#although aziraphale does of course still have a lot of growing to do before we can get our happy ending

[nikothebookdragon]

WAIT OH MY GOD I JUST HAD AN IDEA

what if Crowley ingesting the poison (I don't remember the name) in the resurrectionists minisode was foreshadowing to the coffee being spiked/miracle-d in the finale??????? or it was like a mirror or something to show that poison does affect supernatural beings, just in a different way???

[ingravinoveritas]

Is it bad to say I kinda wish I could've seen The Image? It feels like I'm the only one who hasn't seen it. I know on the one hand it'd probably be more worth it to not have seen it/seeing it organically, on the other I'm so damned impatient, I would like it to be next month already ugh.

Anyway, what are you most looking forward to with s2? Hope youre doing well.

Hi, Anons! Anon #1, thank you so much for your kind words. I am slightly stressed out at the moment, as I'm currently trying to navigate having to move out of the apartment where I have lived for 15 years by the end of this month (of all times). It had me in a rough place mentally last weekend, so I'm just glad to be feeling a bit better about it now.

No, it's not bad at all to want to see the image of The Thing that is happening in GO season 2. There certainly is an argument in favor of seeing it organically, so I do not at all blame you if that is your preference (although I very much enjoyed seeing it even out of context, and it's only increased my excitement for the new season, to echo what Anon #2 said). Also, as I've said before, I am not posting the image publicly--however, if folks want to see it, they are welcome to DM me and ask.

Anon #2, I appreciate you sharing your thoughts with me and I agree with what you've said here. I also do not feel that the spoiler is the biggest deal in the world or the most appalling thing, especially not in the aftermath of its leak and seeing how fans have treated other fans, as you described. I've also now seen people congratulating the fandom on "burying" the leak, but it also seems to me that that might not be happening for the right reasons, as it does feel like a lot of people have used the leak to shame fans for being excited and used the burying of the leak to feel as though they are above other fans who still want to talk about it. As you said, there is so much else to be excited for, including the whole plot/context around The Thing, so hopefully people can keep that in mind from here on out.

As to what I am most looking forward to with season 2? That's something I've given a lot of thought to and found somewhat challenging to untangle from all the fandom drama and ridiculousness of the last month. I think that what I am most looking forward is what we will see Aziraphale and Crowley do because of the influence of Michael and David. We have Neil and John Finnemore writing these episodes and mini-sodes, and a very colorful cast of supporting characters (some old, some new) for Aziraphale and Crowley to interact with, and I'm certainly looking forward to the dynamics there and how it all plays out (especially Himbo!Gabriel, who is weirdly growing on me, and also Maggie/Nina), but in all honesty, for me, the story really does take a backseat to just seeing Michael and David on screen as Aziraphale and Crowley again.

I've talked about this previously on my blog, but in the first season we know Michael brought so much of himself to Aziraphale whereas David played Crowley more by the book, and now I get the feeling that David has put so much more of himself into Crowley in the second season. So individually, I think Michael and David will be bringing so much to their characters, but it's what they bring together that I think has driven so much of season 2. So seeing how their relationship--and how much closer they've gotten over the last four years--will influence the relationship between Aziraphale and Crowley is what I'm most looking forward to seeing on screen.

Of course, I can't forget to mention the other thing I'm immensely looking forward to, which is (hopefully) the interviews we'll be getting with Michael and David talking all about the Ineffable Husbands and The Thing and the glints of utter mischief and delight in both their eyes as they flirt/eyefuck their way through every single interview.

I hope that helps to answer your question, Anon. Thanks for writing in! x

[ineffable-endearments]

CW below for a discussion that relates to homophobia, transphobia, queerphobia, acephobia, and related subjects. no specific stories, the themes just generally appear. i hope i didn't screw up and will fix it if i did.

so i was thinking about what makes Aziraphale and Crowley resonate as a queer love story, not just a "forbidden romance" (a trope that can be painfully cishet when it wants to be, which is often).

and i mean, obviously. there are a LOT of things. a lot. but something that didn't occur to me before is their relationship to each other relative to their sides.

at first, one would assume that they aren't supposed to be talking at all. this is probably true on a surface level. like, it's probably considered uncool to be caught chatting with The Enemy.

however, we do see that it's kind of normal for angels and demons to talk with a degree of civility. they don't trust each other deeply, that much is really obvious (Beelzebub says as much to Michael), and they do probably plan to kill each other eventually. at least, i think they genuinely believe that's how it's going to play out.

but! the front entrance to Heaven is in the same building as the front entrance to Hell! Aziraphale and Crowley literally walk into the building side by side! i know it's a funny joke, but Heaven and Hell aren't framed as stupid enough, by the end of the series, for that to be pure incompetence.

Michael has been in contact with Ligur for who-knows-how-long, feeding him information and presumably being fed information in return. Gabriel is entirely capable of speaking amicably with Beelzebub once it looks like their Plan isn't going through. and, of course, the Sides easily collaborate to punish Aziraphale and Crowley.

it's obviously normal for angels and demons to have a civil relationship of some sort.

a number of references are also made to the ways that the Sides are ultimately the same. Beelzebub and Gabriel are operating out of the same rulebook, after all; they both think the War is "written," they just differ on who's bound to win. to them, the most important thing is not even to thwart the other side on Earth - it's to get to the part where they're at war. they will absolutely collaborate with each other to reach that goal. they consider themselves part of the same Plan. consider even Crowley's thoughts in the book about how demons have "an unpopular job" but are "essential" to the running of the universe. they may be culturally different, but they all know they belong to the same society.

therefore, merely talking together is probably not strictly forbidden for Aziraphale and Crowley. even being sort of friendly probably isn't strictly forbidden. again, uncool? yeah. deadly? i doubt it, to be honest. heck, to their bosses' faces, they could use it as an excuse to spy on each other whether any actual spying got done.

what's the real problem? the thing everyone's upset about? it's not just that don't kill each other on sight. the real problem is that they prioritized each other. they got too intimate. their desires for a life together challenged the status quo, and even though they weren't the ones who were finally responsible for stopping the war altogether (that was Adam), they were blamed and sadistically punished for trying to preserve their relationship and their lives here on Earth instead of "growing up" and fulfilling their predetermined roles in Heaven and Hell.

in real life, society punishes people for prioritizing friendships in a way that most people assume is to be reserved only for romantic and sexual relationships. Heaven and Hell punish people for prioritizing friendship in a way that most people assume is to be reserved only for the glory of their cause.

and irl, when people are romantic or sexual (viewed as too intimate) with someone who is considered the "wrong gender," we punish them again for that. cisheteropatriarchal culture tends to expect men in particular to be not too intimate with each other and fuels a total hiding of emotion between them, although goodness knows women get pitted against each other and are expected to choose men over each other, too. also, the status quo does not know how to handle nonbinary people at all; the status quo gets angry if you even try to acknowledge that they exist. but if there was a widely-popular etiquette structure established for enbies, i'd be willing to bet it would also be a weird rivalry thing.

like, each gender sort of gets treated as "we all think the same in this gender, which is why we get along, but we don't like each other too much, because that would be gay."

"we're all looking to keep the Great Plan in motion, but we don't like each other too much, because then we wouldn't be on opposite sides."

basically, Aziraphale and Crowley read as a queer love story because their affection for each other and the lives they've created together challenges the traditional roles their shared society forces on them. it's a happy queer love story because not only do they manage to choose that affection over the status quo, they succeed and go on to enjoy themselves.

i'm a little nervous about posting this rant, because it's kind of saying, i guess, that Crowley and Aziraphale's queer relationship is characterized by their challenges to the status quo, and i don't think by any means that has to be true of all queer people. i mean, people can be quietly non-cishet, never let anyone know, never tell a soul, and they'd still not be cishet. and also, isn't the point that someday we'd get to a point where nobody has to deal with bigotry or even disrespect?

but at the same time, it is kind of impossible to look at the history and not see significant struggles, including ones that appear in stories over and over. i can't tell you how many posts i've seen on this site alone about how queer love and queer survival are themselves acts of resistance. and IMO, that's what Crowley and Aziraphale have.

[inbarfink]

Every Angel was created with a Purpose. When She brought them into being, she first uttered their Name, and than another word, a command, to indicate their Purpose. 

People who know Aziraphale nowadays might be suprised to learn that the second word he heard after ‘Aziraphale’ was ‘Fight’. 

The second word Crowley heard, and the first one he remembers (the Angelic Names of the Fallen have been throughly erased from existence and memory), was ‘Create’. 

People who know Aziraphale nowdays might also be suprised that he used to be quite good at his Purpose. Well, there wasn’t a lot to Fight back than. Back then all the existed was Heaven and other Angels, and Her, of course. Aziraphale sometimes wondered why have soliders if anyone who existed worked together for the glory of the Lord, but I guess you can never be too sure? Most of what he did was train, or march, or try and make up Neat Tricks to do with his sword to entertain himself (with the same enthusiam and also general talent he later had for human Stage Magic. Thankfully, that was before any Angel had being assinged a corporeal body, so injuries were minimal).

Crowley (or rather the Nameless-Angel-Who-Would-Be-Crowley-One-Day) was excellent at his job. He was focused on stars, of course. The Alpha Centauri project was what he spent most of his Angelic Days on. (Although much, much later, Crowley suspected being turned into a Serpent was some petty ironic punishment about a snide comment he made passing by the Living Creatures Design Department. He wouldn’t put this sort of thing past Her). 

Than came the Great War, and the Fall, and that changed everything for both of them.

Suddenly, ‘Fight’ was no longer an abstract, distant idea to Aziraphale. Suddenly, he and all of his platoon were in the front line of a new, terrible thing called a War. It was horrible. The only way to destroy an Angel’s being, Hellfire, was not created yet (nothing so unholy was created yet) but does it make better or worse when all of this hacking of limbs and holy fire thing is endless? A lot of Angels found that the Great War has made them harder and tougher, espacially the ones not created to Fight. But Aziraphale just found himself growing softer at the sight of all of the horrors of what fighting truly entailed. He discovered that he doesn’t want to hurt people, that he doesn’t want people to suffer, and that he doesn’t like to suffer himself. When the war was over he felt much, much older, even though Angels have no concept of aging.

All Demons have a complicated relationship with their previous Purpose, that’s a given. But if you’re a Demon who’s been previously commanded to Fight or to Lead or to Plan, it’s.... not impossible to find something to do in the newly-formed Armies of Hell. For those who have being told to Create, the situation is a bit more complicated. Demons are not supposed to Create anything. A lot of them decided to dedicate themselves to Destroying instead, as a big fat Fuck You to God. Now, Crowley’s all about giving God a big fat Fuck You in *general* but... he doesn’t like to Destroy, he still likes to Create. If you get him in a Mood, he’d tell you Heaven was all full of boring bastards and that there’s nothing he misses up there and he doesn’t regret Falling. But the truth is... he does miss being able to Create by God’s side, he really does.

His Name might’ve been taken away, but the nebula he designed was not. That’s his little cold comfort.  

When the Angels were created, none of them were given a Purpose like the sort of job Crowley and Aziraphale ended up getting on Earth. God never told any Angel ‘Yeah, Guide but also Protect and Teach do some Blessings and Healings and maybe a tiny bit of Fighting’, and so there wasn’t any Angel or Demon that was right for that kinda job. Some might say it’s because Angels were created before the World and so there was no need for ‘Secret Earth Agents’ Angels, but also God created Warrior Angels before there was anyone to Fight so you know.... it’s all very ineffable. 

Heaven and Hell could send temporary agents here and there for spesific jobs, relay a message from God, lay a curse on this spesific person, apparently one of the patriarchs of the Chosen People need someone to wrestle??? But when it comes to someone they can stick on Earth on a permanent basis and just... trust they could nudge things in their direction? Who would they send?

Well, Heaven had Aziraphale, an Angel who is supposed to Fight and yet is quite unfound of waving shiny bits of metal around and hurting people. And who’s favorite pick for a corporeal body was short and chubby and pleasantly unthreatning. 

So, you know what? That job is... kinda like Fighting against the forces of evil, but you don’t use a sword (most of the times), you use words and guidence and maybe some miracles - that’s close enough, right? Better than having a useless Angel sitting around in Heaven thinking about the horrors of war or whatever, so down you go, Aziraphale! You got the job!

And Hell had Crowley, who didn’t want to Destroy, but found out he was pretty good at Corrupting. The difference between Creating something and twisting it into something different was pretty blurry. Every pot was once a mere piece of clay. And Hell is not short on corruptors and tempters, but Crowley had a real talent for it, and if it’s the closest he’s ever gonna get to hanging the stars again....... he’s gonna take it.

Aziraphale noticed at some point, that although Crowley sold him on the Arrangement as a way to generally minimize work, there’s a certain type of projects the demon is actually passionate about doing. Where Crowley invoke the Arrangement not to say “Hey, how about you take over this temptation job for me and I’ll owe you one?” or “Look, it’s gonna be easier if we just TOLD Head Office that we faced each other in Battle and scared the other one away, right? I know how much you hate to do battle”, but rather “Manchester is going to be MY city, Angel! I’ve got big plans for it! So you don’t get to touch my project and in return... I won’t touch Shropshire for a while, how’s that sound?”. Times where, even if he’s got no ideological stake in Hell, he is still invested in his project working right. He’s got a real passion for them All of those projects have been about... Creating something; like the M25, Reality TV, or Furbies.  

It takes a long, long time before Crowley opens up to Aziraphale about his life before he Fell. It doesn’t come as a big suprise to the Angel that the Demon was told to Create, even if he wasn’t actively TRYING to figure it out before. He didn’t know what to say, save for the fact that his Heavenly creations were beautiful, he’s going to remember every star Crowley put into place and cherish it as the work of his beloved serpetn, even if his name was Erased from it.

Next time Aziraphale sees a map of the M25, he thinks about Crowley moving marker pegs in muddy, wet fields and wonders about how similar it is to painting a constellations in the night sky

[obaewankenope]

i adore aziraphqle taking care of crowley so much, touch starved demon boy needs snuggles

Okay so, this has gotten away from me and it’s not really Snuggles so much as feels lmao but, yeah, enjoy!

.

“Honestly angel, there’s no- no need todo this,” Crowley says even as he willingly burrows in the blankets and pillowsthat are far too numerous to be anything other than miraculously conjured. “I’mfine.”

“You’re not fine, Crowley,” Aziraphaleadmonishes, insistent and unyielding as he continues to guide Crowley beneaththe blankets and against the pillows. “You almost had one of your wings rippedclean off, Crowley—that’s not fine.”

The angel gently reaches out with hisown wings—not in the physical plane—and brushes them against Crowley’s skin, silkenwhite primaries that create every colour in the cosmos prickling with Soft FeelingsCrowley doesn’t want to name. The sensation is welcome even if he won’t admitit to Aziraphale.

“Eh, I didn’t though,” Crowley pointsout and he’s mostly just arguing for the sake of it now. He is really, reallycomfortable. There’s heat emanating from Aziraphale’s hands on him and thereptilian part of his being wants to curl up in those hands and bask in thewarmth for eternity. The part of him that’s less reptilian enjoys the feel ofthe hands in general. “Still got me wings. They even wiggle still.”

Aziraphale rolls his eyes at Crowley’sattempt at humour, focusing instead on undoing the buttons to Crowley’s shirt.The demon all but leaps out of the bed at that.

“Aziraphale!”

The angel blinks. “What?” he asks, “youdon’t want to constrict your wings if they come into being on this plane,” hesays, blinking at Crowley with some measure of impatience and concern.

“I- my- they’re not affected by myclothing!” Crowley manages to splutter, sounding more startled than aVictorian lady faced with a lewd comment for the first time.  

“Not normally no,” Aziraphale agreesreasonably, like a reasonable person. “But you know that injuries to our wingscan cause them to—that is—‘act out’ so to speak.” He gives Crowley thatreasonable look of his that accompanies his reasonable tone. “You don’t want tobe sound asleep and have yourself almost choked or a shirt ruined because yourwings decide to ignore typical etiquette and get themselves tangled in yourshirt—do you?”

It really was very annoying thatAziraphale could make things sound so reasonable... it was meant to beCrowley’s job—making anything sound like a reasonable plan or idea, notAziraphale’s. Bloody angel was stealing his job.

“Fine,” Crowley says. “Fine,” he saysagain, “but—just let me take the damned thing off okay?”

“Of course dear.”

Oh, that was not helping. That wasseriously not helping.

Crowley struggles with the buttons ofhis shirt—having to undo them the human way since any sort of miracling ormagicking things away too close to where his wings come into being on the humanplane would be... probably a bad idea. Painfully bad. Because of that, it takesCrowley an embarrassingly long time to undo the buttons before he realises,rather belatedly, that he can’t just shrug the shirt off like he could donormally.

Bugger.

“Angel, I need help,” Crowley mutters.Aziraphale looks at him only a little smugly and it helps to soothe the stingof having to ask for help after insisting he didn’t need any. 

“Of course my dear,” Aziraphale saysand Crowley blushes. He can feel it creeping into his cheeks, staining hisrather pale face with just enough pink to be noticeable and Crowley curses thathe can’t do anything to hide it. 

Hell, he doesn’t even have his sunglasseson.

Aziraphale helps him remove his shirtwith little fanfare, Crowley doing most of the panicking and internallyscreeching at the angel Removing His Shirt for them both. The angel is, ifCrowley were forced to pick a word, steady. Steadily focused. Steadily calm.Steadily kind.

Crowley finds it nauseating.

Crowley wants more of it regardless.

“Thanks angel,” Crowley mutters, notstammering or blushing like he feels he ought to—he’s a demon, he won’t do thateven if he feels like every part of him is doing precisely that—and he settles back in the bed, letting Aziraphalemother hen him with the covers. “If you wanted to see me with my shirt offthough,” he adds, choosing to take some control over this, “you only had toask.”

Aziraphale—as Crowley expects—blushes.It makes Crowley’s lips quirk up into a smirk at the angel’s pink cheeks.

Of course, that’s when Aziraphale doessomething Crowley doesn’t expect.

The angel sits on the bed in a way thatenables him to easily reach out and touch Crowley’s cheek with his left hand,right perched on the angel’s own knee. Aziraphale’s face is still pink from blushingbut there’s fondness there in that expression—it’s the kind of fondness apartner has for their significant other (or others) when their love is secureand steady and needs no real expressions of it although they are appreciated.

“You really ought to be more carefulwith yourself, Crowley,” Aziraphale admonishes softly, fingers trailing alongCrowley’s jawline, tracing the shell of an ear before finding their way intoshort red strands. Crowley, against every ounce of his stubborn will, leansinto the touch.

“I’m always careful,” Crowley responds,not pulling away from those fingers gently massaging small circles into hisscalp. The sensation is—well—heavenly. “You’re the one who almost got his headlopped off in Paris over crepes.”

Aziraphale smiles. “True,” he agreesamicably. “But I’ve never picked a fight with a human-made demon and almost hada wing torn off because I didn’t want for backup to arrive.”

Crowley gives Aziraphale a look. “Notthe same,” he says but Aziraphale’s gentle fingers rob him of any true vitriol.The angel robs him of a lot of things. “It was spitting hellfire left andright, angel. One ember and you’d have been in far worse shape than I am.”

“And with holy water I would have beenable to stop it from attacking you in the first place, dear,” Aziraphale replies.There’s a bit of a sharp rebuke in the angel’s words but it’s softened bywhatever Aziraphale’s actions are doing to both of them.

“I was afraid, Crowley,” the angeladmits, eyes locking with Crowley’s own and full of pain. Pain Crowley’s circumstanceshave caused. “I arrived and saw you wrestling with that thing and you werebleeding and bloodied and I was terrified that I wasn’t going to be quickenough with the counter spell to unmake that thing before it finished you off.I saw you with a wing hanging by a few feathers and a broken bone and I- it- Ifeared I’d lose you even if that beast didn’t kill you.”

“I’m tougher than any human demon,angel,” Crowley says.

“That’s not the point!” Aziraphale exclaims and he leans forward, face close toCrowley’s own, his upper body almost flush with Crowley’s own. The demon can feelthe heat emanating from the angel and he has the strongest urge to arch up intoit.

“You are incredibly strong and powerfuland I am so thankful for that because anyone else would have perished longbefore I even arrived,” he says and Crowley’s eyes widen at the compliments—Aziraphaledoesn’t tend to compliment his strength, rather his ‘acts of kindness’. “Butyou were injured and I couldn’t help you fight it because I didn’t know how to fight it with you right there anddistracting you could have gotten you killedso I had to watch and hope thecounter spell would work!”

Aziraphale tears his gaze away fromCrowley who instantly reaches out with a slightly trembling hand to touch theangel’s own face. His fingers aren’t as gentle, as divinely caring, but there’sa heat to his touch that speaks of more than just the hellfire he can summon oncommand.

“I’m sorry angel,” he says, givingAziraphale an apology with more heart and feeling in it than he’s ever givenanything—not even She has ever had such an apology from Crowley, this is forAziraphale and Aziraphale alone. “I didn’t want you to fight it, not when it couldhave killed you with one breath.”

Aziraphale lets out a shudderingbreath, eyes falling shut. The angel looks so very broken and Crowley aches ina way he hasn’t ached for anything that wasn’t his car, his plants, or thissingle angel. “I know,” Aziraphale whispers, “it makes it worse. You would havedied just to prevent any harm befalling me and I- I would have been left-”Aziraphale breaks off with a hitched breath.

“Alone.” Crowley stares at Aziraphalewith open pain. “I know how it feels, angel,” he says, voice breaking. Aziraphaleopens his eyes and looks at him.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry but there wasno way I was going to let you face that thing and I’m sorry I can’t regretfighting it and keeping it away from you,” Crowley says and he’s making anadmission, confessing to the angel just how much he means to Crowley. In words heboth says and doesn’t. “I’d rather my wings torn off and my soul destroyed thansee you hurt- than lose you again.”

Aziraphale lets out a sad, aching laugh.“As would I,” he says.

“But,” Crowley continues and the angelgives him a vaguely hopeful look. “I’ve hurt you with what I did and that—well—wecan’t have that,” he says and Aziraphale gives him a small smile. “So how abouta deal—another Arrangement? We fight together no matter what, yeah?”

Crowley holds out the hand onAziraphale’s arm and the angel’s smile grows wider, eyes a little wet as hewithdraws his hand from Crowley’s hair to clasp the hand in a firm shake.

“Deal.”

“Great, now get in this bed with me andkeep me warm,” Crowley says and Aziraphale really does let out a laugh at that.

“Always so bossy, dear,” the angel sayseven as he stands and moves to the other side of the bed. He toes off his shoesand settles on the bed, allowing Crowley to nestle close to him. “You reallyought to get a heater.”

“I’ve got one,” Crowley retorts.Aziraphale gives him a look and Crowley smirks. “You.”

[bearfeathers]

ineffable husbands + “That was unexpected.” i love the way you write them!!

Thank you so much!! And thank you for the prompts; I'm having a lot of fun with them. :3

[PROMPT ME!] | [AO3]

As it turns out, not actually doing much to avert the apocalypse can really take it out of you.

Well, that isn't an entirely accurate statement, Crowley muses as he and Aziraphale ride the bus back to his London home. The two of them had done quite a bit;i just that the things they'd done hadn't had very much to do with the world not ending. That had mostly been Adam's doing.

But driving his flaming Bentley—may she rest in peace—to Tadfield through sheer will and then taking himself, Aziraphale and Adam out of time for a little chat had been... draining. He slouches in his seat, arms folded over his chest and legs splayed out as far as the seats' limited foot room will allow. Willing the bus to detour to London is about as much as he has left in him, he knows, and the thought of collapsing in his bed as soon as possible remains a promising reward.

The demon glances to the angel sitting beside him. Aziraphale's hands are folded in his lap, his legs crossed at the ankle and tucked beneath his seat. Presently his head is bowed and his eyes closed as though in prayer, but as the bus is jostled by a pothole, he quickly looks up, alarmed, before realizing nothing is amiss and settling back once more. His eyes remain open but stare ahead of him with that lack of focus that denotes a certain level of exhaustion.

He'd hardly had an easy time of things either. Being discorporated, projecting himself to Crowley in the pub, possessing Madame Tracey—which he had apologized profusely for—and being quite suddenly shoved into a new vessel... Not any more a walk in the park than Crowley himself has had.

But it's over. For now. At least until Heaven and Hell sort their paperwork and do the numbers and figure out just how the two of them should be made to answer for this. However, as the bus comes to a stop outside his flat, thoughts of sleep push all of that to the back of his mind to be examined later.

"Thank you for this," Aziraphale sighs as Crowley lets them in.

"Shut up," Crowley snorts.

"It needed to be said," Aziraphale argues.

"No, it needn't," Crowley declares with some annoyance, leading the angel through his living room and towards the bedroom. "Not with me."

"...not anymore, you mean," Aziraphale says, stifling a yawn.

Never.

Aziraphale never needed to thank him for anything.

He's always spun it as being to avoid trouble with management, but really, he'd never wanted Aziraphale thanking him for his own reasons. Because Crowley never did anything for the angel with the expectation of being thanked. He did it because...

"Right," Crowley agrees. He motions into the bedroom. "You take the bed."

Aziraphale stops short, standing opposite him outside the bedroom door. "And where will you be sleeping?"

"The oven," Crowley answers, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "The sofa, obviously."

Aziraphale frowns as he looks first to the bed and then Crowley. "I'm not taking your bed.

"Don't argue with me, angel," Crowley sighs. "Just take the sodding bed."

"I'm not arguing with you," Aziraphale says with a touch of annoyance. "I was merely going to suggest that since you seem to have purchased the largest bed known to mankind, there's no reason why you should sleep on the sofa."

Crowley knows he's staring. He knows, but it doesn't stop him from doing so. "...you want to share the bed."

The bald statement brings a hint of a flush to the angel's face. He shifts from foot to foot, tugging at his fingers in an anxious tic that Crowley is long familiar with. He'd seemed confident suggesting it just a moment ago and Crowley wonders if there was something in the way he'd just spoken that had done something to change that.

"Well... I just thought it seemed a bit ridiculous not to," Aziraphale says, his gaze cutting away from Crowley's eyes. "Of course, I wouldn't want to make you uncomfortable, so please don't—"

"It doesn't make me uncomfortable," Crowley says, a little too quickly. He kicks himself for that. If he sounds too eager, Aziraphale might be the one scared away. "I just thought you might like some privacy or something. Trying to be a proper host and all that."

Aziraphale's eyes return to him, looking at him in a way that leaves the demon feeling naked. As though he isn't even wearing his sunglasses and the angel is staring him straight in the eye. His body language remains anxious—shy, even—but Aziraphale's eyes are as steady as his words.

"Then come to bed with me."

If Crowley didn't know any better, he could swear his counterpart knew exactly what he was saying. But of course, he doesn't truly mean it that way. Still, this is all a bit more forward than Crowley had been expecting.

"The bed is large enough that we likely won't even come close to touching one another," Aziraphale proceeds to say, not impeded by Crowley's lack of response. "At this point we've shared so many things that a bed doesn't seem all that out of the question. And if I'm being frank, well, my dear, I would prefer to have you close by just now."

Stay with me.

Crowley can damn near hear the words.

"Yeah," he says, his mouth dry. "Alright."

Aziraphale appears to relax considerably, shoulders losing their tension and his hands coming to rest at his sides. There's a hint of a smile on his face as Crowley ushers him in and the demon can't help but feel a bit strange. This is all... just strange. It's been a strange week. This is just the odd little cherry on top, he supposes.

There isn't even so much as a warning from Aziraphale before the angel lazily waves a hand, divesting them both of their clothing and conjuring up matching sets of tartan pajamas in their place. Crowley holds his arms out and looks down to inspect himself before pinning the angel with a stare.

"Really?" he says flatly.

Aziraphale shrugs tiredly. "I was trying to do you a favor but go ahead and waste your energy changing it, if you like."

"I'm not going to, I just think you did it on purpose," Crowley clarifies, pulling back the duvet.

Although Aziraphale doesn't answer him, the smile he's struggling to hide says more than enough. They both slip beneath the duvet on opposite sides of the bed, taking a few moments to make themselves comfortable. It seems to take Aziraphale just a tad longer than Crowley but then he was never really one for sleep in the first place. Necessity, though, sometimes wins out.

"...do we say goodnight?" Aziraphale asks.

"I suppose since you've decided to bring it up we have to."

"Well I don't know; you're the one with all the sleep experience."

"Fine, fine. Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

And that should be the end of it. Crowley should be sleeping in seconds flat. But instead, he's lying in bed, eyes closed, listening to the sound of the angel beside him breathing. He's not sure how many minutes pass before he hears Aziraphale's breaths grow deep and even, their slow cadence telling Crowley that the one they're coming from is deep asleep.

He can't help but look. This is something unprecedented for them and something Aziraphale had been the one to suggest, at that. It's nearly the closest they've ever been. He's never seen the angel sleep; he's seen him weary, he's seen him hurt, he's seen him any number of things, but never sleeping. Not once in these six thousand years.

It's disgustingly clichéd to say Aziraphale looks angelic, but, well... he does. It's so easy for Crowley to stare at the blonde curls against the dark of his pillowcase, catching slivers of moonlight through the blinds that make them glow. It's so easy to stare at his lashes fanned out against rounded cheeks and an expression more relaxed that Crowley can nearly ever recall. 

It's so difficult to only stare.

But that's all he's ever done. Stared and waited and hoped. Wondered. And he supposes he'll just have to wonder still.

***

When Crowley wakes, he knows immediately that he's not where he was last night. Well... Rather, he's in his bed, but it appears he's migrated in the night. He feels his heart leap into his throat when he realizes he's very neatly tucked beneath Aziraphale's chin, his arms around the angel and their legs tangled together. What's worse is the feeling of Aziraphale's arms around him, soft breaths tickling the top of his head.

He can't move.

Aziraphale is still asleep. Moving would surely wake him. Which means he's just going to have to lie here until the angel does wake. Well, there are certainly worse things in the world, he decides. He'll just stay still until Aziraphale wakes, then pretend to be fast asleep to avoid any embarrassment for either of them. Perfect plan.

Aziraphale smells different. That's one of the first things he notices. Although, it's not different so much as it is new. Maybe new isn't exactly the best word for it, but... The typically muted scent of ozone is much sharper and Crowley finds himself missing the smell of paper and ink that usually accompanies the angel, mingled with the smell of something sweet. 

He has to remind himself that this body technically is new. It's almost as though Aziraphale hasn't had time to properly settle in it yet and so it lacks some of its... familiarity. 

But that's fine. It's fine when Crowley realizes with a start that he doesn't remember the last time he'd been held like this. Even if it just happens to have occurred by mistake while they were sleeping, Aziraphale's hold on him is warm and secure, as though he's conscious of what he's doing.

"If you don't mind... could we discuss this later? I don't quite feel like waking up yet."

The sleepy mumble startles him to full wakefulness... but he doesn't pull away. Nor does Aziraphale push him. They simply continue to be, just as they are.

"That was unexpected," Crowley declares.

"When I woke, I wasn't sure what to make of it either, but it felt... fine," Aziraphale murmurs. "Do you...?"

"Yeah," Crowley agrees, swallowing thickly. "Me, too."

There's a quiet hum into his hair, chased by a soft sigh, and Crowley feels himself going boneless as fingers gently run across his scalp. And then a thought hits him.

"You've been awake this whole time, haven't you, you bastard?" Crowley grumbles into the angel's pajama top.

"Shh."

They will definitely be discussing this later and they will most definitely be discussing just how long Aziraphale planned to let him act the fool. But talk is for later. For now, this is will do just fine.

[sleepymccoy]

year in fic

i saw a couple of these around and i love the idea! so yeah im taking part too <3

Heresy

Rated: General

Word Count: 2,524

Posted: 15/6/19

3000 years on from the apocalypse have been pretty chill for Crowley and Aziraphale. Gabriel and Beelzebub took their posts after they quit their jobs as reps on Earth and now are trying to get in touch to discuss personal matters. This is basically a short fic that’s jut a hella awkward conversation with some possessiveness, it’;s sweet. Side note, this was my first fic and I wrote it up before we knew Beelzebub uses they/them pronouns so I used the actresses pronouns for it. I mean to fix it up but haven’t got to it yet, so, apologies

Needed a break, gone to France x

Rated: General

Word Count: 8,808

Posted: 28/6/19

About a week after the apocalypse and Aziraphale leaves Crowley a note on his door explaining his absence. Crowley goes into a tailspin trying to decode it for like two months. Light miscommunication fic, but it’s made up for with some nice fondness and some letters at the end that are pretty cute tbh 

Try On Some Pride For A Day

Rated: Mature

Word Count: 20,614

Posted: 4/8/19

One night, two months after the apocalypse, Aziraphale challenges Crowley to a competition. Will Aziraphale get Crowley to inhabit the seven heavenly virtues, or will Crowley get Aziraphale to enjoy the seven deadly sins? It’s all very cheerful with much sexual tension and a couple of squabbles. This is a friends to lovers sort of fic. It’s also asexual Aziraphale, pretty outright, so while it gets steamy there’s no sex in the fic

Summoned

Rated: Explicit

Word Count: 12,635

Posted: 21/8/19

Heaven and Hell decided that as they have their Worst Employee of the Forever sorted, they could shimmy the worse parts of the gig off to them. And being summoned sucks. Crowley finds he keeps getting summoned by different people, more often than ever before. This fic is the roughly year and a half period after that failed apocalypse, told only through scenes where Crowley (and one time Aziraphale) have been unwillingly summoned by someone. I will say the real joy of this is that Crowley is pissed off most of the time and Aziraphale is appropriately protective. The last chapter is full blown sex. This is another friends to lovers fic

Is It Worth It Yet

Rated: Teen

Word Count: 10,935

Posted: 22/9/19

Around abouts the 1000AD mark, in what would become Turkey a few hundred years later, Crowley sat down, took a breath, and told Aziraphale how he felt in a total trainwreck of a conversation. Chapter 1, that conversation. It’s pretty angsty but I fix it all, don’t worry Of course, Aziraphale would then expect Crowley to bring it all up again after the apocalypse, and when he doesn't he decides to take matters into his own hands and broach the topic himself. It doesn't go as well as he'd hoped. Good ending tho, don't worry guys. 

Soft.

Rated: Mature

Word Count: 9,178

Posted: 10/10/19

Crowley has had one thought going about his mind for a while now, and that is that he really likes Aziraphale's body (highlighted by how he comparatively didn't enjoy seeing Aziraphale in Madame Tracy). But how does one tell their friend of 6000 years that he's got a hot bod? Awkwardly and with great difficulty, is the answer. He accidentally dredges up a Gabriel-related issue Aziraphale has been holding on to. This is a very consent heavy fic, there’s a lot of “are you sure?” and “what do you want?”

the kind of thing one says easily

Rated: Explicit

Word Count: 15,496

Posted: 15/10/19

Kind of my take on an au where Crowley just straight up told Aziraphale pretty early on that he loves him, so it was a fact of their dynamic for centuries before the apocalypse. I call it the "if they actually communicated" au. Fits in with tv canon, I've done a prelude or a run on from one or two major scenes in the show, you'll almost certainly catch it. But yeah, snapshots of them talking about feelings, sometimes very serious (mostly pretty serious actually) but sometimes quite light and lovely. Classic lads. Still don't get together until post apocalypse cos, ya know, it be like that. Runs from like 2000bc to 2020ad with 12 segments of story, although three of those are 2019 cos like that's when shit really went down

Not Quite Human

Rated: Explicit

Word Count: 10,398

Posted: 26/10/19

Crowley and Aziraphale had both quit their jobs for each other and returned home after the apocalypse, tumbling rather helplessly towards a relief-filled romance. But old habits die hard and with nothing left to keep the pair from expressing their feelings, they created their own barriers to hold themselves back. And so years passed with pointless desire, self inflicted wallowing, and miserable restraint. Luckily for both of them, the angel was fed up. He’d been stewing too long and had decided to give it a go. This is kinda an exploration into a different writing style for me, it's not a dedicated pov and it's full of little flashback style (sort of, not like serious flashback, more like mulling over the past for context) vignettes with ideas i wanted to include. 

Still Waking Up

Rated: Teen

Words: 31,153

Posted: 5/11/19

Aziraphale has noticed Crowley's odd behavior. Since the Apocalypse he has spotted Crowley outside the shop, just watching, like a watchdog that watches and doesn't come in and explain himself. This fic follows a roughly two year period after the apocalypse in which Crowley admits to nightmares about the bookshop and Aziraphale burning and struggles to come terms with it and ask for help. Aziraphale grows increasingly lonely and purposeless and some of his damage from Heaven rears up. They slowly navigate supporting each other as best they can. Main points of interest are probs bed sharing, much mutual pining, kissing, and softly handled trauma recovery.

(omg guys that’s a cumulative word count of 121,741 in six months! that’s a whole lot more than i’d imagined. what a year)

[ineffable-bookshop]

This One Day Of Days

Summary: “An angel, a demon and some very human Christmas traditions.”

Word Count: 1k

“Would you like a present, angel?”

Aziraphale, who has been captivated by the newest addition to his vast book collection until now, suddenly looks up in confusion, his gaze landing on Crowley dropping onto the couch next to him.

“A present?” Aziraphale wonders. “What would I need one for?”

Crowley shoots him a fond smile, his beautiful eyes glinting. “It's Christmas, angel. People usually exchange gifts around this time of year.”

Aziraphale fails to see what that has to do with anything. “So?” He tilts his head, leaning closer to the demon out of pure instinct. “In the last six-thousand years we didn't celebrate Christmas even once.”

“But it's the first one after the nonpocalypse,” he reminds Aziraphale. “A lot has changed.”

His smile turns both affectionate and a little bit lewd, making it absolutely impossible for the angel not to blush.

“Well …”

“I'll give you anything you want,” Crowley promises, his warm breath skidding over the angel's skin as he whispers those words right into Aziraphale's ear. “Anything.”

Aziraphale's flush deepens even more and for a moment he feels so utterly flustered he forgets how language even works, only offering some incoherent noises as he begins to fidget.

But then he can't help chuckling to himself. “An angel and a demon, celebrating Christmas together? That sounds so wrong on every single plane of existence.”

Crowley laughs good-naturedly. “Even more tempting to screw them all and do whatever the hell we please, don't you think?”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale chides him, though without any real heat in his voice.

“So, what would you like the most?” Crowley asks, his fingers absently brushing over Aziraphale's palm. “A special book? A massage?”

Aziraphale has to admit that does sounds kind of nice, actually.

“Or I could pop over to Paris and get you some decent brioche,” Crowley proposes. “And maybe some homemade jam from that little shop in Lancaster you've been talking about non-stop for years.”

Aziraphale hums, feeling himself getting very intrigued now.

“And how about this?” the demons asks. “I heard it's a special Christmas tradition.”

Aziraphale watches how he pulls something out of his pocket and for a second he has no idea what it is, only sees green and red, but his features soften as soon as he recognises the item in Crowley's hand.

“My dear,” he says, looking at the mistletoe with fondness.

“Would you like one of those, angel?” Crowley asks, his smile bright. “It's yours if you want it.”

Aziraphale senses something warm pressing within his chest at the eagerness in Crowley's tone. “Sweetheart,” he says, cupping Crowley's hand gently, “thank you so much, but mistletoes aren't something you give each other as presents. They're supposed to be put up around the house.”

Crowley blinks. “Yeah?”

Aziraphale nods. “When two people meet underneath some mistletoe, a kiss should follow.”

Crowley studies him for a while in silence, his expression pensive as though he's trying to solve the world's biggest mysteries, but before Aziraphale has a chance to try helping him out the demon suddenly holds the mistletoe right above their heads, leans in and presses his lips against the angel's.

Aziraphale's heart can't help stuttering at that.

Part of himself thinks he should be used to it by now (after all, in the last few months they were more than keen to make up efficiently for all the lost time), however, every single time Crowley kisses him, touches him, smiles at him, even merely looks at him, Aziraphale is hit by such an onslaught of emotions he's actually kind of surprised he managed to survive for so long.

It feels like everything.

Aziraphale makes an embarrassing sound deep in his throat as he reciprocates, his fingers finding themselves in Crowley's dishevelled hair. He pulls the demon closer, eager to feel more, to have him all over himself, and Crowley seems wholeheartedly to agree as he moans lowly and deepens the kiss.

For a long while it switches between soft and sweet, like a light breeze on a warm day, and sensual and passionate, resembling a hurricane ready to turn everything upside down.

And the whole time the mistletoe hangs over their heads.

Aziraphale has no idea how much time has passed – as eternal beings breathing is unnecessarily, therefore it's not like such basic needs could interrupt their time together in any way –, but eventually they pull apart.

A little bit.

At least far enough that they're able to look into each other's eyes.

Aziraphale feels exhilarated as he sees all the love in Crowley's gaze. The adoration. The affection.

Aziraphale is pretty sure he himself is even worse.

However, there is one thing in Crowley's features that makes him pause.

Amusement. Mirth.

Aziraphale frowns, for a second seriously puzzled by that unexpected emotion. But thanks to the fact that he knows Crowley better than anyone else on the planet ever knew another person in all of time and space it doesn't take him long to figure out the demon's source of delight.

“You've been aware of the mistletoe's true purpose the entire time, haven't you?”

Crowley laughs quietly. “Of course, angel,” he says, as if believing anything else would be truly absurd to begin with. “Who do you think invented the mistletoe tradition in the first place?”

Aziraphale raises a brow, surprised and at the same time not surprised at all. “You did?”

Crowley's grin grows even bigger. “Oh, all the awkward moments it created over time,” he points out. “All the discomfort …”

“And all the love,” Aziraphale adds.

Crowley snorts. “Yeah, well, I didn't mention that in my reports to Hell, of course.”

“Of course.”

Crowley has always been a true wonder. Basically since the moment they met in the Garden. Aziraphale still fells utterly blessed that their paths crossed that day millennia ago.

“You didn't answer my question, though,” Crowley says, putting the mistletoe on a little coffee table nearby.

Aziraphale smiles bashfully. “If I would like a present for Christmas?”

“Yes.”

Aziraphale drops a soft kiss onto the corners of Crowley's mouth, revelling in the sight of the demon's cheeks turning a light shade of red.

“I have everything I could ask for.”

It's true.

He couldn't think of a single thing that would make him ever happier than he already is right now.

Well …

Granted, maybe …

“Although I have to admit, that massage you mentioned has a nice ring to it,” Aziraphale confesses after a moment.

Crowley chuckles at that. “Yeah?”

Aziraphale chews on his bottom lip. “And naturally I wouldn't reject some tasty brioche if they accidentally found themselves in my path.”

Crowley's grin is back tenfold. “Naturally.”

The angel lowers his gaze. “But of course you don't have to, my dear,” he hurries to reassure. “Because I mean it, I don't need anything –”

“Nonsense,” Crowley cuts in. He presses another kiss onto Aziraphale's lips, only chaste and brief, but no less earthshattering. “Only the best for my angel.”

And so it happens that on the very first Christmas after the apocalypse-that-wasn't Aziraphale finds himself blessed with a huge supply of the most delicious brioche and an almost outrageously intimate massage.

And Crowley?

Well, Aziraphale carries the mistletoe with him the entire day and makes more than sure that Crowley won't forget this very special day ever.

[not-a-space-alien]

hey its me again wall of text sorry not sorry

k i saw your little treatise justifying zadr and yknow its a cartoon its not the worst thing ever of course nobody is gonna sue you for reblogging fanart or burn you at the stake or w/e and im glad you decided to open yourself up to a differing opinion but zim IS portrayed as an adult. there was even an unfinished episode where zim’s childhood and growing up training from start to finish would be shown so by the time of the pilot he is definitely a full grown developed adult by irken standards especially if hes a former member of an elite military force like the invaders. jhonen has said that the irony and sad comedy of zims character is that hes a grown ass man and a war veteran to boot who VOLUNTARILY goes to an elementary school every day and throws hands with an 11 year old boy who should be well below his notice because he’s that pathetic and desperate for validation that he’ll stoop to seeking it from a child. it also sets up a dynamic between them where dib is CHALLENGED by having to go up against an adult with way more experience than him while dib is just a child, so when he wins its more meaningful, which is a common trope in childrens fiction that an underdog young hero has to take down a powerful adult villain.

jhonen might joke a lot but he’s serious about this part of the characterization of zim and dib and he even went to great lengths to make dib look and act more like a kid in ETF (more emotional and naive, designed to look smaller/softer, going in depth with his relationship to his dad and sister and needing his dad to protect him at the end when he’s too overrun to fight alone) just to drive home the point of how young he is. it was a very deliberate move and jhonen knows what hes doing ESPECIALLY since he also left zim pretty much unchanged and also includes gags about zim’s relative maturity like animating him briefly grimacing because his joints are sore and the part where he pretty much gestures to his crotch and goes “theyre afraid to look at ALL-A THIS”. like you would not see jhonen do that sort of joke with an underage character ok. dont confuse his social awkwardness and self deprecating/trolling humor for not knowing the difference between right and wrong and not acknowledge when he means something sincerely because he doesn’t just clown on people and troll ALL THE TIME 24/7 hes a human, and times have changed with more awareness on issues such as the grooming of minors so he can go back on things he may have said in the past that he doesn’t agree with now or said by mistake. he has said enough times that zim is older than any human alive that its safe to take his word for it by now. judging by the one strip he did in JTHM about johnny murdering a pedophile who was about to prey on squee i think his stance on protecting kids is pretty clear. also i wouldnt put it past jhonen to have redesigned membrane to be more chaddy looking to divert the adult fandom’s attention away from dib and throw the fangirls a bone but thats a whole nother can of worms lol.

and the justification that zim is immature so hes essentially on dib’s level is a reversal of something lots of kids hear from either creepy or ignorant adults who tell them theyre “so mature for their age”. no matter how emotionally mature you are it wont ever compensate for the number of years youve been alive so that’s not very sound logic, and even in fic where theyre both adults it’s still pretty weird because it doesn’t erase their history where zim knew dib as a kid. that’s sort of like a grownup waiting with bated breath until a kid is “legal” so they can start dating. kinda like when jacob imprints on bella’s newborn daughter in twilight then having it handwaved away by saying he’ll wait till she’s grown up, which understandably drew a huge amount of criticism. it’s a loophole that might be mildly acceptable in some cases but the context leaves it colored with a residual ickiness that sets off some red flags for me and a lot of other people.

also you said zim is an alien and therefore the situation itself is unrealistic, but the reason invader zim’s writing resonates with people is because zim is written with very HUMAN emotions and motivations and part of the humor again is how irkens despite being aliens from another planet mirror some of humanity’s worst flaws such as being petty, gluttonous, willfully ignorant, arrogantly believing they are special and better than everyone else, easily manipulated by propaganda, all too eager to greedily colonize other societies etc making them not so different from us at all. so the premise out of context might not seem realistic but the idea of a sad burnout adult who doesn’t realize how humiliating it is to be consistently outsmarted by a kid less than half their age IS realistic and applicable to human interaction since we’ve likely all met someone like this before at one point in our lives for example a schoolteacher who has a personal vendetta against one or more of their students and has nothing better to do than antagonize them, or a really dumb parent that you fight with a lot.

another thing, i know you and other fans probably have a lot of sentimental value and nostalgia attached to zadr because you probably shipped it back when you were a kid yourself and you cant be blamed for something you liked as a kid, but youre an adult now, and you have to listen to the portion of kids in the fandom who dont like zadr and say without question that the age gap makes them uncomfortable. those kids ARE the priority. we’re grown up now and we have to put our feelings aside for them because that’s part of being responsible and mature. i feel like zim himself is a pretty good example of how not to act at our age [shrug emoji]

and anyway a lot of the same elements of zadr can be explored with zadf just as well with just as much potential for cute moments and as a bonus is it’s not creepy

You do bring up some good points, and I’m not saying you’re wrong...  But honestly I’m still not convinced.  I mean, stuff that Jhonen said, the thing is even if it’s the author saying it it’s still outside of canon, that’s the reason why Neil Gaiman got flack for Good Omens because they didn’t write an actual kiss or hug or hand-hold between Aziraphale and Crowley yet Neil Gaiman went on Twitter saying they were queer representation.  I still don’t really put much stock into what he says because the unfinished episodes and Jhonen’s commentary don’t really change the dynamic that’s actually in the show.  And again...Jhonen said if there were going to be romance in the show it would be Zim/Gaz, so he’s either a huge hypocrite or doesn’t view Zim as being incompatible with Gaz.

I do think it’s much better when Dib is an adult and it just makes more sense, and I actually do prefer zadf to zadr and if i were going to ever write fanfiction or make fanart it would probably just be zadf, just because i know this does have some stuff to think about and I totally respect that you have a different view of it, but i honestly just don’t see it that way.  The analogy with Jacob imprinting on Bella’s child in Twilight isn’t really the same thing honestly.  The author in that situation tried to make it not......that....by saying that imprinting isn’t always a romantic relationship thing, and that Jacob would be more of an older brother, but honestly that doesn’t really negate the impact of grooming that kid would have with Jacob around.  The idea that Zim would somehow be grooming Dib seems really silly to me although you’re right, I think his characterization in Into the Florpus has evolved somewhat especially with regard to Dib wanting to get his father’s approval, but again Zim has parallels with that in trying to please the Tallest.  the world-building and characterizations are inconsistent and scattershot at best.  Like no, zim isn’t waiting for him to turn legal, that’s absurd, they’re nemeses coming at each other then learning to be friends.  You’re right that that doesn’t have to be zadr but I still tag it as zadr so people can block it if they want to.

Like, I’ve seen people ship Zim with Professor Membrane instead of Dib.  That seems very weird to me.  that professor membrane would have a relationship with someone who literally goes to his son’s elementary school and who doesn’t know anything at all about human behavior and emotions.

I feel like with this discussion people don’t really understand the problem with age gaps. With age gaps, it’s not a matter of mature/immature, it’s about development.  A ten year age gap sounds like a lot right?  a 25-year-old and a 15-year old would absolutely have a predatory “relationship.”  But a 35- and a 45-year old, that’s perfectly fine.  Having a difference in age doesn’t automatically make the relationship unhealthy.  so if Dib is 25 and Zim is [whatever the hell aliens years i still don’t really take Jhonen’s word for it bc he’s not consistent], that’s doesn’t mean it has to be bad.  The thing about telling minors they’re “so mature for their age” to try and convince them that a person interested in them isn’t a pedophile is that we know a human being who is 15 isn’t developmentally at the same level as a 25-year-old regardless of their behavior.  What is Zim?  All we have to go on is how he acts, and he acts like Dib is an equal match, it’s not “he’s immature for his age,” it’s very unclear.  Raw number of years isn’t the ultimate decider, for example in DnD lore elves reach maturity at, like, 100 years old so a 25-yo human trying to get with a 50-year-old elf would be predatory to the young elf even though the “younger” one is technically twice as old as the human.  Do you see what I’m saying?

I also don’t really buy the idea that Invader Zim’s writing resonates with people because Zim is ~~so human~~.  The guy steals a bunch of kid’s organs in one episode and flies into a tantrum over the slightest inconvenience.  You have to be reading really deeply into it and dig into some old internet archives of things Jhonen Vasquez has said to paint it as realistic.  You can do some interesting things with it wrt like, Zim being defective and starting to experience human emotions but that’s mostly fanon.

Well, you’ve given me some things to think about, thanks for explaining your side to me.  I’m still going to tag things as #zadr so people can block if it can’t plausibly be categorized as zadf.  I’m not actually making any fan content for Invader Zim so the point is kind of moot, but if I ever do I’ll definitely take this into consideration.

[creativenicocorner]

5, 10, 19?

Aaay! Thank you so much!! @dreamcrow

5. What’s a crackship you love?

As a crack ship gfdkgsd oh man, my heart is set on Blinky/Strickler on that one ahaha. I already adore whatever dynamics they have together on screen - or even when referencing one another!! And honestly I think they’d make great friends!! Heck they could bond on Roman pennies, and mechanical engineering (seeing as Blinky helped build Jim’s Vespa, and Strickler made a super accurate replica of Merlin’s amulet) and don’e get me started on the quick witted beautiful back and forth they’d have

Once tried writing a Good Omens AU with all this in mind, but never quite had the energy to finish it. Let’s face is the two of them have great Aziraphale / Crowley energy haha  

10. Mutual pining or enemies to friends to lovers?

Oh man oh man, mutual pining. It leaves so much potential open!! Heck even the enemies to friends to lovers could happen within the umbrella of mutual pining (especially if one of the two isn’t ready to admit to their pining -wink- ) 

That and I’m just a sucker for two people being so equally into one another but just, not quite having the confidence to learn how the other feels. It’s so juicy and can be played oh so deliciously in so many fun ways!

19. What’s your favorite character head canon?

Weeeell there’s certainly one HC I’ve been hinting at for quite some time and have been meaning to make a proper post about - but here is what I’d like to call the Meat and Potatoes (super lean edition) of the Etruscan Strickler HC ヽ(o♡o)/

(please keep in mind I’m not a qualified historian, or anthropologist, or archeologist - but an avid lover of history )

So the Etruscans and the peoples of Etruria have been around for a loooong time, in fact there are some who believe the Etruscan language is one of the building blocks of many italic languages. And for a good amount of centuries they thrived! 

Then Rome happened, which was perhaps inevitable seeing as they were on the same peninsula - and because of that the size of Etruria changed depending on which century map you’re looking at. And although at some point Etruria spanned from Umbria to just grazing into the region of Lazio - its biggest consistent chunk existed in what we know today as modern Tuscany.

Because of this I should perhaps make it clear that I believe Strickler came out through the fetch after 32BCE during the already decline of the Etruscan language (in which Etruria is already absorbed and occupied by the Roman Empire). In fact by then only a select few, unless they were Etruscan, knew the language Marcus Terentius Varro for example, the Roman Emperor Claudius (though he probably learned it from his first wife, Plautia Urgulanilla who is believed to be Etruscan).

Now I hear what you’re probably thinking: But his/ his familiar’s name is Waltolomew Strickler? That’s not very Latin sounding for a name. 

 And you’re absolutely right!

However, Etruscans (despite occupation and absorption into the Roman Empire - and more so before) were known to be seafaring, trade was very important from Egypt to what we know today as the Greek islands and to the northern coast. Import and export was important and (as well as fighting pirates, but that’s a very fun wiki rabbit hole to fall through another time haha), and with trade comes awesome exposure to other cultures and other peoples from that culture! 

Case in point the vague similarities and non similarities between certain deities between the Roman Greek and Etruscan Pantheon! Of course each pantheon has its own variants and deities that don’t exist in another pantheon, as well as different takes on certain heroes i.e the Greek Heracles, and the Etruscan Hercle -which through a lot of found art, is perceived to be a very popular hero for a number of reasons. 

I could also go into the account of Etruscan soothsayers being well praised even by Cicero - but that’s another rabbit hole for another time - as well as a reason I like to indulge in the fact that Strickler can come across as rather superstitious at times! 

But I’m getting off topic XP TRADE we’re talking about trade, and it was important be it Egypt to the Balkans 

And with that in mind it isn’t impossible for a Northern Germanic man to fall in love with an Etruscan woman.  

1) women were treated far better in Etruria, as opposed to Rome and Athens. In fact Romans thought they were more promiscuous because of how freely and equally they were treated. 

 2) Germanic tribes treated their woman on a similar level of equality. 

 3)   As a culture of partnership, heck we are still discovering more and more about the Etruscans but we can make educated guesses through their sarcophagus covers (the reclining lovers and so on). This celebration of life lived even in the face of death. 

Very on brand Strickler imo, and if we from history can see how they treated marriage in death we can assume how marriage was treated in life. As loving and equal as possible. In short Strickler grew up with that respecting women juice (at least compared to Roman and Athenian standards) 

So name wise, Waltolomew Strickler can come from the Norther Father’s name. Vel for short, as names beginning with ‘w’ aren’t very common in Latin, Etruscan, or Italian. In fact if you go to Italy today and introduce yourself as idk, William -  there’s a good chance they’ll pronounce William as [Vee-lee-am]. 

However in Latin the use of ‘v’ often replaces the ‘w’ and ‘u’ sounds. u = v and a double u = vv (aaay get it?) And just like that a VValtolomevv is named haha

Enter the name Vel slowly over time becoming Walt over time. I could go on for paragraphs, but I know I explained the whole congnomen thing in Terpsichore, I’d have to re-check and I fear this is already getting…ah…crazy long so I’ll try and wrap it up ^^’’

Initially the real Waltolomew was supposed to be left in the woods to die at the mercy of nature because it didn’t look like the infant wouldn’t survive anyways, but when they went back to check in the woods to find who we know as Strickler the host family Strickler saw it nothing short than an auspicious miracle of the gods, or that their child managed to strike a deal with Vanth (a death god), there’s a lot of theories between the family members to try and explain how Walter’s survival is possible - but all the same Waltolomew is raised in a rather loving family!  

There’s the quiet and slightly distant Northern Father (who is occasionally homesick) and mainly tends to the olive grove. The Mother that settles the finances. The Uncle that runs shipptrades and sells the family olive oil. And, of course, The Grandmother who is very proud of living Etruria thank you very much, openly mocking romans, quick with an opinion, morally gray, with a sparkle of mischief - and someone who pretty much elbowed her way into the very serious child Waltolomew’s heart in such a way the changeling wasn’t sure if she knew his secret or even cared! 

Eventually Roman payments became too steep, the Northern Father racked up a bit of debt and was sent into the army…the Northern Father never returns presumed dead in action. The resentment of Romans grows even more in the Strickler household because of this. 

Which is one of the reasons why later in life Stricklander chooses to occasionally pass as ‘British’ aka one of the peoples the Romans couldn’t occupy and conquer, as opposed to siding with a people who absorbed the population of his home peninsula that would later be known as Italy.

 In fact I believe after being forced to work at Hadrian’s wall (which was a laughable failure, although as a Cesare Hadrian was well praised), and returning to find his host family home repossessed by Romans Walter would flee to Gaul (another location where Romans couldn’t conquer).

It wouldn’t be long until the Romans called on a 13 ½ year old Waltolomew to enter into the military just in time for the Hadrian’s Wall debacle. Where Waltolomew grows a respect for the peoples of the British isles for being able to hold off Rome for so long and so much. Afterwards he returns to the peninsula to find his home repossessed by Romans, his grandmother having passed, and his mother and uncle closer to the port and not doing so hot. This spurns Strickler’s dislike for Romans more, an incident occurs, and Waltolomew flees to Gaul (another area famous for being able to hold off the Romans), but this time to join the Gumm-Gumms 

More on that another time cause ooo boy this is a long response XP I’m sorry this got so out of hand!! 

I wanted to add my thoughts as to why and how I came to the conclusion of this HC but like I said this response is crazy long already so I’ll keep it short (for now) to: That classic ‘Roman Nose profile’ of his, the pale olive skin tone, the vague roman/greek helmet he has in his office, how his Italian VA did not do an English accent in the dub, and - uh, well, I like the idea of it haha

Oh! And here’s a picture of a supermarket outside of Sarteano named ‘Etrusco’ Look at that lil face! It probably doesn’t mean much, but it does spark joy haha

Thank you so much for your questions!! I deeply appreciate it!!♥(ˆ⌣ˆԅ) 

[qfantasydragon]

Supersoakers

Author’s note: This is part 3 in an ongoing fic. You can find part 1 here and part 2 here. It’s also up on AO3 (x).

Part 4

Three days later, Aziraphale’s sword was quietly picked up by a shipping company.  

“You don’t want to keep it?” Crowley double-checked as Aziraphale bustled about, opening up the bookshop. The angel paused thoughtfully as he settled behind the counter.  

“It does contain some of... well, me, I suppose, but I like to think it’s doing some good out there in the world. Not all wars are fought for the wrong reasons.” Crowley heard the spaces between the words and understood what his angel wasn’t saying. I don’t want to fight. I don’t want to war.  

“Besides,” Aziraphale continued, “If worst comes to worst, I’m fairly certain I can call it back to me now.”  

“Nnngyeah, I guess that’s a good point,” the bookshop was full of sun, and Crowley was resisting the urge to find a bright corner to curl up in. Course, behind the register was pretty bright too...  

There was a jangle from the door and loud chatter spilled into the bookshop. The angel and the demon turned and saw a tangle of limbs, hair, and children that eventually resolved itself to be Them. 

“Hello Crowley, hello Aziraphale,” Adam greeted them cheerfully from the front of the pack, Dog eyeing Aziraphale suspiciously at his feet, “Mum and Dad are a few stores down, and they said we could come wait in here as long as we promised to be good.”  

“Errm, yes, hello.” Aziraphale blinked as Brain meandered toward a stack of particularly old first editions with his fingers covered in what appeared to be melted chocolate. Wensleydale was headed toward some old encyclopedias and Pepper was scanning the whole area with a disproving look. Crowley was considering the dignity of staging a strategic retreat and whether or not that was considered bad form in front of the former Antichrist.  

“Wicked!” Adam exclaimed delightedly, “You’ve got the books!” and made a beeline for the red covers that hadn’t been there before the Apocalypse-that-wasn't.  

Crowley was slithering towards the back when Aziraphale gave him a desperate look. Crowley shook his head frantically. Aziraphale switched to pleading and the demon’s shoulder’s slumped. He never could resist that look.  

"Not very sportsmanlike,” he murmured to his angel as he strode back into the bookshop.  

“I have no idea what you mean, I’m sure,” Aziraphale responded with a grateful smile. Crowley snorted,  

“Sssure you don’t, angel,” he responded lazily as he snapped his fingers. Brians's hands were suddenly free of chocolate as he tugged out a faded book. “All right you lot, keep your hands off the merchandise. These are all expensive, so unless you want to be paying for them...”  

“But they’re just grubby old books,” Pepper complained. Aziraphale’s eye twitched. “How can they be expensive?”  

“Maybe they’ve got stuff hidden inside them?” Wensleydale suggested. “Like rubies or daggers!”  

“Adam?” Aziraphale sharply interrupted the conversation, “What is it?” Adam had reached the window where the red-covered books were kept and had gotten as far as taking one out before he had frozen.  

“They’re coming,” he sighed in a thoughtful tone. “And they’re not pleased with either of you.” The rest of Them paused and looked over at Adam. Half faded memories of a forest and a storm tugged at them uneasily, and they all bunched together.  

“Who’s coming, my dear boy?”  

“His lot,” Adam gestured vaguely to Crowley, “The person with the flies. And others. Lots of others.” Aziraphale and Crowley exchanged grim looks.  

“Alright kiddos, time for you all to head out. Go on, shoo,” Crowley did his best to shove them towards the door.  

“But we want to help!” protested Adam.  

“You don’t want to be involved with this. The last time was bad enough,” Aziraphale stepped out from behind the counter, closing the register.  

“But I bet we can be really useful! We’ve played war loads of times!”  

“Yeah, and I’m sure we’ve got lots of good ideas!”  

“Like what?” Aziraphale tartly asked Them. They all considered for a moment.  

“I saw a movie on TV where demons can’t cross holy water,” Wensleydale offered, “We could ring the place with the stuff!” Crowley winced slightly, six-thousand-year-old habits being hard to break.  

“Demons can step over holy water just fine,” Aziraphale responded, casting a worried look at Crowley, “they just can’t touch it.”  

“Or else what?” Brian asked.  

“Or else they melt,” the angel snapped, trying once more to herd them to the door.  

“Supersoakers,” Adam announced thoughtfully. Everyone paused, and after some consideration, the rest of the Them began nodding.  

“Super-what now?” Aziraphale asked confusedly.  

“Supersoakers and water balloons,” Adam repeated and added, the idea growing wonderfully in his mind.  

“Brilliant,” breathed Brian.  

“It’ll be just like that grand old fight last summer with Greasy Johnson,” Pepper added delighted.  

Aziraphale passed a confused glance to Crowley.  

“They may be on to something here angel,” the demon admitted, “I’ve seen what they’re talking about in stores. It’s these guns that shoot water, and balloons that are full of it that you throw at people. Wouldn’t be too hard to fill with holy water. Even less difficult to miracle some up. Supersoakers and water guns, that is. You can take care of the holy water?”  

“Of course, my dear,” Aziraphale agreed. (It must be noted that the angel was still rather fuzzy on this whole ‘supersoakers’ idea, although he had a vague memory of some children in the park throwing water balloons. Crowley was not much better off, supersoakers and water balloons not being much use in mischief that he had had to report to Down Below.)  

“Now can we stay?” asked Brian hopefully.  

The word ‘no’ was on the edge of Aziraphale’s lips when Crowley glanced out the window and reported,  

“It doesn’t look like you have much of a choice.” Aziraphale followed his gaze.  

Heaven had come with quality and cleverness.  

Hell came with quantity and brute force.  

Cars were screeching to a stop outside as a thick ring of demons began to close in on the shop.  

Crowley snapped his fingers hastily and a pile of brightly colored plastic guns and a bucket of empty balloons appeared on the floor of the shop.  

“Fill, please,” Aziraphale murmured and the guns that had already been snatched up by Them were suddenly heavier, and the bucket was heaping with filled balloons.  

Aziraphale sighed or shouted or sang a word in a language that set the world around them vibrating like a plucked string and had Crowley twitching like someone had just dropped an ice cube down his back.  

“Sorry dear,” Aziraphale offered a quick apology but Crowley waved it off.  

“Didn’t even sting,” he responded as he cautiously scooped up one of the remaining supersoakers. There was a crash from outside.  

“That car just ran into a hydrant!” Pepper announced indignantly. Both angel and demon grimaced.  

“I don’t suppose you could freeze time again, keep the humans out of it?” Aziraphale murmured. Crowley let out a low hiss as he thought it over.  

“I could for a little bit, but I’m not sure I could hold it for long.”  

“Could you start it up and then pass it over to me to hold, do you think?” Crowley considered.  

“Maybe. Can’t say anyone’s ever tried it before.”  

“Well, there’s a first time for everything. And I can’t say I’d be much use with those, ah, ‘supersoakers’ of yours.”  

“Crowley!” came a buzzing voice from outside. There was the noise of screeching metal.  

Crowley snapped his fingers.  

The world paused.  

Something you must understand is that angels, and by extension, demons, are primarily noncorporeal beings. They’ve gotten used to being corporeal, of course, (especially in the case of Aziraphale and Crowley) and Heaven and Hell have both patterned themselves after the corporeal world to deal with the influx of human souls.  

But angels and demons still remember before the Beginning. Back when they were nothing but song and thought in the pure void before creation.  

Humans, on the other hand, have never been anything but corporeal.  

This makes it rather difficult to explain the following interaction. You’ll just have to accept what amounts to a copy fuzzed by a bad machine reflected twice by funhouse mirrors.  

Crowley held back the flow time with sheer willpower.  

Now what? He wondered trying to figure out how to hand it to Aziraphale.  

Here, I think, Aziraphale sighed against his soul, whispering down a thick cord that Crowley suddenly saw stretching between them.  

He examined it, fascinated for a moment, an eternity. Time was relative.  

The outermost layer he recognized with a start as their marriage (a small pub, four signatures, rings of wings and snakes, love so pure it took Crowley’s breath away). But beneath that...  

Beneath that the cord (Crowley fancied it looked like ivy, growing more strands and getting thicker every year) was woven of thousands of moments, words, and thoughts. With a start the demon recognized the church where he had saved Aziraphale’s books (names and fire and realizations), the time the angel had ‘tempted’ him into eating oysters (the roles are blurring and conversations are being woven of air and energy), and at the very core, a spidersilk thread that was them standing on the wall discussing Aziraphale’s flaming sword (the taste of apples the sting of the fall the concern of the guardian).  

There was a gentle nudge from Aziraphale, and Crowley carefully handed over his grip on time. Aziraphale seized it, bracing himself to take the load.  

Crowley rocketed back to his corporeal form and hefted the supersoaker.  

“Got it angel?” he asked Aziraphale who was standing there with a look that was an odd cross between deep concentration and absent-mindedness on his face.  

“I won’t be much good for anything else,” Aziraphale spoke slowly, much of his mind obviously elsewhere, “but I can hold it.”  

“Boy, Adam, go take Aziraphale to the back room, shut the door, and come back,” Crowley commanded. Adam, to his credit, saw the frozen people, Aziraphale’s face, put two and two together and (his teachers would say remarkably) came up with four.  

“This way Mr. Fell,” he gently grabbed the angel’s arm and led him to the back room. Crowley watched them go with concern. That was a lot of focus being directed elsewhere, especially for a celestial being.  

Inside Aziraphale’s head, he was getting a crash course on black holes. You see, despite everything and all the millennia in between, Crowley still remembered wistfully the days when he built stars and nebula and the great celestial spheres.  

So when he needed to build something in a hurry, starstuff is what he automatically reverted to, whether he recognized it or not.  

Crowley can affect time because he built the galaxy and so he knows how it works; more to the point, he knows the blueprint for a black hole, a minuscule object with a gravity so great it can slow, slow...stop time.  

That was what Aziraphale was dealing with in his head at the moment, and later he would claim that it was a perfectly reasonable thing to be distracted by.  

“CROOOOWLEY,” Beelzebub snarled again.  

“Stay here,” he muttered to the rest of Them.  

Then he hefted his supersoaker and stepped out the door of the shop, pasting on his most smarmy smile.  

“Hello there Lord Beelzebub! And how are you doing on this fine day?”  

“How’s your boyfriend?” Dagon grinned at him, baring her shark-teeth.  

“My husband’s well, thank you for asking,” Crowley responded waving his left hand airily to display the ring. “Sorry we didn’t invite you to the ceremony, but it was a small affair, not a lot of room...You know what, that was a lie, I’m not sorry at all.”  

The demons all went silent for a minute until Beelzebub spoke up.  

“Get him and bring me the angel!” the Lord of the Flies buzzed in an eerie crescendo that had the whole world shuddering.  

The demons charged.  

Crowley retreated, falling back to the threshold and then spinning in place. He raised the supersoaker and pressed the trigger.  

Out of the windows, Them did the same.  

Crowley and Aziraphale had no idea how supersoakers worked except in the vaguest of terms. So, neither of them saw anything wrong with giving the water coming out of the supersoaker roughly the same velocity as water exiting a firehose.  

“Wicked!” cheered Adam, bracing against a nearby bookshelf as the force of the spray nearly knocked him backward.  

As the water hit the demons they were knocked back and started to dissolve. Their shrieking and silvery light filled the air. Somewhere, Dog was yapping at the oncoming horde.  

Crowley bared his teeth and kept spraying, not noticing as black scales with red tints crept along his arms and face, as his spine seemed to stretch and start flexing in ways that human anatomy did not precisely allow.  

“Get the water balloons!” Pepper called to Brian, who Crowley was vaguely aware of as he darted back into the shop to grab the bucket.  

Mostly though, Crowley was focused on not letting the demons through.  

Not twice, was the desperate mantra running through his mind, not twice would he lose Aziraphale in this bookshop.  

Crowley’s power snaked around the battered store, encasing it securely. The water in the supersoakers never ran out. There always seemed to be another layer of balloons in the bucket when Brain dragged it over.  

The demons came and the demons fell. Crowley’s hands had been splashed with so much holy water that they had gone numb. He couldn’t feel to pull the trigger anymore, but still the water came.  

Then there was a feeling like someone had slugged him in the gut, but a thousand times worse. All the air rushed out of his lungs and Crowley swore that in some distant part of his mind he could hear that breath leave him, a drawn-out wave crashing on a slate-grey shore.  

He collapsed to his knees, supersoaker clattering to the ground.  

“RETREAT,” bellowed Beelzebub and immediately there were cracking noises as all the remaining demons plummeted through the Earth, falling back to the safety of Hell.  

It took a single desperate instant for Crowley to trace the terrible sensation to its source.  

He had wrapped his power around the bookshop, and something had shattered it. Something had shattered it on its way out. Crowley was already spinning, already moving faster than he had ever in his long, immortal life as time restarted behind his back.  

“What--” Adam started to ask as Crowley slammed past him to the back room.  

The door hit the wall with a crack and then fell off its hinges.  

Not that a door off its hinges stood out much in the room.  

There were chairs tipped over and books knocked everywhere in a mess Crowley knew his angel would never allow.  

His angel.

His angel, who looked to have been inconveniently discorporated once again.

His angel, who's body dissolved into white light as he watched and who's soul, when he looked, could be found nowhere on earth.

A piece of paper popped into existence midair. Crowley snatched it up before it could hit the floor.

The angel is ours. I look forward to paying him back for your stunt with the M25. --Hastur

[hekate1308]

Owe No One Anything, Chapter Seven

Chapter Six

He took a few deep breaths even though he’d never needed too and now inside his mind, they were more useless than ever, but he needed to calm down; he needed to keep the connection.

He needed to warn Crowley.

Because he knew Heaven.

If they’d just wanted to drop holy water on him, they could have anytime; no, this must be something crueller, something more sophisticated, as Gabriel would have put it while he was giving out his orders.

They had not averted the Apocalypse for this.

And so, he stayed in their cabin at the London Eye, determined to see this through and save his demon.

       ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Crowley once again drove to the bookshop in a manner that would have Aziraphale grasping at his seat, telling him to go slower. He didn’t mind. He needed to get there, to see with his own eyes that his angel had returned to him, as a part of him had always insisted he would.

He all but jumped out of the car as soon had he stopped, told it firmly that it was to open the door to none but Crowley himself since he didn’t want to take the time to lock it, and hurried inside. “Angel!?”

What if this had just been temporary, what if it had been nothing but a fluke –

But Aziraphale was standing in the middle of his now almost-empty office, wringing his hands. “Crowley dear! They made me get rid off my books, and your plants, and look how they made me lose weight – I must be horribly disfigured in your eyes –“

“No no�� he said, quickly taking him into his arms, “It’s alright angel. We can fix all of this.”

His heart was soaring. Now that he had Aziraphale back at his side, everything would be alright. Everything would be like it had been before – with the exception that he would make it his mission that none of these bastards ever touched either of them again.

“But look at this” Aziraphale wailed in his usual overdramatic way as he stepped back, “This – they must have made me shed at least twenty years and thirty pounds!”

“Nothing a few good lunches at the Ritz won’t fix, if we don’t use a miracle for it” Crowley soothed him, “And I’d say we’ve earned one, now.”

Aziraphale leaned against him. “You’re right, dear, of course. I just – I just came back to myself and let’s just say it was a bit of a shock.”

“Maybe they didn’t realize there was a time limit to whatever they did to you” Crowley said, starting to rub his back. “I have to say, this was creative even for them.”

He made his own experience sound light because in comparison, it was. He didn’t even want to know where Aziraphale had gone while all this had taken place – although he would of course listen if he wanted to talk. “Anathema’s going to be glad.”

“Anathema? What does she have to do with this?”

Something struck Crowley as strange about his reaction, but he couldn’t quite tell what. Maybe he was still in a bit of shock, too. “You know what? I could use a cup of tea” he said, moving towards the kitchen that hopefully would still work (and if it didn’t he’d make it) “How about –“

“Oh no my dear, let me” Aziraphale said eagerly and moved past him.

He probably just wanted to do something normal after the nightmare that had been the last few weeks, and who could blame him.

Crowley realized his legs were shaking underneath him and sat down on the chair. He probably was experiencing this delayed shock thing the humans sometimes went on about – not that he’d paid them much attention, unless he’d quickly helped them out by way of miracle.

Only so he could properly tempt them, of course, not because he was being nice.

He looked at the desktop of the new shiny computer that seemed utterly wrong in Aziraphale’s hands. He would be glad that he had, later.

               -----------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was almost too much to bear. How they made Crowley think that he’d returned to him, only to try and…

Aziraphale closed his eyes even though he wanted nothing more than to check how his beloved serpent was doing; but he needed to do something, needed to let him know…

He heard Crowley’s voice clear as a bell. “Anathema’s going to be glad.”

Anathema? So he had finally learned their friend’s name…

And then he realized.

And so, he concentrated on his tongue, forming words, forcing them out…

          ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It didn’t take long for Aziraphale to bustle back into the room with two cups of tea in his hands. “I used lots of sugar. I think we could both need it.”

Crowley wouldn’t help but agree with him there. “Thanks, angel.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Crowley reached out for the cup.

         ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Oh no. He’d pout the holy water into the tea.

Aziraphale would never forgive his brethren. This was even more vile than he could have imagined. It already hurt demons to be emerged in it, but if Crowley swallowed it –

And so, in his desperation, he did the only thing that he could think of.

          -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Crowley knew Aziraphale liked his snacks, and his tea, but that had never stopped him from sharing.

So when, instead of letting go, Aziraphale left him to uselessly tug at the cup while he stood there, his fingers seemingly clenching around it, he knew something was wrong.

Something, considering the strange expression on Aziraphale’s face, was very, very wrong.

And then he remembered.

He hadn’t commented on Crowley finally bothering to remember Anathema’s name. That in itself was unusual.

And then the desktop –

He’d had the documents folder open, and he’d saved a file just a few minutes before Crowley showed up.

Which meant –

All of this it took him only a matter of seconds to comprehend; and knowing that, if he revealed himself, he probably would never have a chance to come this close to Aziraphale ever again, he did what he probably should have done from the beginning.

“Angel” he chuckled, “Kinda need that if I’m to drink the tea.”

The panic he saw flare up in Aziraphale’s eyes – proving that on some level he knew what was going on and was desperately trying to prevent it – made things easier.

He wrenched the cup out of his hands, tossed its contents into his face to distract him, miracled the tire iron from the Bentley to him, and knocked him out.

      ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Aziraphale rubbed his head.

That had hurt.

But at least Crowley had realized, Crowley had known, Crowley was safe for now –

“I’m almost impressed. That took a lot of strength.”

He opened his eyes and ignored the throbbing to glare at not-Crowley. “Nothing I wouldn’t do for him.” Sadly, the apparition was right; he felt drained. But Crowley was alive.

“Apparently” he agreed, sitting down next to him. “Nice view. Should come here more often.”

“I will. With him.”

“Please. What do you think he’s going to do?”

He didn’t know but it didn’t matter. After all, Crowley had already stopped time for him more than once. He’d come up with something.

     ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Crowley carefully put the two cups away – holy water, the thought alone made him shudder, and God knew what Aziraphale must have gone through to warn him – and then used another frivolous miracle to put their bed back upstairs. He needed it – he couldn’t let Aziraphale lie on the floor.

The one good thing was that Heaven was probably giving him time to finish his assignment of doing away with Crowley, so that he didn’t have to recon with a visit from Above for the time being.

Crowley carefully placed Aziraphale – his now thin, fit body as always gave him a painful stab as he contemplated it – on the bed and thought.

Well. Demons and angels… they weren’t exactly corporeal, were they, even if they had bodies.

And he’d travelled through the phone.

Which meant that it technically should be able for him to get into Aziraphale’s mind and try and fix whatever they had done to it, to him.

It would be dangerous, of course. Angels were not known for their subtlety, and they had probably put all sports of guards in there just to make sure nothing went wrong.

Too bad.

He was doing it anyway.

          -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Wasn’t it ironic that one of the few times he wished he could just lie down and sleep was when he very much could not because he didn’t even have control over his body.

Aziraphale stood up from his seat and swayed lightly from side to side.

“What – angel!” Not Crowley grabbed him and held him up. “You shouldn’t have done that. It will take days before you can even check out what’s going on outside again.”

“Had to” he managed to say. “Crowley was in danger.”

Even with the sunglasses, he could tell he was rolling his eyes. “He is always going to be in danger Why you two just puttered around London for a year when you could have been God knows where already is a –“

“We like London” he interrupted him, “And the flat we miracled together. That’s not to say we’re not going to get that cottage we talked about –“

“Angel” he said flatly as he dropped him back into the seat, “Haven’t you learned a thing from today? You might have kept – well, yourself from getting him today. But one day you won’t be able to, or maybe he’ll grow tired and leave eventually and then they’ll get him. This is it. End of the line.”

“No” Aziraphale said, quietly but firmly, “It’s not.”

If he had managed to warn Crowley for the moment, then Crowley would find a way to fix this.

“If you say so…”

“Yes” he smiled through his exhaustion “You don’t know my dear serpent as well as I do.”

“I’m you, remember?”

“Not quite, though, are you?” he challenged him.

“You figured it out?”

“Very early on. A completely…. Crowley Crowley in my mind would have encouraged me to get back to him.”

Not-Crowley threw his head back and laughed. “The confidence you have in him is astonishing.”

“I know you think that because part of you was put in here by Heaven, probably to make me doubt him. But I’ll never do that. Six thousand years, and he’s always found his way back to me. He will this time, too.”

“If you say so…” he repeated.

“Oh trust me. He will. It’s only a matter of time, now.”

After all, that was how it worked. He had just saved Crowley, so now it was Crowley’s turn.

It was ineffable.

        -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Alright alright…” how to do this….” Crowley mumbled to himself while pacing about the room. He’d made sure that Aziraphale wouldn’t wake up for several hours.

He would have to… break himself down to molecules again, like that time with the phone. Only this time he’d have to enter Azriaphale’s mind.

He desperately hoped it wasn’t as shattered as it appeared to be.

He bit his lips.

Memories. Memories they both shared. That could be his way in.

And at the end of memory lane would be the place where they had put Aziraphale. Everything between him and the world outside, so he couldn’t find his way out.

Well. Crowley would be there to help him or die trying.

And so he gently laid a hand on the angel’s forehead and closed his eyes.

Where to go, that was the problem.

Six millennia of memories, locked away in Aziraphale’s head to make him into a perfect little soldier.

Well… Let’s start with… where it started, he told himself.

And went in.

   ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

In his worst moments, he had feared that heaven had managed to completely destroy Aziraphale’s memories.

But when he opened his eyes and found himself looking at the angel who’d just given his sword away and a demon who was about to fall once more, although in an entirely different way, he realized he’d been wrong. This – this was exactly how it had happened.

And so he watched himself speak his first words to his future love.

“Well, that went down like a lead balloon.”

Chapter Eight