#and I was too scared to add Aziraphale in immediately so I was going to add Crowley in the back

[yellobb]

“Nothing lasts forever….”

Day 2 - Spiders

[joycrispy]

Awhile ago @ouidamforeman made this post:

This shot through my brain like a chain of firecrackers, so, without derailing the original post, I have some THOUGHTS to add about why this concept is not only hilarious (because it is), but also...

It. It kind of fucks. Severely.

And in a delightfully Pratchett-y way, I'd dare to suggest.

I'll explain:

As inferred above, both Crowley AND Aziraphale have canonical Biblical counterparts. Not by name, no, but by function.

Crowley, of course, is the serpent of Eden.

(note on the serpent of Eden: In Genesis 3:1-15, at least, the serpent is not identified as anything other than a serpent, albeit one that can talk. Later, it will be variously interpreted as a traitorous agent of Hell, as a demon, as a guise of Satan himself, etc. In Good Omens --as a slinky ginger who walks funny)

Lesser known, at least so far as I can tell, is the flaming sword. It, too, appears in Genesis 3, in the very last line:

"So he drove out the man; and placed at the east of the garden of Eden Cherubims, and a flaming sword which turned every way, to keep the way of the tree of life." --Genesis 3:24, KJV

Thanks to translation ambiguity, there is some debate concerning the nature of the flaming sword --is it a divine weapon given unto one of the Cherubim (if so, why only one)? Or is it an independent entity, which takes the form of a sword (as other angelic beings take the form of wheels and such)? For our purposes, I don't think the distinction matters. The guard at the gate of Eden, whether an angel wielding the sword or an angel who IS the sword, is Aziraphale.

(note on the flaming sword: in some traditions --Eastern Orthodox, for example-- it is held that upon Christ's death and resurrection, the flaming sword gave up it's post and vanished from Eden for good. By these sensibilities, the removal of the sword signifies the redemption and salvation of man.

...Put a pin in that. We're coming back to it.)

So, we have our pair. The Serpent and the Sword, introduced at the beginning and the end (ha) of the very same chapter of Genesis.

But here's the important bit, the bit that's not immediately obvious, the bit that nonetheless encapsulates one of the central themes, if not THE central theme, of Good Omens:

The Sword was never intended to guard Eden while Adam and Eve were still in it.

Do you understand?

The Sword's function was never to protect them. It doesn't even appear until after they've already fallen. No... it was to usher Adam and Eve from the garden, and then keep them out. It was a threat. It was a punishment.

The flaming sword was given to be used against them.

So. Again. We have our pair. The Serpent and the Sword: the inception and the consequence of original sin, personified. They are the one-two punch that launches mankind from paradise, after Hell lures it to destruction and Heaven condemns it for being destroyed. Which is to say that despite being, supposedly, hereditary enemies on two different sides of a celestial cold war, they are actually unified by one purpose, one pivotal role to play in the Divine Plan: completely fucking humanity over.

That's how it's supposed to go. It is written.

...But, in Good Omens, they're not just the Serpent and the Sword.

They're Crowley and Aziraphale.

(author begins to go insane from emotion under the cut)

In Good Omens, humanity is handed it's salvation (pin!) scarcely half an hour after losing it. Instead of looming over God's empty garden, the sword protects a very sad, very scared and very pregnant girl. And no, not because a blameless martyr suffered and died for the privilege, either.

It was just that she'd had such a bad day. And there were vicious animals out there. And Aziraphale worried she would be cold.

...I need to impress upon you how much this is NOT just a matter of being careless with company property. With this one act of kindness, Aziraphale is undermining the whole entire POINT of the expulsion from Eden. God Herself confronts him about it, and he lies. To God.

And the Serpent--

(Crowley, that is, who wonders what's so bad about knowing the difference between good and evil anyway; who thinks that maybe he did a GOOD thing when he tempted Eve with the apple; who objects that God is over-reacting to a first offense; who knows what it is to fall but not what it is to be comforted after the fact...)

--just goes ahead and falls in love with him about it.

As for Crowley --I barely need to explain him, right? People have been making the 'didn't the serpent actually do us a solid?' argument for centuries. But if I'm going to quote one of them, it may as well be the one Neil Gaiman wrote ficlet about:

"If the account given in Genesis is really true, ought we not, after all, to thank this serpent? He was the first schoolmaster, the first advocate of learning, the first enemy of ignorance, the first to whisper in human ears the sacred word liberty, the creator of ambition, the author of modesty, of inquiry, of doubt, of investigation, of progress and of civilization." --Robert G. Ingersoll

The first to ask questions.

Even beyond flattering literary interpretation, we know that Crowley is, so often, discreetly running damage control on the machinations of Heaven and Hell. When he can get away with it. Occasionally, when he can't (1827).

And Aziraphale loves him for it, too. Loves him back.

And so this romance plays out over millennia, where they fall in love with each other but also the world, because of each other and because of the world. But it begins in Eden. Where, instead of acting as the first Earthly example of Divine/Diabolical collusion and callousness--

(other examples --the flood; the bet with Satan; the back channels; the exchange of Holy Water and Hellfire; and on and on...)

--they refuse. Without even necessarily knowing they're doing it, they just refuse. Refuse to trivialize human life, and refuse to hate each other.

To write a story about the Serpent and the Sword falling in love is to write a story about transgression.

Not just in the sense that they are a demon and an angel, and it's ~forbidden. That's part of it, yeah, but the greater part of it is that they are THIS demon and angel, in particular. From The Real Bible's Book of Genesis, in the chapter where man falls.

It's the sort of thing you write and laugh. And then you look at it. And you think. And then you frown, and you sit up a little straighter. And you think.

And then you keep writing.

And what emerges hits you like a goddamn truck.

(...A lot of Pratchett reads that way. I believe Gaiman when he says Pratchett would have been happy with the romance, by the way. I really really do).

It's a story about transgression, about love as transgression. They break the rules by loving each other, by loving creation, and by rejecting the hatred and hypocrisy that would have triangulated them as a unified blow against humanity, before humanity had even really got started. And yeah, hell, it's a queer romance too, just to really drive the point home (oh, that!!! THAT!!!)

...I could spend a long time wildly gesturing at this and never be satisfied. Instead of watching me do that (I'll spare you), please look at this gif:

I love this shot so much.

Look at Eve and Crowley moving, at the same time in the same direction, towards their respective wielders of the flaming sword. Adam reaches out and takes her hand; Aziraphale reaches out and covers him with a wing.

You know what a shot like that establishes? Likeness. Commonality. Kinship.

"Our side" was never just Crowley and Aziraphale. Crowley says as much at the end of season 1 ("--all of us against all of them."). From the beginning, "our side" was Crowley, Aziraphale, and every single human being. Lately that's around 8 billion, but once upon a time it was just two other people. Another couple. The primeval mother and father.

But Adam and Eve die, eventually. Humanity grows without them. It's Crowley and Aziraphale who remain, and who protect it. Who...oversee it's upbringing.

Godfathers. Sort of.

[wrengrif]

It is time for my favorite game...

Good Omens, What If.

Now yesterday, I read an amazing post by @ishomieokay, who postulated a very convincing theory that Aziraphale was going to end up being the Big Bad, because Supreme Archangel power was going to corrupt him.

Naturally this made me sad -- until I really started to think about it.

What If - Aziraphale did become power-mad?

What if he did become 'You Bullied Me And Now I'm Your Boss, Bitch' Supreme Archangel. Like it would be so FUCKING BAMF. Utterly horrifying, but utterly BAMF. He walks through the elevator, one of the archangels says something snide (my money is on Sandalphon, asshole), and Aziraphale just Supreme Archangel kicks him through the Heavenly Moon Door and makes him Fall. And while the other archangels are standing there, gaping, he straightens his collar and says, "I think you'll all find I have very little use for abusive language. Do keep that in mind. Where is my office?"

After that it's like as it's Lucifer 2 - The Principality Strikes Back. Aziraphale censuring angels left and right. Uriel doesn't get kicked - Uriel gets beaten for what they said about Crowley and then thrown out for a million mile dive. He makes Michael re-do the entire Second Coming. He's punching and kicking a hole in the archangel system that should be filled by someone who is willing to pull on the brakes. But no one does! Everyone is Too Fucking Scared.

The Metatron realizes that he hasn't trapped Aziraphale up there with them, they are all trapped here by A z i r a p h a l e. Aziraphale who is going to burn everything down because none of it is worthy (Aziraphale isn't worthy) of God's Love and they are just going to tear Heaven and Hell down to the nubs in the floor, and maybe Earth too because you know what, none of it is worthy of God (Crowley). Finally, Saraquel has had enough. She slaps the Down Button to Earth. Rolls herself into whatever dive bar that Crowley is in, and tells him point blank that if he doesn't help stop Aziraphale, it's going to be worse than Armageddon. Everything is going to be destroyed down to atoms, even wine.

Crowley gets to do two things that he's probably always wanted to do. One, he gets to be James Bond. Breaking into the Heaven (the Bond villain lair), knocking out some angel guards, maybe even punching Metatron in the face for getting them all into this situation in the first place. Second, he gets to kick open the doors to the Supreme Archangel's office, stare Aziraphale down from where he's seated behind his invisible glass desk (I imagine him petting a white duck. Why? I don't know.), looking forbidding and dressed in a silver white that matches his hair and his beard. Stereo-typical God, y'know.

And they stare at each other, for a long moment, glowering with all the hurt, and pain, and still - still - love that they have both known for six thousand years. Finally, Aziraphale speaks, his purple eyes flickering, "So what exactly are you supposed to be?" Crowley smiles That Sharp Smile, that one that Aziraphale adores. The one he actually fears. Crowley reaches behind his coat, and says, "Me? Crowley. Anthony J. Crowley. And I'm now the world's greatest magician, because I'm about to make you disappear." Aziraphale tenses in his throne, filled with that same sense of dread and can it be, hope? that Crowley is here to end him. Crowley doesn't look away as he growls, "Hocus Pocus, Supreme Arsehole." He pulls in front of him .... a bird cage. With a nightingale in it. Who immediately begins to sing. Crowley takes off his glasses, looks Aziraphale dead in the eye, and speaks in a rough voice. "I forgive you."

And just like that ... the Supreme Archangel crumbles down into dust, leaving behind a weeping Aziraphale.

End scene.

... I'd probably add some explosions in there. Just for fun. Oooooh and when Crowley is kicking ass through Heaven the song that plays is 'Don't Stop Me Now'.

[cosmicoceanfic]

Would you consider sharing the Crowley!Dirk/Aziraphale!Todd snippet? :)

Happy to help! :)

“Quite frankly,” Dirk says, adjusting his yellow jacket slightly. “I don’t see what you’re so upset about. You couldn’t give any less of a shit about cars.”

Todd continues to gaze at the back of the Bentley, despairing and despondent. “I care about being seen in this car.”

“Oh, buck up. She’s got character.”

“She’s also got a bumper sticker that says You Had Me at Merlot.”

“Oh, do you like it? I actually just put it on yesterday, it’s remarkable what you can find on the Internet.”

“You don’t even like wine, Dirk.”

“Well, I don’t see what that has to do with anything.”

“Someday you’re gonna put too many wine related bumper stickers on there and you’re gonna get pulled over for a breathalyzer.”

Dirk scoffs. “I would love to see them try.”

“Oh my god.”

The two of them turn to see a human of some sort, staring at the back of the Bentley in horror.

“Yes?” Dirk asks, extremely bright and cheerful which, as Todd knows well, is never a good sign.

“Did you.” The man looks close to an aneurysm. “Did you just… slather the back of a pristine first year Bentley in bumper stickers?”

“Fetching, aren’t they? I think they add a little character.”

“It’s a first year Bentley, it doesn’t need ch- do you even know what you have?”

“Not really. I picked it up at an estate sale a few years back, I couldn’t resist, I saw that bumper and just knew it needed a bumper sticker that says All This Mom Needs Is a Little Wine and Bon Jovi.”

Todd rolls his eyes. Dirk’s had this car practically since it left the factory floor. He’d insisted on taking Todd out for the first spin in it, at which point he’d gone so fast Todd had thought his spine was going to rip itself loose from his body and he was going to have to try and wrangle a new one. He’d started working out how he was going to explain himself as Dirk took a corner at breakneck speed, cackling.

“You just-“ The man points at Dirk. “You do not deserve to have that car. Somebody should take it from you.”

Todd is immediately rankled by the presence of the finger and takes a few steps forwards. “Hey, how about you mind your own business and fuck right off?”

The man takes a few steps forwards of his own. “Don’t tell me how to live my life, you-“

“Listen,” Dirk says, still smiling (again, a bad sign), lightly tugging on Todd’s arm until he’s the one closer to the man. “My friend may have been particularly prickly about it, but I think everybody’s best interests would be served by you listening to him.”

The man’s face transforms into terror and Todd rolls his eyes again. Dirk likes to do this thing when he wants to scare a human where he slowly burns his contacts away to reveal the snake eyes underneath and he doesn’t even have to look at him to know that’s what he’s doing now.

The man turns around and flees. Dirk calmly pulls a pair of white cat eye sunglasses out of his pocket, affixing them as he turns to Todd, beaming.

“Well!” He says brightly. “I think that went rather smashing, don’t you?”

“It’s not like it takes much work to scare a human, Dirk, they don’t even like it when the shadows get a little longer.”

“Of course they don’t.” Dirk leans in, teeth gleaming. “That’s where things like me live.”

Third time’s the charm, Todd thinks as he rolls his eyes. “Uh-huh.”

The grin gets a little goofier. “Thank you for defending my honor.”

“Shut up.” Todd approaches the passenger side of the car. “Are we taking your nightmare car or not? We’re gonna miss our reservation.”

“You know,” Dirk says, getting into the driver’s seat. “Somehow I think they’d let us in anyway.”

[thegoodomensdumpster]

Can't stop thinking about your Crawleigh drawing, its so compelling. I feel sad for him getting rained on all alone...has he been on earth alone all this time? Will you draw him again? Is there a way to learn more about his story?

OOOOOH you have no idea how delighted I am that I received this ask ! You just enabled me to drop all my Crawleigh feelings out in the open. Thank you so much for that. First of all, for those who might have missed it: here the fanart @yeoldehetalian​ is referring to (yes I’m showing it again because I love Crawleigh he’s so baby)

If you are not aware: Crawleigh was the proto version of both Crowley and Aziraphale in Gaiman’s first draft of what was going to become Good Omens, a little piece of writing called William The Antichrist. After he sent it to Pratchett, the latest made the excellent suggestion to split Crawleigh into the two characters we’ve come to know and love. From memory, here is what we learn about Crawleigh in William The Antichrist: -is baby -not very good at being a demon -waited for the plumber a whole day -didn’t do any evil deeds because he was waiting for the plumber to arrive -the plumber never came and Crawleigh was really put out so he said nothing -saves all the neighbourhood cats from trees they get stuck in -can’t be mean to humans because well they are nice to him so ??? -has been tortured in Hell after the whole Atlantis debacle (which implies that he was the reason Atlantis sunk I guess) -drives a Citroën 2CV -doesn’t seem to really have any magical ability ?  Uh maybe there’s something else but I don’t remember. But you get the idea. He’s baby. In the picture below (yay ! new Crawleigh fanart !) you can see Crawleigh and his entourage of cats. I was conflicted on whether the rescued cats would take a liking to him or if they would be scared of his demonic aura, but I couldn’t bring myself to draw the Bad Cat Ending so, there, new headcanon: all the animals Crawleigh rescues take an immediate liking to him and their presence become an every day life nuisance. Kindness contains the seed of its own destruction lmao)

The boy is gonna trip on the stripped cat, I can tell you that much. ANYWAYYYY.... Here comes the fun part where I dump all my Crawleigh thoughts. More below the cut!

So, considering how GO works with binomes and mirrors, I decided to back engineer WTA by removing the duos. Crawleigh is a mix of Crowley and Aziraphale; there are two other characters that are respectively a mix of Anathema and Newt and a mix of Tracy and Shadwell (not entirely sure what that would entail tbh; so far I’m imagining two female characters, and Anewthema is the most fleshed out. She’d be something like the descendant of both a witch and a witchfinder and would be very conflicted about her heritage, having troubles making sense of magic being a thing when she has raised rationnality to a degree that it has become a dogma. Or something like that. Anyway I think that’s a cool base.) Now about William himself, the Them and the mirrors. I thought, by removing the duos and therefore the mirrors, Crawleigh would end up trying to stop Armageddon all by himself. This means that one of the core themes of GO, the fact that people have to work together and every contribution, as little as it is, is never unsignificant, isn’t really applicable anymore. Because the theme has to be shared by all the protagonists. In GO, Adam can refuse to destroy the world because not only does he like the world, but also because he’s got a whole network of support. So I think, if Crawleigh ends up having to try stopping Armageddon on his own, that should be the link at the very least between him and William (I would have said between him and all the other main characters but let’s be honest: a story where none of the main characters interact together is not very appealing). And thus we get a story that isn’t about relying on support of other people but on doing the right thing and gaining self confidence and loving yourself even when all the odds are stacked against you and you don’t have anyone to really rely on. I would imagine Crawleigh beginning the story as an obedient (tho ultimately useless) demon with little backbone and regrets and no self confidence, and through the pressure of Armageddon, discovering a very strong and very good part of himself that would end up with him saying fuck to Hell and repairing his plumbery all by himself.  As for William, well, he would go along the same way. I don’t think he’d have the Them with him. At least not yet. Maybe he’s a little weird, has trouble making friends. Maybe the other kids at school make fun of him. Maybe there is this group of kids that seem cool but he’s too shy to approach them.  And I imagine after a pep talk from someone ( Anewthema probably ? After all Anathema is the one talking to Adam in GO so it’d be fitting ) William would realize that because his life sucks a little it’s not by destroying the world - a world that he actually loves ! he’s built up a fort in Hogback woods all by himself! he loves nature and animals! - tht it’s gonna get better. He won’t be able to make any friends if there is no one around to make friends with. (This adds the non neglectable bonus of making the Horsemen “friendship” offer all the more tempting to a young boy who has never really had any friends and is aching for it).  So ultimately, Crawleigh and William would be like “yes, I am weird. Yes, I am alone. Yes, it makes me suffer. No, I’m not gonna be a bastard because of it. Maybe it’ll get better, maybe it won’t, but I’m gonna do my darn best to take care of myself even if nobody else will”. So, it’s less cotton candy than GO, but I think it’s a great message to pass along. Self love, self discovery, self confidence, staying true to yourself even in dark times. Also the fact that being alone / single is not necessarily a bad thing, can be a choice and something you can live with very well. Crawleigh and / or another one of the main characters would end up like “I am actually fine like this”. And... that’s pretty much it. There, you’ve got all my thoughts and reasonning about, basically, how I would have decided to write the whole William The Antichrist novel lmao. I’m not gonna write it though. But if anyone feels inspired and want to give it a go based on my ideas, by all means. Feel free to borrow or to contact me if you want to brainstorm more ideas / make a collaboration.  Why not. I’ve got too many Crawleigh feels.

[aziraphallist]

When the world doesn’t end and Aziraphale suggests they go on holiday, Crowley almost bursts a vessel in his eyes trying not to say yes too emphatically.

It takes them some time to decide on an itinerary, of course, and a little longer still to be really sure they’re safe enough. If sentimentality is what leads Crowley to suggest the south of France—after all Aziraphale is so fond of crepes and good wine—there’s no one on earth who can prove it. Which is practically the same as it not being true.

However, it must be said that there are a few aspects of this vacation Crowley failed to adequately consider. To whit: even Aziraphale knows a full suit with bow tie, shirt, waistcoat, and jacket is inappropriate attire for someone on holiday in the south of France, and now Crowley has to cope with the sight of his angel in light trousers and—and Crowley cannot emphasize enough how completely this destroys him—a fuchsia linen shirt, with the sleeves rolled up. Jesus wept. At least he’s wearing socks with his loafers; if Crowley had to go straight from layered in triplicate to flashes of bare ankle he’d probably set the whole country on fire. He just helped stop the apocalypse; he’d like to enjoy the world he saved, not discorporate immediately.

They spend two days tasting all the local delicacies (Aziraphale), getting lazily drunk on the best vintages France has to offer (both of them), and gradually becoming used to the fact that Aziraphale’s forearms are extremely shapely, perhaps even bitable (Crowley) before Aziraphale suggests something moderately terrifying.

“Well, it’s what you do on holiday, isn’t it?” he says, indicating the upscale boutique. “And the weather is lovely…. It would be a shame not to take advantage.”

Crowley should have suggested a holiday in Antarctica. “All right,” he agrees, folding like a card table. “Whatever you like, angel.”

Unfortunately for Crowley, not even the most upscale boutique carries the sort of 1920s swim costume Crowley suspects Aziraphale would favor given the chance. He could maybe, nearly, almost live with that. Nor does Aziraphale seem particularly inclined to go for the wetsuit option, not that that would be any better. But no, Aziraphale’s insistence on purchasing real clothes that will last and also manage to suit his modesty requirements means Crowley has to endure him in knee-length white-and-coral striped shorts, with a white rash guard top that clings everywhere and leaves nothing to Crowley’s imagination, which works double-time regardless.

He probably shouldn’t be surprised. It’s always Crowley’s grand ideas that cause him the most trouble in the end.

Crowley miracles up his own swim costume to satisfy Aziraphale, but like Heaven he’ll actually let anyone see him wear it. It’s just the principle of the thing. Instead he lies on a large tartan beach towel the sand is too afraid to infringe upon, procures a cocktail with a little black umbrella, and presents Aziraphale with a swim ring shaped like a unicorn. “Go on, then. Have fun, angel.”

The beach is crowded, but beachgoers who venture too close to Crowley’s towel soon find themselves remembering they left their valuables unattended, or realize they desperately need a wee, or discover they’ve had too much sun and need to go back to their hotel for a nap. Apart from keeping them away, Crowley pays them no mind, focused on Aziraphale in the water, bobbing up and down in his unicorn float ring, beaming so widely Crowley has no problem discerning it from the beach despite his poor day vision. He’s obviously fine. No agents of Heaven or Hell here. Just the two of them, retired and on holiday, doing whatever they like.

Eventually even with the glasses the brightness begins to hurt his eyes, so he leans back and closes them, pulls the edge of the towel over his face for extra protection, conjures a very long straw for his cocktail, which he wedges into the sand. This isn’t so bad, really. The sun feels nice. He should sun himself more. Maybe he can convince his apartment it needs a skylight or two.

Everything is vaguely wonderful: rhythmic waves crashing on the beach, warm sun, excellent frivolous beverage. If he has to do this again tomorrow he’ll get bored, but, well, he can always summon a few jellyfish. No one’ll get stung, but avoiding the beach due to jellyfish will spoil their holiday all the same. Yes, that’s a good idea. And perhaps he can find Aziraphale an appropriate swim costume online. They do have overnight shipping these days—Crowley’s proud of that one. And—

A bone-chilling scream interrupts his idle daydream. Crowley has never heard it before, but he would know it anywhere. Aziraphale.

Before he can think about it, he’s discarded his glasses, leaving his drink and towel in the sand as he sprints to the water. The minute his bare foot touches ocean he sheds his skin, sheds it and sheds it and keeps shedding as he plunges into the water, a vast dimension unfolding from inside him, unraveling, uncoiling, until Crowley is sixty feet long and as thick around as a bodybuilder, made of teeth and menace and destruction.

Whatever hurt his angel is going to pay.

Dimly he registers the panicked screams of frantic beachgoers abandoning their earthly possessions and running for higher ground, but he doesn’t spare them a thought. He is hunting. What monster dared to threaten Aziraphale?

In the water, Crowley’s senses are more acute. He can sense Aziraphale just a few meters ahead. A few rapidly departing fish. One moray thinking oh shit merde putain fuck!! very loudly as it beelines for safer waters. An octopus that wishes it had stayed home today.

None of them are anywhere near Aziraphale, who is bobbing in an area populated only by some unusually old and therefore large Posidonia.

Crowley breaks the surface indignantly, treading water in human shape. At least, the part of him that is above the surface. “For fuck’s sake, Aziraphale, it’s just a little sea grass! The way you shrieked, I thought you were being murdered.”

Aziraphale goes pink-cheeked and sheepish. “Nonsense! I was merely startled.” He looks around the beach pointedly and then adds, pointing those eyebrows and his insinuation at Crowley, “Though I think my actions may have inadvertently led to something of a larger sensation.”

The beach was deserted, the remains of blankets and backpacks and lunches and sand toys lying abandoned in ruin. On the plus side, this would sour far more vacations than a simple jellyfish scare.

Before he can deflect, though, Aziraphale presses on. “I should have known, of course,” he says, and oh no, that’s the tone he uses when he’s about to pay Crowley a compliment. “You always come to my rescue, you old serpent.”

Crowley’s blood suddenly gets very warm and rushes to his face. “No, I—that’s—you’re—” Aziraphale smiles indulgently and Crowley stops trying to be cool and tries to change the subject instead. “Angel. I saw a little gelato shop up the strand a ways. Can I tempt you?”

“Oh, my dear,” Aziraphale says, so fond and sincere Crowley nearly burns with it, “I don’t think you’ve ever stopped.”

Then he pauses, and while Crowley is still frantically trying to stop his brain from turning into a snake again so it can have a blessed emotion without having to think about it, he shakes his head and adds, “Titanoboa, really, Crowley. You can be so dramatic.”

And he turns and paddles toward the shore, leaving Crowley sputtering and speechless in his wake.

(Inspiration post)

[elphenfan]

Nesting (Good Omens) 5/?

Chapter One I Chapter Two I Chapter Three I Chapter Four I Chapter Five I

Chapter Six

I’d completely forgotten I hadn’t uploaded this. Sorry!

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

Crowley considered running. He seriously did because the last thing he wanted, perhaps with the exception of being not just discorporated but outright destroyed, was to be caught out here in the shop, without permission or any legitimate reason to be there.

It wasn’t as though he could tell him the real reason, was it? And why else would he turn up here when he knew Aziraphale wouldn’t be there and then have gotten that far into the shop, without even bothering to turn the lights on?

There was nothing he could come up with that sounded remotely plausible. In another life, perhaps, he would’ve found that funny, probably, a demon unable to think of a good lie.

But surely Aziraphale would already know, wouldn’t he? Yes, Crowley had a bit of a benefit there, what with the serpentine bit and all, but if he could smell Aziraphale surely the angel could detect him? The residual scent and other markers he would’ve left would be one thing but to be in the store itself when he returned, that was something entirely different and wasn’t going to go down well, to put it mildly.

Though that then asked the question of why he would call out like that? If he knew it was Crowley, why not call his name straight away, even if he did make it into a question?

Because he was hoping it wouldn’t be Crowley? Possibly but why?

He doesn’t want you in here, remember? that nasty little part of his mind whispered. He’s been trying to keep you out since you first saw one of his feathers, giving away the game. This is no longer a place where you are welcome so of course he’d be disbelieving of the fact that despite that, despite the indications he’s given you that you’re no longer welcome in the shop, his nest, here you are.

But he was welcome in his life!

Oh, yes. For as long as that’ll last. As long as he can keep you a secret from the other angel, which, really, hasn’t got that good odds, does it?

However long that would be, he’d stick with it. He wasn’t going to give his angel up!

And if Aziraphale asks you to?

His eyes stung and he closed them hard, trying to banish what was brewing.

Sure enough, after he’d heard footsteps come softly towards him for a few steps, the line as uninterrupted as it could possibly be given the still rather labyrinthine layout of the shop, he heard the angel call again.

“Crowley? Is that you there?”

Fuck it all! He’d left it too long, being frozen in shock and panic, and now there was nowhere for him to escape to.

Well, no, technically there was but Aziraphale had to know he was there. So just trying to slither out of there through one way or another, provided that the exits he had in mind weren’t blocked, was out of the question; that would only make it seem more suspicious, wouldn’t it?

That said, it took a tremendous amount of effort for him to not shift into a more serpentine shape and slither away, and even more to open his mouth and answer.

“Yes, of course it’s me,” he called back, and his voice came out slightly harsh not because he was angry or annoyed with the blond – scared and panicked wasn’t the same at all – but because he was trying to keep it under control.

He still didn’t move; he couldn’t. His limbs were refusing to cooperate or even acknowledge they belonged to him.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale said and it sounded like a question, even though, by the sound of his voice and the concentration of scent, he was standing only half a dozen feet away. He bloody well ought to be able to tell it was the demon, even if he hadn’t already confirmed that it was him.

Why, with all of that, was he still asking? Because he was desperately trying to tell himself that it wasn’t true. That what he was experiencing wasn’t real since you weren’t supposed to enter a nest that wasn’t meant for you, not for anything.

Could he claim that he hadn’t known Aziraphale had actually made a nest, not until he’d stepped inside? Why would he then have gone that far in, if he’d only realised once inside? Surely, an angel worth their salt, whether from upstairs or downstairs and leaving aside the fact they didn’t get paid, in salt or anything else, would be able to tell it was a nest straight away and would’ve gotten out of there immediately?

No, he couldn’t see how he could turn it in his favour. Or maybe his mind was as frozen as his body, the dawning horror and panic or what exactly he’d done settling over him.

The angel was steadily coming closer, though, which didn’t make much if any sense. Especially not as he wasn’t shouting or otherwise showing just how outraged and hurt he was that Crowley could ever think to do such a thing.

Soft, warm and kind he may be, but he had been the Angel of the Eastern Gate and had had a flaming sword. One which Crowley had always suspected he knew full well how to handle, was probably even quite proficient.

He’d be perfectly capable of –

Crowley’s train of thought wasn’t just stopped, it was quite spectacularly derailed when a hand settled, not on his shoulder, but on his arm, as gently as though he was made of spun sugar and would disintegrate if handled too roughly.

It made him want to pull away and run, to wrap himself around the angel while he still could. It made him want to cry.

What didn’t help in that regard was what Aziraphale said next.

“Crowley…my dear, why are you here?”

It was the words themselves but more than that, it was the way they were said. He would’ve expected there to be hurt, disbelief and most definitely betrayal and anger in there. Not to a degree where he was screaming at him or similar, that was hardly something Aziraphale would do, but even so, he was capable of stronger emotions and letting them out.

Except…it wasn’t there. None of it, not even close. It was…well, to be honest, there was some definite hurt in there, he could tell that, but mostly it sounded like concern and confusion, and he was speaking softly, carefully.

Even so, Crowley couldn’t answer. What on earth could he say? The truth wasn’t going to work and any lie that he could come up with sounded horrible to his own ears.

His eyes were hidden by the sunglasses, but they were also still closed hard, and his head was tilted downwards, and so he felt rather than saw the angel come around to stand in front of him instead of to his side. The hand on his arm didn’t leave, though, which puzzled him.

What was going to happen next? Would Aziraphale just quietly ask him to leave? Say how disappointed he was that he’d come in here when he so clearly hadn’t wanted him to? Tell him just how he’d broken his trust after everything they’d been through? Would he slap him? Drag him out of there and slam the door behind him?

Would…why was he so quiet? Why was nothing happening? Was he just too disgusted and disbelieving to do anything? But why wasn’t he still so close, then? Why hadn’t he removed his hand, never mind stepped away from Crowley entirely? He hadn’t even tightened it or anything, so what was going on?

He didn’t dare lift his head or open his eyes, afraid of what he would see in the other’s face if he did so. Whatever he was facing now, it wasn’t going to be anything good.

That he knew he would’ve done the same thing again if given the same set of circumstances wasn’t much of a help, even if they did tell him there was no reasonable way that he could have avoided this outcome. Not without having derailed the entirety of public transport and even so, things would probably still have fallen out to anything but his benefit.

So caught up was he in what was tumbling and rattling through his own head that he almost missed what Aziraphale said next.

“Crowley, would you…please, would you look at me?”

He didn’t answer but he did react to the hand, not the one still on his arm, coming up so that two fingers could gently push at his chin, encouraging it to lift up; he resisted for a moment but then gave it up as there wasn’t much point except delaying the inevitable.

When his head was again upright, as it were, the angel removed his fingers, using them instead to snap so that the shop, which had previously been very dark, filled with light. Granted, it was the light of the lamps already in the bookshop, but it was still all the lights at once, without touching them.

So much for frivolous uses of miracles. But perhaps he’d gotten a – no. This was hard enough as it was, there was no need to make it worse on himself.

He felt the hand on his arm being removed but didn’t look and tried not to think about it.

Then he felt his sunglasses being very gently removed. He still didn’t look, though, his eyes squeezed tightly shut. He wasn’t ready to face the expression that would be on the angel’s face.

“Oh, Crowley.” Nothing more came after that, as though he didn’t know what else to say or possibly that there wasn’t anything more to add. Perhaps there wasn’t but it didn’t make the comment easier.

“Just say it,” the demon finally managed to get out. “Whatever it is you want to say, just say it already.”

The words came out strangled, as though they’d had to travel through tripwire made of sticky material.

“Won’t you look at me?”

“Just bloody well say it!” he somehow managed to shout at a low volume.

Aziraphale gave a very small gasp at that. What he didn’t do, though, was pull away.

He did hesitate, however, and after a few moments of silence, he sighed.

It was a sigh that did not fit in with the circumstances at all, in Crowley’s opinion, and confused him. But then, he was thrown for a bigger loop.

“Is it that horrible?” the angel asked, his voice so quiet it was barely above a whisper, giving the feeling that he wasn’t actually addressing the ginger but unintentionally voicing some thoughts out loud.

Yellow eyes popped open all by themselves, staring in utter confusion at the blond who was now the one looking away.

“I...you…what?” he asked, spluttering. “What are you talking about?” He’d completely lost where the conversation was at or where it was headed.

“Have I done that badly a job of it?” the angel asked, apparently addressing the table next to Crowley and still in that incredibly low voice, only adding to the demon’s confusion. “I have tried very hard to get it right but perhaps I’ve gone off in the wrong direction.”

Wait, what?

“Ang – Aziraphale, what the flying fuck are you on about?”

Green eyes lifted to meet his.

“Why are you here, Crowley?” the angel asked, in a stronger tone of voice that was still rather soft. It probably ought to sound accusatory, but it didn’t come out that way. Wary was probably more accurate, guarded yet slightly pleading. “Why did you come here only when you seemed to know that I would be out?”

Crowley’s mouth opened but no words would come. Again, to tell the truth wouldn’t go down well but finding a plausible lie wasn’t easy and likely wouldn’t go down any better.

But he had to say something, too, if only to stop the other looking at him like that. It hurt.

“I just…” he began, “I wanted to…I only…”

He faltered and then it suddenly came rushing out of him. “I wanted to see it one last time!”

That hadn’t been what he’d meant to say or even really the truth. Not the whole truth, anyway. Though now he thought about it, his fear that he wouldn’t be allowed to get close to Aziraphale again did somewhat extend to the shop, too. Not because he was overly interested in a bookshop on its own, but as he’d thought earlier, it embodied Aziraphale so in a sense, when he was there, it was like being wrapped in angel, at least to him.

As close as he could ever get to the real thing. Especially now.

“One last time?” Aziraphale echoed, sounding confused. “What do you mean? See what one last time?”

“This…this here.” He waved an arm to indicate the bookshop.

“Why would – oh.” The angel’s face fell a little at that and, without moving his feet, he withdrew a little.

“’Oh’? What do you mean, ‘oh’?” Now Crowley was confused as well, not to mention further worried.

Aziraphale muttered something that might’ve been ‘I knew it wouldn’t be right to do it like this’ but might have been something else entirely or nothing at all.

What he said out loud was something else entirely, and it only added to the confusion the demon was already feeling. “You don’t have to…please stay. I’ll change…we can pretend that…“

“Pretend what?” Crowley asked, his voice slightly harsh as he interrupted. “Pretend that you haven’t got somebody else waiting for you, the one that you’re doing all of this for?”

Shit! That wasn’t supposed to have come out. Not in a million years and certainly not in that tone of voice.

He hadn’t wanted the angel to know that he was aware of what was going on, afraid that if he did let on that he knew and would’ve known before he’d come in here, then…then the betrayal of trust would be far greater, quite apart from the likelihood that he’d be purged from Aziraphale’s life. To go in unaware would be one thing, and quite horrendously bad on its own, that was true enough, but to know and still choose to enter somewhere like this, that was…that was unforgiveable, quite simply.

Shit, shit, shit, shit! How could he take it back? There had to be a way to take it back! Think, idiot, think!

Aziraphale looked perplexed and more than a little taken aback at the outburst, which he really couldn’t be blamed for. After all, who would want to be called out like that, especially by someone they had tried so hard to keep it from? Not to mention the feeling of betrayal, which he thought he saw reflected in those lovely green eyes.

“Doing all of…?” Aziraphale said, again echoing what Crowley had just said, as though he needed to say it out loud to process it. The confused disbelief was certainly strong when he continued, “Somebody else waiting – who would that be?”

As if you’re not already perfectly aware. Don’t play dumb with me to try and spare yourself or even me! The words wanted to spill out so very badly, but he managed, somehow, to keep his mouth firmly and resolutely shut this time and so they could only push against hard against his teeth. Nobody needed to hear those words.

What he did tell himself was to just…not keep quiet, exactly, and certainly not run, but just…perhaps apologise and say he hadn’t meant to go this deep in, but he hadn’t realised. A softer lie cushioned in truth, something that’d allow him to pretend, perhaps them both to pretend that this hadn’t actually happened –

Had that been what Aziraphale had meant instead of what Crowley had presumed? No, that couldn’t be the reason, it just couldn’t.

Another part of that sentence barged its way into his mind; ‘change’. What did he mean? What would he change? Why? Why would anything need to be changed, at least in relation to this situation and Crowley? It was him who was in the wrong here, after all, utterly and completely, so why was the angel acting like this?

It didn’t make any sense and only made Crowley’s head hurt, not to mention his heart. Then again, his heart had been in constant pain for weeks now.

“My dear…please talk to me?” Now there was definitely pleading in that voice.

He felt hands grip his own, gently and carefully, and he almost jerked his hands away. Almost. He wanted to scream. Why was he being so careful and gentle about all of this? Obtuse was one thing…no, actually, it probably wasn’t, as it sprung from the same source, but it was somehow easier to deal with than this caring kindness even if it was mixed in with perplexity. The latter only made him more aware of how wonderful Aziraphale was and how much he stood to lose.

“Don’t leave,” he found himself whispering, looking down once again. He was also holding onto the hands in his with a strength that he hadn’t expected. “Please just…just don’t leave.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“But you will.”

There was a slight pause at that, as though something was being processed with difficulty. Or maybe he was just figuring out which way was the best to say that yes, he would.

“Why would I want to leave? What would I want to leave for?”

Crowley shook his head minutely. He couldn’t say it. The word, that one, all-important word, got stuck in his throat and refused to leave.

He tried to disentangle his hands, suddenly unable to bear touching the angel, something which happened so very rarely, especially in the knowledge that he wasn’t allowed to touch as he wanted to.

Aziraphale held on, though, tightening his grip as the demon sought to loosen it. Crowley tugged harder but to no avail.

“Let go.”

“No.”

“Aziraphale – “

“No. I am not going to let go until you tell me why. All of the whys, Crowley, fully and truthfully.” There was sudden steel in that voice, but it masked something else. Quite a few other things, it sounded like, though admittedly, Crowley could possibly be wrong on that score.

He could get himself free if he wanted to. Or at least, he would’ve thought he’d be able to. Despite his lanky form, he wasn’t weak. But neither, it seemed, was Aziraphale, for all his soft shape, and as he started to pull in turn, the demon wasn’t so sure he could get free.

It wasn’t as though he didn’t try, that was for sure, pulling at his hands and trying to stand his ground at the same time as the angel tugged at him hard. He continued to do so until he had managed to drag the ginger over to the sofa, that hateful sofa, and pushed him down onto it.

The angel himself took, after disentangling their hands, the chair opposite, which, while not unusual, still managed to stab at Crowley’s heart.

At the same time, though, he was also getting, if possible, even more confused. Why had he been led deeper into the bookshop rather than out of it? Didn’t Aziraphale want him out? At the very least out of his shop if not out of his life entirely, given what he’d just done. Why was he being sat down on the sofa, the one that had so clearly been upgraded for the benefit of the upcoming nestmate? Wasn’t that too risky, in case the other angel smelled that he’d sat on it? Even if it wasn’t that, it would surely be sullying the upholstery, having a demon sit on it.

He looked up at the angel, which sadly wasn’t very helpful.

The steel was still there as was the determination and care that he tended to exhibit when he was looking out for someone, which usually meant Crowley. But underneath that, the confusion and hurt showed clean through and more than that, he thought he saw dejection and…was that shame and embarrassment? It couldn’t be.

What the Heaven did Aziraphale have to feel shame for?

Having fallen for someone? But that was hardly something to – even Crowley didn’t begrudge him that, however angry, with the other angel but mainly with himself, and hurt he was. Aziraphale deserved that, if that was what he wanted, and so much more than that; he shouldn’t ever feel ashamed of it.

Was it that Crowley had gone where he shouldn’t and had exposed something that he was supposed to not know about, never mind actually leave well enough alone? The shame wasn’t over the state of the shop or the reason behind that new state, not directly and on its own. It was the shame of how Crowley had wrecked things.

Needles stabbed into Crowley’s heart at that like a very small and specialised iron maiden and it didn’t help that this time, he had nobody to shift the blame for that pain to. This wasn’t the unnamed angel’s fault; this was purely down to the redhaired demon.

It didn’t matter that he hadn’t sat himself down on the sofa. Compared to breaking in, that was pretty minor.

The sudden realisation that by Crowley not having been in the store for a while, Aziraphale had managed to, along with reorganising, adding, removing and changing things about the shop, almost completely get rid of most of the lingering scent of demon, drove the needles in deeper. Not too many more changes and it would be impossible to tell he’d ever been there.

No. Aziraphale hadn’t done that on purpose. He was sure of that. It was merely a very unfortunate, to the snake, at least, side effect of wanting to get the place ready. Ready for –

His thoughts careened off again. This time, the touch was too his knee. It was brief but it did the job and in any case one of his hands was then grabbed again.

Why did he keep doing that? He never normally did, which was worrying – the thrill that went through Crowley at having his angel touch him was strong but flailed and almost drowned in the vortex that was all his other feelings right then – but at the same time, it didn’t fit with wanting to get shod of him.

He belatedly realised the angel had said something. Blinking, he tried to see if his ears remembered what his mind hadn’t caught.

They didn’t, so he had to ask.

“Sorry, what?”

“I would like an explanation, dear.” The sentence came out oddly small and hurt, which only made things harder. “A full and truthful one. Whatever happens afterwards.”

Though all of that joined the positive stew of confusion, especially the last sentence, Crowley’s brain decided to zoom in on something else entirely. “Why do you keep saying that?”

“Because I do believe I deserve an explanation, at least.”

“No, not that. The – the endearment!”

“I...I always do. Well, often enough, anyway. You’ve never raised an objection before.”

Not like this. Not when – “But why do you do it when you’re angry with me?” he asked, a tad desperately.

Aziraphale’s expression changed to a nonplussed one, though the other emotions were still lurking in the wings, as it were. “Angry? Who says – why would I be angry with you?”

That was somehow too much. The gentle tone, the touch, the place they sat. The look in Aziraphale’s eyes and the incongruity of what the demon knew he must be feeling and how he was acting. Or maybe Crowley’s heart and mind had just tried to keep everything in check and make sense of things for too long and with far too many things at once, and it could no longer do that job.

Whatever the case, something, maybe a dam, broke inside of Crowley.

“Because I broke in!” he burst out. He lowered his gaze to somewhere around their feet. It felt far safer to look down there as the words kept tumbling out of his mouth. “Because I am where you didn’t want me to be, don’t want me to be, been keeping me away from for a long time. Because I’ve…I’ve sullied it!”

There was a small but sharp intake of breath at that.  It came from the angel, but it might as well have come from the demon.

He had not meant to say any of that out loud. What was wrong with his mouth right now? The more he spoke, the more he got himself into trouble, trouble which he couldn’t see any way he could get himself back out of and which would doom him in a way that had nothing to do with Hell, or even Heaven.

If he’d been someone else, he might’ve clamped a hand over his mouth to keep himself from saying anything further. As he was himself and would never do such a thing, he instead clenched his jaw and bit his tongue, bearing the pain of that. It was worth it to keep from letting more words spill uninvited and un-consulted from his lips, from making him lose what he loved the most in this world. Or at least try his most blessed to keep from losing him.

“Sullied it?” Aziraphale repeated and this time, he did sound outright upset. Not angry but definitely far more emotional than he ever normally did. “How can you even think that? You could never sully it!”

I’m a bloody demon, of course I can sully it. It’s practically part of the job description. That had never been his intention when it came to his angel, though, however much he’d managed to screw it up.

The words fought to get out, but he bit down harder in response, which punctured his tongue. It shouldn’t have mattered but the pain of it and the tang of blood made him wince just slightly.

Slightly it might’ve been, but it was enough for the angel to notice.

“Crowley? Are you alright?”

He tried to nod his head, not speaking in case he said more stupid things – or he sprayed Aziraphale’s pristine if old clothes with blood.

The blond didn’t seem convinced. “Let me see.”

I can miracle it away if I want to. You don’t need –

He tried to turn his head away. The momentum was halted, however, by a hand grabbing his chin.

“Aziraphale, don’t,” he said, speaking through the surprising amount of blood that had managed to gather in his mouth.

“Oh.” The hand fell away. “Of course. Silly of me, really, assuming my touch would be welcome.” He tried to give a smile, but it came out wan, watery and small.

“You what?” And blood did spray a little at that but thankfully none of it went on the angel’s clothes. He swallowed the rest quickly. “When did I say that?”

“The implications were quite strong.”

No, they hadn’t been – had they?

“That wasn’t what I meant at all,” he said, quickly, though that owed more to his mouth than to him. “Your touch is…is welcome. I meant you shouldn’t – it’s not fair of you to be so kind when it’ll be taken away from me.”

There his mouth went again, despite all of his efforts!

“Taken away from you? Are the – did Hell find out something?” The concern was laced with some panic. “Are they going to – “

Crowley shook his head, quickly. That would’ve been all he needed, the other angel blabbering to Hell about him.

“Oh. Well. Thank Heaven for that. But then I’m….” The panic faded, Aziraphale still looked very perplexed and concerned, and his eyes scanned the other’s face to look for any clue that might give him an idea of what was going on. “I’m really not following you, Crowley, on any of it.”

He paused briefly, biting his lip. “If it’s…if I did wrong, then I do apologise but I, I guess I assumed that…but of course you wouldn’t, I should’ve seen that.”

“Should’ve seen what? You’re the one who’s gone and changed things, all because some birdbrain of another angel has suddenly managed to turn your head!”

Fuck! Shit, no, what the fuck was he saying? Not only was he spilling more of what he should, had vowed to himself he would keep shtum about, he was phrasing it as though Aziraphale was in the wrong and to blame for this turn of events.

Well, technically, he supposed he was the one responsible for it – but that didn’t in any way mean he was in the wrong! Just because Crowley’s unvoiced hopes had been blown to smithereens and his heart was consequently a nest of pain didn’t give him the right to lash out and accuse Aziraphale or try to tear him down.

The pain was Crowley’s to deal with, not his angel’s.

Not to mention that if you lash out like that, the risk that he’ll throw you out and begin to avoid you goes up quite exponentially.

No, that didn’t matter. Well, it did, to him, but not compared to hurting Aziraphale. That was never his intention, so why had he just done that?

Why was he so utterly useless? No wonder Aziraphale had fallen for someone else. Crowley couldn’t even put him first or be mindful of his situation, not in comparison to his own shit, and that was apart from everything else that made him unsuitable for the angel’s affections, regardless of what he’d hoped. That he was unworthy he’d always known but he’d never felt it quite as strong as he did now.

He couldn’t make it right, but he could at least let the other know he knew he’d messed up and was sorry for it.

Opening eyes which he hadn’t realised he’d closed in the short time the whole train of thought had taken to pass through his mind, he looked at Aziraphale, the apology already on his blood-caked lip.

What he saw there was not what he would’ve expected, and it halted the apology on his lip.

It was shock and confusion, but those he might have expected. What he hadn’t expected was the small but growing smile and the warm light in those lovely eyes, its dance faint and wavering but nevertheless burning and radiating out.

As to why this light was there, he had no idea. No, he did have one – that the thought of the one he was nesting for had brought that light in and only the shock and confusion were meant for Crowley – but he tried to push that one out of his mind.

It didn’t work particularly well.

Crowley closed his eyes again, feeling the eyelids sting as he did so. No, he wasn’t going to cry. He was not.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I know I shouldn’t get between you two. I just don’t…I don’t want to lose you but if that’s what you want, then – “

“Crowley,” said Aziraphale, his voice soft but nevertheless, he managed to halt the demon in what he was saying, which might be just as well. “Would you look at me? Please?”

That same request as before. The demon didn’t want to, not one bit. But he did, this time without any prompting.

As soon as he did, he could feel that despite his efforts, the moisture hadn’t gone away because his vision was ever so slightly blurry.

Through that, he thought he saw both hope and determination again on those angelic – a word which really didn’t do him justice, even if it was technically, physically accurate – features.

“What…Crowley, who do you think you’d get between, exactly?” the blond asked, his voice quiet and soft. The demon didn’t pick up on it but there “What other angel are you talking about?”

What? Did Aziraphale think he was blind or just plain daft? Or was he trying to spare his feelings? He surely wasn’t trying to deny that he had an angel who he cared enough about to want to nest for and with. No, he couldn’t be, not just for the sake of it. What point would that serve?

He couldn’t help it; he scoffed. “Which do you think? The one you’re nesting for, obviously! Do you really think me that daft?”

The angel blinked several times, in rapid succession, his eyes wide. “You noticed I’ve been nesting?” he asked, and it felt as though that hadn’t entirely been what he’d meant to ask.

“Yes, of course I noticed!” he burst out.

“Then why…why didn’t you say anything?”

Really? “Because you didn’t want me to, quite obviously.”

“Why wouldn’t I want you to?”

Crowley stared, feeling as though they were suddenly speaking different languages. “Are you…angel, you are not asking me that question. You’re simply not.”

“Consider that maybe I am.”

It was the demon’s turn to blink, completely nonplussed. Surely, he wasn’t really asking that question. It was built in!

“You…because a nest isn’t something you’re supposed to talk about. It’s private. Intimate. Meant only for the angel doing it and the recipient. You know all of that, you don’t need me to tell you any of this. You’re still an angel.”

The words ‘I’m not’ hung in the air after that, unspoken but nevertheless felt.

If anything, the angel’s expression grew a little warmer and a little less…not less hurt, exactly, but less…disheartened, possibly? More hopeful? Something between the two, it was hard to say for sure, at least for the demon.

“Yes, well. Yes, quite.” He didn’t say anything more.

“Why are you asking me, then?” Crowley nearly cried. “You know why, and I broke that.”

It was Aziraphale’s turn to shake his head. “You didn’t break it.”

“Don’t try to be kind by fibbing.” The angel didn’t lie but he might fib. “I know I did.”

The angel hesitated for a moment then reached out and took one of Crowley’s bony hands between both of his plump ones, holding it as though it was something to be revered and cherished. The sight made something complicated happen inside of the ginger’s chest.

“You didn’t, dear. Believe me, you didn’t.” There was now no question whether there was hope in that voice, together with just the hint of relief and joy.

“Stop – !“ Crowley was once again halted in what he was about to say but this time, it was because the words got stuck in his throat; he was looking at where Aziraphale was threading their hands together.

Almost instinctively, he tried to tug it away, refusing to believe what he was seeing and needing it to stop before his heart burst from it – or even worse, he got used to it. But the blond held fast, refusing in turn to let go.

“Aziraphale…!” he said, almost pleading.

“You were quite right. It is only meant for the one nesting and the one they’re nesting for.”

“Then why the bloody heaven do you keep saying it’s alright when it’s not? This isn’t being kind; this is just cruel. I can’t…”

…And there. He’d tipped his hand almost if not all the way. But what more could happen? How could he make the outcome any worse than it would already be as it stood?

He only registered that a tear had run down his cheek, despite his efforts, when it was gently wiped away by a soft finger.

“I never meant to be cruel, my dear. I’m tremendously sorry that that’s how it’s come across and if I’ve failed to communicate my intentions to you.”

He gave an odd little smile at that, one which was warm and soft, yet sad and self-deprecating all at once.

“You have got it quite wrong, too, however,” he continued. “I don’t have…there isn’t anyone up in Heaven who’s turned my head, as you put it.”

“Oh, come off it. Of course, there is. You don’t need to try and spare my feelings by lying to me.” That he’d just previously more or less asked the other to spare his feelings to some extent, he didn’t clock at the moment. “You’re nesting. There must be someone up there.”

“Why do you automatically assume that the one I’ve been nesting for comes from Heaven?” Aziraphale looked as though somebody had just asked him what sound yellow makes – which is a mellow tingle, as a matter of fact, depending on the shade. He sounded odd, though.

He’s not denying that he’s been nesting, Crowley thought. If he can admit to that, why can’t he admit to the rest? Why is he trying to conceal that part?

Perhaps it was because the nest was meant for…the thought, the wish, hung closer than it had ever done but he didn’t dare reach for it, in case it popped like a soapbubble.

“Who else could it be?” he said, slightly to cover that up. “Unless there’s some human you’ve developed a connection to.”

Which, to put it bluntly, was downright ridiculous. Not because angels were incapable of caring for humans – that the majority, to the point that they were rather the entirety, tended to live up their own celestial glorioles instead was another matter – both in a platonic and in a romantic sense, but their time was so very brief, even now.

Nesting was…nesting was so much more than just holding out a feather and asking somebody to become your nestmate. Of course, it was part of it and quite a significant part of it. But nesting was to say to the one you were nesting for that you were prepared to be theirs as much as they’d be yours and, more importantly, that you were ready to commit to that forever.

Eternity held a lot more meaning to creatures who’d already been in the race for the long haul.

It was beyond rare for a pair who had agreed to become nestmates to ‘divorce’, the most of the exceedingly few clipped angels, as they were known, were in that situation because their nestmate had been destroyed.

So, to agree to that sort of commitment with a human, who was at best going to stick around for a pitiful hundred years, that was…only setting the angel up for inevitable and profound heartbreak.

Now the angel looked at him as though he’d sprouted the horns and tail that he was supposed to have according to humans – though he was doing so for good reason, admittedly.

“While there is nothing wrong with humans, in a general sort of way, I don’t…I haven’t ever developed that sort of connection with a human and I don’t see how I ever would.”

“But you’ve developed it with another angel – and recently. So, they must’ve turned your head.”

“Why recently?”

Why did he continue to ask all these questions? It wasn’t as though it was benefiting either of them. In fact, it only prolonged the pain of what Crowley knew was going to happen.

Nevertheless, he answered. “Because otherwise, why haven’t you ever nested before? It’s not as though…well…” He trailed off.

Best shut up before he made it worse again. Or he just made a fool of himself, though that ship had probably already sailed. He certainly felt the fool right now.

Of all things, he would never have expected Aziraphale to bite his lip again and certainly not to…was that a blush? No, it couldn’t possibly be – when did he ever blush? Lightly flustered or even embarrassed from time to time, yes, but never actually coloured like that.

“I...I have to admit that I saw…things in a new light relatively recently,” he said, his voice hesitant and his gestures slightly fidgety, “but I’ve…I’ve needed some time, it seems, to come to terms with, well, the fact that I’ve not just cared deeply for the person but that I actually, genuinely desired to nest for them and have them accept my nest.”

He lowered his voice further, dropping it almost to a mumble. “Which seems a rather foolish and unattainable notion now, in retrospect, but one can’t always help but hope, however small and fragile it might be.”

There was that odd smile again, one which Crowley decided he didn’t much like.

But he hadn’t mentioned, still, who that angel was, which was worrying the poor demon. Was there another angel who stayed on earth? That would go a long way to explain why Aziraphale might fall for them given, if they’d gained some of the same understanding and nuance that the two of them had from staying on this mudball for around six millennia.

What hurt, too, was that it seemed as though Aziraphale believed he was in the wrong for having started a nest in the first place, which wasn’t right. He wasn’t in the wrong at all.

Why, though…why didn’t he just come straight out and say who it was?

Did you come out straight and say why you were here? Throwing stones, glass houses and all that.

The question was – did Crowley dare ask who it was?

He’d come here for clues, that was true enough, which would eventually lead to some answers, ideally, but when it came down to it, was he actually ready to hear who it was?

No. No, he wasn’t, not by a long shot, but at the same time, the limbo was wreaking havoc on his mind, not to mention his heart, which was fit to bursting for all the wrong reasons.

So, he might as well ask outright. Get some sort of certainty and closure before he was shepherded out of the angel’s life for good. No matter how many times it’d take to get an answer or how he would feel afterwards. Better to know, right? He was damned as it was, wasn’t he? It wasn’t as though it could get much worse.

Apart from, of course, being all alone, then, without his love there with him but that was inevitable, whatever he did, it seemed, so…

Better to be brave and face the music head-on.

“Aziraphale…who exactly is it you’ve been nesting for?” he asked, clinging to the hand still entangled with his, savouring the contact while trying to freeze the memory in his mind. He’d forced his voice steady and also somehow managed to look the other in the eye. He might be a coward but this, he could do. He could.

“What’s their name?”

[inevitably-johnlocked]

Let’s talk about The Twist of Good Omens (Pt. 1 of 2).

This is HALF a meta / scene analysis and praise for the actors, and HALF an Ineffable headcanon following the meta, so I hope you’ll bare with me as my brain spews out this shit that’s been going through it all week. It’s gotten really long, so I’m going to split up the meta / analysis and the headcanon into two separate posts because as I was writing this, it was getting long, and I know some people are here for either/or.

Spoilers follow, obviously.

A little known fact about me (or perhaps well known if you’ve been here for a long time) is that I LOVE the body swap / face swap trope. OBSESSED ABOUT IT. Loved it since I was a kid. I think it’s more the psychology of it that interests me (like I also consider “plopping a brain into a robot” part of this trope too, and the ensuing crisis intrigues me... a lot of my old Sonic fanfiction dealt with this type of thing). That and my innate desire to not be me, but I digress. One of my favourite movies ever is Face/Off... not a fantastic movie by any means, but damn if I didn’t obsess about it because of the psychology of it all. I LOVE watching actors pretend they’re the other actor playing their role. It’s amazing to me.

And AS someone who has consumed this trope like life since as long as I’ve consumed media, it probably took me less than a couple minutes to spot the twist ending in Good Omens. I immediately sensed something was off, mainly in their discussion in the park and  the mannerisms of the characters when they went to their respective places. 

When Aziraphale hesitated on saying “ineffable”  before death showed up, THEN Crowley’s hesitation on what Death’s appearance was, and THEN the “tickety-boo” from Crowley, is when something was niggling at me upon first watch of the scene. I wasn’t REALLY certain about my suspicions until C!Aziraphale and Gabriel were talking in the scene immediately following. Azzie was VERY subdued in Heaven, more like he was just trying to buy time or he was bored, when in the past he would... well, essentially not shut up and try to make small talk when he was confronted by the Gabriel or the other Angels. 

Instead he looked like a man who was lowkey annoyed and bored of being there, like he’s seen it all before. He didn’t question the demon bringing up the Hellfire. Just placid indifference.

It threw me for a loop, and that’s when I said, “Oh, they switched bodies, didn’t they??”. And it’s upon rewatches that I really REALLY became obsessed with this entire ending scene, because that’s when everything sort of falls into place, and you begin to see the minutiae of Sheen’s and Tennant’s acting in these scenes, and ALL the previous mannerisms from their characters are absorbed into each other’s portrayal of, well, each other. Essentially: “David, play this scene the way Michael would play this scene as if he were pretending to be you shamming the demons.” It’s amazing.

Here’s where I need to fucking praise Sheen and Tennant on their acting, because GODDAMN did they ever get each other’s mannerisms down pat, because upon subsequent rewatches, this is where I’m seeing all the clues about the twist ending that are GLARING, and I AM LIVING FOR IT.

So let’s jump back to the beginning of the scene, where they each return to their respective favourite material things: Upon returning, each character, if they were themselves, would have been OVERJOYED by their material items being back in tact. Azzie loves his books, and Crowley LOVES his car. Instead we just see... indifferent satisfaction that everything was restored? It was odd, but not alarming. You could stock it up to them being tired from the events of the day. It was still red flag one, for me.

Now, I’m not going to point this one out as “red flag two” because I can’t recall at all a time BEFORE this scene if this next thing ever happened, and perhaps someone can let me know if they recall before I get a chance to do my fourth run-through of the series: The flavours of ice cream they each end up eating; it would be a tell if they’re each eating what the other normally does. It would be a neat little clue that they each don’t realize they’re really doing that’s out of character. So... red flag 1.5 I will say until confirmation. 

The “tickety boo”, I’m going to label as a Red Flag 2: rewatching the series, we see Azzie uses the phrase when shit’s going tits up. Crowley mocked him for it, but never ever said it other than that one time. On first watch, you just write it off as Crowley picking up Azzie’s phrases, since Crowley says a lot of silly phrases, but upon second watch, you’re like, OH SHIT, wow, it’s totally Azzie, should have seen that.

Then there’s each of them in Heaven and Hell. I already talked about my tip-offs for Azzie, so let’s talk Crowley. A!Crowley was stammering on his speech, in that way that Azzie does when he’s nervous and unsure of himself and he’s trying to formulate his thoughts and understand what is happening. He was SURPRISED about Michael working with the demons, because – even though he saw Beelzebub and Gabriel interact, he had no idea how twisted in their own schemes both sides were. This is uncharacteristic behaviour for Crowley, I think anyway, because he would know that some of the Angels get away with all kinds of shit and STILL never Fall. Azzie... ahh, I love him, but I don’t think he would.

And A!Crowley STOOD like Azzie would... Crowley has this... way he sort of stands still (ie. trying to be cool but he’s really not). He wasn’t doing that at all in this scene. And the fact he was concerned about his clothes getting ruined? Yeah, when has that ever stopped Crowley? It was sort of a sweet thing that  this Lovely here pointed out and I only remembered about it when I read this post. Azzie didn’t want Crowley’s brand new coat to get ruined, aww. 

Jumping back to C!Aziraphale, still super quiet and indifferent and almost ANNOYED at the proceedings, and not once does he stammer at all. Azzie always stammers (a little more than his usual speech patterns, anyway) when facing the Angels, especially Gabriel, but this is legit the first time he doesn’t. Just smart-arse remarks and a “devil may care” (hur dur) attitude about the proceedings. 

I think I was 90% sure about my theory about the twist when the the bathtub scene that follows appears, because it didn’t really make sense to me in my head that the Holy Water WASN’T doing anything. The demons later surmise it’s because they’ve “gone native”, but are they really sure? Hmm. Anyway, this whole scene is HILARIOUS to me upon rewatch, because it’s now Azzie CERTAIN that he can’t be harmed here from the punishment even if he’s wearing Crowley’s face, and he FINALLY lets himself BE his own person. Funny how him seeing through a demon’s eyes is WHY he finally lets go (which, you know, is kind of what happened with Crowley 6000 years before... realized the world wasn’t fair and it wasn’t going to treat him with kindness). He finally understands Crowley, I think, in a way, because of this incident. 

Azzie is FINALLY certain and unafraid of being himself. He no longer stammers, and literally strikes fear into the demons in the dorkiest of ways and THEN secures Crowley’s future of being left alone. That tiny little thing there is really sweet and so Azzie. 

As for C!Aziraphale, he’s a dramatic bitch in the Hellfire to scare away the Angels. And though it’s not seen, I’m certain Crowley would have guaranteed Azzie’s safety in the same way that Azzie did his... I’m just assuming since it’s alluded to in their final park-bench conversation.

And – segue! – as we switch back to the park bench scene, I think this was when I was, on my first watch, all “yep, they switched”. Look at even just the camera pan-in: they’re sitting on the wrong sides (Crowley has ALWAYS sat to Azzie’s left-hand side), and Azzie is slouching. Azzie NEVER slouches, just as Crowley is never straight-backed and proper when he sits. I absolutely adore Tennant playing a reassuring-Azzie so beautifully, and then the uptick in the intonation of “Anyone looking?” is SO Aziraphale, that if you hadn’t picked up the clues by now, that should have set you off, as well as... why would Aziraphale know if “anyone is looking”? Crowley has ALWAYS been the one who’s able to sense other beings around, and I feel like it’s BECAUSE of his status as a demon that he can do this (as a former angel, it might be a “skill” he retained when he fell, and then gained the skill to sense other demons, so then he would be able to tell if either-or are around, whereas Azzie would only be able to sense love, happiness, and other angels, is my theory).

AHHH And then. AND THEN, Sheen’s impersonation of Tennant’s speech patterns when he says “Right. Swap back then?” and then with the face he makes. It’s ALL Crowley right there. GAWD, perfection.

I love their little interaction after the switch... Azzie is just SO DAMNED PROUD OF HIMSELF, WHAT A PRECIOUS CINNAMON ROLL. And Crowley is enamoured by it all. He VISIBLY sees the change in Azzie, what seeing the world through Crowley’s eyes has done to him. So much so he chances to ask Azzie out, and he FINALLY accepts, no hesitation.

AH. That’s a WHOLE other meta in-of itself.

Next, Part 2, is my head canon for the lead up to this scene. It’s more of a musing than anything else, spawned by a thought I had about why are they able to switch so easily... and how did they know that they could? It won’t be nearly as long as this so I should have it up in a few days when I have a free moment :)

Anyway, I’d love for y’all to add your own thoughts or expand upon mine here if you’ve anything to say!

Cheers everyone, and welcome new people to my blog that my other GO meta may have enticed you to here <3 We’ll see how many meta this show squeezes out of my brain, probably not nearly as much as Johnlock does, but there we are, LOL <3

[shesthewindandsea]

make your good love known to me (or just tell me bout your day)

[Summary:

The world is filled with all sort of sensations. Crowley is learning to explore all the best ones in the South Downs with Aziraphale, even when he tries very hard not to.

Beginning Notes: Holy shit guys I did it. I literally did not think I’d see the day again when I wrote fanfiction again and put this much effort and love into it. More about it on the AO3 version here, but basically thank you Good Omens so for re-lighting my fire. Enjoy!

P.S: Huge thanks to @ineffablefool because by slowly making my way through all of their writing (if I haven’t read them all already I don’t even know) I’m learning how to insert that Aziraphale is chubby and soft everywhere and I absolutely will not have it any other way

If you listen well and close, anywhere you are, you can hear the hum of a bee as it busies itself doing whatever it is bees do. Pollinating a flower of some kind, perhaps.

“Crowley, you’re going to have to stop yelling at the poppies so much. You’re scaring off the bees.”

If you look well and close, anywhere you are, tilt your head up to the sky. You’ll see the clouds moving slowly, turning about the sky like breath on a cold winter day. The breath of God, perhaps. Only She could bide her time in such a way while She looks down.

“Aziraphale, could you push that cloud a little to the right? It’s blocking the sun— yesss, angel.”

“Of course, dear.”

Anywhere you go, take off your shoes and allow the grass to slap your naked ankles or the dirt to push itself into the grooves of your bare feet. 

“Anthony J Crowley, don’t you dare track dirt into our kitchen!”

Read more on AO3 here or continue below!!!

Take a deep breath of your own and inhale the salty taste of the ocean, the bitter taste of city smog, the dry taste of soil in the forest. Smell and taste are nearly one in the same, you know. Hasn’t your mother told you to plug your nose if you haven’t like the taste of something? 

“Imagine smelling a different food,” your father may say as he presses a spoonful of something to your lips. 

“Come now, my dear, it really isn’t bad for a first attempt.” The angel tries to reassure the demon. The kitchen air is clogged with the smell of smoke and the acidic taste of burnt food.

“You might as well be plugging your nose while swallowing, angel.” The demon rolls his eyes, but stares down at the toe of his snakeskin boots, his cheeks pinkening and shoulders rolling in. 

These days Crowley rarely wears his sunglasses. After all, it’s only him and Aziraphale so he really doesn’t have a good excuse.

“Dear, must you really continue to wear the glasses? I know they add on to your ‘aesthetic’ as you like to say, but it’s just us here.” Aziraphale was sitting on the swing in the backyard one day pretending to read his book while Crowley weeded the garden and gave a few plants a good tongue-lashing, the slackers. Aziraphale had forgotten to keep flipping the pages after a while and Crowley took notice. 

“Dunno. Just force of habit, I guess,” Crowley remarked offhandedly as he knelt in the dirt. The chickens cluck in the background, eating the insects that get too close to the garden.

The chains holding up the swing rattle as Aziraphale stands up and approaches Crowley, crouching down next to him and resting his elbows on his knees.

“Dear,” Aziraphale starts and watches as Crowley pauses in his work before taking a breath and leaning back on his heels, sticking the trowel into the dirt beside him. The dark material of his jeans are covered in dirt and some has snuck its way under the cuffs of his gardening gloves, sticking to the sweat on his wrists. He swipes his hand across his forehead and leaves a long line of dirt there.

Aziraphale can’t help but look besotted. Crowley flushes under the attention.

“May I?” Aziraphale continues raises his hands towards Crowley’s face. The demon nods shakily, gulping quietly. 

Aziraphale brushes his hands along Crowley’s face as he reaches behind his ears to take his glasses off.

“Ah, there you are, darling.” Aziraphale’s smile intensifies as Crowley’s eyes are revealed. If it were darker, he’s sure they’d be glowing. 

As he stands, he wipes the smudge of dirt Crowley left on his forehead with his thumb and holds the folded glasses in his other.

“Just a bit of dirt. Tea?”

 He misses them in moments like this, where he feels too vulnerable, too obvious. Like his eyes will reveal all that he’s kept secret for the last six thousand years. Windows to the soul is right. That is, if he has a soul. 

The angel stands from his chair at the end of the kitchen table to console the demon, his hand coming to rest on Crowley’s back, soothingly stroking up and down. 

“Why don’t you lower the heat next time? Perhaps allow it all to simmer and soak rather than rushing it along? I’m sure you’ll get it with enough time.” Looking up into Aziraphale’s eyes, Crowley tries not to look quite too obviously disappointed and allows himself to bask in the soft glow of his angel’s unfiltered adoration, if only for a moment.

‘Absolutely, angel,’ he wants to say. ‘You always know. I love it when you help me figure these things out. I’m completely useless when it comes to this stuff. I do it all for you, angel. I love you, angel.’

He nods and takes the comment into quiet consideration, storing it away for next time.

Any number of places can hold any number of your senses captive, like a bird in a cage, whether it’s of the pleasant sort or decidedly not.

The front door to the cottage creaks on its hinges as two figures push through. There’s no furniture and the floorboards moan under their weight after such a long period of disuse.

 “Goodness, look at the kitchen! I’ve never had such space at the shop. Oh, imagine the things we could do in here!” [1] The angel is immediately drawn to the space and makes a beeline for the window over the sink, throwing it open. Very little actually distinguishes it as a kitchen, but as soon as the angel says so, the room immediately smells of steaming foods and the heat of a warming oven in the summer is felt and it suffocates the cool air from the open window. One can easily imagine the aged wooden counter top covered in breadcrumbs and flour, the angel, red in the face as he presses into dough that will no doubt soon become some kind of bread or pastry.

[1] Crowley tried not to think about the graphic implications of that phrase, even if said graphic activities were not, that is to say, his “thing”.

 As much as it could be a curse, Crowley sometimes thought about what the stars might taste like up close. What they’d taste like if he could leave his human tendencies behind, spread his wings and take off into the sky. Feel the wind in-between every individual feather like a dog’s tongue licking peanut butter from the space between your fingers. The coolness of the air spreading a trail of goosebumps up the back of his neck under his hair (he’d grown it out longer again since they’d moved down here. Aziraphale ran his fingers through it more often when it was longer). The warmth and colorful fire of a nebula threatening to consume him. Allow the same feelings given to him by Her when he first began manipulating space and matter. 

Now, though, with no connection to Hell or Heaven, there’s no way he could ever leave Earth, leave behind his corporation to rot. He certainly couldn’t drag it along with him. The pressure would crush the lungs as he left the atmosphere. He’d never get a new one. He’d be alone in space with his stars. No angel in sight.

Inside the cage, there’s another. And if that isn’t enough, then what is? To brush your wings against not metal but the wings of another. To dream not of a life outside but a better one for inside.

“Crowley, dear, why don’t you come back inside? It’s getting rather cold out here and you didn’t put on any shoes,” Aziraphale murmurs quietly from somewhere over Crowley’s shoulder and he feels some kind of sticky, sick emotion clog up his throat. His eyes feel wetter even without the pool of tears lingering in his tear ducts. The tenderness and delicate tone Aziraphale uses does that to him every now and again. Overwhelms him. So he just doesn’t respond and instead holds his breath, staring down at his feet. He tastes his angel’s anxiety, worry, hesitation. It bites into his tongue and rattles his teeth. 

“Goodness, Crowley, you’re bleeding!” Aziraphale’s voice raises in pitch with his own emotions. Sensible shoes tap against the wood as he forgets to worry about carefully approaching Crowley and instead frets over the inky black blood staining the dock. He’s suddenly shoulder-to-shoulder with Crowley and Crowley feels Aziraphale’s eyes on him, questioning and confused. He wants to reach out, Crowley knows, but is holding himself back. 

He should’ve miracled the cuts gone long ago rather than letting his blood drain into the wood, tainting it. 

Aziraphale lets out a slow, soft sigh and Crowley holds in an undignified whine watching Aziraphale’s whole body move with the force of his breath. His angel is so beautiful. Big and round and soft. 

Crowley stares at both their reflections, his own eyes glaring back at him.

“I thought you wanted this,” Aziraphale says sadly. It feels he’s jammed a metal fork into an electrical socket and Crowley is the one holding it, jolting him.

 He wants to reply, say something. There are actually a great many things he wants to say starting along the lines of ‘I do want this. I’ve wanted this forever’ and ending with ‘I want this but I don’t trust myself. I want this so bad it hurts, but I can’t have it in this universe. Maybe in another, but we’re trapped in this one.’

 Crowley is so busy rooting through all the things he could say and then deciding he could never say any of them out loud that Aziraphale starts talking first.

“Of course, I noticed when I first mentioned moving down here you seemed a bit apprehensive, but I had rather sprung the whole thing on you and you seemed so happy when we actually had everything inside. I thought it really started to feel like home. One that was just for us. No Above or Below to tsk at us. No pressing responsibility to tempt this many people or perform that many miracles. No more people even. There are so few out here that it’s practically just us. And I thought that you’d like that. After all this time, it’s finally just us. Was I wrong?” Aziraphale’s eyes meet his own in the water. He runs his eyes down every precious, round bit of his angel. All the bits that went out of fashion with humanity decades ago. Ever changing, that lot. Crowley was always able to keep up with them, but Aziraphale had trouble. Too fast, too fast.

“‘S just different.” Crowley shrugs and doesn’t give any more of an explanation. He doesn’t want to muck it up, any of it, but he doesn’t know how to fix it.

“I’m afraid you’re going to have to elaborate. Different than London? Different living together? Is it too much? I thought laying with you at night helped with the nightmares. I’ve heard you cry out for me.” Aziraphale says gently, like he’s approaching a wounded animal.

Crowley had always had his suspicions, but now he knows for sure. He almost feels guilty, like Aziraphale is forcing himself to comfort Crowley. Like it’s a responsibility or and irritant that needs resolving. He knows as soon as the thought enters his head that it’s simply untrue, but it’s still difficult to convince himself. 

“I thought spending more time together was good. Better.” 

Why is this so hard? Nothing he thinks to say is enough. Nothing feels adequate. 

“Was I wrong?” He says again.

“For Someone’s sake, it’s not that at all, angel!” He speaks, half shouting. His angel just sounds so sad, so resigned, like it’s already too late. 

“It’s just everything is different. Every taste, every smell, every bloody breeze coming off the blessed ocean. And being here with you, I don’t…” He trails off and watches his hands twitching at his side, his knees shaking under his weight, his eyes glimmer in the dark. 

He shoves his hands in his pockets more forcefully than he strictly needs to. He wants to touch so badly, throw his arms around Aziraphale and hold him like a lover, sweet and tender.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale whispers and breaks the eye contact he’s held with Crowley in the water, instead looking up at him. The angel’s face is pinched in angst.

“I don’t want to break this,” he says. “I don’t want to go too fast.”

“Oh, Crowley.” It’s nearly a sob when his name leaves Aziraphale’s lips and Crowley wants nothing than to soak it up with his own. He watches as Aziraphale’s reflection reaches its hand out and puts it in Crowley’s pocket, tangling their fingers together within the confines of the fabric.

“I don’t think your capable of breaking my heart quite like I’ve broken yours.” Crowley gulps. Apparently, he’s slightly more obvious than he thought. 

Too fast. You go too fast.

“I know what I said,” Aziraphale says, like he knows exactly what Crowley is thinking,  “and I know how much it hurt you. Even with those ridiculous sunglasses I could puzzle it out often enough. That pout on you face, dear. All too telling I’m afraid.” Aziraphale smiles a bit. “But I’m catching up. That’s why I wanted to come here. No mess, no noise. All the time in the world to make up for my hesitance. Don’t give up on me.” Aziraphale is rubbing small circles into the top of his thumb. Crowley is doing all he can not to weep at the feeling of his angel’s skin touch his own.

Aziraphale pulls both their hands from Crowley’s pocket and Crowley finally looks up from their reflection. Aziraphale gently squeezes the demon’s hand before releasing his grip. Crowley swears he can feel his heart stop beating. Panic grips him as he scrambles for something to say, scared that he missed his chance despite what Aziraphale said. Ridiculous, of course, because the moment Crowley opens his mouth to try and spit up something meaningful, Aziraphale takes Crowley’s wrist in both hands like he’s holding a baby bird and kisses the palm. 

Crowley immediately sputters a bunch of nonsense.

“Love me?” He croaks and steps forward into Aziraphale’s space before he can think about it. He knows the answer. He’s known somewhere deep down, trying to keep himself from acknowledging it. 

Too fast. 

But suddenly he’s completely submerged in the feeling of Aziraphale’s unwavering affection, forced to accept it. He almost feels his lungs shriveling standing so close. It felt like his heart was jumping around his ribcage. 

“Of course, dear.”

“Could you say it? Please.” 

“I love you.” Crowley whimpered a very undemon-like whimper and Aziraphale’s face lit up with a smile brighter than any star Crowley could’ve ever created.

“Again?”

“I love you, my beautiful beau.” Crowley bit down on a smile of his own and stops himself from completely melting under the complement, snaking the hand Aziraphale wasn’t hold over the angel’s shoulder, pulling him close.

“Again.”

“I love you, my dashing demon. My handsome serpent. Clever boy.” His smile breaks out across his face. He can’t help it. Crowley slots his nose in carefully next to his angel’s as his knees go weak and angel continues to sing his praise. The warmth from Aziraphale’s plush body rolls off in waves and it feels like Crowley is standing just beyond the reaches of a flaming blaze, just on the edges of a celestial sunbeam before it begins to burn. This warmth would never burn.

“Can I kiss you, angel?” Crowley asks softly, allowing for a serious moment and pushing down the gooey feeling in his chest. Crowley saw what Heaven was like. Empty and cold. In Hell, everyone was always pushing and shoving and touching each other. Crowley knew well what it was like to fight a crowd, everyone constantly brushing arms and shoulders, stumbling along like zombies. Certainly in no way romantic, but the touch was there. He had that. Aziraphale may want to catch up, but Heaven was in no way like Hell and that meant Crowley wasn’t going to push beyond what sensations Aziraphale could process. He had all the patience in the world for his angel.

Aziraphale’s cheeks grew pink and there was a new sort of look in his eyes. A kind of yearning Crowley had seen many times, but without this intensity. Did Aziraphale always look at him with this much love? This much reverence and kindness?

“I would like that very much,” And with that permission given, Crowley has to stop himself from moving faster than he’s ever moved in his entire life, all six thousand and some odd years of it. But he’s slow. A gentle press of their lips is all Crowley allows himself, pecking Aziraphale squarely on the lips and then in the corners. Honoring and venerating. Fond and amorous.

“Really, my dear, I can actually go faster.” Aziraphale’s words buzz against his lips and then Aziraphale is pressing a soft kiss to his lips that quickly grows in strength until he’s taking charge and pressing his chest to Crowley’s, their lips locked fiercely together. Crowley stumbles backward a step with the force of it. 

Just as he’s getting the hang of it, the slide of Aziraphale’s lips against his, the press, embracing the tingle that spreads throughout his limbs, Aziraphale is moving his mouth to cover different patches of skin all over Crowley’s face, worshiping. His cheeks, his forehead, his jaw.

“Aziraphale…” Crowley sings his name like an psalm as Aziraphale pecks him on the side of his nose, feeling each bump with his pulp lips as if he was performing an ancient, forgotten ritual or memorizing to map out later. A sweet sort of ache accompanies the whole process before Aziraphale eventually rests head on Crowley’s shoulder, soft puffs of air caressing the side of his neck. 

“My dear, you’re going to be covered in freckles by morning,” he hums into Crowley’s neck and leans forward to press another kiss to the hollow of Crowley’s throat. Crowley, whining under the angel’s infinite study and ardor, tilts his head to rest atop Aziraphale’s, his nose nestled in the pile of white curls there.

“Freckles?”

“Mm. Haven’t you heard the old saying? Freckles are the remnants of an angel’s kisses.”

“Ahh, well. In that case, I don’t suppose I mind.” Crowley ends the sentence with a kiss of his own left to wander among Aziraphale’s curls.

They stand there for a few moments longer, soaking up the warmth of one another before they can both admit it’s a rather chilly night and Crowley still hasn’t got any shoes on. So they head down the dock, over the rocks (for most of which Aziraphale actually carries Crowley seeing as how torn up Crowley’s feet are. Aziraphale is absolutely horrified by the whole of it meanwhile Crowley convinces Aziraphale’s shoes not to develop any holes), and up the beach to the steps of their cottage. The plants in the window tremble and the hundreds of wildflowers swarming the front steps as Crowley instills enough fear in all of them to ensure that they don’t take mark of this moment as possible weakness. 

“Don’t think this is reason for you to start drooping or you’ll all end up in the paper shredder,” he says with a particularly menacing glare, all the while he has his legs wrapped around Aziraphale’s waist and his arms over the angel’s shoulders.

The lights in the front room were left on and the tartan settee in the center of it is illuminated by the light of a fire burning brightly in the fireplace. Neither of them are quite sure who was the one to light it, not that it matters.[2]

[2] The floorboards still creek the same as they did when they first moved in. Crowley would’ve miracled them silent, but Aziraphale said it gave the cottage “character and personality” so he left them alone.

Soon enough, they find themselves relaxing on the sofa and soaking up the heat of the fire. Aziraphale uses the light to read while Crowley rests his head in Aziraphale’s lap with his face buried in his angel’s tummy. There’s a rather well-crafted afghan thrown over top of him and he’s drawn it all the way up to his chin. One of Aziraphale’s hands balances his book and the other has tangled itself into Crowley’s wind-swept hair.

“I do want this, you know,” Crowley says under the crackle of the fire. The rumble of it travels up Aziraphale’s body. He hums contentedly at the feeling.

“I want to be here. With you.” He doesn’t actually know if Aziraphale has any idea what he’s saying, but maybe that’s why it feels so much easier. His angel was so open with him, so sympathetic and considerate and caring. It feels like he deserves to hear all the lovely, very undemonic thoughts Crowley has been holding onto.

“I want to wake up to you every morning in our bed. I never want to wake up alone. I don’t want you to read on the sofa. Not ever again. Not since I realized what I was missing out on. Knowing you’re there next to me, without even touching, I can sleep easy.

 “I want you to help me when I bollocks up a meal. You’re so good at helping me, angel. I want to see that look on your face when I yell at my plants by the window seat and the sun room and out in the garden with the poppies and daisies and your basil. I take it easy on the basil just because it’s yours.” Crowley whispers the last part like it’s a secret that Aziraphale didn’t already know.

“You go all cool, pinched mouth, disapproving ‘round the eyes. Couldn’t miss it for a mile. And don’t even get me started on your smile, angel. I could go on for millennia about your bloody smile. Lights up the whole room, it does.” It all just rolls off his tongue so easy, once he’s started. It’s like a confession, a prayer to the one person he knows will listen. The only person he wants to hear him.

“And whatever’s here that’s left of me, if you want, they’re yours, sweetheart. All the broken bits and the good bits — whatever good bits you can find — you can have them. I’d give you the moon and the sky if I could. I’d give you all my stars.” It feels like he’s bleeding out again, a constant, steady stream trickling from his lips, but it doesn’t burn with the prickle of salt or splinters.

“All of that is complete rubbish compared to having you, darling.” Aziraphale reassures him. At some point, must’ve put down his book because while one hand combs reassuringly through his hair, the other is cupping the side of Crowley’s face that’s flush against Aziraphale’s belly, forcing Crowley to look up at him. Crowley shivers. Whether from the rapture of being the angel’s sole focus or the scrape of Aziraphale’s primly manicured nails against his scalp he doesn’t know. Perhaps both.

“I love you,” he says, with all the subtlety and grace of a new-born fawn. The demon nearly chokes on the words. Aziraphale smiles slyly.

“Again.”

“You absolute bastard.”

“Oh hush, love.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

In the South Downs, if you stop and stare over the top of a hill high enough to overlook the village, you’ll see, hear, and feel many of the same things you’d hear in similar places around the world — the bees, clear skies, soft grass, the sea breeze dragging its wispy fingers through your hair — but there are also a great many things that you’ll never experience anywhere else. 

There is something about the honey produced by the bees that leaves much to be desired despite the beauty of the flowers the pollen is gathered from. Fear chokes the sweetness right out and replaces it a metallic, acrid taste that lingers in the back of your throat. That sort of fear can only be accomplished through a great deal of terror and trauma, something one peculiar resident is rather proud of.

Unfortunately, only so much can be said for the weather any English village, but once in a while, it seems like the patter of rain lasts longer in one part of the village than the other. A bustling garden needs lots of water, after all.

The grass is always soft during the summer months. It grows long enough to brush the cuffs of rolled up jeans and the ripening, golden wheat curls around your fingers. Although, one should always watch carefully rustling in weeds and listen for a hissing among the flowering flax. Neighbors in the area often report seeing a large black snake with striking yellow eyes. Get too close and you’ll find yourself spinning around, walking back in the opposite direction. Only a moment before you reach out your hand, you’ll find yourself at home sitting in that comfortable chair in the sitting room watching telly with little idea of how you got there.

The wind carries more than the scent of the oceans and the taste of salt. Hushed voices and whispered confessions of love travel alongside loose feathers and leaves. The feather is not one you’ve seen on any sort of bird in the area and leaves spread rumors they have no business spreading.

 If you close your eyes, if you just close your eyes and allow yourself to be held by the warmth of the sun. 

The chill of the breeze.

The phantom feeling of fingers on your shoulder blades, coaxing you to stand taller and fly higher. 

The love from some ineffable, ethereal, occult heart.

If you close your eyes at just the precise time on that hill in the South Downs, its secrets will be revealed to you if you take the time to listen.

[katsens-writing]

Play It Again

Summary: Aziraphale is a little under the weather and very stubborn, much to Crowley’s frustration.

A/N: Speaking of again, I did it again! This was supposed to be just a short little simple fic but now I’ve got two made-up characters with a backstory rooted in true history. Go figure. Anyway, I saw a headcanon awhile ago that inspired me to write this story. You can check it out here! If you are interested in joining any of my taglists, let me know, its no bother at all! Shout out to @goodamens for letting me use their headcanon for my inspiration! (Check out the other note after the story!)

Word Count: About 2.5k

Content: Mild illness, implied bittersweet memories, soft Crowley, stubborn Aziraphale, an implied scared plant. Let me know if I need to add anything!

---

    The phone rang at the front of the bookshop and at Aziraphale’s desk but no one answered it. It rang and rang and rang, to no avail. Less than a minute later, Crowley burst through the front door.

    “Aziraphale? Aziraphale?!” he shouted, panic creeping into his voice and his heart racing. He searched row after row of books, but he couldn’t find the angel anywhere. No. Not again. Please, not again! He thought.

    “Crowley?” A weak voice called from the back of the shop, coming from a room marked ‘employees only’. The demon’s heart sank at the sound.

    “Aziraphale!” Crowley called, rushing to the back and through the door to Aziraphale’s little flat. “Where are you?”

    A small cough came from Aziraphale’s bedroom. “In here, dear boy.” Under any other circumstances, Crowley would have hesitated but something didn’t sound right with Aziraphale’s voice. He dreaded what he might find on the other side of the door.

     It happened, he thought, his heart beating faster and faster while everything else slowed down. It finally happened. Hell’s found out. Or Heaven. Or both. They- they’ve caught up with us! He braced himself and opened the door without a second thought.

    “Aziraphale!” He cried, tensed up and ready for a fight. His eyes darted wildly around the room. When he saw the angel was alone, he straightened, his muscles relaxing a little before he furrowed his brow. Before his heartrate could even begin to slow, his relief was quickly replaced with irritation as his gaze fell on the angel, lying unharmed in his bed underneath several blankets.

    “You picked a hell of a time to sleep in, angel! You didn’t call, didn’t answer the phone! Next time maybe give me a--” he took one look at the angel as he stomped in and frowned, his frustration fading and an undertone of concern taking its place. “What’s wrong?”

     Aziraphale’s face was a little flushed and he had tiny beads of sweat all across his forehead. He struggled to sit up and face Crowley properly. “Oh, I’m dreadfully sorry, dear boy. I heard the phone ringing, but I just couldn’t get myself out of bed to answer it. I’m afraid I’m feeling a little under the weather.” Aziraphale sneezed into a white, cloth handkerchief with a pair of wings embroidered into the top corner.

    “I can see that,” Crowley wrinkled his nose. “Just miracle yourself better already so we can get on with our weekend.”

    “Nonsense, Crowley. It’s just a cold, I’ll be fine.” Aziraphale sniffed as he dismissed the angel’s words. “All I need is a little rest.”

    “Nonsense? Who’s the one talking nonsense? I’m the one making sense here!” Crowley argued. “Did you forget we were planning on visiting Pompeii this weekend?”

    “No! Of course, I didn’t forget!” Aziraphale’s eyes widened as if he were hurt Crowley would even dare suggest the thought. “I did hope though, that maybe we could reschedule?” Aziraphale looked up at Crowley hopefully with those big, pitiful, blue eyes that Crowley hated.

    “Why reschedule when you could just make yourself better and we could go now?!” Crowley asked, getting frustrated again.

    “Because it’s just a cold, Crowley! Humans have been dealing with colds for centuries. I’ll be perfectly fine without wasting a miracle,” Aziraphale replied before sneezing again.

    “Wasting a miracle? Are you really still concerned about what Heaven will think of you using your miracles on stupid things?” Crowley arched his eyebrows in surprise behind his sunglasses. “Aziraphale, I thought we agreed that it’s a little too late to care about what our sides think,” he turned to the angel and lowered his glasses to look over them at him. “Not that using a miracle to take care of yourself is stupid, by the way. I thought we talked about that after the Bastille.”

    Aziraphale opened his mouth to answer but Crowley interrupted him. “No, you know what? Fine. It’s fine!” Crowley shrugged in mild exasperation as he pushed his sunglasses back up into place. “If you don’t want to use a miracle, that’s ok, I’ll use one.” Before he could even lift a hand, Aziraphale stopped him.

    “No!” He cried, before going into a coughing fit. Crowley blinked, pulling back a little in surprise. He was no doctor, but that cough did not sound good. “I forbid you from using a miracle to make me better, Crowley,” Aziraphale forced out, furrowing his brow once he stopped coughing, his voice a little strained. “It’s just a cold. I’m going to let it run its course, and with a little rest, I’ll be better in no time.”

    Crowley scoffed and rolled his eyes. “I see what this is. You’re trying to punish yourself, aren’t you? You think you deserve this because we messed up Armageddon or something? Or because you’ve been ‘fraternizing with a demon’? Well fine. You want to be sick, angel? Go ahead and be sick then, but I’m not going to take care of you!” He turned on his heel and stormed out in a huff, muttering something about that darned angel. Aziraphale just shook his head tiredly at Crowley’s tantrum before sliding back down under his covers. He knew the demon would calm down eventually. He always did.

~

    Crowley came by every day to check on Aziraphale and ask him to use a miracle, but he kept his word and refused to help the angel... or at least he tried to. Aziraphale only seemed to be getting worse and Crowley was beginning to think it wasn’t just a cold. Within two weeks, he was practically on his knees begging the angel to use a miracle.

    “Please, please angel, just use a miracle already!” Crowley pled with Aziraphale. He hated seeing his angel sick like this and he really was starting to worry. “Or at least let me use one!”

    “No, Crowley. I told you, it’s just a cold. I’ll be fine.” Aziraphale sniffed before sneezing so hard he nearly doubled over in bed.

    “Please?!” Crowley almost whined. “Your bookshop needs you!”

    Aziraphale’s brow pinched faintly. “Bookshop?” his watery eyes flicked to the demon with a small frown. “What’s wrong with the bookshop?” Aziraphale was aware that Crowley had been opening the bookshop when he thought the angel was asleep, in spite of the demon’s vow to not help him. He supposed the demon reasoned that taking care of the bookshop a little wasn’t taking care of Aziraphale, so he was still keeping his word. Aziraphale was quietly amused when he found out.

    “Wrong?” Crowley’s eyes widened and his brow began to bead with sweat but he tried to play it cool. “Ah, nothing’s wrong at the- at the... what bookshop?”

    Aziraphale shut his eyes with a little groan. “Crowley...”

    Crowley shrugged his shoulders with nervous nonchalance. “I may have scared away a customer or two... or three...” his voice trailed off as he looked away from the angel awkwardly.

    Aziraphale shut his eyes with a sigh. “Were you yelling at the fern again?”

    Crowley scowled and narrowed his eyes. “It knows it had it coming.”

    Aziraphale coughed into his handkerchief before falling back against his headboard. “I’m sorry dear boy, I just don’t think I have the energy.”

    Crowley’s heart nearly broke seeing his angel like that. He hated it. “Well,” he asked Aziraphale with a deep, reluctant sigh, his brows pinched in concern. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

    Aziraphale looked at Crowley and smiled tiredly, but his eyes shone faintly in the dim light. “You know, I always loved to hear you play. I miss it. Could you play your violin for me?”

    Crowley’s face stiffened immediately. “No, you know I don’t play that thing anymore.”

    Aziraphale lowered his eyes and sighed with a hint of sadness, and this time, Crowley’s heart did break. “Yeah. I know.”

    “Besides, I don’t have my violin anymore, you know that.” Crowley quickly added, trying to cheer up the angel. “Remember, I lost it in Georgia? You thought it was hilarious.”

    Aziraphale chuckled weakly at that. “How I could forget?” Crowley opened his mouth to retort, but Aziraphale was wracked by a violent coughing fit. Crowley quickly walked to Aziraphale’s side and handed him the glass of water from his nightstand. He felt his eyes beginning to mist but he fought it back for Aziraphale’s sake. He rested his hand on the angel’s shoulder, his other hand ready to take the glass back if needed.

    Aziraphale accepted the glass gratefully and took a drink. Once he finished, Crowley took the glass from him and returned it to the nightstand. Aziraphale let out a sigh and leaned back against his pillow. Crowley quickly looked at him with concern.

    “Over there,” the angel lifted a hand and indicated a corner of the room weakly. His voice was scratchy and strained. Crowley walked over there without any question. He moved aside a few worn books and boxes and found an old, dusty case. He carefully picked it up and laid it down at the foot of the angel’s bed. He flipped the latches on the case and slowly opened it to reveal an equally old, dusty violin.

    Crowley’s eyes widened as he gingerly picked up the instrument. With a gentle puff of breath, he sent up a cloud of dust into the air. Once it cleared, his eyes widened even further in awe.

    “No- no, this isn’t,” Crowley shook his head dismissively. “It isn’t...” he looked up uncertainly at the angel and tilted his head. “Is it?” He didn’t dare think it could be. Aziraphale’s eyes glinted a little at the demon’s reaction. He just smiled in response.

    Crowley’s eyes returned to the instrument in his hands. He softly ran his fingers across the violin’s smooth, red-hued wood. “The Red Violin,” he whispered, awestruck. He looked back up at the angel. “How- how did you ever--?”

    Aziraphale coughed harshly into his handkerchief again. “Remember how you swore they were taking bets at the contest?” his voice cracked.

    Crowley frowned. “Yeah, I couldn’t prove it but I knew they were--” he stopped mid-sentence and he turned to the angel, his eyes narrowing. “You didn’t.”

    Aziraphale smiled sheepishly at the demon. “I was the only one who put money on Johnny.” Crowley’s mouth opened again but Aziraphale cut him off and continued. “I invested the money in some bonds. When I heard it was going up for auction, I just had to get it. I know it can’t replace your gold violin but--” the angel wheezed as he went into another even more violent coughing fit, hunching over. Crowley winced at the sound of his angel in pain, his heart breaking even more. He briefly closed his eyes against the moisture that was gathering along his lower eyelids. Once Aziraphale caught his breath, he looked up at the stoic demon. “I hope you like it.”

    Crowley’s eyes watered as he lowered his gaze to the instrument and ran his fingers over the violin’s strings. “You held on to it for all these years,” he whispered softly, hoping the crack in his voice went unnoticed.

    “I always hoped you’d play again.” Aziraphale looked up at the demon. His voice was softer as he got closer and closer to sleep.

    Crowley swallowed the lump forming in his throat and he lifted his watery eyes to meet the angel’s blue ones. They weren’t as bright as they usually were, but they were still enough to make his heart skip a beat. He looked back down at the violin case and he carefully picked up the bow. He didn’t even need to ask the angel; he knew just what song to play. Crowley lifted the violin to his chin and the bow to the violin, gliding it smoothly back and forth across the strings like a tide coming and going with the waves, the soft, slow music filling the small back room of the shop. Aziraphale closed his eyes with a smile and listened as the beautiful music surrounded him, singing the words in his head.

“By yon bonnie banks and by yon bonnie braes, where the sun shines bright on Loch Lomond. Where me and my true love will never meet again, on the bonnie, bonnie banks of Loch Lomond.”

     When Crowley finished all the verses he knew to the song, he closed his eyes and his shoulders slumped as he let out a sigh he didn’t even know he was holding. A tear slid down each cheek but they weren’t sorrowful. It felt so good to play the violin again, like he was rediscovering a piece of his life that he hadn’t realized he was missing. But he was missing it, quite terribly, or he had been at least, and it made him wonder how he had gone for so long without it. He chuckled softly to himself as he looked up at the angel. Aziraphale was resting deeply in his pillows, a small, peaceful and content smile on his face. Crowley thought the angel had fallen asleep so he was a little surprised when the angel spoke up as he quietly returned the violin to its case.

    “Oh how I do miss Elorah,” the angel sighed softly. The red of his cheeks had lessened and he wasn’t sweating as much. Crowley’s shoulders eased a little when he noticed the improvements. 

    The demon smiled wistfully with a little hum. “Me too. She was something, wasn’t she? A regular spitfire.”

    The angel huffed feebly in amusement. “She certainly kept Jonathan on his toes.”

    Crowley’s eyebrows came together in a pang of sorrow. He scoffed in mild, annoyed affection. “Jonathan, that fool. Elorah never was able to cure him of his bull-head, try as she might.”

    Aziraphale smiled sadly. “Yes, but he had a good heart.”

    Crowley hummed in agreement. “Yeah. They must’ve been very proud of Andrew. He had his grandfather’s heart.”

    “And his grandmother’s gift for music,” the angel added in agreement.

    Crowley frowned in thought. “Do you know if... if they ever heard it?”

    Aziraphale smiled, his eyelids half-closed. “Mmhmm,” he mumbled. “They loved it so much, although Elorah said it was missing some details.”

    Crowley huffed in amusement. “Well, that’s probably for the best, considering. I still don’t even know how we--” he stopped as a gentle snore came from the bed. He looked over and saw the exhausted angel fast asleep, his cheeks only a tad bit rosier than usual. Crowley shook his head fondly at the sight. With a wave of his hand, he refilled the cup on the nightstand. He walked over and pulled the blanket up, tenderly tucking it around Aziraphale. He headed toward the door but stopped at the end of the angel’s bed. He stood over the violin case and looked down at it with a small smile before picking it up. He stopped in the doorway and looked back at the angel with a soft whisper. “Goodnight, angel.”

--- A/N: Do you want to what Crowley and Aziraphale were talking about at the end? Curious about who Elorah and Johnny are? Let me know!

Tags: (If you want to join any of my taglists, let me know, it’s no trouble at all!) @parkerspicedlatte @xmarveled @mischievous--misfit @myworstdays @khiroptera

Masterlist   Buy me a coffee? ---

[mostfacinorous]

Whumptober 17th

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11] [12] [13] [14] [15] [16]

This will conclude the story from days 4, 6, 12, 13, 14, 15 and 16. Tomorrow’s will be something completely different. ;)

Whumptober 17th: “Stay with me”

The bookshop was still dark when Crowley arrived and the doors were locked, but that meant nothing. 

He pushed them open. 

“Aziraphale?” He called. “Aziraphale, are you here? Is everything--”

Of course everything wasn’t okay. Stupid question. 

“Aziraphale please--” Crowley miracled up a light, and found his eye drawn immediately to the hole in the floor and the angel crouching beside it, one hand outstretched the way you might reach for a fire in the cold. 

“Aziraphale!” 

Crowley was at his side in a moment, all but dragging him back from the edge. Both of them were breathing fast and shallow, and Crowley tried to calm himself, to be the anchor that Aziraphale so desperately needed right now. 

He was, at best, only partially successful.

“What the blazes do you think you’re doing!?” He demanded, taking rough hold of both of the angel’s shoulders and shaking him, terrified. 

“Maybe you should’ve let them finish the job.” Aziraphale said dully. 

“What?!” Crowley couldn’t believe he’d heard correctly, but the chasm that had opened in his chest-- the twin of the one in the floor-- told him he had.

“They made me into something I can’t-- I don’t want to be dangerous. Not for you. I don’t want you to be afraid of me.” Aziraphale looked him in the face, and Crowley shook his head violently. 

“Angel, I’m not scared of you. I’m scared for you, but not of you. Do you understand? If you hurt me, I’d heal. If you hurt yourself, if you chuck yourself down that hole-- that’s not the sort of thing I can come back from.” 

Even saying the words felt too real, and he could feel his chest trying to turn inside out. 

“You don’t think you’d be better off?” Aziraphale asked, in the tone of voice he used when he tried to sound logical. It was like hitting Crowley’s already broken heart with a brick. 

“There is no possible way that I’d be better off without you. Aziraphale-- please, I only just-- I have always wanted you. Always. And I have always loved you, and I always will. Things are bad now-- believe me, I understand. But even the worst thing, the worst thing that ever happens to you in your life, you can come back from. You just have to give yourself the chance to heal.” 

Aziraphale stared at him, struck silent, tears running soundlessly down his cheeks. 

“Please Aziraphale? Just… give me more time. Give yourself more time. We’ll fix the shop, and make tea, and if you feel alright later, we can sleep here tonight. Or we can go back to the flat. Or go anywhere you want-- anywhere at all. Only just… stay with me? Don’t leave me. Not now.” 

Crowley wasn’t certain when he’d begun crying, too, but Aziraphale wrapped his arms around him and held Crowley tight to his chest. 

“I won’t hurt you.” Aziraphale promised. “I’ll give it time, I’ll try to get better, just-- don’t-- don’t look at me like that. Like I’m tearing your heart out.” 

“If you were to die, you would take my heart with you.” Crowley told him, dead serious despite the obvious melodrama of the statement. 

Aziraphale pressed his hand to Crowley’s chest. 

“Can’t have that.” He said faintly. 

“Good.” Crowley said fervently, and pressed his forehead against Aziraphale’s. “Let’s… let’s move away from here. The back room should be fine. I’ll make you tea or-- how about some cocoa?” 

Aziraphale thought for a moment, then shook his head. 

“With the month we’ve been having, I think we need some alcohol. Just a bit.” He hastened to add, at the look of dismay on Crowley’s face. 

“A nightcap, then.” Crowley conceded. “And then what?”

“And then… home? Your home, I mean.”

Crowley felt the chasm in his chest filling with something warm that was fighting back the fear.

“Our home, as long as you want it.” He corrected gently. Aziraphale managed an answering smile at that and stood, pulling Crowley up with him.

It was a tiny step towards normal, and one he wasn’t sure they were ready to take, but it felt like the further they got from the edge of that hell hole, the closer they came to life. 

It was a start, and he would hold onto it with both hands.

[tinylilemrys]

Read it on AO3

Rating: T

Word count: 4,835

Tags: becoming human, fluff and angst, but like ninety percent fluff

Summary: 

After avoiding the apocalypse and the punishments of heaven and hell, Crowley and Aziraphale are looking forward to their new, quieter lives. But then Crowley's eyes start changing and Aziraphale's hair starts growing darker. More than that, they're starting to feel new sensations like hunger and tiredness.

And even more than that, as unnerving as these new changes are, what Crowley wants more than anything else is just to tell Aziraphale how he feels about him.

It starts the morning after their meal at the Ritz. Slightly groggy, but nevertheless elated at having finally spent time with Aziraphale with no real talk of heaven or hell, just their interests, how bizarre their new acquaintances were, how Aziraphale hoped they would keep in touch, how charming Crowley found Tadfield and how he strangely found himself wanting to go back and visit without the impending threat of Armageddon. They had spoken well into the early hours of the morning, talking with an ease that neither of them had ever had the luxury of exploring before. For the first time in millennia, they could just exist. It was exhilarating.

It’s in this haze of giddiness and reminiscing that Crowley first encounters his reflection. He surveys his crop of red hair, wondering whether or not he should grow it out again. He misses being able to just throw it up into a bun whenever it annoyed him and he knows Aziraphale prefers it longer anyway. He’s never said as much, but the first time they met up after Crowley had cut it shorter the angel’s nose scrunched slightly as if trying to hold back a look of disappointment. Perhaps now that things between them were so open to possibility, it wouldn’t hurt to offer a bit of additional temptation.

His eyes drift down to meet their reflected counterparts and he jumps slightly. He’s seen his face in hundreds of different lights in hundreds of different reflective surfaces for hundreds and thousands of years. He has a pretty good idea of what his eyes should look like. Except that today they’re different. The slits of his pupils are smaller and far rounder than he’s ever seen them, and the yellow surrounding them has faded, not by much, but enough that Crowley is dumbstruck by the change.

He rushes through the rest of his morning routine so that he can get Aziraphale’s opinion too, because whatever was happening was undeniably strange. Pausing only briefly to try on a darker pair of sunglasses than the ones he usually wears, he darts out of the house and speeds his Bentley through the streets of London.

Upon arriving at the bookshop, Crowley sees that it’s closed. This isn’t the strangest thing as Aziraphale has been known to close the shop for days at a time to avoid customers, but usually, the angel has a sixth sense about when it’s Crowley popping by and makes sure that the door is open for him. Unbidden, his mind vindictively flashes to the smell of smoke and roar of burning paper, to that feeling of helplessness when only two days ago he thought he’d lost the only thing he’d ever truly cared about. But he takes a deep breath and the feeling passes, though his heart is still racing. Strangely, as if to set his mind at ease, it’s just then that he hears a key scraping in the lock and the bell above the shop door tinkle.

“Crowley, I wasn’t expecting you so early. Are you alright? You look like you’ve seen a ghost. It’s not your lot harassing you again, is it?”

“Nah, it was nothing. I narrowly avoided a cyclist and I’m still a bit jumpy after heaven yesterday, but nothing I can’t handle.”

Aziraphale’s nose does that scrunch again, the one that tells Crowley that he doesn’t believe him.

“Well then, you’d better get inside where it’s safe,” the angel replies and Crowley’s stomach does a small thrill at Aziraphale’s hand pressed to the small of his back as he’s let in. In fact, he’s so distracted by this new daring physical contact that it takes him a moment or two to realise that Aziraphale is wearing a hat. Which is strange – he hardly ever wears hats. The last time he had seen Aziraphale in a hat that wasn’t part of a costume or disguise was the nineteenth century, which leads Crowley to suspect that him wearing an ostentatious top hat here in the twenty-first century is, in fact, a disguise.

“Bad hair day?” Crowley asks and Aziraphale’s hand flies self-consciously up to the hat.

“Yes, you could say that.” He pops into his office to start boiling the kettle on his ancient two-ring hot plate and Crowley settles down into his favourite armchair, taking a moment to breathe in the comforting scent of the place. It’s been his unofficial second haunt for as long as Aziraphale’s had it, but for whatever reason, he’s never felt more connected to it than he does now. Home, he realises as he looks around him. It feels something like a home.

Aziraphale comes back a minute or two later with two teacups and a steaming teapot on top of an ornate silver tray. The sight makes Crowley smile. The angel never does anything by half. After allowing Aziraphale to pour a cup for him, Crowley reaches for it and sits back to survey him.

“So how bad is a bad hair day if it’s making you pull out your accessories from the eighteen-hundreds?”

“Rather bad, I’m afraid,” Aziraphale replies, taking a tentative sip of his tea. “Well, not so much bad, actually, as different. Now you know that I have barely changed what I do with my appearance in six thousand years, which is why I’m a tad upset that today it’s a completely different colour.”

“Show me,” says Crowley, and realising that his demands could come off as rude, he adds, “Only if you’re comfortable with it, mind.”

“Alright, but please don’t laugh. I couldn’t even miracle it back to normal and I’ve already made an appointment with a hair salon to see what they can do about fixing it.”

“On my demonic honour,” says Crowley, smirking and placing a hand over his heart which makes Aziraphale let out a little huff of amusement. Slowly, as if trying to remove the lid on a vat of some volatile substance, Aziraphale removes his hat and Crowley has to bite back a gasp. His hair, stark white the day before, is now a dirty blonde colour.

“Oh shit,” is all Crowley can manage. It’s certainly more immediately noticeable than his eyes – after all, he only sees his eyes a few times every day. But Aziraphale… he’s always made a point to see Aziraphale as often as he can. And even when not around him, he’s all Crowley thinks about. Apart from the costume changes, the way Aziraphale looks is a constant in an ever-changing world and to see him so different, the hair so much darker, framing his face in a new way, is startling, but not altogether unwelcome.

“Is it really that bad?” He’s looking at Crowley now with a look of pleading and Crowley notices the tears forming in his eyes. Aziraphale is scared. Crowley can feel it radiating from him in waves and he realises he needs to do something about it.

“Hey, no, it’s not bad at all,” he says, setting his tea down so that he can scramble closer to the angel. “I personally think it looks great on you, but I can understand how it would be a bit of a shock to wake up like this. Want me to take a shot at a miracle?”

“Oh, would you?” Aziraphale almost whispers, relief flooding his face. “I really don’t know about such a drastic change. There’s already been so much of it this week.”

“Of course. Hold still.”

Gently, so gently it’s almost reverent, Crowley places his hands on either side of Aziraphale’s face and tries to summon up as much energy as he can, but it feels like there’s some sort of force around his hair preventing him from changing it back. He lingers for a moment, no longer trying to perform the miracle, just allowing himself a moment to feel the warmth of the angel’s flushed cheeks beneath his palms.

“Any luck?” Aziraphale asks after a moment or two, far more optimistically than Crowley would have dared ask. Crowley shakes his head and the effect is immediate. Aziraphale’s cheeks, flushed just a moment before, drain of all colour, a contrast made all the more intense by his new darker hair. He reaches up shaky hands to take Crowley’s and Crowley takes this as a sign that Aziraphale wants him to take his hands off his face and begins pulling them away. Instead, Aziraphale’s hands wrap tighter around his as he stares him.

“Crowley, you don’t think… it couldn’t be that I’ve fallen, could it?”

The thought had crossed his mind, but with the fear he sees in Aziraphale’s eyes, he knows now is not the time to voice it.

“Let’s not jump to any conclusions – it’s been a crazy few days. In any case, something weird happened to my appearance too, so if that’s the case I don’t know why it would affect both of us.”

“Oh?” says Aziraphale, still pale, but now with concern that Crowley realises is aimed at him. He pulls one of his hands free to pull off his sunglasses and Aziraphale gasps. “Crowley, your pupils are round.”

“Completely?” he asks, panicked.

“No, not quite, but they’re certainly looking far less demonic. What do you think this means? Did something perhaps go wrong while we were switching yesterday?”

“I don’t think so. Your hair would probably be redder if that was the case. I don’t know what this is and we can’t seem to miracle our way out of it. Perhaps we just try to get by for the time being and see what happens. Nothing else has changed as far as I’ve noticed.”

“No, you’re right, of course. No sense worrying about something that seems to be purely aesthetic anyway. Would you… would you come with me to the salon later, though? I so rarely let people touch my hair, let alone work with it and frankly, I’m terrified.”

“Of course,” says Crowley, giving Aziraphale’s hand a quick squeeze before jumping to his feet, collecting his tea and using a miracle to snap his armchair next to Aziraphale’s. Aziraphale looks for a moment like he might say something about this impromptu furniture rearrangement, but the moment passes and as soon as Crowley is sitting and has reached for Aziraphale’s hand again, he’s wearing that soft, contented smile that Crowley finds so beautiful. “Now, Angel, yesterday you were telling me an anecdote about borrowing Oscar Wilde’s scarf and accidentally never giving it back and we were interrupted by the bill. I definitely need to hear how this one ends. You wouldn’t actually steal something, would you? And here I thought you were beyond reproach.”

“Not on purpose!” says Aziraphale defensively. “Though I will admit there was a part of me that was glad he never asked for it again.”

Crowley laughs, listening to Aziraphale talk. It’s fun reminiscing with the angel. They alone are the only two beings in the entire universe who know what it’s been like to live on Earth from its beginning to its (happily avoided) end. Crowley wonders how he would have endured it without him – probably with much wailing and gnashing of teeth. The fact that he’s sitting here, in Aziraphale’s cosy little shop, holding his hand and tracing small circles with his thumb is a miracle he didn’t think he deserved and thus was immensely grateful for.

Having largely grown accustomed to holding Aziraphale’s hand by now, he doesn’t let go of it as they get ready to walk the few blocks to the upmarket beauty salon where Aziraphale has booked his hair appointment. After a bit of a back-and-forth, Crowley has convinced the angel to leave without the hat (“Honestly, Angel, it’s going to draw far more attention than your hair will.”) and the two of them set off down the busy London street.

Upon arriving, Aziraphale is almost immediately whisked away to have his hair shampooed and conditioned and he watches with curiosity as the angel’s expression moves from sheer terror to complete bliss. He wonders what it would be like to do that for him – to run his fingers through his hair, to pull that look of sheer relaxation and comfort from him. There’s a lot that would have to happen between them before that and he’s still not even entirely sure that Aziraphale wants that, but Crowley wants him to want that. After yesterday, the hope has become almost impossible to suppress. There had to be some significance to the soft way Aziraphale had toasted and the delighted look on his face when Crowley called him a bastard. And hadn’t they just been holding hands? Even if this was friendship, they were far past whatever the average for friendship was.

“He’s well fit, your man,” says a lady in a thick cockney accent next to Crowley, only barely startling him. Crowley briefly debates whether or not he should set the record straight, but then decides it’s not exactly lying. If anyone in the world was his man, it was Aziraphale.

“Yeah, he is,” Crowley agrees, trying and failing to stifle the smile spilling across his features.

“I don’t suppose you’ll be wanting anything done while you’re waiting? Hair bleaching is quite the process. A trim perhaps? A little manicure?”

Crowley looks down at his nails. It’s been far too long since he last painted them. The thought of a manicure sounds pretty great at this point.

“Yeah, go on,” he says, stretching out his nails. “Where do you want these?”

The nail technician, Paige, leads him over to a table with a perfect view of Aziraphale and an even better view once he’s seated in the hair stylist’s chair. Crowley locks eyes with Aziraphale’s reflection in the mirror and offers him an encouraging smile. It returns, still nervous, but with the corners of his eyes crinkled in that way that makes Crowley weak at the knees.

“Sure we can’t tempt you into getting that trim too?” Paige asks, but Crowley shakes his head.

“Planning to grow it out,” he explains and Paige nods as she sticks Crowley’s fingers in a bowl of warm water. In the mirror opposite, Aziraphale is blushing.

–

They decide to dine at another of Aziraphale’s favourite haunts that night and, for the first time in history, Crowley opens the menu.

“Crowley, you don’t mean to actually order something other than a glass of wine tonight do you?” he looks both shocked and elated. Truth be told, Crowley isn’t sure what exactly it was that prompted him to look at the meals on offer, but now that he has there is a deep pang in his stomach that seems to insist he commits to following through. The smells coming from the kitchen are amazing in a way that they haven’t ever been before and it suddenly dawns on him what must be happening.

“I think I’m hungry,” says Crowley, just as surprised as Aziraphale. “I’ve never been hungry before.”

“I think I am too, though I don’t think we’re supposed to be able to,” says Aziraphale, frowning. “I mean, of course, these assigned bodies look and feel like real bodies, but they shouldn’t behave like real bodies – at least not in terms of needs like food and rest. I don’t know what it is that’s happening to us today, Crowley, but it’s frightfully unnerving.”

Crowley glances to Aziraphale’s hair which had been almost back to his usual shade of white blonde mere hours ago but is now already starting to darken. He hopes Aziraphale doesn’t catch a glimpse of his reflection at any point tonight. He doesn’t want him to panic more than Crowley can already feel he is. He, himself, has been determined to not look at his eyes until he absolutely has to.

No, the plan for tonight is to make Aziraphale forget that anything weird is actually happening to them and to just enjoy their new freedom. No reporting back, no worries about being caught fraternising with the enemy, just the two of them, the delicious-looking steak special and the excellent bottle of wine that Aziraphale picked out. He tells Aziraphale as much and is rewarded with a room-brightening grin as a reward. Though he doesn’t know for sure yet what it is that’s going on between them, he knows enough to be sure that he’s the luckiest bastard in this restaurant.

“You know, I haven’t yet had the chance to have a good look at what they did with your nails,” says Aziraphale, and Crowley immediately offers his right hand for closer inspection. Aziraphale takes it and smiles approvingly. “Scarlet was an excellent colour choice. They look gorgeous.”

He runs his thumb gently over Crowley’s knuckles and then just… doesn’t let go. Instead, he lowers their hands to rest on the table between them while he picks up his wine with his other hand.

“Ha, nicely played, Angel,” laughs Crowley, adjusting his hand to thread his fingers through Aziraphale’s, and it’s then that Crowley realises that if he doesn’t just ask for clarification right now, he’s not going to make it through this dinner. He has to know if this is actually happening. “Look, it’s taking every bit of courage I have for me to ask this, but all the handholding, dinner at the Ritz yesterday… what are we doing here? What do you want us to be doing here? Because it’s getting to the point where there’s no going back for me. I’ve put too much of my heart into this.”

“You love me,” says Aziraphale and Crowley can’t infer anything from it. It was stated as pure fact in the same way he might point out that the sky is blue or that ducks swim.

“Yes,” Crowley agrees. “And you know that because of your love radar senses?”

“Among other things,” says Aziraphale, squeezing Crowley’s hand. “You do also go to quite extraordinary lengths to show it at times.”

“Yes well…” Crowley mumbles, feeling a blush creeping into his neck.

“I realise that demons don’t sense love the same way we do, but you must be able to sense other emotions.”

“Disgust, anger, envy, fear – basically all of your garden variety negative emotions.”

“Well, take fear for example. What is the most afraid you can ever remember me being?” He’s looking at Crowley expectantly and Crowley’s memories immediately flashback to a tartan thermos and the absolute terror in Aziraphale’s eyes as he handed it over.

“The Holy Water heist – when you got the water for me instead. You were angry too.”

“Of course I was,” says Aziraphale. “You, a demon, had made an asinine plan to go after the one thing that could properly hurt you. Even a small amount of it could have dissolved you completely. That’s not just discorporation, Crowley. That’s non-existence. That’s your last moments filled with pain and agony beyond imagining and then just you no longer being there, with no way to get to you, no way to ever see you again. The thought terrified me. It still terrifies me.”

Aziraphale’s grip around Crowley’s hand is so tight that his knuckles are turning white, but Crowley barely notices it because it’s suddenly all falling into place.

“Why, Crowley, do you think that the most terrifying moment of my life would be handing you that thermos full of pure holy water?”

“Because you love me,” says Crowley, his mind struggling to come to terms with the words he’s hearing. “Holy shit, Aziraphale, you love me?”

A warmth unlike any he’s ever known spreads through his chest as the meaning of what Aziraphale just said fully sinks in. Aziraphale is smiling, beaming at Crowley now and it only serves to make Crowley’s heart race faster.

“With all my heart.”

“That’s… wow,” Crowley replies, completely at a loss for words. “That’s good then.”

“I’d say so. And I’d also say that if two people felt romantical about each other, it would be rather silly for them to not pursue that, not so?”

“Truly idiotic,” says Crowley, lifting Aziraphale’s hand slowly, hesitantly before pressing the softest kiss to each knuckle and it’s unfortunately right at that moment that the waiter arrives with their starter course, somewhat cutting through the intensity of the moment.

Crowley has a proper three-course meal for the first time in his life, and though it’s as delicious as Aziraphale has been loudly raving all these years, it has nothing on the angel’s smile and knowing that it was Crowley that put it there.

–

Both Crowley and Aziraphale are exhausted by the time dinner is over, which is a completely new experience for them. Though Crowley chooses to sleep at night, it’s only ever because he finds it pleasant. Their bodies aren’t supposed to feel fatigued. After all, the forces of good and evil never slept – their respective bureaus couldn’t afford them to either.

Unless that’s what heaven and hell were trying to do now – weaken them so that they would be easier to capture again. Best not to think about that until morning.

“We’ll take a cab to my flat,” says Crowley. “I’ve at least got a bed.”

“Good thinking,” says Aziraphale, yawning loudly as Crowley hails one down.

After giving the cab driver the address, he settles back into his seat and tries not to melt too much when Aziraphale rests his head on Crowley’s shoulder.

“Love you,” he says

“Love you too,” Crowley replies, his heart overflowing.

“It’s nice to be able to finally say it in words.”

“Agreed.”

As Crowley begins drifting off, he glances at the eyes of the cabbie in the rear-view mirror and, for a moment, is filled with a flash of gut-punching familiarity though he can’t quite place who they belong to. A heartbeat later, he finds himself in the wide-open expanse where, days before, time had stopped long enough for Aziraphale and him to speak to Adam. It looked the same except that now it was just the two of them.

“Crowley, you’re here too,” says Aziraphale, sounding relieved. “Did you do something? The last thing I remember is you saying ‘I love you’ and then the next I was here. What do you think it means?”

“I have no idea, but I’m glad you’re here too.” He reaches for Aziraphale’s hand and the two of them begin making their way slowly through the powdery white sand. They manage to make it about ten meters before a loud voice rings out over the landscape.

“Aziraphale, Crowley, where are you going?”

Crowley’s heart plummets. The last time he had heard that voice was when he was being cast out of heaven. Perhaps Aziraphale had fallen after all then. He glances at Aziraphale, who is sheet white and completely motionless.

“Relax, Crowley,” says God, gently. “No one is falling today – at least not in the traditional sense. You’re probably wondering why I’ve brought you here.”

“Yes, the thought had crossed my mind,” says Aziraphale with bravado that Crowley knows he’s borrowing. Aziraphale’s fear is so overwhelming, it’s making Crowley forget to feel his own.

“Look, Your Lordship, if it’s all the same to you, I’d prefer if you got the punishment over with quickly. It’s been a long, strange day for us.”

“That’s precisely what I brought you here to talk to you about. Had it not been for you two, our final, decisive war would be underway as we speak. As it stands, it would appear we are still in a time of peace. Now, both sides are noticeably put out by this, as I’m sure you picked up on while cleverly evading their punishments. I, however, do not share these same frustrations.”

“You don’t?” asks Aziraphale carefully and the voice of God laughs softly.

“No, I don’t. It means that I will have to wait a bit longer to wrap everything up, but time has never worked quite the same for me, so this is hardly a problem. More than anything, I am not angry because I understand why you did it. You love this planet as you love each other and love that pure, love that all-consuming that it would lead you to face down the powers of heaven and hell to preserve it, deserves a reward, not punishment. So I’m giving you what you want. What you’ve both secretly desired all these years.”

Crowley and Aziraphale exchange a glance as they squeeze each other’s hands.

“I’m giving you the chance to be human.”

The gravity of these words takes a moment to sink in, but as they do Crowley’s heart swells. He won’t be a demon anymore. He won’t be particularly good, sure, but he won’t be expected to be being of pure evil anymore either. He could just be. The thought is overwhelming.

God laughs again.

“I see that I have no objections to this plan. It is decided then. When you leave this place, both of you will be completely human and neither heaven nor hell will be able to stake a claim on your existence more than they would with any other human. You will be free from scrutiny on both sides, free to carry on with your lives as normal.”

Crowley feels like he’s floating. This all seems too good to be true, and yet he feels no need to doubt it. Aziraphale still looks like he has his misgivings, however.

“Is something the matter, Aziraphale?” God asks.

“Well, Lord, it’s not so much that something is the matter as much as it is confusion. You see, I can’t seem to sense Crowley’s love anymore. I could up until a second ago, but now there’s nothing. Yet somehow, I still feel heaven’s power flowing through me. Are we… are we still going to be able to perform miracles as humans?”

There’s a sudden crash of thunder, despite the sky being clear and when Crowley and Aziraphale recover from their shock, they see before them a flaming sword, identical to the one Aziraphale used to have.

“Many years ago, I entrusted one of these to an angel without much thought or hesitation. Barely a few months later, that angel had given it away to two brand-new humans so that they might have a way to protect and provide for themselves as they navigated the world and learned what it was to be alive. That’s precisely what I am doing now. Your miracles will help you as you navigate the world as new humans. All I ask is that in addition to using this power as an aid for yourselves, you will try to do good with it too.”

“We’ll try our utmost, won’t we, Crowley?”

Crowley is just staring at the ground, overwhelmed with emotion.

“Thank you,” he finally manages to say.

“You’re welcome, Crowley. Now, go in peace and enjoy your freedom.”

For a moment, nothing happens as they stare out along the barren landscape, but then the vision fades to black and Crowley is warm and more comfortable than he’s ever been before. He’s asleep, he knows it, but it has never felt so good, so perfect and so all-consuming. He’s not sure he ever wants to wake up again. But then he realises that the unfamiliar weight around his waist is Aziraphale’s arm and his heart surges. Slowly, trying his hardest not to disturb the angel, he turns to face him and is surprised to find that the Aziraphale looking back at him has dark hair.

Completely human, just like she promised.

He reaches out to stroke some of the soft hair away from his forehead and as he does, Aziraphale’s eyes flutter open.

“Good morning,” says Aziraphale. “I do believe this is my first time waking up.”

“It suits you.” Crowley is grinning. He can’t help it. He can’t believe how lucky he is.

“You’re very sweet,” says Aziraphale, then, with a small start, he opens his eyes fully. “Crowley, goodness, your eyes are human. And brown.”

“Really?” he asks. “Do they look alright? I mean, do I suit them? Should I just keep on wearing the sunglasses?”

“They’re beautiful,” he says, pressing a kiss to the tip of Crowley’s nose.

“Your hair is dark brown too,” says Crowley and seeing the panic on Aziraphale’s face, he grins. “It makes you look devastatingly handsome.”

“Well, I suppose I’ll have to take your word for it,” laughs Aziraphale. “What is the time anyway?”

Crowley reaches over to his bedside table for his phone.

“It’s quarter past six.”

“Well, that’s far too early to be awake.” And, snuggling closer to Crowley, he falls asleep again.

Crowley lies there, listening to Aziraphale’s deep breathing, intoxicated by the scent of the shampoo the salon used on him the day before. He has no idea what he did to deserve this, how after all the years of pain and torment, this is how things have turned out, but he will never stop being grateful for it.

Not even five minutes later, Crowley falls asleep in Aziraphale’s arms.

[our-smooty]

Flowerbeds and Fertile Soil: Chapter 4

Fandom: Good Omens

Rating: Explicit

Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens, )Anathema Device/Newton Pulsifer

Tags:  Kidfic, Mpreg kind of, they can choose to present however so idk, Crowley Has A Vulva (Good Omens), Crowley Has A Penis (Good Omens), Aziraphale Has A Penis (Good Omens), Aziraphale Has A Vulva (Good Omens), OCs Galor, parenting, using your snake form to avoid confrontation, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Pregnancy, if I missed a tag lemme know

Summary: They could do anything, go anywhere, all without the worry of Above or Bellow making a fuss. Even so, they mostly kept to their little patch of Eden, their cottage and garden and the simple life they’d carved out among the locals. Aziraphale opened a book shop in town, where he only occasionally sold any books (and the ones he did sell, were all modern and stocked specifically for that purpose). Crowley focused his attentions on the garden, and if he occasionally helped their elderly neighbour with her disobedient willow tree, then that was a secret no one needed to know. Lately, however, they had both been feeling rather restless, unbeknownst to each other. Aziraphale tried reorganizing his store, changing the way he tied his bowtie and even ate pizza –something he considered to be far too messy for him personally. Crowley had branched out into birdwatching, and then car maintenance (the human way), and even reading. Nothing scratched the itch for either of them.

Ao3 Link

My Ko-Fi

God did not play dice with the universe. She did occasionally flip a coin, though that was only to help her know which option she really favoured. There was a Plan, an idea of how things were meant to go, but sometimes She liked to step in and fiddle a bit. Other times, She thought it was best if She stepped back and let things take their course. 

That was what She had been doing with Earth for the last few thousand years. She watched, and She waited to see what Her children--including the angels and the demons--would do with what she’s given them. She created the Metatron to speak for Her, to add even more distance, and things went as they did for a very long time. 

She had Her favourites, of course. Mortals, angels, demons, there were always a select few She enjoyed looking in on when the fancy took Her. Of all of them, Her Crowley and Aziraphale were the most interesting. How they adapted, how they grew around each other and became so intertwined that even She could barely tell their auras apart. How they, or all the would-be protectors and destroyers of Earth, really understood humanity and Her creation. 

Which was why, when She decided to look in on them again a while after everything, She was gravely concerned. It seemed that they had carved out a little life for themselves, and She was happy for that. But there was discord as well. A large amount of sadness and pain had begun to emanate from them both and it only took one quick look to see why. Oh, Her poor children. So worried about doing wrong when they were incapable of it. And there, just as She glanced over, were two more of Her children, both misguided in their endeavour to uphold what they thought was right. 

This wouldn’t do. Those two, the former not the latter, had been through so much in the name of Her Ineffable Plan. They deserved a break and She would not allow anyone, even Her angel Gabriel and his demonic counterpart, to interrupt their well-deserved peace. 

God hadn’t been down to Earth in a formal capacity for millennia. She dropped in once or twice a century to try some of the food, and listen to the music; to walk among the people and truly get to know Her creations. But it had been a long time since She revealed herself in Her glory on the mortal plane. This would be a special treat for all parties involved, if not marginally terrifying. Better to choose a more comforting form, one that wouldn’t make Her children quake in fear ( even if that may have been Her goal, just a little bit, when it came to Beezlebub and Gabriel; they had both been led so far astray). 

She saw Aziraphale open the door, saw Crowley come up behind him take in the twin grimaces on their antagonist's faces. There was no more time to waste watching, She knew, and in a flash of Holy light, God was back on Earth, just a few meters down the block from one South Downs cottage. 

 “Crowley,” Beezelbub growled, looking right past Aziraphale. Conversely, Gabriel’s icy gaze was training on the angel, something restrained and dark hiding there. Crowley wanted to step in front of Aziraphale, to shield him from both their former bosses, but Aziraphale was taking up the entire doorway and refusing to budge even with Crowley’s insistent tugging at the hem of his jacket. 

“Angel…” Crowley begged, but Aziraphale wouldn’t budge. “Angel get back!”

“Gabriel, Beelzebub. What a… surprise,” Aziraphale said in his best customer-scaring pleasant-but-cold tone. “To what do we owe this visit?”

“Don’t play games with us, Aziraphale,” Gabriel drawled in his usual, unaffected tone. “You know exactly why we’re here so cut the shit.”

Honestly, Crowley wasn’t sure why both of them were on their doorstep, only that it wasn’t good. Had it really taken Heaven and Hell a decade to figure out the switcharoo they pulled with the hellfire and holy water? Or were they finally tired of all the self-indulgent miracles the two had been performing and where here to put a stop to it? 

“I assure you, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Beezlebub took a step forward, their flies buzzing around all four parties in an incredibly vile fashion. Crowley reflexively tugged at Aziraphale again even though he knew it was pointless.

“Don’t be smart with me, angle,” the way they said it was so unlike how it sounded coming from Crowley’s mouth, and it made him twitch, “don’t you think we know everything about what you’ve been doing?”

“Did you forget about the back channels?” Someone, Crowley wanted to punch that smug look off of Gabriel’s face. “We know the--frankly disgusting--things you’ve been discussing. You know that creating more of those Abominations is forbidden. I didn’t think you’d stoop so low, but I’m not surprised.”

Crowley’s jaw tightened and his teeth began to sharpen into fangs instinctually. He felt Aziraphale stiffen as well, his hands clenching behind his back in a rapid rhythm. This was not what either of them had been expecting to happen, at least, not in this way. Maybe they shouldn’t have banked so much on their ruse keeping the Powers that Be away and sorted out an actual plan. Considering who they were dealing with, there probably wasn’t much they could have done outside of trading bodies permanently and that was not an option.

“Well I never…” Aziraphale blustered. It was hard for him to get the words out, and Crowley wasn’t in the state of mind to even try. Gabriel looked like he was going to try and barge his way into their home at any second to dispatch Heavenly justice, and Beezelbub just looked thrilled about the entire thing and Crowley had no idea what to do. He tried to grip onto Aziraphale tighter, to keep him close, but he knew it wouldn’t last.

“Don’t make this harder than it has to be. You both better come quietly this time and no ‘funny business’. God knows how you managed to get out of your punishments last time, but it’s not going to happen again.” Faster than either of them could react there were restraints around their wrists. Beezlebub was smirking waving their hand and adding fabric gags to the works. Both were tied too tightly, making Crowley squirm uncomfortably as his lips were pressed into his fangs. Aziraphale didn’t seem to be faring much better, wiggling frantically against the bonds. 

“We aren’t using hellfire and holy water this time,” Beezlebub hissed, pushing past Aziraphale to grab Crowley. Behind them Gabriel did the same with the angel and Crowley watched as Azirpahale flinched at the unwanted touch. Oh Somebody was this how things were going to end? They’d barely gotten to make up, he hadn’t even gotten to kiss his angel in 2 days. “If we can’t destroy you outright, we’ll just make you wish we could.”

Crowley knew about the Pits of Hell. He’d been a few times over the years for various reasons (and sometimes no reason at all, Hell just liked to torture their employees and they were very good at it) so he knew what to expect. But Crowley had no idea of what Heaven would do to Aziraphale, could only imagine it’d been much, much worse than his own fate what with how insidiously harsh Gabriel and the other angels could be. He tried to struggle against his bonds and Beezlebub’s grip, desperate to save Aziraphale if not himself, but to no avail.

“Stop squirming you--!” A polite cough interrupted The Prince of Hell’s insult. All four beings on the steps snapped to attention immediately--it was impossible not to recognize that voice. Crowley wasn’t sure if they were about to be saved, or even further punished. 

Gabriel was the first to recover, turning around to fully face the person-shaped Almighty without letting go of Aziraphale. “Lord, it’s such an honour that you would come here to personally witness the punishment of these tra--”

God held up a hand, the face of the corporation she was wearing impassive. The grip on his arms began to slacken and Crowley realized Beezlbub was gawking at the figure in front of them. To be fair, Crowley would have been doing the same if the gag allowed; this was the first time any demon had been in the presence of the Almighty since The Fall. 

“I have already seen what’s going on here, Gabriel. Under whose authority are you exacting this punishment? Because no one has consulted me, or the Metatron, on this matter.” Gabriel looked nervous. Eyebrows rising high into his hairline, Crowley felt himself begin to, impossibly, hope.

“They intend to create an Abomination, my Lord! And you decreed after the Nephilim--”

“Silence, Gabriel. And Beezlebub close your mouth, you’ll catch flies.” If their situation had been less dire Crowley would have giggled at the way Beezlebub’s mouth clicked shut on command. Instead he stared in awe at the unimposing, but undeniably powerful form in front of him. 

“Now, if you had done things properly, and put forward your request for the Angel Aziraphale to be punished, you would have discovered, My Archangel, that My feelings on the matter are very different than yours. And as for the Demon Crowley, I was under the impression that Hell had made an oath to keep their distance, and a Demonic Oath is not something to be broken willy-nilly.” Crowley did make a hysterical noise at that, muffled as it was. Aziraphale glanced back at him and they shared a mutual look of “what the fuck is going on?”. 

“Furthermore,” She continued, “if you had taken the time to check, you would have seen that there is no Law against the fraternization of Angels and Demons in any capacity. So tell me then, why you have accosted these two in their own home, and why you have been spying on them?”

Gabriel sputtered, chocking out half-words and phrases while trying to make himself look as small and apologetic as possible. It was hilarious to watch, but not as funny as the way Beezlebub was squirming under God’s benevolent stare. 

“And you, Beezlebub. I will not pretend to order you about, but I want you to know that I am very disappointed. Is this really the kind of thing Hell is using it’s resources on or is this just a petty grudge you two have against these poor boys?” Beezlebub shrank and mumbled into their shoes. Crowley couldn’t hear what they were saying, but he had a pretty good idea. Taking advantage of their distraction he shuffled forward under his shoulder was just barely brushing Aziraphale's. His angel looked back again and this time there was a sparkle in his eyes.

“You will release them at once, and you and any other members of Heaven or Hell will never attempt to interfere in their lives again. Have I made myself clear?” Her tone was that of a scolding mother and it brought back all sorts of memories from before Crowley’s Fall. He’d often gotten into trouble and received similar reprimands. “You will answer Me.”

“Yes, Almighty,” Gabriel grovelled, staring down at his outdated shoes. Beezlebub did some more mumbling and grumbling but it seemed to be enough for God because She nodded decisively. 

“Good. Now away with you both. I would like to speak with them Myself and I will not have you spying.” With a wave of Her hand the Archangel and The Prince of Hell were banished back to their separate realms. Crowley and Aziraphale stood motionless, still bound and not entirely sure what was about to happen next. 

“Well, that’s taken care of! Oh, sorry, My dears, let me get those for you.” She gestured and their bindings disappeared. Immediately Aziraphale turned in towards Crowley just as Crowley’s arms opened, ready to receive him. God said nothing as they clung to each other; let them have a few moments to come to grips with the fact they had nearly been separated again and lived. 

“I cannot stay long, as <y presence here often disrupts Things. Are you alright, My sweet Aziraphale and My star Crowley?” She asked. Aziraphale shuddered and nodded, obviously trying to pull himself together enough to say something. Funnily enough, Crowley was able to find his voice first, though it was shaky and off-pitch. 

“Why d’You care? Dropped me into a pit of boiling sulphur not 6000 years back didn’t You?” Aziraphale made a shocked noise, his hands fluttering up to cover Crowley’s mouth, but it was too late. Crowley had spent a long time sending angry not-prayers Her way, and he wasn’t going to miss this chance to say some of them in person.

God looked pensive for a moment. “Your Falling is one of My greatest regrets, Crowley. You were so inquisitive, but also very kind, which is why I needed you down on Earth. I needed someone unafraid to ask hard questions. Besides, you would not have been happy in Heaven, you were not like the others.” 

“That’s not an apology.” He wasn’t sure where this bravery was coming from, maybe he’d finally gone over the deep end. Either way, this was happening. 

God smiled. “Would you accept any I have to give?” 

No he wouldn’t, and the fact that she knew that made him want to pout. Luckily Aziraphale had found his words in time to stop Crowley from staying anything too stupid. 

“Thank you, Lord. You help has been much... appreciated,” he said, wringing his hands and glancing behind him past Crowley and into their home. 

“But?” She asked, amused. Aziraphale flinched while Crowley grinned, proud of his bastard angel. 

“But only, I do think Crowley and I would like to sit down and recover from the whole ‘once again facing our d ooms” thing, so if I could be so bold as to ask if You had any other er, business with us?” It was phrased politely enough, but anyone who knew the angel would know that tone. Of course, She knew Aziraphale completely, but She also seemed to understand. 

“You will be able to rest soon enough. I only wanted to make sure you were both safe, and to let you know something very important.” Crowley scoffed and tightened his hold on Aziraphale almost protectively. 

“Another Great Plan?” She smiled and Aziraphale paled. Crowley couldn’t help himself from asking questions. 

“No, nothing like that. I only wanted you to know, that you do not have to be afraid of being punished by Heaven or Hell. Or Me. You have My permission to live here, on Earth, as you like. However, you like.” She smiled beatifically, while also giving them a wink. “I won’t keep you any longer. Goodbye, Aziraphale, Crowley.”

And with that, God turned around and strolled down their front path and out to the street. As She walked along the roadside and eventually out of sight Crowley and Aziraphale remained frozen in the doorway. Again Crowley was the first to recover enough to speak.

“Did God just… did She just--?” he stuttered, his legs shaking from the slow wearing-off of the adrenaline that had kept them both standing. "Did she just give us permission to--?”

“Be fruitful and multiply?” Aziraphale finished, his voice airy and slightly unfocused. “I believe she did.” 

A beat. Then Crowley unwrapped his arms from around his angel, instead bringing his hands up to grab at Aziraphale’s shirt collar. “Angel, if you don’t take me inside right now and fuck me, I’m going to scream.”

It was kind of a jump, going from fighting over how they could never have that, to jumping into bed without even discussing the logistics of things, but Crowley didn’t care. God Herself had just told them it was OK to do the one thing he thought he'd never be allowed to do, and that it would turn out alright. He had enough faith left in Her not to second guess this blessing. 

“Oh dear, are you sure? We haven’t really talked about this, and it’s such a big step…” Immediately Crowley was stepping back. Of course, he’d misunderstood, he’d jumped the gun like always, he’d gone to fast. Aziraphale noticed and took initiative, keeping Crowley close with a hand on his lower back and leading them both inside. 

“Don’t pull away dear, I only wanted to make sure. You were so upset before, and I know what She said but if you need more time I--” But Crowley was done waiting, and he mashed their faces together messily. Aziraphale made a noise of surprise, then quickly caught up to speed, taking Crowley’s face in his hands and cupping his jaw. “Really? You want to? With me?”

“Yes,” Crowley whined, rubbing their hips together insistently. “I do want to, but I didn’t think we could. But we can and I swear to Somebody we can talk more later.”

Aziraphale didn’t argue, he couldn’t really with the way Crowley was begging. They were both still a little shaky, which presented a problem when Crowley was essentially trying to wrap himself around the angel like the snake he was. It only took a few minutes before it was obvious they either had to move somewhere where they could lay down, or do it on the floor of their front hall. The second option sounded appealing to both of them just for the immediacy, but they’d spent hours picking out sheets they both liked, and it would be a shame not to use the bed at every opportunity. 

“Upstairs,” Crowley ordered, taking the angel by the hand and dragging him up to the second floor. The narrow cottage stairs were Hell to get up while Aziraphale was behind him trying to undo his belt but Crowley managed. At least their bedroom was the first room at the top. The door was open and the bed was made, their usual bottle of lube waiting on the bedside table innocuously. 

“Crowley,” the murmur of Aziraphale’s voice was sweet as honey and twice as thick. “I want to--”

“Yes,” Crowley interrupted, miricaling the buttons and fastenings on Aziraphale’s waistcoat open. “Whatever you want, I want it like that.”

“On the bed. Trousers off.” Crowley scrambled to do ask he was asked, thankful for the solidness of the mattress underneath him finally. By the time he got comfortable his skinny jeans and shirt had disappeared to Satan-knew where, and he wasn’t wearing any pants. Aziraphale eyed him appreciatively in the same way he’d size up a delicious brunch spread and it made the demon’s whole body tingle. He arranged himself in a way that he hoped was appealing, legs spread open and his arms outstretched. 

“Don’t keep me waiting, angel,” he rasped, wiggling his ass against the sheets a little. The only other sounds were the fast wooshing of Aziraphale’s breath and a faint ticking from the grandfather clock in the hall. “Want you in me, if you don’t mind.”

With a snap Aziraphale was naked too, exposing his cock to the cool air and making Crowley’s cunt clench with anticipation. A vagina seemed like a good idea for this sort of thing and he’d already had one because it looked better with his skinny jeans. It was the least effort to make the changes to his Effort this way, to tweak things to be on, more or less. “Oh Crowley, so pretty… like a flower--a rose.”

“Sssshut it!” Crowley hissed, thrusting up and down against the air. He was making his needs perfectly obvious but Aziraphale was going so slowly. “You can compliment me later but right now I want to celebrate the fact we aren’t fucking dead by shagging until I can’t walk!”

Finally Aziraphale got onto the bed, his knees coming to rest along the backs of Crowley’s thighs, their sexes nearly touching. “I intend to hold you to that, love. But for now, I’ll give you what you want.”

The Aziraphale was holding his member at the base, guiding it towards where Crowley wanted it most. Had it really only been a few days since they were last together? It felt like another 6000 years. The tip gently nudged between his folds and it was familiar and good. Normally he preferred to drag things out a bit to get them both to the point of begging, but Crowley knew he'd lose his marbles if he had to wait even a second more for Azirpahale to be inside him.

“Get. On. With. It.” His growling was made less intimidating but the fact each word came out with just the hint of a whine. Maybe he should flip them over, really give the angel a run for his money. That was his plan until Aziraphale began to move forward, stretching Crowley out in that way that made him ache inside. He could remember the first time he’d seen Aziraphale’s Effort, and how gobsmacked he’d been; trust the angel to have a pornstar cock without even an ounce of shame about it.

“You’ve very wet, darling,” Aziraphale cooed, bending over to kiss along Crowley’s collarbones. “So beautiful, my lovely boy. Always ready for me.”

“Aziraphale--!” The angel’s hands were drifting down to Crowley’s chest, his waist, his thighs. Skirting around his clit with butterfly presses as he finally shoved himself inside with a perfectly rough thrust. “Yes, Aziraphale, more!”

Aziraphale hushed him, though he was making little gasps of his own every once and awhile. “You deserve everything, my starlight.” He’s playing with the hair at the base of Crowley’s neck, a rhythmic winding and unwinding that perfectly complemented the clenching of his stomach. Crowley mewled at the praise, spreading his legs wider and grabbing Aziraphale around the shoulders. The angel smelled like sweat and their garden and his favourite tea; all things that made Crowley’s throat tight and his eyes wet. To stave off the incoming sob he turned his head and connected their lips in a hungry kiss. 

It wasn’t going to take long for either of them to cum at the frantic pace Aziraphale was setting. But that was fine because they had nowhere else to be, and nothing else to do other than to enjoy each other. They could spend years wrapped up in bed together if they wanted, though their mutual acquaintances might come looking for them after a while. Especially once their newest godchild was born, at least. 

Which reminded Crowley what they were actually doing here. This wasn’t run-of-the-mill sex, this had a purpose. When Aziraphale came he was going to… and Crowley would… Oh he couldn’t even think it without his whole body flushing. Later he’d probably laugh at himself, how excited he got over such a normal, human thing, but in the moment it only made him moan harder. Knowing Aziraphale was going to cum inside him, and it was going to take and make something that was both of them mixed together. Satan. 

“Let me--fuck!--let me ride you,” Crowley gasped, pushing at Aziraphale’s shoulders and trying to shift them. “Aziraphale let me--please!”

“Yes, yes.” And then they were flipping, Aziraphale’s cock miraculously staying inside him the whole way and wasn’t that fantastic? Crowley started a good pace, slower than before but with much more grinding. His clit--maybe a little larger than a standard human’s but he was a demon after all--could rub against Aziraphale’s pubic bone if he slowed down a little and got the angle right. It made the angel groan and lift his hips to give Crowley all the room he needed to work. 

Like a ship's mast broken in a storm, Crowley tipped forward onto Aziraphale’s chest, hips and legs still working hard to bring them to completion. Strong but soft hands wrapped around his waist to aid in their movements. Sex had always been something Crowley enjoyed, even before he and Aziraphale had finally gotten together, but it had never been like this. Like pleasure was bursting from the seams of his corporation, and then love was filling up the cracks. He found his mouth level with one of the angel’s nipples so he kissed it, a weak action to express the overwhelming surge of emotion. 

“Oh!” Aziraphale’s nipples were always very sensitive and Crowley knew that. “Crowley you’re so good. I-I’m going to come darling, I’m going to come in you--!” 

Crowley felt, actually felt, the angel come inside him. There was wetness, and throbbing, and Crowley rode him through it into his own orgasm, which hit him so hard he actually screamed. He may have slowed down time too, just a little, to extend their pleasure beyond what would normally be possible. By the time he let things go back to normal, he was shuddering, curled up on the angel’s chest with Aziraphale’s hands in his hair, stroking softly. Everything was hot and damp, but in a way that was enjoyable rather than disgusting. 

“Are you back with me, dear?” Aziraphale asked softly, continuing to pet at Crowley’s curls. “That was a wicked trick, turning off time like that. You’ve worn yourself out.”

“Ngk.” There was a burning in his legs and a breathlessness in his chest that was just this side of unpleasant. Maybe stopping time to prolong one’s orgasm was a little much for the human form he wore. “Angel?”

“I’m here, dearest. What do you need?” Aziraphale, ever the gentleman bastard, grinned. “You feel very good, so loose and relaxed around my cock.”

It was then that Crowley, in his post-orgasm glow, realized that Aziraphal was still hard inside him, rocking very gently as to not overstimulate the poor demon. The moment Crowley became aware of it, it was like he couldn’t get enough, whimpering pathetically into Aziraphale’s light smattering of chest hair with renewed arousal. 

“You know,” Aziraphale started and his voice was soft but also had a dark, foreboding twinge to it, “it can take some couples many times to, ah, conceive. It would be in our best interest to, well, to give it a go as much as we can. Unless it’s too much for you.”

Maybe it was too much, but Crowley liked too much. Too much alcohol, too much speed (of the driving, and the illegal substance variety), too much Aziraphale. He loved it all, craved it even. Determined to show his angel just how on board he was Crowley ground down weakly. Not enough to get anything done, but enough that Aziraphale would feel it. 

“I can keep going,” he mumbled, barely able to get more than a few thrusts in before his tired legs gave up. “I want it.”

Aziraphale smiled down at him and placed a kiss on Crowley’s head. “Good. Let me just--” Aziraphale tipped them sideways this time, then rolled Crowley over more so his back was against the angel’s chest. This time his cock did come out, and Crowley made a little noise of discontent as he felt come and his own slick leak out over his thighs. “Just a tick dear. Lift your leg? Good boy, thank you.”

If the angel kept going on like that Crowley wasn’t going to last, which was alright, because the demon would let Aziraphale fuck him for as long as he liked. Crowley would be happy to lay here and receive anything Aziraphale wanted to give him and to bask in the attention and love. Especially after thinking they were done for, especially after having to face the idea that one of the last conversations he would have had with the most important person in his entire was mostly an argument. The tears came back again and this time they ran down his face freely, soaking the pillow. At least he was facing away and Aziraphale wouldn’t see them. 

Then Aziraphale was guiding his cock back inside and Crowley was throwing his head back against his shoulder. If possible, it felt even better than the first time. Crowley wasn’t sure if it was the extra lubrication from Azirapahle’s cum, or the oversensitivity, but he felt like he was floating outside of himself, tethered only by the grounding span of Aziraphale’s hands around his waist and the occasional jap to his sweet spot. Everything felt so good and perfect, like pieces slotting together to become whole again after an eternity apart. 

“Love you,” he cried, unable to keep all of his messy emotions from spilling out. Crowley was a mess of tears, and sweat, and pure adoration. “Aziraphale I--oh shit--I love you!” 

“Mmm, so sweet for me Crowley. I adore you, I want--” Aziraphale whined when Crowley clenched down at the praise. “I want to--to make you--you’ll look so good, carrying our baby--oh God, Crowley!” 

Their previously slow speed began to devolve into something more rapid and desperate as they both reached their peaks. Aziraphale, ever mindful of Crowly’s pleasure trailed a hand down his chest and belly to grind his palm against Crowley’s clit. Not that it was strictly necessary; Crowley was going to come from the wet slide of Aziraphale inside him anyway. He forced his eyes to open and his head to fall back so he could both be as close to the angel as possible, and watch the moment when Aziraphale filled him with his come. 

“An-gel,” he gasped, watching the way each thrust made a little come ooze from his swollen cunt. “Angel I--please come with me--Come with me!”

Divine Ecstasy, or something close to it, shot through him in blinding waves as he came. Aziraphale shouted as well, wordlessly clinging to Crowley and once again coming inside him. Crowley was shaking violently, his eyes rolled back and it looked almost violent even though it was exactly the opposite. He was carried away inside his mind and all he could feel was pleasure and love and peaceful, beautiful completion. 

When he came back to himself his face was pressed into the pillows and he was making the most embarrassing little noises with each breath. Behind him Aziraphale was mumbling little nonsense phrases peppered with praise. Crowley focused in on that even though his body wanted him to focus on the fullness he could feel down below and the fact that Aziraphale wasn’t pulling out. He must have remembered from a few days ago, when Crowley complained and that send a thrill of confused, loving arousal through him.

“Ngh,” he forced out weakly, just to let Aziraphale know he was conscious and alright, more than alright even. “Az…?”

“M’here, Crowley, I’ve got you.” The demon sagged and flopped a hand down to his stomach over the concave expanse of his hips. Some strange emotions welled up inside him and he found himself crying again. Aziraphale must have heard the sniffles because he turned Crowley around and tucked him underneath his chin. “Shh, dear, it’s alright.”

“I’m OK.” He was, really. Things were just getting away from him a little bit. “M’happy and I love you.”

Crowley felt Aziraphale smile against his temple. “Oh good. I-I,” a pause while the angel took a deep breath, “I thought I was going to lose you again Crowley. First during our fight and then when Heaven and Hell showed up on our doorstep.”

“Me too,” Crowley whispered, tilting his head up. “I thought I fucked everything up and you were going to leave me, and then they showed up and--” Aziraphale  quieted him with a kiss, hummingbird quick and soft. 

“I know dear, I felt the same. But it’s ok now, and I’m sorry for pushing you before. I think--I believe I understand what you were worried about a little bit better.”

Crowley made a little noise of contentment and settled back down onto Aziraphale’s chest. “S’ok, it all worked out in the end.” He took one of Aziraphale’s hand and held it over his belly. “Besides, you know our kid’s gonna be half-demon right? You’ve got your work cut out for you.”

“They’ll be half-angel too, you know,” Aziraphale laughed, flattening out his hand over Crowley’s non-existent belly. “They’ll be something completely new.”

“Something we made,” Crowley agreed. “Can you believe it? I don’t think I can.”

Aziraphale’s hand wandered down, past Crowley’s stomach to between his legs. It was too sensitive, and just sensitive enough. Crowley whimpered pathetically and clung to his angel’s shoulders, not sure if he should pull away or try to get closer. 

“Well my dear, I guess I haven’t done my job well enough then, have I? I’d better work a little harder to get you do believe it.” Limp with overstimulation, Crowley could only moan and take everything Aziraphale give him, which he did gladly.

[vaguely-concerned]

SO I DID GET TO SEE GOOD OMENS AND TL;DR IT WAS EXCELLENT, I AM EUPHORIC

more thoughts and spoilers under the cut!

the FUCK YEEEEEEEAAAAAHs:

- mr gaiman you did it you made it even gayer I never even believed it was possible what is this 6000 years pining slowburn nonsense 

*ahem* to be more serious about it I loved that the show takes the emotional throughlines from the book and somehow both heightens and deepens them. 

- it really is phenomenally faithful to the book and the stuff it adds is mostly a m a z i n g. it kept me perfectly engaged despite me knowing what like 75% of the dialogue was going to be

- david tennant doesn’t quite go for the same energy as how I imagine crowley in the book -- in my head he’s more... idk how to explain it but the vibe is more someone grinning a bright fixed ‘this is totally my suave face’ grin while clearly continually going ‘oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck’ internally haha, to me he’s slightly less... mercurial? trying to play his cards closer to the chest? but you know what show!crowley is fucking hilarious too and I do like what they’ve done with him being less of an optimist at the core and more enjoying the world through his connection with aziraphale -- the sense of underlying loneliness you get in some places in the book has really been dialed up, he just wants a friend :( (which incidentally seems to be part of the reason he fe -- sauntered vaguely downwards too; he mostly wanted to hang out with someone, and today he still doesn’t really fit in with either the angels or the demons) 

- I can’t believe they managed to capture the feeling of ‘Under the ash and soot that flaked his face, he looked very tired, and very pale, and very scared’ on screen; it’s one of the moments of the book that really stuck with me and it worked so well here too, especially since the fallout of the situation stays with him longer

- this version of aziraphale is just. so lovely. so so good, literal precious angel who almost got his head cut off for crepes, I totally see why crowley persevered through the ages and his own intimacy issues, good call my friend. thank you michael sheen, every time this character showed up on screen I was filled with joy and delight

- I’m completely undone by how incredibly mutual their friendship is in this -- despite crowley being the more active in asking for connection it’s obvious all the way through how much aziraphale genuinely adores him and enjoys his company (even though he knows he shouldn’t and so continually needs to give himself some plausible deniability)

when aziraphale’s voice breaks as he’s like ‘don’t go’ after they’ve argued in the park and he’s just tried to pretend they’re not even friends? hahahahahahaha ouch my fucking heart

- sister mary loquacious was the most endearing thing I’ve ever seen in my entire life, give that actress all the roles she’s got the charisma of the gods

- “not only a southern pansy, sergeant -- the southern pansy” got through and it was glorious (ditto shadwell’s naming schemes, I for sure thought that wouldn’t be mentioned but it’s so incredibly funny)

- crowley repeatedly and openly just... begging aziraphale to go off to the stars with him what the fick-freckedy-fuck

- Of the horsemen Pollution was my absolute fave (so cool and unsettling and nonbinary rep!!!!!!! also they feel like the youngest horseman in such a deep way, every credit to the actress that was great) and I really enjoyed the twist on Famine, making him seem more intense and hungry himself as part of his nature as opposed to in the book where he’s basically like... diet vetinari lol

- G A B R I E L  he was so perfectly awful... absolutely no redeeming features whatsoever he’s just a piece of shit all the way through and John Hamm was clearly having the time of his life with it and I too was living 

- crowley crying in the bar because he lost his best friend and there’s no point to even try to run away anymore if he’s alone, he’s just waiting for the end of the world ;____________________________________________________; what an addition, such a thoughtful way to steer his character arc, wonderful, spectacular

in the book it’s more about him finding his way through the fear and desperation and having lost everything back to his core ‘actually... fuck this there’s no situation I can’t snake my way out of let’s goooooooooo’ self, which is admittedly really cool and satisfying, but it feels like a shallower thing than finally reaching a point where he can no longer pretend he doesn’t care or doesn’t want things. (also... the way his will to live reignites the moment aziraphale needs him fjskadlfhaskdhfksldhfslkahdf “I’ll come find you” INDEED fjksdafhsdlfhsdalfh) 

- also a nice tiny change: the implication that reason he can drive the bentley through the flames is that he loves that car so fucking much, he’s invested so much of himself and his emotions in it over many years, like a sort of microcosm of how he feels about the actual world (and specifically humanity’s presence in it) that produced it

- the child actors were uniformly precious, and the kid who played adam got me right in the feelings. the sort of comedic sociopathy of kids thing going on in the book is downplayed, which means I was feeling all the more protective of this sweet sweet kid who just loves his dog and his friends and fjsdfklasjkh

- *sigh* my embarrassing crush on david tennant has been lying dormant these last few years, simply waiting for its chance to rise from the depths like a kraken yet again, and I am slightly unsettled that what really made it surface this time was him dressed up as evil Mary Poppins + the bathing suit, socks included. ah well the heart uh wants what it wants I guess 

- crowley is awfully quick to suggest child murder for someone who’s blatantly not willing to harm a hair on a kid’s head himself lawl the two of them just juggling the ‘but maybe you could like... quickly murder him so we could avoid all this???’ ball back and forth before madame tracy finally knocks some sense into them 

- the actress for madame tracy did such an amazing job that I literally forgot aziraphale wasn’t actually possessing her, ART

- fellas... is it gay to blow up a bunch of nazis for your ~*best friend*~ and save his books while actualfax romantic music swells in the background... asking for a friend 

- “anywhere you want to go” :):):):) oh no

- to be Sad at you for a second here... why the fuck did aziraphale immediately assume crowley wanted the holy water to use it on himself? is there like. a story here we don’t know. is this the fallout of going to check wtf the spanish inquisition was all about. I’m almost afraid to ask

- to be even Sadder: that ‘For Terry’ made me cry and I’m not ashamed to admit it

the awwww... okay I guess you can’t have EVERYTHINGs:

- the scene where crowley and aziraphale get wasted together after the antichrist is delivered is not quite as funny as it is in my head, but then I don’t think anything in the physical world could be as funny as the way I imagine them just like somberly leaning over the table at each other with little regard for personal space and drunkenly expounding on dolphins, so I’ll forgive it

- CGI satan was completely unnecessary and not even very well designed *shrug emoji* the whole point of that scene is that we never get to see him, just the mounting dread as he’s getting closer, and then the wordless reveal of who Adam considers to be his dad and that’s all that matters and even the devil is powerless against it... loved the ~*godfathers*~ giving a little literal angel/devil on my shoulder pep talk, tho, that was incredibly sweet

- ...the maggots huh neil. couldn’t leave them out huh. what a world it would be if we didn’t get to see a bunch of people get eaten by a writhing roomful of maggots huh. 

- ETA: actually one more: I refuse to accept this version of DEATH, hashtag not my reaper

[uselessdiceroller]

Little Bookshop Thought~

hi, i haven’t had the opportunity to read the book yet, watched the series in one sitting on a school night, and live in the USA. please have mercy on my dumb self, and feel free to add on!

One day, a very tired, confused, and terrified teenager comes into Aziraphale’s bookshop.

Probably pulled an all nighter, looks extremely stressed & desperate. Super tense posture, keeps glancing around and taking quick peaks at Aziraphale, clearly not wanting to be in there in the first place.

Usually, Azirphale really hates people coming into his bookshop, and would absolutely do the most to get them out as soon as possible. But this kid can’t be older than 16, and looks like it’s a cat caught in the rain, or a mouse trapped in a barn completely filled with cats.

Fear is practically radiating out of this kid, and after the whole saving the world from Armageddon situation, Aziraphale really just can’t bring himself to start glaring at an already terrified out of their mind kid.

The 16-year-old-or-so is still looking around and nearly has a heart attack when Aziraphale is suddenly next to them asking if they need any help.

Immediately, they’re like “Oh no, nope! All good! I was just leaving! Sorry!”

Aziraphale just internally screaming because Wait no no no I’m sorry I didn’t mean to scare you--

Him just being like, “It’s okay, you’re quite alright. Are you sure there’s nothing I can do for you?”

Kid .5 seconds away from booking it, but after seeing how genuinely concerned Aziraphale is being, and even though he was known to be an asshole to customers, they REALLY needed to find this information out for their project and were struggling to find information elsewhere. So, okay, I’ll ask and see if he has anything.

The 16-year-old-or-so explains how they have this history project due, but they’re really struggling finding good sources and information to use. They ask if he has anything on the topic.

Aziraphale just lights up because he practically knows this topic by heart. Tells the kid to follow him to a different shelf, because he knows exactly which book would be helpful.

Kid is taken off guard, because is this really the same guy people say looked like he was going to murder them and curse their entire bloodline if they as much as blinked in a books direction?

The whole way, Aziraphale is just rambling about this event and time in history. Oh, it was such an interesting time! And this event? Astonishing! Well, not REALLY astonishing. Most history is, well, bleak, and bloody, and- well, it wasn’t all sunshine and halos, that’s for certain, but my if it wasn’t intriguing! Oh! There was this one person--

The 16-year-old-or-so getting whiplash from both the overwhelming amount of information, and the giant smile Aziraphale had, rather than a glare they had to mentally prepare for.

Aziraphale finds the exact book, and miracles a copy of it to give to the kid. (He wanted to help the kid, of course, but also... books. Need Aziraphale say more?) (Learning human magic and sleight of hand really was helpful in situations like this.)

The kid, still unable to even begin processing this whole situation, thanks him and asks how much it costs.

Aziraphale telling them this book is on the house. He knew the value of his books by heart, but it felt wrong charging for a miracled copy, and, hey, it was the least he could do for nearly giving this kid a heart attack.

Kid asks if he’s positive, and they have money, and are you sure--

Aziraphale just smiles, waves his hand, and ensures them it’s no problem, and that he hoped he helped.

Neither Aziraphale or the kid forget about this encounter. Aziraphale still really tries to keep people away from his shop, and the kid finally has some good bits of information for their project.

Not too long later, the kid comes back for some more help. They’re still a bit wary, because they might have just caught him on an overwhelmingly good day and you can’t be too careful, but he seems like he’s a historian or something and he clearly knows a lot,, so… it wouldn’t hurt too much to try, right?

Aziraphale recognizes the kid, and helps them immediately. The kid gets the information they need, thanks him, insists on paying this time, and leaves. (Aziraphale only took the absolute bare minimum from the kid. He knew they wouldn’t give up, and didn’t want to hurt the kids feelings.)

The pattern continued for awhile, with more kids slowly starting to come in, the 16-year-old-or-so becoming a frequent visitor. They’re all so considerate and kind, and Aziraphale figures it wouldn’t be the end of the world if he’d sell some books, even if they were either miracles or a copy. (Aziraphale had already been face to face with the actual, completely possible, near end of the world itself. Really, this was just a walk in the park compared to that. Would he give the original copies of the books? Well, no, but, hey. Some sacrifices are okay, and these kids are extremely cautious and have genuine curiosity.)

Aziraphale always takes time to help each kid, explaining the events to them as he pulls out the books. He finds that he enjoyed talking about history much more than previously thought.

One day, the 16-year-old-or-so asks if it’d be okay if they came to the shop to do their schoolwork. It was a lot quieter than at home, or at the cafe, or even the library. They’d be okay with sitting on the floor, and if it wasn’t too much of a problem, he’d really appreciate it, and he’d buy something of course, but if it was a problem it’s okay, and he doesn’t mind, he just wanted to make sure.

Aziraphale just,,, melting immediately. Of course that’d be ok!

Aziraphale decides to take it upon himself to reorganize the layout of the shop just a bit to make a cozy little seating area in a corner, so that if anyone needed a quiet place to just sit down, they had it.

He absolutely had Crowley help him reorganize the whole thing.

Aziraphale hadn’t stop gushing to Crowley over how pleasant these kids are, and about how fun it was to be able to explain all the history they’d observed throughout their 6000 or so years on Earth.

Crowley, having never met these kids before in his life, could tell you their name, grade, address, interests, eye color- you name it. All just from how Aziraphale talked about these kids, he knew he had clearly made efforts to help them and make them feel welcomed. Which, really, took Crowley completely off guard, since he’d never expected Arizaphale to so openly welcome people into his shop, but figured it did make some sense.

It became a little known thing among students that if you needed information, Aziraphale’s bookshop is really the best place to go.

Adults were extremely suspicious, and they still opt to stay away from the place. They’ve all heard stories from a friend, or a friend of a friend, or a friend of a friend of a friend, who’d gone to that bookshop and had a horrible experience.

Aziraphale having these little weekly “lectures” with the kids, where he’d talk about their current school topics in depth and help clear stuff up from them.

Seriously, you’d have thought he’d been there to see this all happen! The students say.

One day, Crowley saunters into the bookshop on one of these days. (He absolutely knows this is going on.)

He heads over to the cozy corner where Aziraphale is deep in explanation, leans against a bookshelf, arms folded, and before Aziraphale can acknowledge his prescense, Crowley just-

Gives a dramatic, overplayed scoff, “That is not how it went down, angel.”

Aziraphale, blinking, “I beg your pardon?”

All the kids are looking between them, taken by surprise. Did he just call Aziraphale angle? Wait, we’ve seen this guy before. Yea! He’s practically constantly in the shop--

Crowley goes over to Aziraphale, claps his hands together as he faces the kids, and then starts explaining the event from his own experience. (Of course, he didn’t actually acknowledge what he was saying was his own personal experience. It was, just, you know, how history happened.)

The two take turns talking, at turns debating, about the event at hand and various other topics.

After this, Crowley starts joining in on these little lectures, too.

There’s a few things they’ve quickly learned are some sour topics. They really don’t talk much about the 19th century, and when they do, it’s usually pretty brief and to the point.

Once, a kid brought up the Library of Alexandria. Yea, it makes sense why people were always wary of Aziraphale’s shop, seeing how absolutely infuriated he got at the mention of it. There was SO MUCH information in that library! Centuries worth! Absolutely destroyed! For what?! That library was amazing! We could have learned so much from it--

Meanwhile, Crowley just leans back in a chair, muttering to himself. 23 stab wounds was too low, I could’ve done better. Gotten more people, maybe. Bigger daggers. Maybe swords? Swords would have been perfect--

Aziraphale makes tea and treats for them all. Of course, he ensures they’re all careful around the books, but he already knows how considerate they are, and so isn’t too worried. Plus, he wants to make sure they’re all taken care of.

Crowley makes sure the kids actually get sleep, and that they don’t spend hours upon hours awake with no sleep. (He said he’s slept a century straight, and if he could do that, they could manage to fit in at least 8 hours of sleep in their day. They think he’s exaggerating, but don’t argue with him, and do get some sleep.)

The kids all have both Aziraphale’s and Crowley’s numbers so if they ever need help with anything, they can easily get in contact with them.

Just,,, yea