the height of his fever, glasses back in place, staring fixedly at his own legs. “So. Mmmmh. Now what?”

Aziraphale considered that question more carefully than he’d ever considered anything.

“I think… I’m recovering…”

“S’good.” Crowley shifted as if to stand.

“…but still very tired. I should probably rest another night?”

“Yeah. Um. Yeah. Do you—I can go?”

“Do you have somewhere to be?” His heart started to fall, until Crowley shrugged.

“I do, but… not urgently.”

“If you have the time there’s… there’s something I’m curious about.”

“Well. Big fan of knowledge, me.”

Aziraphale carefully lay down again, keeping his arms wide. A moment later, Crowley took a deep breath, set aside his glasses and joined him.

It turned out that Crowley’s head on his chest was the perfect weight. That he did indeed curl up, though in the most convoluted ways. That in his sleep, Crowley’s breaths were gentle and soft, much like his hair, and he tried very much to keep talking on the edge of consciousness even when he didn’t have much to say.

As for the kissing, well—certain observations did not need to be made public.

(AO3 link later today...)

[licieoic]

“Pour One Out” - Digital Oil Painting

Inspired by Suptober, theme: Pour One Out. Bartender/Patron AU! This one was actually inspired by a number of themes from Suptober including “Family Business” and “Favorite,” as shown in the ficlet below the cut. (It’s PG, though Dean is having some more adult oriented thoughts, LOL.)

Please see the pinned post at the top of my Tumblr for my links if you'd like to help support me in saving for a safe place to live!

“Hey.”

Looking up, Dean saw his brother, Sam, sticking his head into the brewing room. It had to be nearly time for his shift, he already had his abundant hair pulled back.

“Your favorite’s here,” he said.

Dean straightened up so fast, he nearly dropped the pitcher of beer he’d been pouring so carefully. “Trench Coat?” At least, that was the name he used with Sam; he didn’t want his brother knowing what he called the quiet man in his head. He’d never quite had the courage to ask the man’s actual name and since Winchester Bros was cash only, he couldn’t sneak a look at a credit card either. He’d considered asking for his ID, as that was perfectly acceptable in a bar, but since he was clearly over legal drinking age it would just make Dean look like he was stupid or an ass.

“Usual spot,” Sam answered before popping back into the main area of the bar.

He got up close to the shiny brewing vat in front of him and tried to check his appearance, but the metal didn’t make for a good mirror and left him looking deformed. Damn… He hoped there was nothing to worry about, like food in his teeth or crustiness in the corners of his green eyes, and that his light brown hair was just the right amount of tousled, leaning more toward ‘I woke up like this’ and less like ‘I use a lot of product.’ Then he reached into the pocket of his apron for the breath mint he always kept there, on the chance that his favorite patron would stop by.

It was easy to remember the first time he’d ever seen him, he doubted he would ever forget. Five months after he and Sam had opened the bar, they’d had to strike a deal with the Devil (Dean’s private name for their wealthy investor, Crowley) in order to save it from going under. It had always been their dream to start up a family business and they’d each quit lucrative careers (Dean as a mechanic, Sam as a lawyer) to open Winchester Bros. It had taken every penny of their life savings to do it, they just couldn’t give up so soon.

Pride still smarting with the knowledge that they’d be under Crowley’s thumb for the foreseeable future, Dean hadn’t exactly been the friendliest bartender that night. After being short with a small bachelorette party, Sam told him to concentrate on the solo patrons at the bar who usually weren’t the chatty types and leave the groups to him. Dean hadn’t argued, they needed as much patronage as possible, he could ill afford to turn what could be repeat customers into people who never came back just because he was in a mood.

Down at the far end of the bar, he saw a man with dark, messy hair hunched over the bar. He wore a slightly dirty trench coat over a deep navy suit and had a five o’clock shadow darkening his jawline. All in all, a fairly standard-looking barfly, if he were judging a book by its cover. Dean leaned both hands on the bar and tried not to sound too brusque as he asked, “What can I get you?”

Then the man looked up… and Dean forgot everything. He was lost in the bluest eyes ever to blue, bluer than the tie hanging crooked from the man’s neck. Dean’s mouth might have gone slack, he wasn’t sure. They were like angel’s eyes, almost too pretty to be real.

“I don’t know,” said the man, immediately dubbed Angel Eyes. He seemed kind of down, but that wasn’t unusual for a lone bar patron. “Do you have a menu?”

“W-we do,” said Dean, pulling over the list printed on laminated cardstock once he remembered how to speak. The line at the top read ‘Winchester Brews,’ which he’d thought damn clever at the time, now he worried it was corny. “Ahem… Everything on offer is brewed in-house, plus I can make you just about anything you like.”

“Anything, huh?” He looked at the menu, but didn’t really seem to be reading it. “I don’t know,” he said again, “surprise me?”

Something was really bothering this man, Dean could tell, his bartender instincts were jangling like crazy. His bi-dar, however, was all over the place. He never had a problem flirting with the ladies who came in, but it was always hard to tell if he was clear to make a pass at a man. That kind of thing could get dangerous, depending on who it was and what kind of attitude they had.

“Surprise you,” Dean repeated, reaching below the bar for a tumbler which he filled with a few ice cubes. “Well, you look like a man of… discerning tastes.” He followed this with a wink to test the waters. To his delight, Angel Eyes smiled. And Dean’s heartbeat doubled. He turned around and took a surreptitious breath in an attempt to calm it down, but it didn’t work.

From the back shelf, he retrieved a bottle of whiskey with a simple handwritten label on the front that read ‘Winchester Special #5’ and turned back to face him. As he poured, Dean said, “This here is our monthly special.”

“What makes it special?”

“It changes every month,” said Dean. “Afterward, we add it to the list of brews. And if you can guess the flavor, the inspiration behind it… it’s on me.”

“Has anyone gotten it right yet?” It was the nineteenth, he’d assumed correctly that some people had already tried Dean’s challenge.

He shook his head. “Not quite.” Gesturing at the tumbler, he quirked a brow and asked, “Care to try?”

Angel Eyes picked up the glass and took a sip. He tilted his head, appearing thoughtful.

“So?” asked Dean when he didn’t get an immediate answer. “What’s it taste like to you?”

“Hmm. Molecules.”

Dean laughed outright and Angel Eyes grinned. “Well, you’re not wrong!” he exclaimed. “Molecules, heh, can’t say I’ve ever heard that one before, but is that your final answer?”

Swirling the ice in the glass, Angel Eyes took a longer pull, maintaining eye contact with Dean as he rolled the whiskey slowly over his tongue. Dean’s mouth went dry as he watched his Adam’s apple bob up and down when he swallowed. Unconsciously, he licked his lips and those bluer than blue eyes followed the movement.

Angel Eyes clicked his tongue. “Blueberry…” he said, slowly. “But there’s something else… It’s sweet and… creamy?”

“No hints,” said Dean, but mentally he was cheering the man on, wanting him to make the right guess, and he was so, so close.

He took one last sip from the glass, finishing it off. “It’s good. I like it. It reminds me of a blueberry sour cream pie. Final answer.”

Dean grinned broadly. “We have a winner!”

He returned the smile with one of his own and it seemed like both of them had forgotten their problems prior to their meeting each other. “Really?”

Nodding, Dean poured him another. “On me. Since you’re the first correct guess.”

He picked up the tumbler and saluted Dean with it. “Cheers.”

Dean nodded, a little disappointed that he didn’t have an excuse to keep their conversation going, and turned to go back to work.

“Oh, and—”

Heart in his throat, he looked back. Angel Eyes hesitated.

“Thank you,” he said, finally. “This… really helped.”

“Yeah?”

He made a vague gesture. “I don’t want to get into it, I know bartenders aren’t therapists,” he said. “Just some family issues.”

Dean’s heart sank. He had a family. Of course he did. “Well, you’re not the first guy to come here to escape his wife for a while,” he said, trying to sound nonchalant.

“Oh, I’m not married,” Angel Eyes said.

“Girlfriend?” came out of Dean’s mouth before he could stop himself.

He shook his head. “One of my brothers is constantly going through a rebellious phase. Our father isn’t happy about it.”

“Ohhhh, well, I can definitely understand annoying brothers,” said Dean, aiming his thumb at Sam who was down at the opposite end of the bar, and forcing himself to swallow down any follow-up questions. He’d already said he didn’t want to talk about it, Dean wanted to respect that. “You should bring your family around,” he said, smiling. “It’s easier to open up after a few, you know?”

Angel Eyes chuckled. “I’m not sure if that would be a good thing or a bad thing. Besides…” He thumbed the rim of his glass before glancing back up, hitting him with that blue gaze all over again. “I don’t know if I want them coming around here. Maybe I want to keep you all to myself.”

Any thoughts of pushing for more patrons to offset his and Sam’s massive debt had flown away. Dean could only nod like an idiot, he knew what the man meant, of course, but the unspoken implications in the statement were pinging around in his head like a super ball. He might have squeaked out an ‘okay’ or a ‘yeah’ as he headed back to work, he didn’t remember. He did remember almost tripping over his own feet and not looking back, knowing his face would be bright red. He pretended to not remember hearing another chuckle.

Since then, Angel Eyes came in at least once a week, always sat at the end of the bar, and always ordered the monthly special, even though he paid for each subsequent drink following his correct guess. He was never wrong about the flavor either, which amazed Dean, he even got the lemon meringue right. He’d been so sure that no one would get it – he’d heard lemon-vanilla, toasted marshmallow, all kinds of other things because who guesses ‘meringue’ for a whiskey anyway? Apparently, a man with gorgeous blue eyes in a slightly dirty trench coat. Three months in, he was the only person who’d figured out that Dean based all the specials on his favorite pies and it only made his guesses come that much quicker.

As he headed out to the front, he dropped off the pitcher of beer and grabbed #15 from the shelf. He almost couldn’t believe it had been ten months since his favorite patron had first come in. Tonight was the night, he resolved, he would ask for Angel Eyes’ actual name. Maybe in another ten months, he’d work up the courage to ask for his number. Dean internally rolled his eyes at himself. He was truly pathetic.

Angel Eyes perked up at the end of the bar the moment Dean emerged from the back, yellow light from a nearby neon sign on the wall reflecting off his dark hair, almost like a halo. They smiled at each other and Dean’s heart was immediately doing flips, seeing how obviously happy he was to see him. Could be the Crush Goggles, but still…

“Fancy seeing you here,” said Dean, filling the glass with ice and setting it down on the bar. “I was wondering when you’d be in to try the latest special.”

“I’m just hoping it isn’t Pumpkin Spice,” said Angel Eyes. Being that it was October, it was a fair comment. You couldn’t go ten feet without encountering something bearing that smell and/or flavor.

“I do like pumpkin pie,” said Dean, pouring the whiskey. “But I think it’s more of a November flavor.”

Dark brows lifted. “A hint? This is new. What did I do to deserve that?”

Dean laughed. “Maybe I’m in a good mood, that’s all.”

“Me too. It’s a good night.”

“Hopefully, about to be better,” said Dean, nodding at the glass.

“I don’t need to drink to have a good time,” he said, but picked up the tumbler all the same to have a sip.

“Your continued presence at my bar says otherwise,” said Dean.

Angel Eyes swallowed. “There are other reasons a person might come to a bar.”

“Such as?”

“Good ambience.” He took a longer sip and let his eyes wander over Dean before traveling back up as he swallowed. “I like the company.”

Dean hoped he wasn’t blushing but he couldn’t hold back a goofy smile. “You do get to meet all kinds of people in a place like this,” he said.

“Yes, though I was referring to one specific person.”

“Yeah?”

He finished the whiskey and set down the glass, meeting Dean’s eyes head-on. “Yes.”

Mouth dry, Dean cleared his throat. “So, uh…” He gestured at the tumbler. “Any guesses?”

“Maybe.” He trailed one finger around the rim of the glass. “If I pay for the drink, can I have something else as my prize? If I get it right, of course.”

“Uh.” He swallowed hard. “S-s-sure.” He could hardly manage the one word; he couldn’t even summon the brain power to ask what it was he wanted.

Smacking his tongue against the roof of his mouth, Angel Eyes considered his answer. “This is a good one,” he said. “Definitely not pumpkin, but it has sweetness… and a note of tart as well.”

“Are you a sommelier?” Dean asked suddenly. “That would sure as hell explain a lot.”

He laughed, the bright sound so incongruous with his gravelly voice, it had quickly become one of Dean’s favorite things about him. So much so, that he would go out of his way to come up with a corny joke or allow himself to be a little clumsy, just for the chance to hear that laugh.

“No,” he said, still smiling. “Disappointed?”

“No. I just can’t figure out how you’re never wrong.”

“I haven’t made my guess yet,” he pointed out.

“And?”

Deliberately, he reached into his glass and retrieved a small ice cube. Before Dean knew what was happening, Angel Eyes was popping it into his mouth and sucking on it while he thought about what answer to give.

Guh. He has to be doing this on purpose! Dean thought. How does he make everything he does so sexy?

Still keeping eye contact with Dean, he bit down hard. Crunch! If he kept this up, Dean would need to run to the bathroom and readjust his jeans. To try and diffuse some of the tension in the air, Dean attempted to make a joke like he usually would.

“You, uh, you know what they say about people who chew their ice, don’t you?” he asked, almost tripping on his own tongue.

“No,” he said, to Dean’s surprise. “What do they say?”

Well, this backfired spectacularly, thought Dean. “They, uh… that they’re, well, you know…” Those clear blue eyes wouldn’t give him an inch, Angel Eyes sat patiently waiting to hear the punchline of Dean’s naughty joke like they were talking about the weather. He had no choice but to quietly stutter, “That they’re… s-s-sexually frustrated.”

“Oh.”

Really? That’s all you have to say, ‘oh’? thought Dean, incredulously. While he watched, Angel Eyes fished out another ice cube and crunched down on it viciously, all while holding Dean’s gaze, as if to punctuate his statement. Heat creeping up into his cheeks, Dean took a steadying breath. Curse blushing, he thought. Curse the noun, curse the verb, curse the act!

“H-have I finally stumped you?” Dean asked when his tongue decided to work again.

“Caramel apple rhubarb,” he said, definitively. “Final answer.”

“Damn!” exclaimed Dean, pounding one fist on the bar. “You did it again!”

All he did was smile in response, the handsome bastard. As he reached into his coat pocket, he casually remarked, “You know, your freckles disappear when you blush.”

He blinked. “They do?”

“Then I get to notice them all over again when they come back.” Retrieving his wallet, he pulled out a ten-dollar bill and placed it on the bar between them. “It’s what I’ve been calling you in my head all this time. Freckles.”

“Well, that’s kind of rude, how would you like it if my brother and I were calling you Trench Coat behind your back?”

“I wouldn’t mind.”

“Okay, good, because that’s totally what we’ve been doing.”

They snickered together.

“Out of curiosity,” said Dean, “what were you calling Sammy?”

“Manbun.”

Dean snorted. “I’m absolutely going to call him that.”

“So, his name is Sam? You don’t wear nametags, so I’ve only ever known your last name.”

“Nametags are lame.”

“They are. What’s your name, then?”

“Is this what you wanted instead of a free drink?”

“No, this is something I should have asked ten months ago.”

Fair point. Dean held out his hand. “Dean,” he said.

His fingers were cold from the ice but his palm was warm and smooth. “Castiel.”

“Wow.” It wasn’t a name he’d ever heard before; surprise mixed with his pleasure over finally learning the name of his long-held crush. “Wasn’t expecting that.”

“What were you expecting?”

“Not sure. Probably something anti-climactic, like Steve.” He picked up the ten with his other hand. “I’ll get you some change.”

Castiel tightened his grip when Dean would have let go. “Keep it,” he said. “Consider it a tip.”

“Okay,” Dean said, slowly, tucking the bill into his apron pocket.

“Have you eaten dinner yet?” asked Castiel.

“No.”

He grinned and it put all of the smiles Dean had received before to shame. It held a hint of mischievousness as he said, “That’s what I want.”

“You-you want—what? D-dinner? W-with me?” Dean couldn’t quite believe his ears. He’d barely been able to hope for a first-name basis tonight, he couldn’t possibly be so lucky as to score a date. But then, considering they’d been dancing around each other for ten months, maybe Castiel thought if he didn’t make the first move, it would never happen.

Bringing up his other hand, Castiel sandwiched Dean’s between the two as he said, very deliberately, “I don’t believe I’ve guessed wrong.”

Dean could be pretty dense sometimes, but he knew unequivocally that Castiel wasn’t talking about the whiskey. “I’m off in half an hour,” he said, smiling like an idiot.

“I’ll be waiting… Freckles.”

Okay… so maybe blushing wasn’t such a bad thing.

[infinitevariety]

Garden

The afternoon sun warms Aziraphale’s exposed forearms as he sits cross-legged on the grass. He feels light and carefree, as he has every day since they moved to the South Downs. Crowley is laying beside him, stretched out in the sun and snoozing behind his sunglasses.

Running his hands through the grass, Aziraphale notices all the daisies blooming small and bright amongst the green. Without conscious thought, Aziraphale begins picking the tiny flowers and making a chain of them.

A short time later, Crowley stirs. He grumbles lightly and stretches his limbs even further.

“Are you picking my daisies?” asks Crowley as he sits up beside Aziraphale.

“I’m sorry, did you grow them specially?”

“Yes. I planted each one by hand.”

“Well, you’ll have to plant some more then, won’t you? That’ll keep you occupied.”

“Why do you want me occupied?”

“Gardening keeps you out of trouble, my dear.”

“I don’t get in trouble, angel.”

Aziraphale rolls his eyes. “Fine, it keeps you from causing trouble.”

Crowley grins, and Aziraphale can’t help his own smile as he finishes his work. He stands, feeling some much need relief in his legs after sitting with them crossed for so long.

“What have you done with my daisies, then?” asks Crowley, looking up at Aziraphale’s hands from his seat on the grass.

“I’ve made you a daisy chain crown, my dear.”

With gentle hands and only a slight flourish, Aziraphale places the ring of flowers on top of Crowley’s head. He also bats Crowley’s hands away when he splutters and tries to knock the thing off.

“Leave it alone, it looks beautiful.”

“I look ridiculous!”

“You can’t even see it, Crowley, so you’ll have to take my word for it. The light flowers look bright and wonderful against your red hair. Give me your phone, I want to take a picture.”

“Absolutely not.” Crowley crosses his arms, not passing Aziraphale his phone, but not removing the flower crown, either.

Aziraphale harrumphs, but concedes the compromise.

“I’ll let you look pretty and sulk in peace. I’m going to go read my book in the shade.”

Picking up the book he’d left in the grass, Aziraphale strolls to the old oak tree at the end of the garden. He drops down happily into the wooden bench beneath it. As he opens his book and begins to read, he notes the dappled shade from the tree’s leaves across the pages and smiles.

A couple of chapters later Aziraphale registers Crowley getting up from his spot on the grass and moving over to the Japanese maple trees. They are a favourite of Crowley’s, and he often spends time whispering threats to them while secretly admiring their gorgeous red leaves.

A few more chapters later and Aziraphale is now so engrossed in his book he jumps when Crowley drops onto the bench beside him.

“Made you your own crown,” says Crowley without preamble.

“Oh!” Aziraphale closes his book, eager to receive his own daisy chain.

What Crowley presents him with is not daisies.

From the look Aziraphale gets of the crown before it is placed lightly on his head, it is made of small, thin branches and red leaves.

Aziraphale looks questioningly at Crowley.

“The red leaves look bold and bright against your white hair. It’s beautiful, angel. You’ll have to take my word for it.”

With a sigh, Aziraphale rolls his eyes.

“In fact, let me get my phone out, I need a photo.”

Crowley slides his arm around Aziraphale’s shoulders and leans in. He points his phone, screen turned towards the pair of them, and Aziraphale can see them both in the image. Crowley is still wearing his daisy chain crown, and Aziraphale can’t deny the red of his own does look bold against his pale hair.

In the photo Crowley takes Aziraphale is not looking at the camera. His face is turned slightly, eyes soft, as he gazes at Crowley.

————————————————–

Written for the Summer Omens challenge that @thetunewillcome was hosting back in August. IDK, I was feeling soft.

————————————————–

(Series on AO3) (Sand) (Ice Cream) (Burn) (Camp) (Grass) (Pride) (Bloom) (Sunset) (Freckles) (Sweat) (Festival) (Snooze) (Lavender) (Lightning) (Relax)

[prettybirdy979]

Angstember Fic: Aziraphale/Crowley - Stop holding me back

Doing the Angstember prompts from this post. Please feel free to send me any prompts. More of my fics here. This ficlet means I’ve posted a ficlet every single day for the last 365 days. Seems the perfect time to announce I’m not doing ficlets daily anymore. I will still do them regularly because I enjoy them. I just won’t be fussed if I do end up missing a day or two. 

‘Stop holding me back!’

At the roar echoing through Heaven, the angel considers the concept of ‘sound’ The Lord has introduced. Seems like it might be fun, though it’s a lot slower moving than they’re used to, having only worked with light and all. Still, it’s fun to have another thing and maybe it’ll catch on.

Ah, time will tell.

Another angel - trying out the ‘human’ look that’s so popular now, this one with bright blue eyes and golden hair - walks up to the angel and gives the sky a curious look. ‘What was that?’

‘The Light-bringer,’ the angel replies, eyeing the blonde angel. They shift their form, letting themselves settle into a similar body with bright red hair and golden eyes, a touch darker than the other angel’s hair. ‘He’s presenting his case to The Lord. Arguing for a change in routine right now I think.’

‘Is… is that a good thing?’ the blonde angel asks. ‘Michael says routine is the best thing She’s ever made.’

The angel laughs. ‘You ask a lot of questions…?’

‘Aziraphale. You?’

The angel says a Name. It does not make a sound. 

Their Name has not made a sound for a long while now. It sits in their mind and they speak it, but it does not seem to pass beyond that. None of the Light-bringer’s followers have proper Names now.

Aziraphale shivers. ‘You’re with them,’ they say.

The angel quirks one of their lips. ‘Yeah. Didn’t mean to be, but well. Asked too many questions, made too many agreeing noises at the wrong point and now I’m waiting with the rest of them, to see how this great presentation turns out.’ They give Aziraphale a side eye. ‘You might want to stop with the questions, friendly warning. Your lot don’t seem fond of questions.’

A nod of thanks from the other angel, before another burst of yelling has them both turning to look towards the argument. This one is louder, more final sounding.

Aziraphale runs their fingers along the blade at their side. ‘I don’t think it’s going to go… ah… well.’

A new concept, things not going well. But one all of Heaven is starting to understand. Things have been going not well for a while now, longer than angels have been Nameless.

‘No, I don’t either.’ The angel runs their hand along their side where there is very noticeably no blade. No weapon. 

The angel sighs and turns to leave.

‘Where are you going?’ Aziraphale asks, a tremble in their voice. ‘We… we should-’

‘I’m sauntering out of here,’ the angel says. ‘I feel like this is going south and I may as well get a head start. Wanna come?’

Aziraphale, sensibly, shakes their head. 

‘Ah well. Stick ‘em with the pointy end,’ the angel says wisely, like they have any clue how to wield a sword and start sauntering away.

They’re not quite far enough away to escape the screaming when it starts, but that’s okay. Soon it is drowned out by their own as they Fall, slowly, downwards.

[aziraphales-library]

Hi! I very much love this blog, it is an absolute delight. I couldn't find it in the masterpost - but this might just be me misreading it! - but do you have a tag for flower shop AUs? Wishing you all the best!

Hello! We have #florist crowley and #florist au tags, and you might also be interested in our #crowley's plants tag. Here are some more florist fics...

Honeysuckle and White Jasmine by Dannye Chase (E)

While on a bad blind date at a coffee shop, bookshop owner Aziraphale meets a gorgeous red-haired barista. Also Aziraphale knows flower language and he's not afraid to use it.

So now Aziraphale was going on a date with someone Tracy knew. Since Tracy had arranged it, Aziraphale let her pick the place as well: Double Double, a new coffee shop. Tracy had promised that the shop was lovely and had a selection of rich desserts, which was honestly the part that had convinced Aziraphale.

Aziraphale’s one bit of defiance was the flowers. He had a book or two in his shop on flower language, and he’d decided that the bouquet was going to be the sweetener for the day (besides the dessert), the spoonful of sugar that helped the medicine go down.

Yellow carnations: Disdain, disappointment, rejection. Red snapdragon: Deception. Purple columbine: foolishness. White candytuft: indifference. And finally butterfly weed, a bright little orange cluster flower, which meant Let me go!

Armed with his passive-aggressive (but quite lovely smelling) bouquet, Aziraphale took a cab to Double Double.

Flowers Are Better Than People (Angel Don't You Think That's True?) by MJ_Spooks (T)

He liked plants more than people, hence his decision to become a florist, and if he liked something, he was utterly incapable of not obsessing over it. When he committed to the study of something, he committed wholeheartedly.

So, naturally, he was well-versed in The Language of Flowers.

And, looking over his notes, it almost made sense. Almost. There was, in fact, a pattern, between what Mr. Ezra Fell liked, and did not like.

The thing was, if the pattern was in fact there, and wasn’t just some insane coincidence, then Mr. Ezra Fell was more than a little bit of a bastard.

Tea For Two by ICanSingNoRequiem (T)

Aziraphale is living his life in London's Soho District when he's summoned to the sleepy town of Eden to settle the affairs of his recently deceased childhood friends.

Second Chance at a First Try by Fallinfromgrace (E)

Aziraphale is happy in the life he’s living. He has his books and his shop, and his cocoa, what more could he want? Until one day a small boy hides in his shop, his eye bruised and his hope shattered. His eyes are hauntingly familiar but Aziraphale knows he’s never met this small boy before.

It doesn’t take long to unravel the mystery of why the boy is there. And when his father shows up, looking for him, bruised and bloody Aziraphale realizes what he recognized in the small boys eyes. Now his life will never be the same, and perhaps that’s good?

A Study Of Rose Petals and Ink Stains by teardrops_on_ghostly_wings (M)

After a painful breakup Crowley goes to the tattoo shop down the road from his flower shop to get a bad breakup tattoo but instead meets tattoo artist Az who talks him down from his terrible idea and helps him start to heal.

where dwells the breath of all persisting stars by grayscaleTestimony & ranichi17 & temporalSilence (T)

They still meet, whatever the universe.

Or, a florist, a bookseller, and a chance meeting in the rain.

- Mod D

[glowcrizzle]

Today is the 1 year AO3 anniversary of Slow Show by @mia-ugly. I am beyond grateful that this experience (and it is an experience) has existed in my life for a year and felt it needed commemorating. 🎂  

I’m not a creator but I made this playlist for me, so I could take the fic with me, have it with my eyes closed, while driving -- you get it. Today seems like an appropriate day to share it. 

It’s a. It’s a lot. Excessive you might even say. Tumblr will only give you the first 100 songs in this, so, Spotify will fulfill you (or overwhelm you). If you hit my username on the playlist, there are separate playlists for each chapter. 

This is also on Apple Music, if that’s your jam, just hit me up and I’ll send you the link. 

🎉 Happy Slow Show Day!! 🎉 

13 pages of track-lists and excerpts below the cut. Godspeed! 💙

Key:

Songs from Mia’s soundtrack

Songs from the Fic

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--Title--

Slow Show – The National 

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--Prequel--

Loverman – Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds 

Devils – Say Hi 

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--Chapter 1--

Here I Go Again – Whitesnake 

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bad guy – Billie Eilish 

-trash a set and shag your husband

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Something About You (ODESZA Remix) – Hayden James 

-what it would take for Avery Fell to let his guard down

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A Little Wicked – Valerie Broussard 

-The handkerchief in his hand is now stained purple

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You Light Me Up In the Dark – The Hounds Below

-His hair catches the light like a halo, making him look more of an angel than ever.

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Lazarus – David Bowie 

-This could be a problem

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--Chapter 2--

Unsteady – X Ambassadors

-much easier than talking about the way his heartbeat is still racing

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Heart of a Dog – The Kills

-Call me darling again.

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The Twilight Hour - Still Corners

-Looked across the set and thought, Ah fuck me. I’m in love with him.

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God’s Mistake – Tears for Fears 

-Avery: He’s closed his eyes again, mouth going flat and still.

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Lounge Act – Nirvana

-Tell her all the terrible things I want to do to her husband

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Transatlanticism – Death Cab for Cutie

-There’s a strange urgency tonight, though, and Crowley can guess why.

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Do I Wanna Know? – Arctic Monkeys

-What could it hurt?

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Clueless – The Marias 

-“Better - yeah. ‘S late.”

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Motel – Meg Myers

-The hotel room is another disaster

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--Chapter 3--

Alone in a Room – Asking Alexandria 

-“I’m having a moment here!”

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Since You’ve Been Around – Rosie Thomas 

-makes Crowley feel like he can breathe again

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Home Again – The Disco Biscuits 

-It’s starting to feel like home again

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Every Other Freckle – alt-J

-Perfect. Ridiculous and impossible and perfect.

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Something For the Longing – The Orchids 

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As Far As I Can See – Phantogram 

-it’s been a really, really long time

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Sinister Kid – The Black Keys 

-“Mothering buggering shit-”

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All These Things That I’ve Done – The Killers

-Crowley fists one of his hands against his forehead, shuts his eyes tightly.

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--Chapter 4--

I Like Me Better – Lauv

-I liked the outline of your face under the stagelights

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I Do This for You (ft. Marlene) – Giorgio Moroder

-“Let me see what I can do. About your precious Hamlet.”

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The Longing – Imelda May 

-Avery POV: “Look at him like - like - you can’t let him see the way you look at him.”

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Just a Man – Los Lobos

-Avery POV: like he’s being led into battle and not onto a set to do the job he loves

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World In My Eyes – Depeche Mode 

-wants to make that bastard purr

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Tired (ft. Gavin James) – Alan Walker

-Let me be a magpie for you

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Blow My Mind – The Benjamin Gate 

-Avery: “I know you now.”

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Breathe You in My Dreams – Trixie Whitley

-Crowley’s seen that expression on Avery’s face in his dreams

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Love Me Like That (ft. Carly Rae Jepsen) – The Knocks

-What have I done to - oh. Oh. Right.

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Like Real People Do - Hozier

-“Sure, angel, what- whatever.”

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Clearly – Grace VanderWaal 

-Crowley waits for the rest of the night.

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Gwendel – PeelsDeen 

-Az sits in the back seat, away from Crowley. Alone.

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Now I’m In It – HAIM

-Avery POV: It’s a look like an open grave, a look like desire tempered with grief…

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Flesh for Fantasy – Billy Idol

-Crowley isn’t lonely for the rest of the night

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--Chapter 5 (Avery POV)--

Smalltown Boy – Rosborough 

-1978, Hartlepool

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Bright Horses – Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds

-1986, Newcastle Upon Tyne

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The Runner – Foals

-1991, Bristol

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Shock To Your System – Tegan and Sara

-Tracy: “Why d’you let them?”

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Cracking Codes – Andrew Bird

-“Forever, of course. I’ll never -”

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Colour me In – Damien Rice

-Their fingers - just touch. Slightly.

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I’m Not in Love – 10cc

-Less to regret by not ever speaking of it.

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--Chapter 6--

Electric Current – Lower Dens 

-“I’ll let you know when you find it.”

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Guess I Miss(ed) You – The Daylights

-Keep talking, keep him here a little while longer.

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Reflecting Light – Sam Phillips 

-“don’t meet his eyes like that, it looks like it’s a lead-in to a kiss”

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King of Pain – The Police

-a good reminder of the kind of life he’s got to live

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I Wanna Get Better – The Bleachers

-and Avery’s gaze is so gentle it hurts a bit

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Feather – X Ambassadors 

-Avery: “Someone has to”

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Darker Side - Jonny Lang

-Avery: “Oh - good Lord.”

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Firestone (Acoustic) – Conrad Sewell 

-“Will you show me?”

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Velvet Gloves and Spit - Timber Timbre 

-“Anthony - ”

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Wrong – Depeche Mode

-Avery: “I have to go.”

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F**k it I love you – Lana Del Rey 

-“Not your fault, angel”

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--Chapter 7--

Somebody to Love – Queen 

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Heavenly – Cigarettes After Sex 

-“I fucking still.”

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Will Do - TV on the Radio

-“You too. I’ll see you there.”

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Monster – Colours

-No wonder Avery ran off like a thief after a heist

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Swallow My Pride – Ramones 

-“I feel fucking ill about it.”

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I Was Wrong - The Oh Hellos

-Avery: “I’m the one who has to apologize, not you.”

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The Lost Art of Keeping a Secret – Queens of the Stone Age

-Avery: “Please don’t tell anyone”

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Wait for Me – Kings of Leon

-Avery: “Right now, I’m just - a bit in pieces.”

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Don’t Stay – X Ambassadors 

-“You can - stay or leave or - whatever you like.”

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The Moth - Aimee Mann

-Avery’s eyes meet his, and then it’s like a car accident

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Red Door – Julien Baker 

-“I can - I can wait longer.”

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Can’t Pretend - Tom Odell

-“I wasn’t apologizing for that. This morning. I won’t.”

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Come Down to Me – Saving Jane

-Avery: “You were wonderful”

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Secret Smile – Semisonic

-And if sometimes he catches Az watching him between takes

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I Want More - KALEO

-Az laces both of their hands together, stares at them.

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I’m Gonna Do My Thing – Royal Deluxe 

-“So don’t tell me what will hurt me. I know what hurts.”

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--Chapter 8--

Perfect Day – Lou Reed 

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Remember to Breathe – Sturgil Simpson

-“You can’t sit in the car all night you absolute nightmare”

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Wild Love (Acoustic) – James Bay

-The two of them stare at each other and then both look away awkwardly.

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Seasons – Future Islands

-finally, fucking finally, he’s exactly where he wants to be

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Closer – Tegan and Sara

-Avery: “if you like”

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I Want All of You – The Verve Pipe 

-“If you think I can survive this without looking at you -”

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Use Me – Miguel

-whatever he sees in Crowley’s face makes him come to some sort of decision

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So Much Love – Depeche Mode

-Love, he said love

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Don’t Be Scared, I Love You – Bill Ryder-Jones

-I know you, Crowley wants to say, but doesn’t.

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Become My Dream – Silya & The Sailors 

-“Even if - anything, angel.”

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I Belong In Your Arms – Chairlift

-For nearly two weeks it goes like this.

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Faster - Matt Nathanson

-“You’re going to fucking kill me, angel -”

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Come Together (feat. Sivu) – LAUREL

-In case you think they don’t wake up together

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The High – Kelela

-Az has pulled a stool over to the edge of the tub

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Just in Time – Valerie June

-Then Az’s hand is on his shoulder, turning him around.

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I Can’t Take It – Tegan and Sara

-Avery: “Don’t rush, just - like this.”

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Like This – Jake Scott

-Avery murmurs and it takes Crowley back to their first kiss

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Terrible Love – The National

-Flinches away from him.

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Help You Out - Emarosa

-And he nods.

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--Chapter 9--

I Remember You – Ramones

-The first person Crowley loved was a liar.

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Brighter Skies - Race Banyon

-As if they were cut with a jigsaw, as if they were meant to fit.

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Not Tonight – Tegan and Sara

-When they reach the edge of the city, his hand slides out of Crowley’s.

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As Sure as I Am – Crowded House

-So Crowley kisses him.

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A Promise – Miriam Makeba

-And for awhile, he believed her.

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Mistaken for Strangers – The National

-They’re only two small words, but they still make Crowley’s teeth ache.

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Hey, That’s No Way To Say Goodbye – Leonard Cohen

-“Good-“ Swallow, speak, leave.

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The Fear – Pulp

-Crowley should have been smarter this time. He really should have been.

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Take Me – Leela James 

-“I’d like you to close your blinds.”

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Whenever You Want It – Clare Maguire 

-“What do we do now?”

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At My Weakest – James Arthur 

-“It will be.”

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Komm zurück - Fotos

-For years and years and years, nothing did.

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Come on Get Higher – Matt Nathanson

-their feet sliding in the tub

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Lay Down – Sarah Proctor

-I want to wake up with you.

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Sort Of - Ingrid Michaelson

-Why is my heart breaking?

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Fairytale of New York – The Pogues 

-Just pump that shit straight into his veins.

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What Are You Doing New Year’s Eve? – Ella Fitzgerald

-Avery: “What do you think?”

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We’re Gonna Have A Real Good Time Together – The Velvet Underground

-“You want to grab dinner somewhere?” 

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Hiding – IAN SWEET

-Crowley stops walking. Looks at Az in the darkness.

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Romance Dawn – Radkey

-A slice of light cuts through the darkness.

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Crown of Love – Arcade Fire

-Crowley feels like the world has never been darker, and his heart will never stop beating

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Devil’s Backbone – The Civil Wars

-He thought he was ready for this conversation, but at the sight of Az’s face, his throat has gotten too tight to speak.

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Sinners – Lauren Aquilina 

-“If this all goes down in flames, if it all falls apart - we can go off together.”

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Please Forgive Me (Song of the Crow) – William Fitzsimmons 

-Avery: “It’s over. I’m - I’m so sorry.”

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Start a War – The National

-He twitches and trips and yet somehow manages to walk away without falling over.

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Broken – Daley

-And this soft heartache was somehow the sharpest of them all.

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--Chapter 10 (Avery POV)--

Daily Battles - Thom Yorke & Flea

-He tries to remember these things - but the background is still a chorus of beeping machines. There’s nowhere he can be but here. 

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Everybody Wants You - Red Hearse

-Go out and surround himself with people much more interesting and available than Avery. Better people, certainly.

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A Thin Line – Blackchords

-But still - roads not taken, and other fun middle-aged spirals.

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My Own Soul’s Warning - The Killers

-When was the last time someone asked Avery that? When was the last time he asked himself?

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Who Am I - NEEDTOBREATHE

-I miss you.  There. It didn’t hurt as much as he thought it would. 

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Wait for Me - Jack Curley 

-What he wants to say is ‘don’t find someone else. Not yet. You and your black leather and your cut-glass profile: you’re gorgeous and God knows other people want you.’ 

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Coming & Going – Amaal 

-“Two ships passing in the night,” he says quietly.  Then he takes a swallow of wine, lets it roll down his throat. “If you were here -” 

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Iron - Woodkid

-Crowley leaves him there, pressed against the wet brick wall.  Crowley leaves him there.  Crowley steps between Avery and a camera, and then leaves him.

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The Greatest Bastard - Damien Rice

-He can’t be the person that kicks Crowley into the ashes again. He can’t hurt him like this, and Avery’s going to hurt him - he already has. 

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No Right to Love You – Rhys Lewis

-He deserves someone like - like Daniel. Deserves to be loved in the daylight.

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If It’s Hurting You - Robbie Williams

-Time is a tricky business when you’re dying slowly; it skips like a flat stone on a quiet lake.

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Happy For You – Gayle 

-But surely - surely he’s allowed just this much. Just one message, just so Crowley knows that - that he’s happy for him. That Avery is so happy.

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I See You (ICU) - Phoebe Bridgers

-When Avery sees Crowley on the red carpet, it feels like the sudden remembrance of a lovely dream.

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Once In My Life - The Decemberists

-Crowley: “I know there’ve been some - hard times. That’s - that is what it is. But for me - it’s been a privilege. A dream. So.” He nods and nods and nods again. “Thank you.”

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Coming Down - Dum Dum Girls

-Tracy: “But I wasn’t. I was hurting you. This whole time, Az.”  She shakes her head, wiping frantically at tears that won’t stop falling. “He loves you.”

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I Don’t Know Anything – Little Voice Cast

-He’s afraid of finding out that all this time - he was doing the wrong thing anyway. He’s afraid that Anthony Crowley will never talk to him again.

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Sweet Sour - Band of Skulls

-"And you're fired"

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Heart Attack - Devarrow

-The sun is still rising when Avery gets out of the car, closes the door behind him. Though some of the roads have changed, his feet still know the way down to the docks of his youth. He was never a sailor, but the shoreline is familiar as a childhood sweetheart, as a long lost love. 

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Landslide - Robyn Sherwell

-He’s alone, and he’s nearly fifty years old. He could get on a ship, he could throw himself into the sea. There’s no one holding him back anymore. 

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All I Can - Sharon van Etten

-And he knows. He knows.

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--Chapter 11-- 

Salvation - The Strumbellas

- there’s a moment where he swears he sees a young idiot in black standing in the crowd. Red hair gelled up into spikes, black t-shirt full of holes and safety pins. A young man who has no idea how much he’s about to lose.

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Soldier - Fleurie

-And he’s still fucking here.

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Easier – Mansionair

-Then he gets the fuck above ground and he calls Beez (oh great, they’re his emotional-support-asshole now. That’s healthy).

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Deep End – Holly Humberstone  

-“I brought you cheese,” Beez says, and Crowley starts crying.

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Falling Short – Lapsley

-For the next few days, he lets his stupid body do what it needs to do to keep himself upright.

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Chariot (Stripped Version) - Gavin DeGraw

-Shit, this was a bad bad idea. 

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Quiet Light - The National

-There’s a text from Az later that night, and his name on Crowley’s phone makes him feel like jumping off a cliff.

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All That We Had is Lost - Postiljonen

-He’s not allowed to be in love with that man anymore. Wasn’t ever, really.

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Heal - Tom Odell

-It makes a rather hysterical laugh well out of his throat. Anthony fucking Crowley. You are still alive. 

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Let Me Go - HAIM 

-Crowley tries to ignore the soft, injured expression on the other man’s face as he turns away.

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A Beginning Song - The Decemberists

-“What’s more frightening than having a choice?”

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The Spark - William Prince

-And he likes to think he would have just burned the world to ashes with the power of his love, would have said fuck everyone, I choose you – but who knows. 

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Sharp Scratch - The Slow Show

-So stupid, I know, and I’m - sorry, I still love you and I’m tryin’ to stop and I will I just - needed to tell you that. I’ll be fine. You’ll be fine. Just miss you.

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Beautiful & Brutal – Plested

-Crowley moves without thinking. Falls like a stagelight, glass everywhere. He walks forward and is kissing Az before the door has even been pulled shut.

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Bad Chemistry - Fake Shark

-“I’ve been - thinking about this -” Az says between darts of his tongue against Crowley’s overheated skin.

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All We Do – Oh Wonder

-“But I - I love you. And I can’t -  hide. It hurts too much.”

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Broken Strings - James Morrison (ft Nelly Furtado)

-“I wouldn’t survive it. That way it was. I wouldn’t.”

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Stole the Show – Parson James

-But even on their distant shores, Crowley and Az don’t stop looking at each other. It feels like an ending. Maybe it is one. Not a happy ending, but not a bad one either.

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Level Up - Vienna Teng

-excerpt from Anthony Crowley: Out of the shadows, under the spotlight

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The Wire (Alternate Version) – Patrick Droney 

-Avery: “I’m rather in - in love with you.”

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Sweet Thing - Van Morrison

-“You can stay at my place. If you like.”

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Falling in Love - Cigarettes After Sex

-“I love you. I’ve missed you, and I love you, and I want you -”

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Stay - Cat Power

-He watches the slow flicker of awareness in Avery’s blue eyes. The curve of his mouth into a shade of smile that Crowley’s never seen before.

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Freedom - George Michael

-“To the world.”

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--Chapter 12--

Banks - NEEDTOBREATHE

-What he wasn’t used to was bringing someone else down with him, and jail would be a bloody blessing compared to seeing Az grey-faced and staring out windows, or that one time Crowley’s pretty sure the man was crying in the bathroom, trying to swallow down the sound so that Crowley didn’t notice (he clenches his hands into fists just thinking about it).

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Black Mambo - Glass Animals

-“It’ll have to be.” Crowley drops to his knees. “There’s a lot of ground to cover.” 

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Florets - Grace VanderWaal

-Crowley can let his fingers curl against Az’s palm, can watch him open as a flame, not caring who notices.

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Sight of the Sun - fun.

-That this longing won’t destroy him, and won’t destroy Az either. It’s not a shovel for burying Crowley alive - it’s a spade for planting things.

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Pale Blue Eyes - The Velvet Underground

-Az drops his hand onto Crowley’s knee (“What is this song? I rather like it.”).

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Only Everything (Acoustic) – Quinn Lewis

-“It’s nice to have someone make it for you, right? Sometimes,” Crowley says softly, too much love in his throat and in his hands. It’s hard to breathe around it, especially when Avery is looking at him.

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The Book of Love - The Magnetic Fields

-“You bought a cottage for us.” Crowley is an animal being taught to speak through scraps of meat and electric shocks. “This cottage.”

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Say You’ll Be Mine – Christopher Cross

-Avery: “But if you wanted -” Fuck, there are tears in Avery’s eyes. “If you want. I’d like to call you my husband. I’d like to say ‘let me ask my husband,’ or ‘I brought my husband with me’ or ‘my husband won a BAFTA’.”

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Anthem - Leonard Cohen

-Their broken edges match. And somehow, the light still shines through.

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Precious Love – James Morrison

-When the light catches them both, they shine. And so do you. So do we.

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Good Man (acoustic) - Josh Ritter

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If you made it this far...wow, hi hello. So, this is ours and my musical exposure is limited, if you’ve got a better song for an excerpt, feel free to shoot it over, more than happy for this to be a living changeable thing. 🤡 

[charlottemadison42]

Reincorporated

‘Choose your faces wisely’ makes it all sound so simple. Excerpt:

Crowley staggered into the door with a hollow boom.

"Owowowow! Shitshitssssshit."

Covering his eyes with one hand he fumbled blindly for the wall with the other.

Aziraphale reached to steady him but misjudged distance and inertia badly. He lurched and windmilled, and as one leg buckled under the other he spiraled inelegantly to the floor. "Oh. My. Well."

"Oh, we are so not prepared for this," seethed Crowley in a low growl.

"Are you hurt dear boy?"

"No angel, eyes. Blessed eyes! ...Djyou go thump, I can't see."

"Ah. Yes. Mm. Legs."

"'S wrong with my legs?!"

"Nothing, there's just rather a lot of them and they're. Mm. Miscalibrated."

"I can't smell anything," rasped Crowley. "Where the heaven are you? Oh, you're everywhere. I gotta smell for me." The demon stuck his tongue out, remembered its uselessness, and gave an absurdly exaggerated sniff. "Can I even smell me?"

"I'm here Crowley. Just give me a mo. There we -- oomp -- no, wait. Perhaps -- mm." Aziraphale was having little success corralling his gangly limbs. Roping one made another gallop off.

"You're getting way too much visual input, angel. How do you even move?"

"How do I move? How many joints could a body possibly need?" The angel kept getting his feet straight, then launching off his heels too forcefully and teetering over again. "There's no resistance, I'm overshooting everything. I'll hit myself in the face if I raise a finger."

"Yours has too much resistance. 'S like -- hitting the accelerator on a London Bus when I'm used to the Bentley."

Crowley was moving through syrup and could only manipulate one body part at a time. Lift foot, shift shoulders, lower foot, hand along wall, bend elbow, twist torso -- all the joints were independent and refused to harmonize. His spine and hips felt fused into one uncomfortable piece. He groaned. "I'd hoped we might have some sort of muscle memory assist or something, but farewell that."

Frustrated by fruitless attempts to stand, Aziraphale settled in a heap on the floor and had a go at proprioception. He felt his ashy red hair, pawed his face and ears awkwardly. The muscles and tendons were all too eager to obey him and every small movement was overpowered.

He tried raising his sunglasses but only found the arm on his third try; once they were up, his pupils contracted and he hissed involuntarily. "Good graciousss, that's bright. I'll be curious to try your night vision."

"You'll notice you're missing a lot of colors. Must look dull."

"Really, I can hardly tell in this grey monstrosity. It's drab as Leningrad suburbs in the seventies, how would I notice missing colors?" Aziraphale studied his sooty hand, read the lines of his palm. "The focus is odd -- shallow depth of field or somesuch, sharp and fuzzy in turns." He dropped the glasses back into place and sighed with relief.

"You'll find reading's a fucking chore to boot."

"You read your phone all the time."

"Well 's backlit, innit."

Aziraphale had got a knee crossed over an elbow somehow and hoped he could get it undone before the demon saw him. "Any ambulation advice would be welcome, I'm quite at ends," he grunted.

Crowley was pulling faces, not listening. "Hmm. New teeth. That's weird."

"Really, dear boy, a little help?"

"I don't see what's so bad about the floor. On your belly in the dust 'n all that, you remember." Despite the mocking tone he stepped closer and extended a hand, trying to sniff his way. He could never not help Aziraphale. He cracked one eye open, fighting through tremendous pain and nausea to cope with the information overload.

“I confess I don't know how to begin, it's like wrestling an octopus," said Aziraphale.

"I saw them do that once in the States, y'know. Sixties were weird. States're weird." Crowley leaned in to inspect the mess of limbs, still squinting fiercely. "You sure you're not wearing the whole blessed body backwards? 'S almost what it looks like. Give the head a couple spins, why don't you."

“I'm not sure how I walk in my own corporation; I'll never manage yours."

"Aaah, never say never. You learned the gavotte and saved the world." Crowley began circling, tracing his familiar prowl in the wrong body, around the wrong body. "Takes humans five years to learn how to eat breakfast. If we don't take to this in five minutes we shouldn't be surprised. Damned cocky to think we could pull it off so easily. Hubris, really."

The angel cocked his head. "It's so strange to watch you steer me."

Crowley made eye contact, only he couldn't because of the glasses, could he, and that made him scowl. He hadn't been on the outside of them before. Aziraphale clocked exactly what had happened and stifled a giggle.

"All right, advice. It seems -- hmm." Crowley kept his voice low and gentle. "I think it doesn't respond well to...control. Nor force. It's rebellious, right? You have to master Mister Newton's laws, make them work for you -- pull and don't push. Think swinging pendulums and counterweights rather than pistons. Jujitsu instead of karate. Y'know?" The angel stared blankly, uncomprehending. "What do you do that's balanced instead of -- I don't know, an effort? Ever do yoga or surf or skateboard or anything?"

Now the angel looked truly panicked, biting not-his-lip.

Crowley winced. They were so very, very fucked.

Abridged, slightly rehashed excerpt from ‘Sauntering Vaguely Upward.’ Read the rest at https://archiveofourown.org/works/21985987