#short hair Crowley is superior??

[waywardwendy]

Am I the only one in the GO fandom who prefers Crowley with short hair?? I feel like I’m very alone but like HEAR ME OUT

Long hair Crowley gets so much love but

THE SHORT HAIR IS SO GOOD

[mimisempai]

Equivalent Exchange

Summary

Crowley loves the human invention of the shower for the comfort it brings him, but what he loves even more is Aziraphale's hands in his hair as he dries it.

Notes

Another short and sweet fluffy thing

On Ao3

Rating G -  1100 words

Crowley grunted in satisfaction as he turned off the faucet. One of the things he found superior to everything else about humans was the shower. He didn't really need one, but the ability it had to relax him and make him feel good afterwards was incredible.

The demon got out of the shower, dried off, put on a pair of pajamas, and after briefly drying his hair with a towel just enough to keep it from dripping, he grabbed the hairbrush and headed for the bedroom where he knew he'd find Aziraphale. He smiled when he saw the angel sitting against the headboard, obviously engrossed in a book.

However, despite his evident concentration, as soon as Crowley entered the room, Aziraphale closed his book and placed it on the nightstand. 

The angel watched him approach and smiled as the demon asked, pointing his chin at the book, "Have you finished it?" 

Aziraphale shook his head, "No, but it's not like I never read it."

With that, the angel spread his legs and tapped the space in front of him, motioning for the demon to sit down.

Crowley approached, handed him the hairbrush, and planted a light kiss on the angel's lips before climbing onto the bed.

Then he moved into the space created by the angel's open legs, crossed his legs beneath him, and leaned his back against the angel's chest. 

He curled his right hand around Aziraphale's leg and gently stroked it up to his knee, marveling at how familiar this kind of gesture had become. 

As much as he loved to pamper the angel, he also appreciated it when Aziraphale did it for him, and this little ritual had been going on for some time. After denying themselves for so long, both the angel and the demon enjoyed being touched as much as they enjoyed touching, so this special moment satisfied both of them perfectly.

Aziraphale leaned over and asked him gently, placing his hands on his shoulders, "Do you want me to finish drying your hair first?"

Crowley, who had not been drying his hair for that purpose, simply nodded. The angel, not fooled at all, laughed softly in response and pressed a light kiss to the damp hair before gently pushing the demon forward. 

He then grabbed the towel from Crowley's shoulder and laid it on the demon's head to gently dry the red hair, starting with the longest strands at the top of the head, then slowly working his way down to the nape of the neck where he gently rubbed the towel over the shortest strands.

Aziraphale broke the silence and said quietly, "You know, I'm proud of you."

Crowley, more than a little surprised at this sudden praise, asked him confusedly, "For what?"

"Today, I arrived a little early to wait for you at the exit of your planetarium session, and I got to see how well you managed to captivate your audience. There wasn't a single person who wasn't hanging on your every word. You're excellent at what you do, the way you share your knowledge, my dear."

Crowley turned his head toward Aziraphale with that expression the angel knew so well. The expression he wanted to erase. The one that was the same when the demon was told he was a kind person.

Crowley, visibly moved, said nothing, just kissed Aziraphale's hand that rested on his shoulder before turning his head forward again.

They remained in silence for a few seconds while Aziraphale gave Crowley time to collect himself and placed the towel beside him.

Then the angel ran his fingers through Crowley's hair, gently massaging the back of his head, and the demon leaned his head back, resting in Aziraphale's hands and humming with pleasure.

The angel then slowly combed Crowley's hair with just his fingers, gently untying the few knots in the longer hair. Then he grabbed the brush and began to slowly run it through the red hair, starting with the ends of the strands, then making wider but no less delicate strokes from the top of the head to the ends of the longer strands. 

There was a kind of precious bond between Crowley and Aziraphale in these simple touches. They didn't speak, the silence of those moments almost religious, like the echo of a sacred moment, bringing them into communion far more than words could have done.

When he was finished, Aziraphale set the brush down beside him.

Crowley slowly straightened up, turned and sat facing Aziraphale, his legs over the angel's, then wrapped his arms around his neck. He pressed his lips gently against Aziraphale's as the angel in turn wrapped his arms around Crowley's waist, returning the kiss with the same softness.

The demon nibbled gently on the lower lip of Aziraphale, who responded by opening his mouth to invite him in. The kiss deepened as Crowley pressed the angel a little closer.

Aziraphale's arms held him tightly but gently, while his hands ran gently up his back under the demon's pajama top.

The kiss lingered until they both pulled away to catch their breath, neither releasing the embrace of their arms.

Aziraphale smiled, eyes misty and cheeks flushed from the kiss they'd just shared. Crowley couldn't resist and slid his hand from the angel's neck to his face, delicately tracing the outline with his fingertips before running his thumb across the swollen lips.

Then he murmured in a breathy voice, " Gorgeous."

Aziraphale replied with a soft chuckle, "Look who's talking.... "

But the demon didn't let the deflection pass, and looking straight into Aziraphale's eyes, he repeated, "Gorgeous, I'll keep telling you until you believe me, my angel."

He shook his head a little before continuing, "How can you see beauty in others and not in yourself? "

Aziraphale shrugged and replied in a slightly bitter tone, "Force of habit, I suppose..."

Crowley pressed a kiss to his forehead and said with a mischievous smile, "Then it's a good thing you're paired with a demon who likes to shake things up. You're gorgeous, Angel."

"I love you." 

Aziraphale had just said that without transition, as if he couldn't help himself, as if the confession was pouring out of his mouth without him being able to hold it back.

Slightly surprised, as he was every time the angel said those words, the demon didn't wait more than a split second before he answered softly, "I love you too, Angel."

Then he pressed his lips to Aziraphale's in another agonizingly loving kiss.

Because it was them.

This constant equivalent exchange.

Giving and receiving.

Loving and being loved.

_________

Still not beta'd

Still not my native language

Still hoping you'll enjoy this story  🥰

Still thanking you for bearing with me 😝

Ineffable Growing Love series : (After season 2) 

Part 1 Story 1-99

Part 2 Story 100-?

Ineffable Husbands masterlist : here (Before season 2)

[catvicddlm]

Here is a remake…

So yeah, this is a new version of one of my first drawings of Twisted Wonderland. The original was drawn with my old tablet (that recently stopped working). I decided to make this new version for two reasons:

Is the evolution of my style+ I draw on my phone that doesn’t have the old age restrictions my tablet did.

Kinda wanted to new people on the fandom to have a superior drawing of this cursed thing.

If you know me, you already can tell I made that background with Ibis Paint’s free textures. Cause the original photo was a mess anyway.

NOW, some awards:

Best Glow Up: goes to Kalim, who now has eyes. Honorable mention to Idia’s hair that now it actually looks like flames.

Most Short Cut: goes to Crowley cause I didn’t want to recreate his actual shirt, so I used whatever Ibis had that resembled it.

Best Acting: goes to Riddle for being the only one who looks like is on the ride.

Most Cursed: goes to Malleus cause my last braincells went on vacation while drawing that face.

[neoninky]

TWST Fic "Her Ivory Crown": Ch. 8

Ch. 8: Revelry Among Rivals

The girl's dorm was on full lock down by the time the Rosabyrine girls had returned: plans were made and discussions were had, now was the time for action. Each of the dorm leaders were standing on pedestals in excitement, concern, or in some cases, dread as their attires were being adjusted and set on each of them by Jinnah and Manari - who were already dressed - to make sure that everything was in perfect shape. Adela was especially displeased with her lot in this whole situation.

"I cannot believe you chickadees talked me into this..." the senior sighed while pinching the bridge of her nose.

The younger girls had pleaded with their senior to fill this very specific and admittedly appropriate role, even going as far to mention that this was their first and last joint festival together and how it was a "once in a lifetime" opportunity....so she caved. Elise was in charge of the casting, so to speak, and she put a lot of thought into each decision. Some choices were obvious like picking for Manari and Jinnah. There was just no one else they could possibly be. Her role, she'd admit, was a bit biased but the others all agreed that it suited her perfectly. Other decisions needed further speculation but in the end, Elise felt satisfied. As the others were getting final touches put on, Reine stared at the name on the card she had been assigned with a bit of hesitation before giving Elise a concerned look...

"You're sure about this?"

"Of course!" Elise was borderline silly with enthusiasm, "It will be sensational! If we play our cards right, which I know we will with Mr. Ashengrotto's help, the crowd will already be too excited not to leap at the chance. But then, we take it to the next step and present a special VIP wild card...that being you, Your Elusive Majesty. Besides Petra will be right there with you as your 'second in command' so everything will be fine!" 

The third princess gave Reine a reassuring smile, "I gotta admit, I am a bit envious of you but I'd be lying if I said you weren't far superior for the role....also I get a really cool coat so it's still a win for me," Petra laughed. 

Reine looked back to the name on her card. She wasn't against the idea at all, it just seemed a bit...disrespectful maybe? Maybe he wouldn't mind though? She couldn't be sure. One of the ghosts suddenly popped into the lounge amidst all the excitement and interrupted Reine's thoughts.

"Miss Reine, Headmaster Crowley wants to see you in his office. One of your mother's advisors is there waiting for you. Seems important~"

Electric butterflies suddenly fluttered in Reine's stomach at the news. With all the excitement, she had forgotten her mother's promise to send her the rings for her suitor...for Zehn and herself, if things went the way the current queen wished. Reine pocketed the card and asked the girls to continue without her. 

- 

Two of the ghosts were kind enough to show her the way to the Headmaster's office but she couldn't ignore her nerves prickling all over. The rest of the day had been such a nice escape from her reality for a short time but...

"Here we are, Miss."

The princess smiled and thanked the ghosts for their help. Inside the office with Crowley stood one of her mother's chief advisors, a shorter man with snow-white hair and matching, long rabbit ears. He held a small box that fit in the palm of his hand, covered with intricate rose and thorn carvings. 

"Your Highness, it's so nice to see you again," his eyes were will full of kind affection that also reflected in his voice, "I insisted on delivering these precious rings to you in person and Headmaster Crowley was kind enough to oblige."

The white rabbit stepped forward and placed the box in her hands, not realizing just how heavy they felt in her grasp. He couldn't stop smiling at the young future queen. He had known Reine since she was a baby and now here she was taking the first vital steps toward securing the Queendom's future along with her own.

"If I may, Your Highness, your mother's court-soon to be your own-we have been nothing but thrilled for your success since your coronation. We await your formal announcement with bated breath. Congratulations, Young Mistress." He bowed to her with a silken grace that came with time and practice. The Headmaster couldn't help himself and offered an elated congratulations to her a well. Reine did what she did best: smile and offer a poised thank you to them both.

"I'm afraid duty calls, Your Highness. I must return to the court immediately. Forgive me for not properly seeing you safely returned to your lodgings."

Reine gently waved his apology aside, "No need. I will be fine I assure you. Night Raven College is still just a school campus and I know my way now." 

-

Reine was actually grateful to be walking alone back to the dorm. She felt exhausted, heavy. She knew that getting back as soon as possible was critical but even so...Reine took a slight detour first. Thankfully her destination was deserted. The princess stood on the main street of the campus, quietly looking up at her great aunt's statue. The Queen of Hearts: she always looked so sure, so unyielding in every single rendering of her presence Reine had ever seen whether it be on canvas or in stone. Yes her temper was legendary, but what power she must have held in her voice, her very grasp. Reine felt like a wilted weed in comparison.

 "We've never met, Auntie," the princess whispered, "but I've heard so much about you...you would have loved my cousins, I'm sure. They honor your drive, your discipline, and fire to this very day..."

Reine felt her throat tighten right as saltwater started to prickle at her eyes. She wanted so much. She had come so far, hadn't she? So why did it feel like she had barely accomplished anything at all?! Reine was to be queen, the ruler of the Rose Queendom, the highest authority in the land...and yet she felt as powerless as a toddler and just as limited. Reine gazed into her aunt's proud face through a curtain of tears as the words just tumbled out of her mouth.

 "I want...I want to be a queen you can be proud of, Auntie. I want to make everyone proud. I want...I want my daughters to be free to rule as they think best without being coddled and told otherwise! I...I want...."

A quiet sob ripped from her throat cutting off her rant. Reine sat at the foot of the statue's pedestal, clutching the ring box in one hand and trying to stop her tears with the other. No matter how hard she tried the tears seemed never-ending. It reminded her of the story of the girl who originally visited her aunt's rose labyrinth. It was said that she grew over a mile high and cried so many tears, it made a massive lake. A small laugh broke through Reine's sobs at the memory. It was such a fantastical tale that her mother always labeled it as nonsense but even so it was one of Reine's favorite stories. Reine looked at all of the Great Seven statues and smiled a bit to herself. In a place, in a world such as this, with great wizards, powerful magic, and people of every sort, what was actually wrong with some things being a bit 'nonsensical'? Many of her auntie's famous rules made absolutely no sense but good luck telling Her Royal Majesty that. Her tears began to dry and her breath returned to normal after letting her thoughts take her away to a much better place. Reine stood and curtsied to the Queen of Hearts' statue, silently thanking it for hearing her out. But of course...the calm relief was gone before it could properly settle in her heart. 

 "Lady Reine? What are you doing out here...?" 

A sharp, cold shiver ran through her as she quickly turned around and was face to face with a displeased Zehn. He had the same frustrated look on his face that Reine's mother used to give her for ruining her dresses in mud puddles as a child. It did not sit well with her at all...in fact, now she was feeling frustrated. 

"Lady Reine, why are you out here alone?" Zehn then noticed her bloodshot eyes, "Are you hurt?? What happened?" 

He approached her and went to take her arm but the princess quickly pulled away and stepped back, looking at him like an annoyed cat, "There is no need for concern, Mr. Cavalier," Reine reverting back to such a formal tone when addressing him left the same impact as if she slapped his hand away herself, "I was just on my way back to my dorm and decided to take a rest." 

Zehn frowned, "It's not safe for you to be walking about by yourself, Lady Reine," his tone was insistent, "You should have called for me." 

Her frustration rose to a higher degree at this boy's insolence and her own tone grew sharper, "Oh really? Why I am quite capable of walking down a pathway across a school's campus by myself, Mr. Cavalier. You say it's not safe. What exactly am I in danger of? Do tell."

The boy felt like someone was pulling a prank on him. It was in fact Reine standing in front of him but where was this unusually snippy tone coming from?! He frowned at her crossed arms and the impatient look on her face, "You are the heir to the Rose Queendom's throne. It isn't proper for you to just wander about without some sort of guard at your side. If something were to go wrong, it would be an immense diplomatic disaster. Lady Reine, it'd be best if you put your trust in me. I don't think these Night Raven boys are competent or trustworthy enough to take your safety into consideration." 

Reine noticed Zehn's eyes rise to look at the statues of the Great Seven which Night Raven College revered so greatly when he spoke of the campus' students. Her eyes narrowed at his implications.

" 'These Night Raven boys' have been nothing but perfect gentlemen since we have arrived. They have been immensely respectful and hospitable to not just me but the other girls as well. As for being competent, I see no issue. I've never felt safer outside my own home or Sacred Crown's walls. So I highly suggest you put your assumptions to rest once and for all," Reine huffed and covered her mouth as she let out another wet cough. Zehn moved towards her again as if she were made of sugar glass which only annoyed her further.

"Please leave me be, Mr. Cavalier!" 

The princess skirted past him and continued back to her dorm before he had the chance to stop her. He glared after Reine's retreating back as his patience left with her. He did not follow her, however. Instead, he pulled out his phone and messaged a few of his cohorts with simple instructions.

-

It was getting late and Reine felt dizzy by the time she entered the dorm's garden. She could see and hear the girls inside bustling about, nailing down every last detail for their part in the events for tomorrow. Reine didn't want to worry them and derail all of their efforts by returning in her current state. Instead, she sat on a stone bench under a nearby tree and took an extra moment to gather herself. Part of her felt guilty for snapping at Zehn like she did but...why, why was he being so intolerable?! So overbearing as if she were a child instead of his future queen! He was just as bad as her mother...Reine let out a shaky breath and looked down at the box in her hands. She opened it and gazed at the two rings inside, one white gold and one yellow gold. One golden ring of the pair was crafted specifically with the queen in mind and magically enchanted to fit her perfectly. Her white ring held a clear stone set in the center of a rose-shaped mounting with intricate leaves that held tiny clear stones making up the band. The yellow gold ring was plain with no stones or decoration whatsoever. This ring was meant for her chosen suitor and was also enchanted to not only change the size to fit him but also change shape and form to suit his personal tastes as well. Once Reine made her decision and her suitor accepted her proposal, they would both put on the rings at the same time, binding them to each other. 

Reine's frustration came to a boiling point as she snapped the box closed and set it off to the side, tears threatening to spill once more. This was supposed to be a happy occasion so why did it make her feel so miserable...? After a moment, she looked up and noticed something strange....since when did these green fireflies appear?

Reine stared at the tiny balls of light with wide eyes and even managed to catch one in her hands before sensing someone close by. She quickly looked around her...nothing. She looked on the other side of the tree...nope. It wasn't until Reine followed the glowing lights off the trail that she noticed a tall figure looking towards the dorm, still and quiet with an impressive set of horns coming from his head. His back was to her at first but as the princess stared him up and down in curious silence, the stranger's face slowly turned to look directly at her over his shoulder with luminescent green eyes that matched the fireflies. His gaze was hard to read, somewhere between intrigue and hesitation. This was their first time meeting face to face but Reine quickly put the pieces together. After all, his reputation proceeded him. 

"...Lord Draconia?" 

The formal address in this girl's proper tone made Malleus Draconia's eyes narrow in amusement as a curious feeling warmed his chest. He slowly stood to face her properly and the dark fae's eyes took in every little detail about her, from Reine's much shorter stature that did not shrink away from him to the look of wonder in her deep eyes. She knew his identity and yet faced him without fear or that odd obsession that some humans had in his presence as if he were some mythical creature to be caught. No, Reine just looked at him as a person meeting another. How interesting...

"Ooh...We haven't met before, have we?" Malleus's voice was gentle and deep like the evening air. Reine shook her head and properly bowed to him without hesitation. 

"Reine Castilene, crown princess of the Rose Queendom, it is an honor to finally meet you, Lord Draconia." 

Malleus returned the gesture and bowed to the princess with a tiny smile, "Malleus Draconia, successor to the Valley of Thorns. My name doesn't seem to frighten you, little rose queen...the queens of your homeland truly are fearless." he gave an amused chuckle.

Reine returned to her full height and gave him a reassuring smile, "Oh I am familiar with your name. I've heard it amongst my mother's court members several times before. They say you're one of the strongest mages in the world. Very impressive, my lord...if you don't mind me asking, why are you out here alone?"

Malleus mused to himself a moment before answering, "It's quiet here...well usually. I like to come here to be alone." 

Reine followed his stoic gaze back towards the dorm full of rambunctious girls and suddenly felt bad for disturbing his usual safe haven, "I see. Please forgive our intrusion. The girls mean well but they can get a bit rowdy. It'll be nice and quiet after we leave at the end of the week." The dark fae studied the ivory girl next to him as she spoke. He noticed the sadness creeping in during her last statement. 

"You seem troubled, little rose queen. Why is that?"

For someone so intimidating, powerful, and ridiculously tall, Malleus's eyes were soft with concern as was his voice. Reine wasn't sure where to begin or if she even should be honest. Seeing the patient look in his bright green eyes was oddly comforting though. 

"I suppose I am troubled. Very troubled over a few things...it's as you say, though I'm not queen yet, I will be someday. Just like how you will be the new king of your home. I'm not too familiar with the Valley of Thorns, honestly, but I imagine you have your own customs and expectations to live up to."

Malleus hummed softly in response and noticed the small box she had been carefully holding in her hands, sensing the magic coming from within. She followed his gaze and opened the box, showing him the rings, "My courtship rings. Do you have a tradition like this in your homeland?"

Malleus gave her a soft grin, "Dragon fae do hold a deep appreciation of bejeweled tokens but our ways are a bit different, I suppose. As the prince, I shall be the one to choose and court my bride someday. The Rose Queen is the one that does the pursuing in your culture it seems...how fascinating." 

The dragon prince found it a bit amusing that such a doll-like girl would be the hunter and not the hunted. Reine just laughed a bit dryly, "I wish it were that simple but...I'm afraid not. I do get to make the final decision but my potential suitors have been carefully curated on my behalf for years. You make it sound more exciting and romantic than it really is."

Malleus tilted his head as he pondered her expression. The tiny princess seemed displeased by this custom. How unfortunate. Marriages were supposed to be a cause of great celebration and joy...or so he heard. He rarely received any invitations to such occasions and mostly heard about them second-hand from Lilia who was far more well-traveled. 

"You are displeased with your selection of suitors, little rose queen? Is your homeland lacking in proper prospects?"

Reine met the dragon fae's inquiring gaze and found herself feeling a bit amused. He looked almost concerned or troubled over this notion as if he had completely invested in the situation himself. As a matter of fact, Malleus was quite talkative for having just met her only moments ago. Maybe he didn't have many people to talk to? It was oddly endearing. The princess just smiled softly, hoping to put him at ease.

"Oh no, it's not that. The Rose Queendom has many fine gentlemen to choose from. Just one, in particular, is being rather....difficult lately. Unfortunately, he's the one I'm expected to choose." 

"I see," he frowned with narrowing eyes, "an unsuitable prospect, offending his future queen. Why has he not been dealt with and swiftly struck down with lightning magic? Or perhaps fire...I'm not sure what elements the Rose Queendom favors."

Reine stared at him with wide eyes before busting out in laughter. Malleus just blinked in confusion at her reaction. He was being quite serious and didn't see how this could be interpreted as a joke whatsoever. The princess tried to stop and catch her breath before apologizing to him, "I am so sorry, Lord Draconia! It's just...oh if I could be as straightforward as you! It would definitely make things more simple, wouldn't it? I'm afraid that smiting my offenders is frowned upon. Especially by the current queen, my mother...she favors him and has for a while."

Malleus thought over her words carefully before answering, "How strange. The ways of your homeland seem complicated."

Reine sighed, "You have no idea..." 

"Perhaps you would like some assistance? I assure you I can do the deed quickly and no one would be the wiser. No acts of war would be issued, I promise."

Ok now Reine was sure that he had to be teasing her but she still laughed at this strange fae's offer, making him grin in return. The little queen was quite delightful in spite of her struggles. Reine's eyes suddenly lit up as she looked up to him, "Lord Draconia...If I may, there is something that I'd like your help with." She shyly beckoned him closer so she could whisper her request in his ear. Malleus' eyes widened in surprise and he let out a genuine chuckle after hearing her out.

"My, my...that does sound entertaining," Malleus hummed as his thoughts sped up, "I would like to see it and I believe Lilia and the others would be interested as well. Lilia, especially. Perhaps... I could lend a hand to add to the overall impression." 

Reine's eyes sparkled in both happiness and relief, "I'm so glad you think so. I was afraid that you might feel like we were making fun of you which we would never I assure you. But you should come to see it for yourself tomorrow!"

This was the second time Malleus felt taken aback with even more surprise. Could it be? Was...was this an invitation?! The princess practically read his mind as she pulled a pair of tickets from her pocket and handed them over. The girls worked fast in creating everything they needed for the event and Reine had managed to sneak a couple of the printed tickets just in case a rare opportunity arose and this was even better than she expected!

"My gate will only allow those who purchase VIP tickets the day of but given the circumstances, I'd like to give you and a friend admission personally. So please consider coming tomorrow," her smile was as radiant as starlight...though it may have been Malleus' now heightened imagination getting the better of him.

Once the Diasomnia prince returned to his dorm and told the others the news, the dorm hall filled with chatter, mostly coming from a very loud Sebek and very excited Lilia. Malleus turned to address Sebek and Silver specifically.  

"I have a request of you two. Consider it a special mission," he grinned smugly before turning serious, "I don't know that the little rose queen noticed, however...during our conversation, there seemed to be some Royal Sword students lurking about outside the gardens. I don't think they intend to do her harm but she spoke of someone troubling her recently. That won't do..." 

Sebek was quick to understand his lord's meaning and did not hesitate in spite of Reine being a human, "WE SHALL PROTECT THE GRACIOUS FAIR MAIDEN FROM ANY TROUBLEMAKERS, LORD MALLEUS!!"

Silver, who had been jolted awake by Sebek's loud proclamation, nodded seriously. Lilia chuckled darkly at Malleus' side, "My, my how the tables have turned...dragons protecting the princess from the white knights, fufufu~"

-

The campus had an odd buzz hovering about the next morning. Cater figured it had to do with the music and dance contest between the three schools happening later in the day but even so, the cafeteria breakfast rush seemed more scattered and distracted than usual. He noticed clusters of NRC students talking excitedly over some fliers that had popped up overnight. There were even some posts about it on Magicame already. Cater managed to spot one as he waited in line for an iced coffee and immediately grabbed it, reading it over with wide eyes, "Wha?!"

Back at the Heartslabyul dorm, Reine kept her promise and showed up to pour Riddle his tea. Normally he'd prefer it a bit later but the princess had politely specified that she still needed to help the girls finish preparations for the contest so Riddle didn't argue. If anything he was very curious about her today. Something was different. It was like she was hiding a secret behind that coy smile. That blasted, adorable smile...he was still a bit miffed that they had to cut the tea party short yesterday but apparently there was some sort of emergency back at the girls' dorm.  The princess had assured him that everything was fine when he asked about it. Still...he looked her up and down, as discreetly as possible, when she was distracted, trying to find the crack in the armor so to speak.  Nothing about her demeanor seemed strange, Reine was as lovely and pleasant as always. Although, he couldn't help but notice that her attire was all black; the flowy lace dress she wore with matching gloves, the ribbon in her hair, her sheer stockings, and even her boots?? No white, no red. Just black. Did she normally wear this much black? It was very striking if not downright alluring on her but still. Was he being overly suspicious for no reason? Surely not. Of course, the even bigger mystery was...why were Sebek and Silver following her around today? The two boys stood off the side, silently watching her and Riddle like perfectly poised guard dogs. It was bizarre if not a bit unsettling but Reine acted as if this was just another normal day as she gently slid Riddle's now full teacup towards him. 

"Your tea, Your Majesty," she said sweetly to him while giving him a curtsy. It was precious but still failed to distract Riddle from just how weird this setup was. He politely thanked her and took a sip while eyeing his fellow Equestrian club members like they were out of place gargoyles. 

"Um Miss Reine...if you don't mind me asking...is there a reason why you're-"

Cater suddenly burst into the garden, excited about something but came to a halt as soon as he saw the strange scene in front of him: Malleus' bodyguards standing by a suddenly gothic-looking Reine who was serving Riddle tea at a time that Riddle normally didn't take his tea....did he miss something?!

"Good morning, Cater," Reine said brightly to the confused boy before noticing the flier in his hand, "oh you saw our flier! How nice. I hope you join us at the contest later today," she was practically glowing with a hidden excitement. 

"Yeah I did! I gotta ask...what is this about exactly??"

Cater showed the color-pop style flier to Reine and Riddle that said the following: "One Day Exclusive! Sacred Crown Hall Presents 'Rare Collection Experience: Night Raven College Tribute!'" and showed each of the dorm emblems above what looked like blacked out silhouettes of seven different figures peering out from inside glowing coffins. Reine just smiled and said rather mysteriously, "You'll have to wait and see..."

"FAIR MAIDEN!! It is almost the meeting time Mistress Elise had previously scheduled!!" Only Reine seemed unphased by Sebek's boisterous announcement and without missing a beat, bid Cater and Riddle farewell. 

"I hope you both will attend the contest today. I promise you will not regret it."

- 

The area surrounding the arena was packed to the brim with students from both NRC and RSA, waiting to see exactly what all the mysterious hype surrounding those fliers was about. No one really seemed to know and was just as curious as the next person how it all came about. Riddle was getting irritated with just how crowded it was as he stood waiting to enter with Trey, Cater, Ace, and Deuce. The other Heartslabyul boys were just as much in the dark as he was. He spotted his classmates from Scarabia in the crowd as well. Kalim was his usual excitable self, rapid-firing off theories to Jamil what he thought the girls were up to. Jamil, meanwhile, just looked at the flier in his hand with a mixture of deep thought and exhaustion from his dorm leader's abundant energy. Vil, Rook, and Epel could be seen making their way through the crowd, trying to make their way to the designated dressing rooms for those performing today. Neige Le Blanche wasn't too far behind with his seven little friends heading in the same direction. Eventually, the gates finally opened and the river of students flowed into the main avenue that took them past what looked like several covered booths, each one had an NRC dorm's emblem above it which caused the curious chatter to increase. The crowd quieted down as Crowley's voice suddenly boomed over the arena's PA system.

"Welcome Students! The opening ceremony of Night Raven's first Three School Music and Dance contest will commence shortly! Please make your way to the main stage!"

Once everyone in the audience had settled into their seats around the big center stage, Crowley addressed them all in person in front of a veiled curtain. It was hard to tell for even those closest to the stage but it looked like there were six pedestals hiding behind the headmaster??

"Welcome to all of our visitors and our students!" Crowley was weirdly excited about all of this but seeing as how there were some photographers in the crowd, it was no mystery as to why "the performances from all three schools will start in about thirty minutes!"

There were two large monitors just off to the side of the stage that displayed the lineup of the contest's scheduled performances. There were other acts from all three schools but most of the crowd was here for Vil, Neige, and the main group from Sacred Crown, excited to see what the newcomers had in store for them. Riddle looked around the crowd and noticed that some of the girls from Sacred Crown were whispering amongst themselves excitedly. Most of the girls were in their usual classroom uniforms but he noted that each one had a dual-colored ribbon band around their arms, matching the ones from NRC. Every girl had different dorms' colors on her arm....what exactly were these girls up to now?

"But first! Our visitors from Sacred Crown Hall have an announcement to make!" 

Crowley took his leave as the curtain behind him parted. The shock in the audience was palpable as the lights came up and there in the center stood Elise Coralette...in full Octavinelle dorm leader attire, every detail in place down to Azul's small beauty mark below her lips. The only difference was that instead of trousers, she wore a smartly fitted pencil skirt instead. More lights came up to reveal the five other figures on pedestals and the crowd cried out in waves of surprise and shock. From left to right, the girls stood in order each dressed in almost exact replicas of the Night Raven College dorm leaders starting with Alyssa dressed as Riddle in his Heartslabyul dorm outfit with a belled skirt instead of pants all the way down to Hebe dressed as Ignihyde's own Idia, complete with bright blue streaks in her hair. 

"Welcome!" all six girls said in unison before Elise took over, "Greetings students from Night Raven College and Royal Sword Academy and other esteemed guests! The girls of Sacred Crown hope you enjoy today's performances along with the surprises we have personally prepared for you in honor of our wonderful hosts, Night Raven College!" 

The girls on stage along with the rest of their students and some of the more friendly RSA boys took a moment to give the very confused Night Raven students and their gleeful headmaster a round of applause. Elise continued as the screen display changed to a map of each of the booths everyone had passed previously. 

"We will be selling tickets to everyone and anyone who would like to have their own personal photo with each of our lovely dorm leaders you see up here, myself included," Elise gave a playful wink to the audience as the rest of the girls waved and hyped the audience up in their own ways which worked like a charm, "as you can see we have all six dorm leaders present and accounted for! Each one promising more exclusive prizes than the last! For those of you who are a bit more camera shy, fear not~ We have a treasure trove of treats ready and waiting just for you!"

The boys in the audience grew more excited as the two monitors suddenly started displaying fully staged photos of each girl, set to a background that perfectly suited the dorm leader she represented: Alyssa enjoying tea in a rose garden, Elise posing in their very own Mostro Lounge in ethereal underwater lighting, etc. 

"We have a special booth prepared to sell photosets, posters, and more of those gorgeous photos but keep in mind, supplies are limited so don't hesitate! Of course, we have yet another surprise for only the bravest of our lovely customers~ Only the boldest hearts can approach Her Royal Majesty and live to tell the tale after all...." Elise singsonged the end of her dialogue with a mischievous smile as the lights on the stage faded and the large monitors shifted again to a dark screen that showed fog flowing along the bottom and spikey vines slowly crawling up the edges. Once the screens flashed and revealed a new image, the crowd absolutely lost it and Riddle could see why. 

His eyes widened and his jaw went a bit slack as an elegant image of Reine in full Malleus Draconia regalia and sitting on a dragon motif throne appeared. The princess looked as if she could consume his soul in a fairy's wing beat and he would gladly accept said fate without question. The very thought made Riddle's heart do a backflip. The rest of the Heartslabyul boys had similar looks on their faces. Elsewhere in the crowd, the real Malleus and Lilia were thoroughly entertained. Malleus thought all the dramatic build-up was very amusing but still felt a glow of pride at just how closely Reine's outfit had stuck to his dorm uniform's original design and how she even managed to don smaller, more dainty versions of his horns on her head. The flowing skirt in place of his pants was a nice and appropriate change, however. 

"Oooh myyyy, she is enchanting! The Witch of Thorns would be so proud, fufu~" Lilia was almost giddy and already making plans to purchase Reine's merchandise for the dorm. Malleus just hummed in approval. Lilia was sure if Malleus' tail was out, it would be wagging from all the excitement rippling through the air. 

Elise's voice washed over the audience once again as the girls' announcement ended, "Exclusive VIP tickets are now for sale at the front gate for those who wish to have a once in a lifetime experience with our Queen of Thorns and her royal guard first hand! Hurry though, these tickets will not last! Thank you all for coming and good luck to our competitors today!" 

As soon as the curtains shut, there was only a split second before the crowd suddenly broke into a mad dash back towards the main entrance, just as the girls had predicted. A certain octopus was beyond satisfied with this reaction as he smirked at a safe distance, backstage.

"Ahh~ Such clever little sirens. They got the audience hooked with just a glimpse. Jade, Floyd. Be prepared to assist our angelfish in succeeding today. Their win is our win, after all..." Azul was devilishly pleased. The twin eels were practically tingling with interest. Today was going to be fun. 

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

Tagging: @aiimee9 @1ndigowitch @victoria1676 @evieyouknow @foxwitchaine @iscarlettappel @wysteriadelights @nuitthegoddess

[thescholarlystrumpet]

i would like to know about the hair and makeup in the glam rock au

ooh excellent question! so I'm not far enough in yet to have Azi dressed up (they are just beginning the design process to kit him out) but please have a Crowley outfit description from his first appearance:

The person who stood before him was a long line of blue-black fabric, a pale face half covered by dark glasses and topped by a shock of crimson hair. The angular jaw hinted at masculinity but the full lips and nipped waist suggested otherwise. Exceedingly long legs were tightly encased in fabric with a sheen that dully reflected the light, then flared almost violently into a large bell, under which Fell could just see the bit of platform shoe. Or perhaps boot. Save a heavy necklace shaped like a snake with its tail curled around its own neck, the person’s chest appeared possibly bare beneath a sharply tailored jacket. The cut was asymmetrical and extremely figure flattering. 

“You’re early.” The red haired person observed in a smooth tenor. There did seem to be a hint of ruddy hair at V of the jacket, in which the chunky necklace was nestled.

Ah, probably male, Fell decided. “Yes. I believe it is far superior to being late.” 

“Seem to have forgot there’s a third option, then?” The lush mouth quirked upward at one corner. “Come on, then.” He turned and began to walk down the short hallway to another set of doors at the end. 

[nakachuchu]

The Berehynia | Crowley Eusford

chapter seven of the Fairy Tales and Myths series

SYNOPSIS: He ventures into the woods.

READER: gender neutral

WORDS: 1023

WRITTEN: 03/02/2021

NOTES: pictures of Berehynia are female, but as I wrote it, it is gender neutral.

He was traveling the world, seeking out new foods and delights. He found himself in Southern Europe this time where the people flocked around him because of his attractive features.

Crowley was used to positive attention. He knew he was handsome and he was prideful of that.

He began to get curious when all the locals of the town he was staying at warned him of the berehynias.

He wasn't familiar with European folklore, so he asked one of the locals what it meant.

The old woman waved him off, barely able to keep herself steady on her wooden cane. He placed a hand on her back to help her.

"Berehynias are vengeful spirits that live in the forest," she said as she looked to the outer edges of the dark forest. "You best not to in there. No one who goes there comes out alive."

Crowley hummed. "Is that so? Well, you should be on your way. It's getting late."

She grunted and hobbled away in the direction of her small hut. Crowley smiled and waved after her. Once she was out of sight, he turned to the forest and stared at it.

"Well, what doesn't kill me, makes me stronger," he said as he walked in the direction of the forest.

He was a thrill-seeker, but he was also lazy. There was rarely a time he'd go out of his way for something unless it was intriguing or benefited him in some way.

He walked into the forest and immediately noticed the change in energy. The forest and fog were dense. He could barely see in front of him, and he had superior eyesight compared to others.

He looked around the forest, walking forward slowly so he wouldn't trip and fall. He strained his eyes for anything that may have wanted to pop out and frighten him.

He came across a swamp and stopped by the edge. He looked down at the swamp and could see the hint of his reflection in the murky water.

A ripple was created in the water. He tilted his head and leaned forward, wanting to know what type of creatures lived in the swamp.

You poked your head out of the water, touching your nose against his.

"Hello," you whispered.

He blinked. "Hello. Are you a berehynia?"

You leaned back and looked up at him. "Yes. Are you a tourist?"

"Yes. You don't look vengeful."

"You can't judge a book by its cover," you retorted. "If you know what a berehynia is, why have you come here? No locals will come in this forest."

He smiled. "I was curious."

You looked at him, slowly sinking into the water until only your eyes were showing. You roamed your eyes over his body as he stood, proud and tall, in front of you.

Then, you sat up a bit more, showing more of your body to him as you stretched and splayed your upper body on the land he was standing on.

"Has your curiosity been vanquished?" you asked.

He knelt, placing his elbow on his knee and his chin on his hand. "Not yet."

You hummed. "You're an interesting man."

"I get that a lot."

"If you'll let me touch you, then it will be vanquished," he said.

You looked at him for a moment, trying to decipher his motives. Once you determined he had no weapons or warding herbs on him, you leaned up to arm your arms around his neck and shoulders.

His hands trailed down your back, fingertips tickling your spine.

You nuzzled your face into the crook of his neck and sunk your teeth into his neck, ripping off a chunk of his flesh. A few bites in, and you immediately spat out his flesh.

Your eyes were wide in confusion and disgust as you leaned away and looked at him to see him smiling.

"Well, if I had known you were going to eat me, I would have warned you first," he teased.

You were back in the water now, a few feet away from him. Your eyes were cold and calculating.

"What are you?" you asked.

"A vampire," he lazily said.

"Your flesh tastes like shit," you retorted.

"Well, I am un-dead. Why'd you bite me? I think it's supposed to be the other way around."

"Berehynias eat flesh because we want our bodies back. We do not know if it works, but we feel satisfied and full when we eat," you said. "Hmph. Now that you've had your fun, you can leave. You've no meat I can eat."

"What if I get some for you?" he asked.

You narrowed your eyes. "Why would you do that?"

"I'm intrigued," he said.

"Curiosity killed the cat," you retorted.

"Good thing I'm not a cat."

You rolled your eyes.

“You have a body, don't you?” he asked.

“Put your head underwater. We bite, by the way, but it's not like it'll harm you,” you said.

He got on his hands and knees before ducking his head into the water. With open eyes, he looked around the murky water. He could see heaps of skeletons, including yours.

When he raised his head, you had a flesh body above the water. To make sure his assumption was correct, he dunked his head underwater and saw no flesh body from you.

“Say I want to take you out of the water…”

“You may for a short while, but I cannot leave this forest. My soul is connected to it.”

He hummed, brushing back his hair with his hand. “Interesting. I'll be back with a body.”

“You're an odd man,” you called out.

“And you're beautiful.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, not believing anything that came out of his mouth because of how charming and handsome he was.

“You're tricky. Handsomely tricky,” you added. “What’s the catch?”

“I want to see you devour a human body,” he answered. “You'll be ten times more attractive.”

“I'm essentially a skeleton,” you retorted.

“You spat out my flesh a few minutes ago,” he retorted. “Stay here.”

In the blink of an eye, he disappeared.

“Hpmh. Men,” you muttered.

[britishassistant]

@emyluwinter submitted: Hi!!With you again a freelance newspaperman who writes about the reporter Yuu and the Prefect!! I am very glad that you liked my little stories so much that I wrote earlier!!! It's very encouraging that my work is appreciated.

So today will be a small addition to the latest events related to the villainy of Crowley in the form of the kidnapping of Yuu's "family" and friends,and after the final" conversation " of the Prefect with Crowley.

Because of the noise and shouting, opening the room with a spare key, several henchmen cautiously look inside. Yuu had already changed back into civilian clothes and put on extra gloves to hide the knuckles on his hands that had been cut from the blows. - Um....chief, how are you? Yuu takes a deep breath. - Your boss should call a doctor. - So we were talking about you, micro-chief, - one of the minions adds, almost in a whisper. - Huh?Why am I a micro-chef? - Yuu looked at them in confusion. - Well...it's like you've just "talked" to the leader of one of the most powerful villains in the League of Villains.. - Plus your uncle, Mr. Cruel. - Your' family ' and friends are all right. We're not crazy enough to hurt them. - I don't really want to have a walrus's heel sewn on my forehead, - one of the henchmen added ruefully. Yuu couldn't believe it. - Are they really all right? - That's right, micro-chief! But please leave before Mr. Cruel breaks us down into test tubes. We want to live. - And I have a cat at home, how can I be without it. So we'll show you to the exit. Yuu chuckles uncomfortably.It was the first time he had felt so strange. Perhaps it was a mixture of shock, fear, and despair, laced with anger and rage. But for a second, he felt all the power that Crowley held in his hands. But now all this was not necessary, only his loved ones were important.

- Thank you..no, really, I'm grateful that they're safe and sound. - Yuu felt that all these minions were no different from civilians, and they just worked wherever they wanted. And now they are worried about the fact that their superiors have made a lot of mistakes. - Your cameraman friend is a great word player! - I lost three rounds in a row to him. Minions distract Yuu with simple and cute conversations. Some of them showed their pets. Yuu was even asked to sign an autograph as their favorite reporter. They were very moved by their understanding. Although for the most part, they behaved so as not to run into even more trouble. ***

TWST Anita hugged her baby tightly. - Oh Yuu, I was worried if you were okay. - Sorry, Mom - Yuu could barely hold on, they were terribly tired for this day and the last thing they wanted to do was go back to the kidnappings and villainies. TWST Roger patted their hair affectionately. - We were tied up just for show. The rest of the time off-camera, we sat on their couch. - He won four games of cards with the guards,- Anita added, chuckling softly. - Well, they're not stupid enough to harm us.- Roger chuckled. Yuu was just glad that they were all right. Yuuken held Grimm in his arms while standing next to them. - You held out well. - I should have burned all his feathers! - Grimm snorted. - And you cheated, Yuuken! You've made up more than half the words! - No, I didn't cheat, the guards told you the words. Yuu took a deep breath, the growing panic attack quickly passed in his parents ' arms and listening to Yuuken and Grimm. Uncle Divus arrived just a few minutes before the lair to make sure they were all right. None of the minions or minions were even willing to leave shadows in his path. "I sincerely apologize, Anita, that that idiot with the feathers would do something like that. Divus said guiltily, looking at his sister. - Don't take Divvy personally, I know that neither you nor Yuu will let us offend anyone. Everything ended well. - Anita said gently. Cruel relaxed a little at the realization that there was nothing wrong with the people close to him. Looking at the tired Yuu,Kruel just silently hugged him and hugged him very tightly. - You did very well, Yuu. I'm proud of you. - Thank you, Uncle Divvy...I think this time it's over once and for all. -I heard from the guards that Prefect beat him to the intensive care unit, but I don't know how he managed to get in. Yuu chuckled mirthlessly - yes, Prefect helped me out when it was most needed. Ah...I saw him get through the vent or something. Roger swore softly. - Damn it, I wanted to get his autograph! - Roger!Why do you need an autograph? - Little kitty King even has one, I also want an autograph!

Grimm uneasily climbs onto Yuu's shoulders and rubs his head against Yuu's cheek. He watched Yuu more closely than anyone else and saw the state they were in. - Hey .. Yuu. - Yes, Grimm? - Let you take a vacation, your hands are shaking like you're not letting go of a jackhammer. - Grimm glared at Yuu. - I absolutely agree with him, Yuu. Honey, you need a break, you have black eyes and you've lost weight since the last time we met. Being under constant stress is detrimental to your health. - Div, what about that country house you were talking about the other day? - Roger immediately joined in, taking up the idea. - I'm driving, so we can all go together. - Yuuken, you'll go too, no objection,- Anita smiled softly. - Yes, ma'am. I'll just talk to my superiors about letting us go for a couple of days. - Weeks at least,- Сruel added. *** Sitting surrounded by at least 15 pups, Yuu felt like he was falling asleep, they were really too tired for everything that had happened. The quiet snuffling of the pups around him brought him back nostalgically to the time when Yuu was just learning to play the piano with his father and, due to his age and height, couldn't reach the pedals below. How he and Uncle Divus would look at all sorts of fashion magazines, and Yuu would try to draw this or that dress or suit with crayons under his uncle's guidance. Even now, he could hear his mother and father discussing something with Uncle Divvy over a bottle of wine and quiet laughter. Grimm and Juuken fell asleep in a couple of minutes lying on the couch. Grimm climbed onto Yuuken's stomach and used it as a pillow.

Only in the evening, waking up from the doorbell, Yuu sleepily opened his eyes, they slept so soundly and well that they did not even notice how one of the particularly daring and playful puppies tried to gnaw his sleeve. - Who's, Uncle Divvy? - Yuu rubbed his eyes and yawned contentedly. Cruel carried several boxes into the room. - Courier with delivery, although it is strange that no one expected a special package. - What's is Divvy? - It came in the name of Yuu. - Me? - After getting out of the trap of the puppies, Yuu looked at the boxes with a puzzled expression. They were all in his name. And then Yuu noticed several small cards attached to the boxes. In the first box were expensive bagels with filling and frosting. It was a gift from Tsunotaro with an apology that they had to go through all this and Crowley had caused them so much inconvenience.

In the boxes from Tsunotaro there was also a basket of wild roses with a very pleasant and subtle aroma. Several varieties of very delicious tea and a letter was enclosed in an envelope. - "The items are very expensive and refined. Who is this secret fan, sweety? - Anita smiled softly. - From a friend, Mom...a very kind and good friend. - Yuu pulled out the letter and sat down on a chair and began to run his eyes over the beautiful written lines. Malleus certainly tried to put all his feelings and sincere empathy into the lines. The letter was very touching and full of grace, but the one phrase that caught Yuu's attention most was the one from the villain. "If you or your loved ones need help, please contact me first. It doesn't matter what the circumstances are, it doesn't matter who I have to stand up against, whether it's villainous or even heroic, I will always help you no matter what happens, my dear and sweet reporter. Your loyal friend and " pink ink was added "and the most important terrible villain" - this must have been Vanruge. ... your loyal friend and loyal fan. Enjoy your vacation, we'll probably take a break for a while, too. " At the bottom was another postscript in pink ink : "One of the minions had the temerity to fall asleep in a den with the windows open. And now in our shelter a flock of birds, rabbits, squirrels and other small creatures that need to be attached" Yuu choked on a laugh as he imagined the mighty Tsunotaro surrounded by all these cute little animals. Finally, this long day gave Yuu something good, at least they will spend a few days with their family and close friends. Finally, the long-awaited rest and a short vacation came. By the way, the bagels with stuffing that were sent were damn delicious. - To bribe me on an empty stomach, up villainy is not otherwise-Yuu grinned, finishing another bagel. Thank you for your attention!

AAAAAAAH, I LOVE THIS!!

The perfect little ending to ease the sad of the last submission!! Yuu getting away with beating up Crowley! Crowley’s henchpeople treating Yuu with more respect and kindness than birb dad does!! Yuu’s dad wanting the Prefect’s autograph!! Forcing Yuu onto a vacation because their family loves them and wants them to feel safe and happy!! Yuuken and Grim going home with them and falling asleep in the puppy pile together!! Malleus’ care package and Lilia’s additions to his note!! I LOVE EVERYTHING ABOUT THIS!!

Thank you so much for sending this in!!

[aethelflaedladyofmercia]

The Ritual of Propagation - 5

New chapter of The Ritual of Propagation up on AO3: "The Testing Room."

Aziraphale and Crowley's attempt to start their family have stalled, due to what Aziraphale sees as his "weakness," though Crowley recognizes it is trauma.

He recognizes this, because he is not without his own trauma, something he's kept hidden for thousands of years.

But, if it will help Aziraphale...

WARNING: This chapter is short because it deals with some heavy material, specifically r*pe (and not True Form r*pe this time). The flashback scenes are violent and potentially quite painful to read. If this is a difficult subject for you, feel free to skip the chapter. I've put a summary in the chapter endnote, and most of the emotional fallout/discussion between Aziraphale and Crowley will be in the following chapter.

For new readers: This story as a whole deals with r*pe (True form and otherwise), ab*se, pr*gnancy, and miscarriage. Please take care to read the chapter-by-chapter warnings.

The excerpt below does not directly include or reference r*pe or trauma, but does contain Aziraphale's trauma-induced reaction to the previous chapter; also, knowing the context, it will be pretty obvious what they're talking about.

Aziraphale crouched on the floor below the table with his back against the wall and his legs curled against his chest.

He shivered, and not from the cold; even wrapping four wings around him tightly couldn’t make any difference.

This wasn’t right. He couldn’t let the younglings see him being afraid, being weak. What would they take from that? What would they remember, when they’d detached and gone to training? He should be showing them how to take things in stride, not hiding and cowering and crying—

More footsteps, coming up the corridor.

His ragged, shattered heart beat faster, pumping pain into every part of his body, sending the blood trickling down his forehead faster. Aziraphale clapped a hand over his mouth to hold in his whimpers, the sound of his heavy breathing.

Stop it Aziraphale, this is your Duty. This is who you are now. Stand up and face it like an angel—

The door opened and everything went white. Mind blank. Body tense. The younglings shook with tension, screaming in his mind, all but the largest burrowing into his feathers. Aziraphale couldn’t calm them, couldn’t do anything but shut his eyes and sit there with tears rolling down his face as the footsteps drew closer and closer—

“Angel?”

Aziraphale opened his eyes. He wasn’t hiding under a table, wasn’t back in the dreary colorless room at the facility. He was sitting in their garden, surrounded by the most brilliant flowers his husband could grow, with his back pressed against the glass of the greenhouse. He blinked in confusion at the sun shining overhead. When his fingers gently probed his forehead, he was surprised to find it wasn’t bleeding.

“Aziraphale!” With a crunch of soil Crowley was kneeling next to him, wiping away his tears. Those, at least, were real, as was the way he pressed his wings about himself. It was far too warm for this beautiful summer day, but he couldn’t have moved them even if he wanted to.

“I’m sorry,” his demon whispered, awkwardly wrapping Aziraphale into his arms. “I’m so sorry.”

“I gn—I knew this—this would—” but that was all the angel could manage.

What was he doing? This was humiliating. It hadn’t even been that bad, not this time with Crowley, not that earlier time with Michael. Why was he even thinking about that? It was hardly the first time he’d had such difficulties, nor the last, nor the worst, it was nothing compared to what came after—

I didn’t want to hurt you, you know. If you just did everything as you were instructed, it wouldn’t have to be so hard.

She’d been right of course, but that didn’t stop the fresh wave of tears or the trembling, or the sick, hopeless feeling in his gut.

“I’m sorry,” Crowley repeated over and over. “This is exactly what I didn’t want to have happen. I’m sorry. I fucked it up. I’m sorry.”

“I don’t…” Why was it so hard to speak? “I don’t know what’s wrong with me…”

“Nothing is wrong with you. I told you, you’re perfect.” One hand gently ran down his feathers, smoothing them and slowly unknotting the muscles that held his wings locked in place.

“That is blatantly untrue.” Somehow Aziraphale was able to ease his hands through the gap in his wings, enough to clutch at Crowley’s jacket, pulling him closer. “If I wasn’t defective in some way, I… I would be able to meld with you. I would want to, I’d have suggested it right away, our first night together, and you wouldn’t have to… to…”

“Don’t say that.”

“It’s true.”

“No. Angel…” Crowley sat back, leaving Aziraphale feeling cold again, but he pressed his hands to the angel’s cheeks, holding his gaze. “What if… what if it was me? If I was the one being hurt, if… something that happened to me, thousands of years ago, still made me uncertain? Would you tell me I was defective? Force me to… to…”

Why did Crowley look on the verge of tears?

“Darling, no!” Without even thinking he pulled Crowley close again, pushing fingers into his hair and pressed their faces together. “No, no, I wouldn’t… but… it isn’t the same, Crowley! You… you’re strong, you wouldn’t be torn apart by something so… so foolish.”

“Really? Think about the—the worst time you ever had.”

If Crowley knew he wouldn’t have asked that. Aziraphale’s mind shied away from the very suggestion—not that it was ever that bad, not the meld itself, he was just weak, too weak—but that time with Michael, when he’d been exhausted and confused and unable to get his defenses down fast enough, that was still fresh in his memory.

“If I said that had happened to me,” Crowley continued, “would that be alright?”

He choked back a sob, suddenly imagining his husband left lying broken on the floor. Abandoned and alone. “You—you wouldn’t, Crowley… you’re not… you’re not…”

“Would you say I was weak, for being hurt?”

“It isn’t…” he clung desperately to one thought: “You don’t understand…”

“What part don’t I understand?” Crowley’s voice was so soft Aziraphale could barely hear him, even pressed so close. “Being used by your superiors for their… their own needs? Being forced to give up something it should be your choice to share? Or how, yeah it was orders, but you agreed to it—no one dragged you there, so you can’t really complain too much? Knowing what’s coming but never when, or from who, or how bad it’s going to be? Or… or the way they—” His voice pinched off and he drew himself even closer. “The way they leave you… worse, a stain that will never come out, a wound that won’t heal, put their fingerprints where… where no one should ever—and then you wonder, did they even know who you were? Do they even remember you, when their face is burned into you, and you relive that moment over, and over, and over?”

“Crowley…” He was torn between wanting to look his demon in the eyes, and never wanting to let go.

“M’sorry. Shoulda told you years ago. I… I didn’t think you’d understand.”

Learn more horrible secrets of Crowley's past on AO3!

[kedreeva]

A Light in the Dark

Crowley rapped gently upon the closed and locked door. There was nothing to keep him out of it, except his respect for the occupant- Crowley had never met a lock that wouldn't sigh and release at only the whisper of a caress. He received no response, and shifted the bag over his shoulder to knock again, feeling a little more foolish with every passing second.

He had no business being here.

He had no business doing what he was about to do.

He had no business intruding upon what he knew had to lie beyond this door.

Carefully, he shifted the bag off his shoulder and nearly set it on the ground, but he stopped short. He couldn't leave it so exposed in the doorway. There was no telling how long it would be before it was found, if it was even found by the right person. It could be stolen, and he'd never forgive himself.

The lock undid itself for him, the door swung open on silent hinges. It would be an angel that trusted the world enough to remove that kind of warning, he thought as he stepped across the threshold, the hinges squeaking shut behind him. He'd fix it again later, if he needed to.

The dwelling was small, at least compared to the sort they would usually occupy if they stayed anywhere full time, but it still took Crowley several tries to find the bedroom. There were no candles lit to drive back the dark of evening flooding in through the open windows, but Crowley didn't need fire to see. His slitted eyes gave him a perfectly clear vision of Aziraphale's back where he lay curled in the bed, his wings up covering his face. Crowley could taste the salted scent of tears in the air.

"Aziraphale?" he called softly from the doorway. "It's uh... it's Crowley."

Continue reading on AO3 or click below!

"Please go away," Aziraphale told him. It held no malice, no heat, his tone breaking over the last word as if it had barely made it past his throat.

"I will," Crowley said quickly, shifting the sack off his shoulder again and holding it awkwardly in both hands for a moment. He shouldn't be this nervous, but he couldn't stop the patter of his heart or the dryness of his mouth. "I swear I will, but... I uhm... I heard about what happened." He knew better than to ask if the angel was alright.

Aziraphale curled in tighter, his body shaking in a silent sob, and Crowley dropped all pretenses to come to his side. Aziraphale flinched away from the ghost of Crowley's touch along his spine. "I'd like to be left alone, please."

"Of course," Crowley said, kicking himself as he stepped back again- what use would an angel have for the comfort of a demon, after all? He probably figured Crowley had something to do with it. Crowley's superiors certainly had, and for once he'd had to argue against it. "Where should I leave these books?"

A long moment of silence stretched out before one of Aziraphale's wings lowered a little as he rolled enough to take in the sight of Crowley. "What books?"

Suddenly at a loss for how to explain himself, Crowley held up the bag he'd lugged down here. He moved close enough to lay it upon the bed beside Aziraphale. He swallowed a couple of times, scraping for a few words that would matter before he was chased out. Anything he said at this point was likely to set Aziraphale off one way or another.

"They're-" he started as Aziraphale folded his wings away and struggled up. He looked a mess, his hair unkempt and his face red and blotchy from crying. Crowley steeled himself as Aziraphale began to open the tie keeping the sack closed.

The first bound sheaf of papers came free of the sack and Aziraphale gasped, head whipping up to look at Crowley. "Where did you get this? All of these?"

Crowley swallowed again and couldn't keep steady under Aziraphale's scrutiny. He fidgeted and looked away. "Stole 'em," he mumbled, wincing, and then hurried to explain when he saw Aziraphale tense. "Before the fire. It was just a bit of mischief. I thought I'd... I don't know. Take them for a bit and bring them back in a few years. No real harm done." At the wounded look in Aziraphale's eyes, he tossed his pride out the window and told the truth. "I thought I'd bring them to you first, to talk about." He could feel his blush now, heating his cheeks and cresting over his ears and flushing down his collar. "I... they were my favorites."

Aziraphale stared at him, and Crowley couldn't stare back, incinerating internally for laying himself so bare before an angel just so he could offer some small drop of comfort in light of such a loss. "You've read them?"

Crowley nodded tightly. It had been work, but he had done it. He had wanted to thank the angel for helping him learn to read this language. He had wanted to bring books to Aziraphale as an excuse to see him again, for something to talk about next time they met, but not these books. Not like this- never like this.

"Every word."

With a sniffle disguised as more of a sniff, Aziraphale shifted to make space on the bed for Crowley to sit. Finally, Crowley looked, gaze flicking between Aziraphale and the open space, and then he carefully folded himself into it as requested. The space was warm and a little damp and Crowley didn't care at all; he'd sit down in a pool of boiling sulfur if it would wipe that damaged look from Aziraphale's face.

They sat in silence for a while, Aziraphale pulling out each book and scroll that Crowley had so carefully stolen from the library at Alexandria. He laid them all around him on the bed, fingers tracing reverently over them and fresh tears leaping to his eyes. Crowley ached to brush them away, to take Aziraphale's face in his hands and say they'll make more, they'll make so many more, they'll mourn this with you but they will use its memory to protect the others, they're so tenacious, but he kept his hands to himself. Even if his touch would be welcome, angel tears were just as ruinous to demons as holy water.

"You visited, then," Aziraphale finally managed, voice rusty. "If you took these, you must have visited."

"A few times," Crowley agreed, hands in his lap, one thumb picking at the other. "It was beautiful."

"Do you know who-"

"Wasn't us," Crowley said quickly. "Even we wouldn't touch something like that with fire. Neutral ground, libraries. People can get up to all sorts of evil with the right book to guide them."

"I suppose they can," Aziraphale conceded, fingers wrapped around the last scroll he had pulled from the bag. "I can't believe it's gone, just like that. I'd only been once, just after the first bit went up. I'd meant to go back, to see it all... well." He forced a weak smile and gave a quick glance to Crowley. "There's no use in wishful thinking like that."

Heart wrapped around his throat, Crowley held out one hand to him. Aziraphale made to place the scroll in it, but Crowley held up his other hand to stop him, shaking his head a little. Aziraphale's eyes widened, but he shifted the scroll to his left hand, and slipped his other into Crowley's. His skin was warm and soft and burned just a little from the tearful residue, but Crowley held on anyway.

"Close your eyes," he murmured, and followed suit when Aziraphale did.

And then he shared.

Rough hewn stone swept clean daily, the walls lined with beautifully carved shelves stacked to the considerably tall ceilings with scrolls of every sort. Shelves and shelves piled with papers and books in every direction as far as anyone could see. Sunlight streamed through open archways in a covered atrium, statues gracing the windows and busts lining the walls. The floor of the atrium carried a swirl of colored stones, expertly cut and placed to create more art, and the carvings on the walls had been painted with rich dyes.

Crowley shared the sweeping stairway in the main sitting area and the soft benches for reading that were tucked into every nook, and the finely-crafted tables scattered with scrolls and packed with humans reading all sorts of stories and information. The very air felt reverent and quiet and loved- so much so even Crowley could feel it suffusing every inch of the structure.

The entire place smelled of sunlight and papyrus and dust and knowledge. Crowley's senses extended beyond the mortal ones, haunting the halls of the Library of Alexandria with the mortal remnants of the creators that had added to it. Maps curled their shorelines and streets down into the aisles, fiction spilling its characters onto the stone. When Crowley's memory ran his fingers over the spines of books in a row, he knew Aziraphale felt it, could feel the work and skill that had gone into crafting it and the pride and the joy.

He shared every memory of the place he had, including those that did not favor him, sneaking in and out with the items he had brought to Aziraphale tonight. He held nothing back and when he finally withdrew, easing Aziraphale out of his mind, he realized his own cheeks were wet with Aziraphale's grief. He swiped a shaky, scalded palm over his eyes and blinked to clear them.

"Thank you," Aziraphale whispered from beside him, wiping at his own eyes. "You didn't have to do that."

"Yes, I did," Crowley told him vehemently. "I should have asked you to come with me. You would have loved it so much you'd have still been there when the fire started."

Aziraphale's smile bubbled up, still sad but helpless against his fondness. "You're probably right. Still..."

"Still," Crowley agreed. He let out a huff of breath, and hauled himself to his feet. "I should go. I just- I thought those would be better off in your hands. If you haven't got a collection yet, maybe you could start your own. One the humans can't burn down."

Aziraphale's brittle smile softened considerably. "Not a bad idea. I do have a few already."

Crowley smiled back, hoping for once that how he felt showed clearly on his face. He wasn't good with this sort of thing, but he thought that perhaps his best this time had been enough. It had been a start, anyway.

"I'll see you around, angel," he said softly.

Aziraphale smiled and gave him a nod. "Soon, I hope. And under better circumstances."

"I'll make sure of it," Crowley swore, and fled before he did something really damning, like deciding to stay.

[mostweakhamlets]

"You can't just pick up a child off the street like that!"

"Why not?"

Aziraphale doesn't know how much longer he can stand in front of the demon before he pulls out his hair in exasperation. Crowley has his arms crossed in front of him and eyebrows furrowed as if his side of the argument has any standing.

"Children belong to people!"

"She didn't look like she belonged to anyone. You didn't make a fuss when I took in that cat for a week. Or the goat. Or the calf."

"I believe you'll recall that I did make a fuss about the calf, and we did find the rightful owner."

Crowley rolls his eyes. "Alright. But that was once."

"And you can't exactly compare a human child to a stray animal who needs fostered for a little while."

Crowley throws himself down in one of his chairs at his kitchen table. He tosses his long hair back over his shoulders and slumps down, staring at the ground.

Aziraphale watches him. He swings one leg over the other and kicks his sandaled foot. He presses his arms close into himself and pouts. The poor thing is hurt.

"Crowley, I do admire you for wanting to take in a child. It's very kind of you--"

"It's not kind."

"But children have families that look after them, and those families worry when the children go missing for an evening."

"And then you go out and look for them."

"Naturally. I'm supposed to be helping these communities. I'm an angel. I retrieve children from demons."

"I wasn't going to do anything... you know, bad. I just thought I'd feed her and water her for the night. Kids are kinda off limits for my kind."

"I don't doubt you had good intentions, but the point still stands that you can't keep a child as a pet."

"Who made that rule?"

"It's a collective agreement, I suppose."

Aziraphale takes the seat next to Crowley in a creaky wooden chair. The whole house--just a little shack--looks impersonal and old. Crowley must have a short assignment there, Aziraphale supposes. One task and then he's off to another community.

"It was a bit of a pleasure to learn that you here, though."

Crowley looks at him. His eyes light up. He smiles and leans forward, chin in hand.

"Are you admitting you like my company?"

"Oh... no." Aziraphale can't tell if he's being wiley or genuinely warm. "Of course not. It's just a bit nice to see a familiar face every now and again. Even if it is one of a demon."

"Whatever you say... angel."

Crowley retreats. He still looks pleased with himself, and his eyes are still fixed on Aziraphale as if he's prey.

"How about we go into town and have a bit of lunch and then see if we can find you a feral animal to shelter for a few days."

"Only on one condition."

"What's that?"

"We tell our sides that I kidnapped a child and you saved it from me and my demonic influence."

"Why would we do that?"

"Sounds better for both of us. Makes it seem like we're actually doing something out here."

Aziraphale wants to say that he's doing quite a bit, and that lying to his superiors would be wrong. But then he thinks about how it's not exactly lying. He did return a child back home. The archangels don't need to know that rather than kidnap her, Crowley really just gave her a bowl of soup and talked to her a few hours.

Before he can agree to anything, Crowley is jumping to his feet and rushing to the open window.

"There goes a rabbit!"

And he's out the front door with Aziraphale following behind, reminding him that rabbits do quite well on their own.

[charlottemadison42]

In the Beginning was the Word, and the Word was with Her, and She was the Word.

The angel Aziraphale had always been a creature of the Word. He loved Her, as she made him to. And he loved language, narrative, the ineffable story of creation She unfurled before him.

Unfortunately the story took a turn.

When first it came to pass, the angels thought it was a dark third-act twist in the plot. A disaster. An erasure. A defection. Apparently some characters rejected their own story, denied the storyteller. Pain was born. They were cast out.

 (Not out of the story, as they had perhaps desired. Just out of the nice part. There was no escaping Her Word and Her meticulous worldbuilding, not really.)

The poor angel was confounded and afraid. The family was fighting, and the joy he took in Her plan was not universally shared. It was not a good feeling. He was new to understanding what feeling-not-good meant. It was terribly unpleasant and had a surprising amount to do with the lower intestine.

Just after the Beginning was the worry.

And the worry was with Aziraphale, and the worry would be with Aziraphale forever and ever. (Amen.)

His particular strain of worry had no antidote. He was an angel of love and loyalty, made for appetites and moments -- and he was not blessed with much imagination. So Aziraphale seldom fretted about what might be. Rather, as a creature of the present, he worried because he sensed that all was not well.

Since he was inarguably right about that, he found no peace except in short spells of denial. Every celestial hones their coping mechanisms.

As it turned out, The Great Rebellion and the War were not the rising action and the climax. They were merely a prologue. When time itself began, Aziraphale looked back over his newly corporeal shoulder in surprise: all the eons before had collapsed, somehow, 'til they fit merely 'In the Beginning.' From the Eastern Gate he witnessed Genesis chapter one and felt the heady inertia of a vast not-at-all-well future uncoiling into the dark.

Hours later, with a dizzying jolt, he learned he was no longer a reader but a character in the story. He gave Adam and Eve a flaming sword: light, heat, meat, murder. Deadlier than any apple. He made an impulsive decision that somehow changed Her plot. That should not have been possible -- should it? How had an innocent angelic spectator become entangled in the living Word?

When She asked about it, he lied and She withdrew. She left him alone with his worry.

But She left him something else too.

(Or allowed him to stumble across it, or meant to prevent it and got busy, or somesuch. It all came out the same in the ineffable wash.)

Soon after Aziraphale made his very first bewildering choice, he was approached by the champion of choice itself: a wily demon of tremendous imagination. (His hair was very soft.)

Crawly asked too many questions. Questions about what Might Be and what Should Be, which Aziraphale felt uncomfortable contemplating. Somehow the demon saw what wasn't when he looked what was, and he could even foresee the forked possibilities of what wasn't yet; it was a mystifying way to view the world, focusing on the negative space around reality.

At first the angel found it insulting to the almighty author to opine that the story should be different. He was a devoted reader and guardian of Her Word, but not an author himself, so he could not imagine it written any other way. He felt superior to any snake who dared to name flaws or inconsistencies in Her magnum opus.

But given time, as flood waters rose and war visited humanity and plagues swept the land (as nails pierced sinless wrists at Golgotha) the demon asked What Sort Of Author Writes This Kind Of Story. The angel turned away in shame. Crawly had a point.

Aziraphale added worry about what Might Be to his repertoire, and became rather a virtuoso. Books of prophecy were his particular speciality.

Still, the angel clung to his love for Her Word, even as the story grew darker and Heaven itself turned cold. He hoped all would be well in the end. Perhaps that was why when Crowley told him the last days were nigh, he smiled at first. There could be a conclusion then, to all this worry, to all this pain! A grand finale was coming, as promised, and the universe would be filled with love and harmony at last. He took it as written. He was created to.

He never did have much imagination.

(But then that's why She gave him Crowley.)

"'Zirphle?" mumbled Crowley.

"Mm?"

"Whydjoustop." The demon's voice was muffled because his face was buried in the angel's left thigh. He sprawled boneless across the leather couch like he'd been poured there.

Aziraphale hummed in amusement and resumed combing his fingers through Crowley's hair. He had been petting him for nearly thirty minutes now, not a word spoken between them, and apparently he was still on duty.

"Just thinking about what you're good at," mused Aziraphale.

Crowley turned his head a bit to unbury his mouth, since they were talking again.

"Not good at things. 'Mbad at 'em. Very bad hellish'nfernal demon."

"Of course dear."

From “What We’re Good At” (E) Read the rest at https://archiveofourown.org/works/22592488

[get-your-fics]

In the Dark

Summary: You are a Satanic nun in the Chattering Order of St Beryl and are tasked to help switch the Dowlings’ baby with the antichrist. However, you’re not as keen to go along with it as the rest of the order.

Pairing: Crowley x reader

Warnings: Language

“At some point this evening, Mrs. Dowling will arrive. She will undoubtedly have Secret Service agents with her. You are all to ensure that they see nothing untoward,” Mother Superior detailed to the cluster of nuns buzzing with excitement in front of her. “Sister Theresa and I will deliver the Dowlings’ child in room four. Once he has been born, we will remove the baby boy from the mother, and give her back our master’s child.”

She demonstrated this on a rectangular whiteboard facing vertically. It was lined like a graph sheet of paper and had the basic symbol of a woman in the middle. Mother Superior took off the symbol of a normal-looking baby from its place next to the woman. Instead, she lifted the symbol of a baby with horns sprouting out of its head and placed it where the other baby had been.

“Everything is ready. Tonight, it begins.” She beamed at us proudly. However, her prideful expression fell when Sister Mary raised her hand. She sighed. “Sister Mary Loquacious?” she called on her.

“Yes, excuse me, Mother Superior,” the nun said in her irritatingly high-pitched voice, “I was wondering where the other baby is going to come from. Not the American baby. I mean, that’s obvious. It’s just the birds and the bees,” she rambled on, “but you know, the...” she trailed off and tried to convey what she was attempting to say with her wild, brown eyes.

“Master Crowley is on his way with our dark lord-to-be, Sister Mary,” Mother Superior answered matter-of-factly. “We do not need to know more than that.”

A titter of excitement ran through the group at the mention of the demon’s name. He happened to be a favorite amongst them, probably because he was rumored to be the most attractive out of all of the legion of hell. You had heard some of the nuns before bragging about running into him or even spending a night with him, though you were quick to take their tales with a grain of salt. Crowley hardly visited the convent to give orders. It was usually Hastur and Ligur who were the ones to carry out Satan’s dirty work, so you were surprised Crowley was getting involved with this operation at all. However, you had never had the pleasure of being in the presence of a demon. That was usually an honor saved for the highest ranking nuns, and you were the youngest of the bunch.

“We are Satanic nuns of the Chattering Order of St Beryl, and tonight is what our order was created for,” Mother Superior declared, and the group erupted with murmurs of elation. “Sister Grace, you are on duty reception. Sisters Maria Verbose and Katherine Prolix, you will assist Sister Theresa,” she read off of a clipboard in her hands. “The rest of you know your duties. Places!”

In the distance, the muffled wail of a siren could be heard. It slowly grew louder as the source of the noise approached, only adding to the convent’s increasing enthusiasm. For them, this assignment was the culmination of a year’s long work come to fruition. For you, it felt like utter damnation. The nuns scattered to the winds in a flurry of black, pointed habits, their polished shoes clicking against the tile floors. The only ones left standing in the room were you, Mother Superior, and Sister Mary.

“Excuse me, Mother Superior.” Sister Mary walked up to the head nun. “I didn’t get a job. Probably an oversight.”

You could read the agitated look on her face loud and clear, though you bet Sister Mary was oblivious to it. “Yes, of course.” Her tone completely opposed the emotion her countenance conveyed. She thought up a meaningless task for the nun. “You could make sure there are biscuits - the kind with pink icing. I think we had a tin in the convent larder.”

Sister Mary gave her a curt nod, disappointment in her eyes. She hurried away, and Mother Superior rolled her eyes once her back was turned. Then, her hawklike gaze settled on you where you were still standing at the back of the room.

“What are you standing around for, Sister (Y/N)?” You could sense the impatience in her voice.

“I didn’t get a job either, Mother Superior.” Although, you weren’t surprised. It was typical as the youngest member of the convent to be forgotten or left out of things. You didn’t necessarily mind it, either.

She folded her hands in front of her. “You can patrol the grounds, make sure no one interferes with our master’s plan. If you find anyone who doesn’t belong here, alert me or Sister Theresa immediately, understand?”

You nodded, and she left you alone with your thoughts. You knew she was just making up a frivolous task for you to complete, one with little to no consequence if executed poorly, just like she had done for Sister Mary, but you were grateful for it. The more time ticked on, the more the feeling of dread that had settled in your gut swelled. You weren’t sure why, but every breath you took felt like it was drawing closer to your last.

You turned around and stared up at the hulking statue of Adam carved out in marble. A serpent snaked between his legs and wound itself up around his body: Crowley. You had been born into a family of Satanists, studied and were taught their ways from a young age and as you grew up. They operated under the belief that if they played a part in bringing about the end of the world, their dark master would reward them, but you knew better. One thing you were sure of was that angels and demons, gods and monsters didn’t care about the human race. They merely used them as pawns in a giant game of chess. As you stared at the stone snake slithering around Adam, you wondered if Crowley had known what he was doing that day in the garden, or if he had been just as much in the dark as you were now.

You walked around the convent, trying to stay away from the halls where the plan was being carried out and avoiding anyone at all costs. The convent was actually kind of soothing at night. There was nothing around for miles except thick, green forests and open fields, so it was completely silent. So silent, in fact, you could hear the slightest creak of the floor under your feet, and the sound echoed in the spacey rooms. The indigo hue the light of the moon shone down on everything made the yellow, fluorescent lights inside seem warmer like a soft glow instead of the usually sickly and sallow appearance they gave.

You ventured closer to the center of the convent and came across a window peering in on the narrow corridor leading to the door to the parking lot. A couple stood there talking to a couple of the nuns. The woman was obviously very pregnant, her short, golden hair slightly mussed, and drops of sweat running down her flushed complexion. You couldn’t hear her through the window, but you were sure she was huffing and screaming up a storm. The man beside her looked frazzled. He had dark, slicked back curls and a round, kind-looking face. The nuns dragged the woman away from him, and he retreated out the doors to smoke his pipe. That must be them, you thought.

You were back in the main room again, just passing through when you heard an unexpected hiss. It caught you off guard, nearly causing you to jump out of your skin. You snapped your head to see a man lurking in the corner of the room. He must have come in through the side door. He was concealed in the shadows, so you couldn’t quite see his face. All you could make out was the faint outline of his figure.

You stepped tentatively closer to him. “Excuse me, can I help you, sir?”

You heard a low chuckle. “Can you help me?” he repeated. “Yes, certainly indeed.” He stepped into the light and held something out to you. “Take it.”

You looked down at the object in his hand. A large, woven basket dangled from his long, thin fingers. Your eyes widened in realization. Crowley.

You took in his appearance. He was tall and lanky, with luscious, dark red hair that hung loose to his shoulders in waves. He wore tight, fitted, leather pants that clung to his long legs and a black, military blazer. A gray tie hung loose around his neck, like he didn’t really care enough to fix it properly. He dressed like one of those rock stars from the eighties you had only ever seen pictures of. A pair of heavily tinted shades concealed his eyes, leaving the only indicators of any emotion he conveyed to be his brows, his pink lips, and the wrinkles lining his slim cheeks and chiseled features. You didn’t really know what you had expected a demon to look like - maybe a creature with more scales, or a slimy tail, or sharp, yellow fangs - but you certainly had expected one to take the form of a man so disarmingly attractive, so tempting to look at.

“Master Crowley, forgive me.” You bowed your head in an act of supplication.

He tilted his head to the side. “You’ve never seen a demon before, now have you?” You slowly straightened your posture and shook your head. “That’s all right. I hardly recognized you. I thought all nuns were supposed to old, shriveled up hags. I didn’t expect someone so...” he trailed off and cleared his throat. “Anyway, what’s your name?”

“Sister (Y/N),” you squeaked.

“(Y/N), stop dilly-dallying and take it.” He shook the basket in his hand slightly.

Your gaze lowered to the basket, and all the moisture was sucked from your mouth, leaving it as dry as cotton. It was closed, but you knew what was hidden inside. “I-I’m not supposed to take it.” You nervously wet your dry, chapped lips. “Sister Anne and Sister Jane are supposed to retrieve the child.”

“Do I look like I care, darling?” He arched a brow at you. “Take it to room three.”

You furrowed your brow. Room three? I thought it was supposed to be room four. “Has there been a change of plans?” You tried to sound cheerful, but your wavering voice betrayed you.

“How in the hell am I supposed to know? I’m just the glorified delivery service.” He walked closer to you, the thick soles of his black boots solid against the rug-covered tile. “Now, take it before we both screw something up and get ourselves in deep trouble.”

Your breath caught in your throat as the basket came closer to you, and you stumbled back. You felt paralyzed, every muscle in your body seizing with fear, and you couldn’t tear your eyes away from the basket. Crowley said nothing for a while, and you were sure if you could see his eyes, you would see them staring intently at you.

“You’re scared,” he said the words, so clear and concise and short, but they felt like daggers imbedded in your skin. “You don’t want to go through with this, do you?”

You finally ripped your gaze away from the basket and looked at the sunglasses shielding his eyes from view. You could see your reflection in the black glass. It was so dim inside the convent, you figured he must be hiding something with them. But glasses or not, he could see right through you. It was like he was staring through a window right to your soul, like your skin and bones had become transparent and he had direct access to all the thoughts swirling in your head like a thunderstorm.

“You want to turn your back on this place and never look back,” he stated like he was reciting the words a voice whispered in his ear. “You don’t believe in all the convoluted nonsense the others do.”

“How could you possibly know that?” you snapped, probably a little too harshly to be addressing your supposed master.

“I’m a demon, darling. I know everyone’s deepest and darkest desires, all the things they’re too ashamed of to say out loud.” He stuck his tongue in his cheek. “Tell me why.”

You drew your brows together. “Why what?”

“Why you’re not like the others.”

You blinked. You had never really thought of yourself like that. You had always just thought there was something wrong with you. “My parents are Satanists. They forced me to join the convent or they would disown me,” you said so casually, but the words tasted sour on your tongue. It was the bitter truth, but you knew better than to lie to a demon.

He nodded slowly, seemingly pleased with your answer. “Look.” He inched closer to you and lifted the lid on the basket. “He can’t hurt you.” The corners of his lips curled into a smirk. “Not yet, anyway.”

You dared to peer into the basket. A baby with ruddy cheeks and bright blue eyes laid on a red, cotton blanket. He had whisps of light brown hair on his otherwise smooth head and chubby arms and legs. He wriggled slightly, soft whimpers and cries falling from his lips. There was nothing out of the ordinary: no sharp horns, no spiked tail, no razor-like talons, no hoofed feet. He looked like any other normal baby, but beneath his creamy skin, there was dark, unbridled power in his veins unlike anything the world had ever witnessed before.

“I’m not afraid of him.” You looked up at Crowley. “I’m afraid of what comes after him.”

His thin lips twisted into a small, understanding frown. “I know.” He pushed the basket in your direction. “Here. Take it.”

You lifted a shaky hand and wrapped your fingers around the handle. The woven straw itched and bit at your skin, turning it red. You looked down at the child, and you swore for a second, his glossy eyes met yours. Crowley’s hand rested on top of yours, drawing your attention from the baby.

“If you ever decide to run away, darling,” the shaded glass of his sunglasses reminded you of the void of space, “you know who to summon.” He raised his free hand and drew a pentagram in the air with his finger.

You nodded. You had known how to summon a demon since you were eight years old; you just never thought you would ever need to before. He slowly removed his hand from yours, leaving you to hold the basket all on your own. Your skin felt cold. You closed the lid on the basket so you couldn’t see the child anymore.

Whatever softness had come over Crowley before vanished, and he pressed his thin lips together into a straight line. “Now, hurry up and take it to room three before our dark master has both of our heads put on spikes.”

He didn’t wait for a response. He whirled around with a grand flourish and sauntered away with a distinct sway in his hips. He retreated to the corner and practically disappeared into a puff of black smoke. For some reason, you had a strange sense of foreboding deep in your bones that you would see him again, and surprisingly soon.

You walked circles around the convent until your feet basically made indents in the tile floor with every step. The basket felt heavy in your hand, like you had the weight of the world in your grasp. You practically did. Your knuckles turned white from gripping the handle so hard. You had convinced yourself it was fine before when you were complacent in the plan, but now that you had a direct hand in moving along the destruction of humanity as you knew it, you were on edge.

You whipped your head from side to side like an eagle searching for its prey. No way would you be the one responsible for switching out the baby with the literal prince of hell. You drew closer and closer to the center of the convent, looking for someone to pass the deed off to. The first nun you came across was Sister Mary carrying a tin of small, circular cookies coated in a thin layer of pink glaze. Perfect.

“Sister Mary,” she looked up at you, and you walked closer to her, “I have the child. Take him to room three.” You kept your voice low.

You practically shoved the basket into her arms. She took it gratefully, her eyes flashing with jealousy for a moment that you had been the one to see and hold the antichrist first. But then, she flipped the lid and smiled down at the infant. It was the complete opposite to the reaction you had, leaving you feeling like you were staring through a funhouse mirror or stuck in the twilight zone. Your actions and your thoughts were out of place and abnormal in the convent.

“Is that him?” she asked. You merely nodded in reply. “Only I’d expected funny eyes, or teensy-weensy, little hoofikins, or a little tail.” Her tone was sugarcoated, and she rocked the basket in her arms almost lovingly.

“It’s him,” you confirmed. He was made to blend in, to learn all of humanity’s weaknesses, and then strike when the world wouldn’t even know what hit it. A monster amongst men.

Laughter bubbled from her lips. “Fancy me holding the antichrist, counting his little toesie-woesies. Do you look like your daddy? I bet he does. Do you look like your daddy-waddykins?” she cooed.

“Don’t forget to take him to room three. It’s of the upmost importance,” you repeated. You didn’t think she was paying you any attention, and you had been so involved with getting your hands off of the basket, you failed to think of finding someone competent enough to complete the job. A shudder ran through you as you thought of what would happen if you and the rest of the convent were to fail.

“Room three,” she repeated. “Do you think he’ll remember me when he grows up?”

“Hope not.” You turned away, not standing to listen to her incessant babbling any longer. You wiped your hands on the skirt of your habit like they were covered in grime. You sucked in a deep breath. The deed was done. Now, all you could hope for was that you made the however many years you had left count before the reckoning was upon you.

-

You went back to meandering around the convent. You decided to go outside and roam around the grounds, taking in the sound of an owl hooting and the refreshing, night air. You were about to pass through an archway with your hands clasped behind your back and a pleasant smile on your face when you spotted three figures. Two of them you recognized as Mother Superior and Sister Theresa, but the third was completely unfamiliar to you. Whoever it was had wiry, stiff, white hair that stuck out in all directions and nearly translucent skin. He wore a soiled trench coat that made him look like he had crawled out of a grave, and his face was all sharp lines and hard edges. His eyes were pitch black like two dark holes burrowed deep into the Earth, and dark circles hung under each soulless eye.

You repressed a gasp, and instantly, a sinking feeling filled your gut. The nuns had their backs to you, and you ducked out of the stranger’s eyesight before he could spot you. You pressed your back flat against the brick wall and eavesdropped on their conversation.

“Our mission is done, Lord Hastur.” You recognized Mother Superior’s voice. “The baby is in place, and his parents are none the wiser.” You went slack jawed. You weren’t sure what you were more surprised by: that you had seen your second demon of the night, or that Sister Mary had followed the instructions you had given her.

“Well, no need for the convent any longer, then, is there?” You expected his voice to be gravelly and deep, but it was shockingly light.

“I’m afraid I-”

“Dissolve,” Hastur cut Mother Superior off.

Your heart stopped beating in your chest. Dissolve? “What?” Mother Superior was just as confused as you were.

“Your order is dissolved,” he declared.

“We’re what?” Rage infiltrated her tone.

“Now hang on a moment,” Sister Theresa spoke up. “We did everything that was asked of us! What about our reward?”

“So irritating,” he groaned. “You never shut up, do you?”

“We are a chattering order. We say what is on our minds, and right now what is on my mind is that you can’t treat us like-” Sister Theresa suddenly stopped talking, and you heard what sounded like a body dropping to the ground. You peered around the corner to see her lying on the gravel, her blank eyes wide open and her limbs stock still. It was like all the life had been drained from her in a single second. Fuck.

Hastur turned his gaze to the petrified Mother Superior next. “Would you like to tell them that the order is dissolved, or would you rather that they all perish in the fire?”

Alarm bells started ringing in your head. “What fire?” she asked.

Suddenly, a bolt of lightning split the stormy sky open and struck the wing of the convent opposite from you with a deafening crack. There was an explosion of sparks as the convent caught on fire. The orange flames easily spread throughout the building like it was kindling waiting to be lit. You could feel the overwhelming heat from where you stood, and the air crackled with electricity. Mother Superior shrieked as she ran away, her shoes crunching against the gravel. You watched the other nuns flood out of the building like a dam had burst. They scrambled like chickens with their heads cut off, their high-pitched screeches bouncing off of the walls, but Hastur’s cackles were louder. You didn’t think you’d ever see a demon smile, but the grin on his face was bone chilling and made bile climb up your throat.

You ran as fast as your feet could carry you. Most of the nuns headed for the open field next to the burning convent, but you went the opposite way and ducked into the forest bordering a road. You didn’t know how long it stretched for, but you’d take your chances of getting lost if it meant you’d get away from Hastur. It began to rain, and your drenched habit started to slow you down. You chucked it off, feeling instantly lighter once the heavy, woolen garment was gone.

You pushed through the brambles and the underbrush and the trees. The thick foliage blocked out the scarce amount of light from the moon, shrouding you in darkness. It made no difference whether your eyes were closed or not. You couldn’t see, and you didn’t know where you were going. You didn’t know if you had anywhere to go; you only followed the instinct inside of you to keep running. Branches reached out and scratched at your skin like claws. You tripped and fell at one point, losing your shoes to the thick, sticky mud. Your bare feet pounded against the ground, splashing in puddles of dirty rainwater and cutting on jagged rocks. The sound of blood rushing and rumbling thunder filled your ears. In the distance, you swore you could still hear the crackle of fire and the nuns’ piercing screams.

You practically tumbled out of the forest and onto the shoulder of a back road. You stumbled out into the middle of the concrete, your mind in a daze. The blaring of a car horn cut through the sounds of the forest, and you turned your head to be blinded by bright, white headlights shining directly into your eyes. Before you knew what was happening, a black Bentley barreled down the road, headed straight for you.

You froze, glued to the spot. You willed your legs to move, but they remained rooted to the ground. You were a deer caught in headlights. You were trapped, and by your own body, nonetheless. You saw your life flash before your eyes, and every muscle in your body tensed, preparing for impact. This is it.

But it never came. The Bentley screeched to a halt inches from you, the back half of the car flying up so far you thought it would flip over and crush you. But then, it fell back down as if it had been pushed by an unseen force. The car rocked back and forth on its wheels as it came to a rest. The door to the driver’s seat swung on its hinges, and the driver hopped out.

“What the hell?” The hair on the back of your neck stood on edge. You knew that voice. The demon Crowley rushed forward, squinting his eyes at you. “(Y/N)?”

Wait. His eyes. You could see them now. He still had the frames of his glasses on the bridge of his nose, however slightly askew, but the glass was shattered, most likely due to the sudden stop. His eyes were a bright, golden yellow like marigolds in a field, and he had one black slit separating the halves of each eyeball. Like a snake’s, you realized through your foggy brain.

“I thought I told you to summon me, not run out into the middle of the bloody road! You could’ve gotten killed! Fuck!” He settled his hands on his hips, seething with anger. His rage slowly simmered, however, when his reptilian eyes raked over your form. “Are you all right? What happened?”

It came to you then the state you were currently in. The headlights were still on, illuminating your shivering form. Your thin tank top and shorts were soaked with rain and clung to your body, leaving little to the imagination. Your skin was smeared with mud and covered in goose pimples and uneven scratches leaking ruby red blood. Your hair was stringy and wet, sticking to your forehead. Your eyes were wild as you wrapped your arms around yourself, trying to preserve any bit of warmth your body could hold onto.

“Hastur dis... disbanded the convent.” Your speech was disjointed from the chattering of your teeth and your rapid intake of breath. “He set the con... convent on fire. He tried to... tried to kill us.”

Crowley combed his hands through his unruly curls, the emotion in his eyes unreadable. “Hey, it’s okay, darling.” He slipped off his blazer and draped it over your shoulders. “You’re safe now. No one’s going to get you.”

He scooped you up in his arms effortlessly. Your head swam with the heady scent of his cologne and aftershave and the slight smell of smoke wafting off of him and invading your senses. He carried you over to his car, and you latched onto him like your life depended on it. Your nails dug into the gray fabric of his t-shirt, though he didn’t seem to mind.

“I’m sorry about your car,” you murmured into his chest. The once shiny and flawless exterior was now scuffed and scratched. Dents littered the surface, and all the air had been sucked out of the back tire, reducing it to a hunk of limp, black rubber. White clouds of smoke billowed out from under the hood. The engine must’ve busted.

“That’s all right, darling,” he whispered, his voice surprisingly soothing. You heard what sounded like crunching metal, and whipped your head to see the car repairing itself. Except it wasn’t repairing itself. He was the one repairing it.

Crowley opened the door to the passenger’s seat with his foot and set you down gently inside. He sat you up before carefully closing the door so as not to hurt you. He ran around the other side and got in, slamming the door shut securely behind him. From this new angle, you could see the black snake tattoo just by his right ear.

“So, where to?” He leaned over the armrest to click your seatbelt into place.

You offered him a weak smile. “I was hoping you would have the answer to that question.” You pulled his blazer closer around you.

He pursed his lips, deep in thought. He took off his broken glasses and assessed the damage. He tossed them over his shoulder out of the half rolled down window. Then, he reached over and opened the glove compartment. You saw multiple pairs of the same glasses inside. He snatched one up and slid them onto the bridge of his nose, once again concealing his eyes from you.

“I think I know someone who can help.” The corners of his lips tugged upwards into a wide grin, revealing two rows of pearly, white teeth. “Don’t worry. He’s an absolute angel.”

[catvicddlm]

Everyone was doing it: Spanish edition!

He compartido 121 publicaciones este 2022

¡Son 13 más que en 2021!

40 publicaciones originales (33 %)

81 reblogueos (67 %)

Estos son los blogs que más he reblogueado:

@catvicddlm

@sporesgalaxy

@0-toaster-bath-0

@not-twst-enough

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He etiquetado 115 publicaciones en 2022

Solo el 5 % de mis publicaciones no incluye ninguna etiqueta

#no context reblog: 20 publicaciones

#twisted wonderland: 18 publicaciones

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#sexyman descendants: 14 publicaciones

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Longest Tag: 87 characters

#that moment when you realize the implications of chapter 4 tales place during this time

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5

🟥Red Characters🔴

No one asked me to do this, I just thought it would be funny to see Diluc in, essentially, a children’s tea party.

Characters:

♥️Riddle Rosehearts- Twisted Wonderland

🔥Diluc Ragnvindr- Genshin Impact

🍎Kyoko Sakura- Puella Magi Madoka Magica/ Madoka Magica series

🦔Flaky- Happy Tree Friends

🥀Ib- Ib

🌹Shinku- Rozen Maiden

🧸Chelsy- Alice Mare

🕵️Juan Carlos Bodoque- 31 Minutos

89 notas. Fecha de publicación: 2 de agosto de 2022

4

The three moods for Twst English release:

Yes! We can finally understand it!

We got an English translation, but at what cost?

Haha Trigger Warning

113 notas. Fecha de publicación: 20 de enero de 2022

3

He’s so proud of his student.

(Also congratulations to Tony on his two seconds of screen time, he killed it)

129 notas. Fecha de publicación: 2 de octubre de 2022

2

Here is a remake…

So yeah, this is a new version of one of my first drawings of Twisted Wonderland. The original was drawn with my old tablet (that recently stopped working). I decided to make this new version for two reasons:

Is the evolution of my style+ I draw on my phone that doesn’t have the old age restrictions my tablet did.

Kinda wanted to new people on the fandom to have a superior drawing of this cursed thing.

If you know me, you already can tell I made that background with Ibis Paint’s free textures. Cause the original photo was a mess anyway.

NOW, some awards:

Best Glow Up: goes to Kalim, who now has eyes. Honorable mention to Idia’s hair that now it actually looks like flames.

Most Short Cut: goes to Crowley cause I didn’t want to recreate his actual shirt, so I used whatever Ibis had that resembled it.

Best Acting: goes to Riddle for being the only one who looks like is on the ride.

Most Cursed: goes to Malleus cause my last braincells went on vacation while drawing that face.

155 notas. Fecha de publicación: 31 de mayo de 2022

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Descubre tu resumen del 2022 en Tumblr →

[mintly]

Rating: T Fandom: Good Omens (TV) Relationship: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens) Additional Tags: Non-Explicit Sex, Friends to Lovers, Religious Guilt, Angst, Falling Angels, Alcohol, Wing Grooming, Love as Religion, Domestic Fluff, South Downs Cottage (Good Omens), Ambiguous/Open Ending, This is a love story Summary:

It was clear, then, that Aziraphale could love earthly pleasures as much as the next being, and he always had. He had a reverence of God’s creation. But before there had always been a particular order to these things. There was God, and then the flutter of a yellowed page, the delicate texture of a mille feuille, and the rest.

There was little that pleased him more than Crowley. And now, maybe, that worried him.

Aziraphale has a decision to make, when the world doesn’t end.

Read it on AO3.

For a night, the bookshop was gone, and Heaven was conspiring to kill him. And for a night, Aziraphale had one constant, or perhaps he had only ever had one and only recognized that now, here at the end of it all.

Crowley was slumped in his bedroom doorway, exhaustion heavy on his thin shoulders. Waning sunlight filtered over them from the flat’s impressive windows and washed Crowley in a warm glow.

The sun was setting on a day that should never have ended, and Aziraphale found himself at a loss for what that meant. He stared at Crowley from the couch, feeling quite small.

“You’ll be fine?” Crowley said finally.

“Oh, yes, I’ll be quite alright for the evening,” Aziraphale said, as cheerfully as he could manage. Crowley looked suspicious but apparently decided not to probe further.

“Night then,” he said, and paused, reconsidering. “There’s not much they could do to us besides what they’re already going to. Cheers.”

With that, he turned and slipped out of the room. Baffled, Aziraphale smiled a little. Crowley was terrible at comforting with his strange brand of optimism, but it warmed him all the same.

Aziraphale settled into the uncomfortably modern cushions and pulled the blanket Crowley had left him over his lap. It was incredibly soft, beige, and rimmed in charming little tassels. Best of all, Aziraphale knew Crowley hadn’t miracled it as he was completely out of juice after the day they’d had. He must have had it already, just in case.

He closed his eyes against the strange feeling of relief, or joy, or hope, fluttering with each beat of his earthly heart. He had never felt so free as he did now, on his own side with a demon. It felt right—it felt holy, even, loathe as Crowley would be to hear it.

If Aziraphale were honest, though he usually tried not to be, he felt truly adored.

There was no clock that Aziraphale could see in Crowley’s flat, but Aziraphale felt time slipping past his fingers. Another minute stolen from The Great Plan, from his superiors in Heaven who thought they were following the will of the Almighty. Surely She meant for this to happen. She must have, for time to continue to unspool before him, for Earth to continue to tumble around the Sun as it had for six millennia. He and Crowley had done the right thing after all.

If saving the world was the divine thing to do, it was also selfish. Heaven had been wrong, of course, but Aziraphale knew it wasn’t his certainty of God’s will that moved him. It hadn’t been devotion to Her. It was a selfish love of Earth and humanity and the free will he had always admired. Craved, even. And if tomorrow were to be his punishment for that defiance, then he might possibly deserve it.

But Aziraphale was tired, and confused, in a way he had never let himself feel. He defied Heaven and Hell, and helped the Antichrist do the same. A little, anyway. But he had done it, and he was still here. Still an angel. And Crowley, who had stood with him, was still a demon. Still his enemy, his co-conspirator, his friend, his opposite and his joy. They were still here, together, at least until tomorrow.

Aziraphale carefully folded the beige blanket, ignoring the way his hands shook. It might be their last evening, if their plan failed. He stood, and went to Crowley’s bedroom. He rapped gently at the door frame.

“Crowley?” he asked into the darkness.

“Hgh. Yes?” said the darkness. Crowley shot up from where he was sprawled across his bed. The doorway’s light drew him in intimate, inky tones. His yellow eyes squinted bright under startled brows. A play in contrast.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said, quieter. He was certain. He didn’t want to think. He wanted to feel like he wasn’t making a choice at all. He wanted to believe that the warm, caramel feeling in his chest was right and good and true, and he’d worry on it later, when it stuck in his teeth.

If anything, Crowley looked more startled at the soft tone. His exhaustion was almost a tangible air around him, despite the wary look in his tired eyes. His usually impeccable hair was sleep-tousled, a riotous crown about his head. Aziraphale had never seen him like this, Crowley would never have let him.

Aziraphale was pulled forward by the thought, by the sudden urge to smooth that short hair back and run his hands through the strands. Red like hellfire, but now soft and grayed in the light of the first evening that should never have been.

He was used to lying to himself, but he felt he couldn’t now. He might deserve punishment for wanting, but Aziraphale paid the thought no heed.

He climbed over the foot of the bed, afraid that any deviated path would evaporate his courage. As he moved forward, Crowley shoved back, knocking flat against the headboard with an audible rattling.

“Aziraphale! Aziraphale, what are you—?”

“I’m sorry for interrupting your sleep,” Aziraphale said, though he wasn’t particularly sorry. He had something to say. He pressed forward until his arms brushed Crowley’s satin pajamas. “I hope you know how thankful I am. For your staying, even when I was so cruel to you. Even when I was so obtuse as to believe that Heaven would listen to me about, well, any of this.”

Crowley, trapped between the bed and his arms, looked everywhere but at Aziraphale. “Don’t think anything of it. Don’t thank me, I don’t. I wasn’t really going to leave, not without—,” Crowley broke off. “You’re an angel, I know, I know. It’s fine.”

“It’s fine?” Aziraphale said, searching Crowley’s face. Crowley nodded slightly. “It’s not fine. Crowley, you’ve given me so much. So much patience and yes, kindness, don’t look at me like that.” Aziraphale took a deep breath. He closed his eyes. “You matter to me, more than you know.”

The silence that followed rang in Aziraphale’s ears. He opened his eyes. Crowley was looking at him, agape. He clicked his mouth shut, tried to form words but appeared to give up.

Aziraphale pushed forward again, so close he felt Crowley’s quick, unnecessary breaths against his cheek. He touched his hand to his sharp jaw, dragged gentle fingers to his chin.

“Would you give me one more kindness?” Aziraphale said. He pressed his thumb against Crowley’s bottom lip. “Forgive me?” he breathed.

Crowley made a complicated noise somewhere in this throat and surged up, slotting their lips together. He caught the tip of Aziraphale’s finger in his rush before Aziraphale slipped his arm around Crowley’s waist, balancing him. Crowley kissed almost furiously, his mouth pressing closed-mouthed and emphatic against his own, whispering yes and yes, always between each.

Aziraphale kissed him back just as fiercely, emphatic. His thighs burned with the effort of holding himself up above his lap, but he barely noticed. Crowley groped desperate hands at Aziraphale’s neck, his shoulders, his curls as Aziraphale pressed him back against the headboard, firm enough that it might hurt someone with a less serpentine spine. As it was, Crowley made a breathless whine against his lips as Aziraphale bracketed his slim hips.

Aziraphale didn’t say love, didn’t even think of it, not in that moment. But he was so thankful and full of light with the sweet heat of Crowley pushing up against him and the warm caress of his tongue against his own that he felt very heavenly indeed, in the most human way possible.

In the morning, Crowley opened his eyes at the soft light slanting in from between his curtains. He blinked in surprise at Aziraphale staring right back at him, warmly, questioningly.

His eyes followed the arc of Azirphale’s shoulder to the dip where his plush hip disappeared beneath his sheets, an oil painting given life. He felt Aziraphale tracing shapes along his bare back.

“So not a dream then?” he said with humor, but something about it in this quiet light struck Aziraphale as terribly tragic.

“No.” Aziraphale dragged his hand back up Crowley’s spine to tickle at the hair at the base of his neck. Crowley’s eyes fluttered closed again, seemingly overwhelmed. He was unused to worship. “Not a dream at all.”

In the months following the events of the end of the world, very little was ended and something new began. The bookshop returned, the ducks continued to quack, and Crowley hovered around Aziraphale like a wise-cracking shadow, surprisingly jovial and always underfoot.

Aziraphale and Crowley had seen a lot of each other, ever since the eleven years before Warlock turned out to be the wrong boy. They saw even more of each other now, and Aziraphale was pleased.

“Dinner?” Crowley called as he slammed open the bookshop’s door for the fifth consecutive day. The crisp November air whipped at his short hair.

The two customers milling about the entrance turned with a glare at his intrusion, which simply wouldn’t do. Aziraphale shut his book and snapped. The customers shuffled out the door, which Crowley helpfully held open with a flutter of his hand.

When Crowley turned back around, Aziraphale was smiling openly at him. It had only been a few hours, but he had missed him. Crowley raised his eyebrows above his sunglasses. The bell above the door tinkled quietly. A slow smile began to stretch across his face.

They stood there, just grinning at each other. Aziraphale felt his heart soaring, rising up and up and filling the whole of him with a bone-deep warmth. He almost couldn’t believe it, that he could feel this way without the dark ichor of fear that had dripped into every moment of their long history. Crowley was radiating love, not even trying to suppress it like he always had, and Aziraphale didn’t ignore it like he always had.

“Dinner, angel?” Crowley asked, and meant I love you. It wasn’t a choice at all when Aziraphale answered yes.

Aziraphale was a man of faith, though he was not strictly a man, and was, perhaps more strictly, of faith itself. It would be difficult to lack belief when God herself pulled you from nothing and whispered your name into your heavenly essence. He was faith, and indeed an angel couldn’t lack faith, at least not in that sense.

While he disagreed with Heaven, it was more in attitude than on principle. It was clear to Aziraphale that the other angels were misled in the recent Apocalypse, but the plan was truly ineffable, after all. Even angels could mistake a job for ineffability. He certainly had. No, God loved the Earth, and the humans, and goodness, and so did Aziraphale.

It was clear, then, that Aziraphale could love earthly pleasures as much as the next being, and he always had. He had a reverence of God’s creation. But before there had always been a particular order to these things. There was God, and then the flutter of a yellowed page, the delicate texture of a mille feuille, and the rest.

There was little that pleased him more than Crowley. And now, maybe, that worried him.

“We’re on our own side,” Aziraphale said, still dizzy with their new freedom and a selection of the restaurant’s wine list.

“Said so all along.” Crowley mocked, but he was smiling a little, glowing in the way he had been all through lunch and then dessert and then espresso.

Aziraphale thought about the image they made together at their white-clothed table, full of food and love. Gabriel would have been horrified, and Aziraphale found he didn’t care. Perhaps he should have been upset, should have felt abandoned by Heaven and his fellow angels. He didn’t.

He had been so afraid. So afraid of losing everything he cared for. Finely aged wines, ancient books in need of a gentle hand, and stolen moments of time with his dearest enemy.

“You did,” agreed Aziraphale. He covered Crowley’s hand where it rested on the table and wove their fingers together. He squeezed, and Crowley squeezed back.

Aziraphale didn’t know if it was wrong, this feeling, but he knew how he felt. He would do anything to keep it.

The thought startled him. It was true and born of his affection for Crowley, but there was a possessive edge. It felt dangerous. Aziraphale sucked in a breath.

“What does it mean, do you think? To be on our own side?” Aziraphale asked, the spark of panic in his wine-addled brain urging him to speak.

Crowley frowned. “Whatever we want. It can be whatever you want.”

Decisions made Aziraphale nervous. He ignored the implicit question, and instead asked, “What do you want it to be?”

Crowley exhaled noisily, gestured vaguely with his free hand. “I want to enjoy it, alright? Without having to come up with clever reasons about why every choice is demonic. Maybe it’s evil or maybe it’s not, but it’s mine.” He paused for a moment, contemplative. “I’ll figure it out as I go.”

Aziraphale hummed, unsure. Crowley shifted their joined hands to run his thumb over the dips of Aziraphale’s knuckles, urging him on. When Aziraphale said nothing, Crowley sighed.

“It’s not just about me, angel.”

Aziraphale wished it was. It would be easier if he had guidance.

He had always believed in Heaven’s righteousness and in the truth of the work he was given to guide humanity. Yes, a fine appreciation for God’s creation was acceptable, and Aziraphale would always hold to that. His devotion to his life on Earth had been a reflection of his devotion to Heaven. Now, Aziraphale wasn’t so sure what it was, what it meant. Where there had always been an authority, there suddenly was not. What was an angel but the tool of an unknowable God?

There was nothing but himself, and all his raw desire.

Aziraphale was blindfolded, balancing on the invisible tightrope that was his angelic nature. Without his former conviction to Heaven’s cause, a misstep was unfathomable.

“How am I supposed to know?” he asked, forcing his voice steady. He fiddled with his empty espresso. The ceramic handle knocked into his spoon with a bright sound, sharp. The muted din of the restaurant continued, unaffected.

Crowley made another of his noises, this one indecisive. He released his hand to gesture at the room in a wide circle. Aziraphale instantly missed its reassuring grip.

“Have we ever really known? Has anyone? I know I never have,” Crowley said, not unkindly but with some bitterness. “Ineffable, right?”

He had misstepped somehow, as he feared. He watched as Crowley drained his glass and called for the check, tension wiring his shoulders taut beneath his dark jacket. None of Aziraphale’s worries were assuaged, and somehow he had upset Crowley.

Haltingly, Aziraphale fought past the uncertainty he felt. Crowley was too important to lose. “I do love you, you know. Very much, too much. It’s always you.” He was confused, but not about that.

Crowley relaxed minutely, but worry had taken root in the pinch of his brow. Aziraphale felt his nearly human heart skip like a damaged record. He wasn’t used to this look; it was one Crowley would have hidden in the past. He felt exposed, and quite certain he wouldn’t like to know why he felt that way.

“Reassuring, considering you’re stuck with me now. And you like it.” Crowley said eventually, a little wickedly.

He stood and held out Aziraphale’s coat. Aziraphale slid into it before turning in Crowley’s arms. He wrapped Crowley’s scarf gently around his throat for him. Kissed him once, gentle.

“As if I hadn’t all this time, serpent.”

Aziraphale pressed forward again to feel Crowley smile against his lips. A holy light in his chest flickered, a votive candle burning bright in a darkened cathedral.

Despite what some beings might say, given the chance, it was easy to love Crowley. He was funny, clever, and knew what Aziraphale wanted before he even asked for it.

“Wouldn’t it be easier to horde your books if you didn’t try to sell them?” Crowley said one evening, tipped back onto wine-loose elbows and half melted into the likely uncomfortable jut of a bookshelf, not that it appeared to bother him at all. Just watching made Aziraphale settle more fully into his cushioned seat.

“I don’t horde them. I collect them. Though it’s always a shame to lose one.” Aziraphale paused, selecting a cracker from the cheese board he didn’t quite remember putting together. He spread a bit of brie and a lavish swirl of the fig chutney. He closed his eyes to savor it with the single-minded focus of the truly drunk.

“You never did learn to share.” Crowley’s smile twitched. Aziraphale pursed his lips.

“Excuse me. Let’s not forget who gave humanity his own sword—”

“In the last few millennia, angel.”

Aziraphale stared back at him flatly and pointedly refilled Crowley’s abandoned wine glass. A little sloshed onto the antique tabletop, but another stain wouldn’t hurt it.

The gesture only served to make Crowley laugh brightly, uninhibited this deep into his cups. Something bubbly fizzed in the vicinity of Aziraphale’s chest, so it wasn’t all bad.

“Right, right. Truly magnanimous, you are.” Crowley slunk over to pick up his drink and dropped beside Aziraphale on his seatee. His legs spilled over Aziraphale’s lap.

“I’m an angel,” Aziraphale agreed, satisfied.

“That you are,” Crowley said, looping his arms around Aziraphale’s shoulders and kissing his cheek with a loud smack. “But one who likes his books. You can be a little selfish and keep them just for yourself, if you want to. Who’s going to tell you no, now?”

It was a beautiful thought, being allowed to keep his books without having to appear charitable about it. The bookshop, ultimately, was an excuse. A front for blending in, and to justify his ownership of so many mortal stories, his prized material possessions. Gabriel had never actually asked him why he kept his books—Aziraphale had just been afraid that he would, and then Heaven would know he was not quite as selfless as an angel should be.

It would be a small change. He rarely sold a book as it was. Aziraphale scrunched his nose against the drunken haze of his thoughts.

Tentatively, he wrapped his free arm, the one not holding a half-emptied (re-emptied? re-re-emptied?) bottle of red, around Crowley’s waist. Crowley, delighted, wiggled closer, practically in his lap now.

“I suppose you’re right, my dear.”

It certainly was tempting.

Crowley had found a cottage in the countryside, and was pretending as though he hadn’t for some time. Likewise, Aziraphale pretended that he didn’t notice the sudden interest in the size of his bookshelves or his preference for down comforters. Crowley got a particular devilish tilt to his smile when he felt he was being quite clever and mysterious, and Aziraphale couldn’t help but let him.

Crowley was not a terribly social creature, and had never much liked the messy sprawl of the city, Aziraphale knew. But it had been easier for his work. “It’s mass marketing,” he had said, as the two beings filed out after seeing a lovely opera at the Theater Royal’s opening in 1732. Crowley wrinkled his nose, which had charmed Aziraphale even then. “All those bodies packed together like sardines. Cities are a cesspool of low-grade evil.”

“And quite a lot of good,” Aziraphale had said offhand, still thinking of the opera, the decadent meal they had shared beforehand, and Crowley’s cheeky commentary throughout. Crowley had scoffed, and then walked with him through St. James before the sun set over the city.

Aziraphale loved London. It had all the best fine restaurants, by his estimation, but the company was finer still.

They were in Crowley’s Mayfair flat, at the bar in Crowley’s shiny black kitchen, when he finally brought it up.

It was January, and cold rain poured over London, which was a perfect excuse to laze about indoors. They were storeys above the constant cacophony of city life, made quiet with extensive soundproofing, as Crowley preferred. They had been discussing films they had seen in the last decade, and Crowley had given up when Aziraphale had only seen the few Crowley had shared with him, which mostly involved the spy movies he fancied. The conversation lulled comfortably.

Aziraphale was tucking into a bit of toast as Crowley leaned forward on his spindly elbows, the island between them and still in his sleep-worn t-shirt. His eyes were uncovered and molten with morning light.

“Come with me,” Crowley said suddenly, seriously.

“To the cinema, or to your cottage?”

Crowley sputtered, as Aziraphale shut his book. He had been waiting for quite a while, after all, it was only fair.

“Nyk. How did you—? Hnn.”

“Well, you’re no James Bond, my dear.”

Crowley barked a laugh. “Bastard angel.”

He shook his head and took a fortifying, unnecessary breath. “If you know about it, well, just know that. That you don’t have to. It’s your choice, but. It’s got all your favorite things. Fireplace with those antique grates. About a thousand bookshelves, which is probably not enough, but all of your books and little knick-knacks will fit if the shelves know what’s good for them. A big, ugly armchair, just for you. A birdbath. A clawfoot tub.”

He paused as he tried to choke down how much he clearly wanted this, his voice dreamy and aching. There was fear written into the line of his throat and the nervous tap of his fingers on his thigh as he glanced away to the flat’s windows.

Crowley was defined by his doubt, a story told in questions and pushed boundaries. It didn’t mean it hurt less to know that Crowley doubted Aziraphale’s devotion even still. And that it was his fault, burning him with six thousand years of denial and misplaced faith.

Aziraphale hoped to mend Crowley’s broken trust in the next six thousand. He just had to prove himself worthy, devote himself entirely.

He let his reading glasses slip down his nose as he looked up at Crowley through his eyelashes. Let his love shine through.

“And you? You’ll be there?”

“Me too.” Crowley flushed, a brilliant pink that spread down his neck. Aziraphale felt quite accomplished.

“Then yes, dearest, I’ll move in with you.”

They didn’t bother much with packing. While Crowley and Aziraphale did appreciate doing things the human way, the hassle of physically moving house and home was too much. They were retired now, creatures of leisure, and Aziraphale really did have an incredible number of belongings.

The cottage was not small by modern standards, with four bedrooms, a study, a conservatory, and all the other requirements. It had plenty of rustic charm, with enough modern updates to please Crowley, once he had new heated flooring installed. They fought over curtains and upholstery for a few weeks before settling on neutrals with a few tartan accents. Crowley grumbled, but Aziraphale knew he truly didn’t mind. The beige blanket with tassels, from the first night of the rest of their lives, was draped over the sofa at his insistence.

The villages nearby had a few charming restaurants and little shops, not to mention a lovely seasonal farmer’s market. Brighton wasn’t too far beyond if they wanted more variety. The beach was just a short drive away, when the mood struck them. The waves were cold this time of year, but the beauty of the South Downs coastline and its chalky cliffs was worth the trip.

The newness of this life together with Crowley was exhilarating. There was a breathless excitement in experiencing new sides to his oldest enemy, his lover. He had always known Crowley’s many expressions, his favorite varieties of red wine, and his appreciation for indoor greenery that had developed in the 1970’s, but now there was also the way Crowley would rearrange furniture every few months, simply to try something new. There was his penchant for causing minor mayhem in the supermarket as a man knocked over a display of apples and his grin when chided for it. There was the novelty of his groggy morning routine, coffee before all else, and then a shower Aziraphale was often tempted into. Crowley smiled so much more, laughed without irony or fear.

It was idyllic. Aziraphale was restless.

He wanted to follow Crowley’s lead, to simply try to enjoy the world they had helped save. He wanted to savor the sweet scent of honeysuckle in Crowley’s garden and the gentle warmth of the flickering flames in the sitting room fireplace. He would have enjoyed these simple pleasures, before the Apocalypse.

God had not spoken to him directly in thousands of years, and likely wouldn’t. Aziraphale had to discover the rules for himself in this new, love-drenched life. The unfamiliarity of it brought him uncertainty even in its freedom, or rather because of it. A now familiar fear knotted painfully in his chest.

It helped to do the things he had always done. Things that had never gotten him into trouble in the past. He went into town, he ate good food, he completed crossword puzzles, and he read.

All of his books had managed to fit, just barely, into his and Crowley’s cottage, and he needn’t lose one to the ruinous hands of a customer again. It wasn’t a particularly angelic thought.

“Do you think I should open another bookshop here?” Aziraphale asked, dragging his finger along the full-to-bursting shelves in the study. No dust had accumulated yet, and his finger came away clean. It was a cold, quiet evening.

Crowley looked up from the records he was selecting between, sitting on the floor between neat piles. Not one of them had turned into Queen.

“Do you want to open a new shop?” he asked cautiously.

“Not really.”

“Then don’t,” Crowley said, as if it were simple. He selected a record and carried it over to the gramophone. “Sinatra, maybe?”

The record played, Crowley humming along absentmindedly. Aziraphale squeezed his shoulder, charmed, and moved to repair a book he had bought recently from an estate sale. It was familiar work that required his focus.

Sometime later, when he looked up again, the record had ended. Crowley hadn’t removed the needle, and the gramophone spilled static into the room. The grandfather clock in the back of the sitting room swung back and forth, its regular ticking out of rhythm with the nervous bounce of Crowley’s leg against the hardwood. The noise was grating.

Aziraphale glanced over to Crowley to ask him to turn it off, or at least but another on, only to find him staring back. Crowley was wearing his sunglasses, despite pouring himself into that chair quite some time prior. It all combined to give him the air of a caged animal, anxious and pacing.

“Give me your wings,” Crowley said. Aziraphale blinked. “I’m sure they’re a mess. When’s the last time you looked after them?”

“I’m not sure,” he admitted sheepishly. Crowley tsked at him, jerking out of his chair and then shoving his hands into his tight trouser pockets. He slouched toward the staircase, before turning back when he didn’t follow.

“Coming?” His face was carefully blank.

“Oh, yes, of course.” Aziraphale spurred his cowardly legs forward.

Upstairs, Crowley settled Aziraphale to face the head of their bed and slithered up behind him, tossing his glasses onto the side table. He helped him untuck his shirt and the cotton undershirt beneath as Aziraphale pulled them off and carefully placed them to the side.

Crowley ran the pads of his fingers down Aziraphale’s exposed back, past his shoulders where the phantom of his wings pressed against his muscles, and came to rest at his waist, a reverent touch.

“Let’s see the damage.”

Aziraphale let his wings unfurl into corporeality, the metallic tang of angelic essence sparking into their shared bedroom. Crowley sniffed, his demonic body a little sensitive to the energy. He shifted to wrap his lanky legs around Aziraphale. Knobby knees dug into Aziraphale’s ribs, but he didn’t mind.

“It’s not so bad.” Crowley combed through the primaries and secondaries loosely with his fingers, tidying. Aziraphale hummed, enjoying the simple touch. “Just a bit dusty, and uh, messy. When did you last have them out, did you say?”

“The last time was probably Armageddon, my dear. And I wasn’t exactly focused on their cleanliness at the time.”

Crowley made a noise of acknowledgement and they settled into a heavy silence. Aziraphale relaxed into the motion of hands carding through his wings, wincing slightly when Crowley tugged a few loose feathers free. He sighed quietly as Crowley moved to massage at his shoulder blades.

“You’re tense,” Crowley said, too neutrally. “It’s not been easy, yeah?”

Aziraphale sagged, pliant under Crowley’s hands and weak to his concern. The tips of his wings drooped just above the floor.

“I’m glad to have you,” he said. It wasn’t precisely a denial.

“I’m not sure that’s a good thing.” Crowley’s hands trembled where they were buried in Aziraphale’s feathers.

“What?” He nearly gasped.

“I’m a demon,” Crowley bit out, bitter even as he fingers still drew gently over Aziraphale, almost helplessly. “I’m made to taunt and tempt and turn all good things to sin. Even if I don’t mean to. If you’re glad to have me, you shouldn’t be.”

“Crowley, what are you saying—” Aziraphale tucked his wings close to his body and tried to turn around, but Crowley gripped his shoulders tight.

“Angel, I’m evil—No, shut up. Listen, I.” Crowley took in a lungful of air, pressed his forehead against Aziraphale’s neck. “I’m not an idiot. I tried to help, but I took too much. I can tell when you’re upset. How you’re so afraid to ask for what you want and how you won’t talk to me about it. I can’t blame you.

“I can tell you’re doubting. I can feel it, Aziraphale. It’s never been like this before we were together. You’ve never questioned Her this way, I would have known. You don’t belong to Heaven, but you belong to Her, and that’s how it should be!”

Aziraphale is frozen, his heart a violent, torn thing. Crowley hesitates. His next words are jagged like broken glass in his throat.

“I know you’re not mine. Not really. As much as I want it. You’re trying, and it’s hurting you. It’s my fault, angel,” he said, burying his head into Aziraphale’s plumage. Aziraphale, unable to turn around, grows pale. Crowley’s voice is wretched. “I’ve tempted you to doubt. I didn’t mean to. I love you, but I’m no good for you.” Crowley choked off, misery robbing him of speech.

And Aziraphale, for all the vulnerability between them, was angry. Completely livid and shaking with the force of it. He twisted in Crowley’s loosened hold, his wings tight against his back. Flushing red to his bare collarbones, Aziraphale shoved a pointed finger into Crowley’s chest.

“Are you asking me to choose?” Aziraphale spat.

Tremors racked his body. Wild emotions tumbled through him. He was coming to pieces.

Crowley gasped. He grabbed Aziraphale’s hand, circled his wrist as it pressed flat against him. Desperate. “No! Don’t. Go–Sat–Someone, angel, don’t.”

“Crowley, you’re an idiot if you think this is on you.”

His anger stoked fire in Crowley’s misery wet eyes. “Oh? And why ssshouldn’t I?” Crowley hissed. “It’s not fucking fun! I would know! Are you really willing to Fall? For this?” For me went unspoken, but Aziraphale heard.

“Am I supposed to be thankful that you’ve made yourself miserable over my fate? Don’t play a martyr, dear, it’s not flattering.”

“Fuck you!” Crowley jerked from the bed, taking half the sheets with him. He shook a tangled ankle free, cursing. He fisted at his hair, violent red. Every inch of him was sharp with fury. He turned to stare out the window, overlooking the garden of their countryside cottage.

“You’re a goddamn bastard, angel.”

Aziraphale deflated. This was ridiculous. Crowley was being ridiculous. It hurt. He was afraid. Aziraphale pulled on his shirt, the buttons slipping from his traitorous fingers. He snapped a miracle to fasten them. “Maybe I am,” he said, and made for the door.

“Where are you going?” Crowley asked warily.

“Somewhere I can make my own choices, Crowley.” Aziraphale left the room and walked downstairs in a daze.

“Aziraphale?” Crowley called from the top of the staircase. He looked very alone.

His heart hurt and his mind was buzzing. He couldn’t think clearly. He stepped outside, the winter chill cutting him deep. He took a breath, manifested his wings, and took flight.

Aziraphale stumbled his landing as his rarely used wings gave out, aching from even this short journey. The beach was blessedly empty on such a freezing night. Aziraphale had come here to think, at the edge of the island he had called home for over two hundred years.

The sting of salt on his cheeks and the whip of wind through his feathers was bracing. Primal. The cold cleared his mind, prevented the encroaching panic from taking hold in his heart. He kept moving.

Wings dragging along the pebbled coast behind him, Aziraphale walked the shore. His white feathers soaked dark with seawater. The rocks dug into his feet. He paid them no mind.

The Apocalypse had come and gone. Aziraphale was free, except he wasn’t. He was paralyzed by this fear of doing something unangelic, of not knowing where to step anymore without Heaven to draw his lines in the sand. He hated it.

It wasn’t Crowley’s fault. Crowley showed him there was an alternative to the degradation he’d endured under the heel of Heaven. He had always been that reprieve for Aziraphale. The only difference now was that Aziraphale didn’t have to pretend.

And yet he wasn’t happy, like he should be. He wasn’t free, not really. He was chained down even now by obligation, by the shoulds and should nots that no one could explain to him, no one but God. And She certainly hadn’t picked up the phone.

The cold terror of doubt cut through him, somewhere deep in his soul. Aziraphale gasped for breath, too panicked to realize he didn’t need to. Tears slipped messily down his face as he fell to his knees. He closed his burning eyes against the wind and the pain.

He loved Her, he did, but he didn’t know how to serve Her like this. He wasn’t sure what it meant to be an angel, not anymore.

The waves behind him crashed against the white cliffs, unflinching against the onslaught.

“Aziraphale!”

From behind him, Aziraphale heard the flap of panicked wings and a skitter of stones as Crowley landed hard on the shore.

“Angel, please!” Crowley shouted, scrabbling back to his feet and sprinting toward him.

“No, stop!” Aziraphale shouted. He didn’t look up. He heard Crowley stop running, but no one spoke. Icy water was soaking his trousers at his ankle. He could barely feel it. He opened his eyes.

Crowley was a short distance away, all dark wings and fearful desperation. His skin was impossibly pale, washed an unearthly white under the moonlight. His wide eyes were a glowing gold and so, so afraid.

Aziraphale had done that. His stomach twisted, and the darkness in his chest sliced icily against his heart. He gasped, and his wings fluttered uselessly behind him.

“Angel….”

Aziraphale choked on a laugh. “Am I?”

Crowley was silent for a moment. The waves rolled in.

“I’ve made a mess of things,” he said.

“Didn’t I tell you to stop blaming yourself for my sorry state, my dear?” Aziraphale said. He sighed and ran his hands down his chest, though nothing could smooth the wrinkles at this point, not even a miracle.

“What do you need, Aziraphale?” Crowley watched him, tense and visibly restraining himself from rushing forward. He reached his hand out, before jerking it back down to his side. Aziraphale wondered what Crowley saw, looking at him now. Was he that much of a mess? Did he need another rescue, this time from a prison more philosophical than the Bastille?

Something about Crowley’s outstretched hand had reminded Aziraphale of his hands in other times. A sheepish wave in Greece, when they found themselves invited to the same symposium. A wagging finger in a heated argument about Charles Darwin and the mystery of dinosaurs. The slight touch of their hands in passing over a case of prophecy books in a ruined church. His cool palms against his heated cheeks as they shared panted breaths. A gentle clasp of hands in the village market, pondering vegetables and lunch spots and the soft, improbable humanity of their lives.

And yet, here Aziraphale was, still terrified and angry and floundering as if it were over a hundred and fifty years earlier and their disagreement was about holy water rather than Aziraphale’s own holiness.

Crowley wanted to help, but Aziraphale had shut him out like he always did. And Crowley blamed it on himself for it. No, his doubts weren’t Crowley’s fault, though Aziraphale was still hurt. Ultimately, though drenched in self-hatred, it came from a place of love. And Aziraphale loved him dearly.

“You are the only thing I don’t doubt anymore,” Aziraphale said, his voice against the wind. The cruel terror lashed wildly within him, but he felt determination settle over his shoulders like a blanket. An acceptance. It was heavy, but it felt true.

“You know, I think you were right. I haven’t been entirely yours,” Aziraphale said reluctantly. He hated to lose an argument. “But it’s my own burden. My own choice, Crowley. I don’t know what it means to be an angel anymore. But I know what it means to have you. I’m not sure I want anything else.”

Crowley was the opposite of everything Aziraphale was meant to be, meant to understand. No good angel loved a demon as he did. Frankly, he didn’t care. He didn’t know what She wanted and would never know. He only had his past, his present, and his future. None of these would be worth anything without Crowley in it. If Aziraphale meant to adore Crowley completely, without question or denial, it would mean leaving behind everything, because of one simple truth.

An angel’s faith must be entire. His devotion must be plain. Absolute.

Aziraphale would love Crowley above God, a grave sin.

“Aziraphale. Angel. Oh God.” Crowley was babbling, panic pitching his voice. His knees crumpled under him where he stood barefoot on the pebbled beach.

Aziraphale saw the stricken look on Crowley’s face, the alarm and love in his bright eyes, and stopped thinking. Aziraphale ran to him. For once he didn’t think of God or of the angels so far away, deep in Heaven. He didn’t even think of Earth, the gift for humanity that he had taken as his own, or of how he wanted more, even now.

He didn’t think, and he felt a crumbling with each step, some chain unbinding his soul, an ancient wall tumbling around his heart and leaving a bright, scorching thing of hellfire and holiness, a fearless love. It licked through his veins, sharp and soft and cold and hot all at once. If this is demonic, then so be it, he thought, as the violent ocean against the shore roared in his ears. If this is angelic, then so be it. If this is just us, just us against it all, then I would be grateful.

Aziraphale’s wings snapped back behind him, brave and burning. A storm of feathers whipped into the air behind him and tumbled helplessly into the sea.

Aziraphale saw Crowley before him and remembered him stood against the doorframe of their new home, built with nails and boards and a sentiment so great neither occupant quite knew how to express it. Here under the looming white cliffs, Crowley looked fearful and hopeful, and Aziraphale understood.

Crowley opened his arms and Aziraphale tumbled into them, eyes closed, and that too was a leap of faith.

There was a heat consuming him from the inside out, a fire or a light or something else entirely. All that it left in its wake was his passion, his devotion to the being in his arms. Water worn stones dug into their knees and icy water soaked into the legs of their trousers. It gave Aziraphale something to focus on against the agony of loss and the overwhelming joy of freedom. He pulled Crowley into an embrace.

“Crowley, Crowley,” Aziraphale whispered against his cheek. “You are the only love I need.”

“Only me?” Crowley said, bewildered and clutching him so tightly.

“Yes, my darling, only you.”

[renywrites]

Drinking Buddies

Hey all! I've re-joined a fandom that is near and dear to my heart and I wanted to write something for all of these lovely people. Welcome to Good Omens!!

I'll be taking a break from Voltron for the time being, I need a change in scenery. Sorry to all those who are here specifically for that!

Without further ado; please join me and some drunk demons.

*

It was the one time a year where Heaven grouped together as a congregation to have their annual Great Plan meeting, where everyone was briefed on the vague idea of what could be happening in the coming year. Nobody was quite sure what to do now that the Apocalypse…. Hadn’t happened. Thus the vague meetings.

It was also the one time a year that Gabriel and Aziraphale dropped their respective demon partners at a bar and left them to their own devices for a few hours.

Despite popular belief, Crowley and Beelzebub got along quite well when there was alcohol involved. On this one day, they were reluctant friends instead of boss and subordinate. It was nice to have a change. Besides, it was also one of the only days that the Prince herself actually banished her flies and ran a comb through her messy hair, all for the sake of a few hours.

“Your Angel left you, too?” Crowley asks after they’d both gotten their drinks and sat in respective awkward silence for a few minutes.

Beelzebub scowls at her drink, a little more intensely than usual. “Yezzz. He’zzz running the damn thing.”

“You should’ve convinced him to cancel.” The snake scoffs, sipping his wine and glancing at the door. Twenty minutes in. This was going to last an eternity.

“I tried! He told me to buzzz off. Bloody angels and their bloody meetings.”

“Amen to that,” Crowley mumbles into his drink, ignoring the dirty look that earned him. Maybe he was picking up a few too many of Aziraphale’s linguistic habits. “So how is Hell doing, after you-know-what?”

“It’s more Hellish than usual, no thanks to you.” She scoffs. “Incredibly hot. Chaotic.”

“You should come and visit Earth more often, you might like it.”

Beelzebub rolls her eyes, knocking back the last of her drink and flagging over the bartender. “You sound like Gabriel.”

He makes a face, shaking his head. “Eugh, I make it a habit not to sound anything like him. Please don’t insult me like that.”

The Prince gives him a smug smile. “You dezzerve to be knocked down a few pegzz.”

Crowley ignores that. “Seriously, Beelzebub, your terrible Highness — coming up here may do you some good. You can… air out, as it were.”

“I quite like my office.” She says dryly, glancing up as the bartender pours her another drink. “It’zz familiar.”

“You’re festering.” He grins.

“I will not hezzitate to throw my drink on you, Crawley.”

“My name is Crowley,” the demon hisses, his yellow eyes flashing.

Beelzebub grins, tilting her head. “That’zz what I said.”

He considers her a moment, his eyes narrowing. Then he sighs heavily, shaking his head and turning back to his drink. “You’re still insufferable, I see.”

“The best of us never change.” She waves a hand. “How izz that Angel of yourzz?”

Crowley pauses, a dopey smile spreading over his lips at the thought of his Angel. Ah, Aziraphale… “He’s… He’s wonderful.”

“Dizzgusting.” She says flippantly.

The smile vanishes, replaced with an irritated scowl. That seemed to be a constant when he was in the Lord of the Flies’s presence. “And what about yours?”

“What, are you expecting me to get all mushy?”

“No, of course not.” He scoffs. “The Prince herself showing emotions? Preposterous. You don’t have a mushy bone in your body, Bee.”

“If I even have bones.” She says absently.

“If you even have bones,” he agrees. “But no, really, how is the Archangel Fucking Gabriel?”

The Prince cackles, throwing back her head. “He’s an azzhole! Juzzt like normal.”

“I never expected anything less.” Crowley rolls his eyes. How Aziraphale had put up with him for so long was a mystery to him — and it was an even bigger mystery how Beelzebub didn’t smite Gabriel where he stood every time he opened his mouth. Perhaps she was just attracted to rude dumbasses.

“He’s quite good in the bedroom, too.” She says, eyeing a couple in the corner who were making out like they would die if they didn’t spend their time swapping spit in a bar.

Crowley short circuits, the breath leaving his corporeal form. Then he smacks his hand on the counter with a triumphant, “I knew it!”

She gives him a flat look, but there was a hint of color creeping up on her sallow cheeks. “What? Did you place betzz?”

“Yes.” He nods. “I believe I won. My dear Angel owes me.”

“Azz if you two aren't fucking.” Beelzebub grumbles into her glass, glowering at him.

“In my defence,” Crowley holds up a finger. “It most definitely is not as frequent as you and Gabriel.”

“So that’zz your problem!” She grins, jabbing him with a bony finger. “You need to get laid.”

“He’s quite soft, he doesn’t do well with frequent, er… activity.” He quips, shaking his head.

“Your job is temptation, right?”

“Well, sure.”

“Then tempt him, you idiot!”

“But…” Crowley entertains this thought a moment, then makes a face. “But he’s so soft…”

“A little too zzoft, if you ask me.” Beelzebub rolls her eyes.

“He’s an Angel!” He scowls. “They’re soft by disposition!”

“No, I think yourzz is juzzt a zzpecial case.” She rolls her eyes, her finger tracing over the rim of her glass. “I must’ve mizzed that model.”

“Gabriel was just designed to be an ass.” Crowley huffs.

The Prince’s eyes go a bit hazy, and quite possibly… dreamy? “He does have a nice azz.”

“Oooh… was that an emotion?” The demon gasps in mock surprise. “Does the great Lord Beelzebub have feelings?”

She scowls into her drink. “Zzilence, imbecile.”

“I’m impressed,” he coos, leaning forward and looking over his glasses at her, eyes dancing with mischief. “Are you going soft, Bee?”

“I’ll zzmite you.” She says flatly, eyeing him.

“I’m already damned.” He snorts, leaning back and picking up his drink again.

“You’re a damned fool, that’zz what you are.”

“Perhaps,” he muses, looking up at the TV in the corner, following the sport with hazy eyes.

“I don’t see how Aziraphale puts up with you.”

He glares at her. “He — He loves me, thank you very much. He’s a very good individual.”

“How quaint.” Beelzebub drawls, rolling her eyes.

Crowley eyes her shrewdly, pursing his lips. Then he huffs. “Tell me about your Gabriel.”

The Prince, who had been taking a sip of her drink, chokes and splutters with a fantastic lack of grace. She wipes her mouth on her sleeve, giving him a deer-in-the-headlights look. “What aboutmy — my Gabriel.”

The demon grins lazily, lifting a shoulder in a half shrug. “I don’t know, anything.”

“Are you asking about my zz— my sex life?” She buzzes, concentrating on her words, metaphorical hackles raised.

“Heavens, no!” Crowley cackles. “I couldn’t care less what you get up to in the bedroom. What I mean is,” he wiggles his eyebrows. “Does he make you feel warm and fuzzy, your highness?”

“What?!” She squawks, flushing darkly, her gaze darting around. “No! Of course not!”

“I’m only kidding, relax.” He laughs. There was no need to suffer the wrath of one of Hell’s finest. “But really, what’s it like? Do you get along?”

“We get along well enough.” The Prince offers reluctantly. “He’s quite affectionate.”

“Is he?” That was hard to believe.

“Oh, yezz.” She nods, chewing on her lower lip. “Alwayzz wanting to touch me. He likes teazzing, too. The brat.”

That was shocking. Beelzebub was a prickly little thing. Many a demon had lost fingers for even brushing against her accidentally. “Is that so?” He muses, then gives her a wicked grin. “I’ll bet you love it.”

“You can’t prove that.” She says hotly into her drink.

He snorts. “No, suppose I can’t. Does he come into Hell to see you or do you go Upstairs?”

“What, you think I’d go up to that blasted place?” She scowls. “He comes to me. As he should.”

“How odd,” Crowley raises an eyebrow. “Gabriel doesn’t seem to be the type to come to Hell willingly.”

“He’zz quite willing when I’m through with him.” Beelzebub chuckles. “Angels are rather good bottomzz, aren’t they? Or does your Aziraphale step up?”

“What?” The demon laughs. “No, he doesn’t have an ounce of dominance in him! Although he is quite loud.”

“Yours is loud? Unfair.” She whines.

“It took some coaxing,” Crowley says smugly, unable to help feeling a tad superior. “But it was worth the effort.”

“I’ll take that into conzzideration.” She muses. “Although Gabriel isn’t as zzoft as your Angel.”

“Yes, Aziraphale is quite a soft boy.” He says fondly.

“Gabriel is a little piece of shit boy.” Beelzebub groans. “Speaking of — they should’ve been done by now. What’zz taking zzo long?”

“I don’t know.” He wrinkles his nose. “Maybe they’ll be here soon.”

“They better be.” The Prince mutters, squinting at the clock.

*

Aziraphale and Gabriel walked into the bar they had left their Demons in to find them drunk and getting along… alarmingly well.

“An’ then I said… I said…” Crowley was slurring. He looks up just in time to lose his train of thought and brightens, looking more like an excited puppy than a fearsome demon. “Aziraphale!”

“Heeeeey — it’zz the piece of shit boy!” Beelzebub crows, in a loud and loose fashion that was definitely nothing like her usual disposition.

“Oh, dear,” says Aziraphale, “they’re quite drunk.”

“Wonderful,” Gabriel says, his expression pinched.

“What did you get into, love?” Aziraphale asks fondly, walking over and steadying Crowley when he reaches for his Angel.

“Nothin’.” He gives him a dopey grin, his eyes shining from behind his glasses, which were knocked askew.

“Gabriel!” The Prince snaps. “Get your bitch azz over here!”

“There’s no need to be rude, Beelzebub.” The Archangel sighs, walking over to his own mess of a demon.

Crowley was looking up at Aziraphale like he’d hung the bloody moon, a dopey, drunken smile on his lips. The Angel chuckles softly, cupping his face and brushing his thumbs over his cheeks lovingly. “I think you’re quite drunk, my love.”

“Psshhh,” Crowley wobbles in his seat, waving a hand and accidentally swatting Aziraphale. “Naw… Jus’ a lil — hic — a lil…” He trails off, getting distracted by the smattering of freckles across the Angel’s nose. “Hmm…”

Meanwhile, Gabriel was in a similar position, trying to persuade Beelzebub it was time to go home as well.

“You alwayzzzzz… alwayzzz ruin my fun,” she pouts up at her Angel, her dark eyes bleary and her cheeks flushed from drink.

“I believe you have plenty of fun on your own, Bee.” He sighs, prying her off the barstool and slinging her over his shoulder. “Come on. Bedtime.”

“See you next year, Gabriel,” Aziraphale calls after them. “And, er… Good luck.”

“Thanks.” He sighs over the Prince’s drunken giggling. “You as well.”

The Angel turns his attention back to Crowley, who’s eyelids were slipping shut as he sagged against the counter. Aziraphale pays the tab, adding a hefty tip for the troubles the demons likely caused.

“Come on, my love,” he says as he helps his demon off the barstool. “Until next year.”

“Next year…” Crowley agrees, stumbling along as his Angel takes him home to tuck him into bed and nurse his impending hangover away.

[washer-watches-good-omens]

You are beautiful, angel

Summary: Aziraphale watches Crowley dance around his flat, drunk on good wine and freedom, and cannot help but be drawn to the way he moves, so fluid and graceful and entirely unselfconscious. He’s so beautiful with his fiery hair in the setting sun and his burning, wild eyes. Utterly breathtaking. The image of the lithe demon enjoying his body so confidently reminds him of how little he has to offer the person he craves to be close to more than he’s ever wanted anything in his entire existence. The cutting remarks spoken from smiling lips in heaven sting sharply as he remembers all of his failings as an angel. He feels very small suddenly. Spotting the way the angel curls around his lovely, soft body shamefully, attempting to hide it, makes Crowley’s sulfur-yellow eyes flare hotly.

Or: Just an excuse to write about the way this poor bean was mistreated in heaven (and occasionally earth) and gets the most gorgeous, devoted red-headed demon in return.

Warnings: body insecurity, anxiety, cursing, kissing, very mild sexual content

Notes: I want to have more friends in this fandom because every single person is lovely so let me know what you think <3 And a million thanks to my amazing friends who betaed this fic @mirror2thespirit @newageauthor and @katpatgt          (AO3 Link)

You are beautiful, angel

Though Aziraphale was clutching a cup of tea in his hands, his mouth had gone dry a while ago and he felt there was no helping it. His bright blue eyes were fixed with revered attention on the demon swaying to the music in the middle of his cluttered apartment. The opening lyrics of ‘Love of my life’ were filling the sunlit space with piano-tones flittering through the air like shimmering butterflies.

Crowley had dressed down to tight leather pants that were hugging curved hips, toned thighs and long legs. His slender torso was clad in a sleeveless black shirt with a wide v-neck that exposed the pale skin over his collarbones. The material was worn thin and hugged his body with silky fluidity, riding up when he raised his arms to show the flat expanse of his stomach. Aziraphale swallowed down the urge to get up and touch the skin his fingers had never dared trail over.

The demon’s scarlet hair flared fiery red in the evening sunlight, tousled and soft from his nap on his friend’s couch. In a rare show of trust, he’d taken off his sunglasses as he danced through the room, eyes closed and head flung back in pleasure. The burgundy colored liquid in the half empty bottle sloshed around cheerfully as the demon twirled around with it, swaying his hips and occasionally hugging it to his chest like a lover. The movement seemed to ripple across his body, his waist, his torso, his arms gracefully opening wide. He moved like a snake, sleek and graceful and silent.

A small, tender smile ghosted across the angel’s face as his friend turned into a particularly energetic circle and stumbled over the edge of the carpet with a sputtering ‘whooops’. The nimble red-head appeared to be more than a little bit drunk, after all. Blinking owlish, yellow eyes at Aziraphale to see if his slip-up had been noticed, he found himself confronted with the loving expression, caught in his less than perfect dancing.

Noting the attention, he giggled, flushing slightly.

Aziraphale positively melted. It felt like his heart missed a beat, like falling. His limbs grew weak.

Even after all those millennia, he still grew tongue-tied around this exotic creature with the sharp toothed, white smiles and dangerous eyes he could get lost in. Something about the way the demon had looked at him the very first time they’d met had shaken something loose in him. It had felt like his reptilian eyes had undressed him to see what was underneath. Searching for something in a way that had been… hopeful. Like he’d wanted to know. Somehow, he’d felt like he’d been seeking contact. There had been something open about him, so willing to trust and be close from the very start despite them being enemies. It had drawn the angel in, even though he’d been shy, slightly intimidated and very uncomfortable with the knowledge of the way he had failed the ineffable plan already. It had been very kind of his friend to reach out and share his own worries, to try to make him feel better, even. How brave Crowley had been. Aziraphale was once again stuck with admiration for how strong and fearless the demon was. So much stronger than him.

He watched the other execute what was basically a pirouette, which ended in him nearly crashing into a stack of books filling the apartment Aziraphale had filled with beautiful, valuable things that he loved and that felt good to touch. Like Crowley.

His laugh at the expense of his own drunk self, free and bright, vibrated in the angel’s very being. He was made of love, made to love, and oh, how he loved Crowley. Loved how he could be so infuriating and brash and yet so tender with him. How he’d protected Aziraphale like a dashing, dark hero. How he gifted him with things that made him happy with a snap of a finger. How thoughtful he was. Crowley would surely scowl at him for thinking such foolishly romantic things. He could not help himself though. Crowley was like a song inside of him. A melody that rose to fluttering heights, higher than even his wings could take him, when he did as much as smile it him. His insides felt alive, his smiles involuntary. Like it was inevitable that he would smile when Crowley existed close to him.

Looking back, he realized how far ahead of him the demon had always been. From the first moment, he’d smiled at him. A real, genuine amused and honest smile, so unlike the cold-eyed, robotic expressions he was used from heaven that had always somehow made him want to duck his head and apologize for – he didn’t know what. For being the way he was, perhaps.

This smile had shocked and unsettled him with how frighteningly real it had been. Like a veil had been pulled from his eyes and he’d seen color for the first time. Yes, Crowley made him feel alive and overjoyed and so awed, and he made him feel terrified. His mere presence made him want to question everything he’d been created to obey. He was a pivotal shift in his world and Aziraphale had not been ready. He did not know if he would ever be ready for so much love. It made his heart swell until he felt like it would burst and spill bright light across Crowley’s lovely form.

He sighed.

He felt full.

He yearned for more.

Shamefully, he thought of how greedy he’d become. They had an eternity ahead of themselves, filled with the tender, frighteningly honest smiles of his demon, and still he wished he could have more of him. He wished he could touch, he wished he could run his fingers into those crimson locks, over his friend’s face, feel those sculpted cheekbones, his hot breath scorching his skin, cut himself on those sharp teeth, he wished he could drown himself in Crowley. Since he’d finally committed to him completely, it was like a dam that had barely kept his desire in check had broken and swept him away in a flood of sensations.

He was so ready to be devoured, to be claimed so completely by this hellishly attractive creature that he would cease existing as a single entity and fall entirely to the perfect temptation that was all of Crowley. His yearning felt like a living thing in his chest, pulling sharply and needing painfully.

The drunk demon took a long swing of the bottle in his clever hands, tilting his head back far and exposing the long lines of his slender neck. Aziraphale swallowed around the need he did not know what to do with. He was hit hard with a single thought.

He was beautiful.

The angel flinched with surprise as the body he’d been reminiscing about suddenly dropped onto the empty space on the sofa next to him, taking up all of its space with its spread legged, confident sprawl, taking up all of the space in his entire flat with the aura of tender affection he radiated, warming the wooden shelves stacked with books, the pillows softening the antique furniture, the elaborate colored glass of his windows, the wooden beams running along the ceiling. Everything his light touched seemed to soften under in his presence. What a contradiction for a creature of darkness.

Aziraphale had to set his untouched tea down for fear of the painted porcelain slipping through his weak fingers.

Crowley seemed right at home next to him. He slipped further down with an intoxicated murmur about pigeons, laying his fiery head on the back of the couch. His knee touched Aziraphale’s.

The angel held very still.

Crowley spread himself out next to him, his body-language an open book. He was so self assured. More than anything, the display of confidence reminded the angel of how little he had to offer in comparison. Self-consciously, he covered his soft middle with his arms, ducking his head insecurely. He felt large and clumsy next to this lithe, fluid grace. Gabriel was right. He’d grown out of shape. He was an embarrassment to heaven. Though they had never abused him, they’d always let him feel how little he lived up to their expectations. Even when he’d felt he’d done something particularly well and had reported his accomplishments for humanity with pride, their praise had managed to make him feel naive and small somehow. The constricting feeling that pressed in on him from all sides whenever he stepped under the cold, purple eyes of Gabriel and faced the rigid, wide smiles of his superiors crept up his neck and made it hard to draw breath. He hugged his middle tighter, flushing in shame at all the weight he felt on his ribs.

Their voices assaulted him at unexpected moments, reminding him of how little he accomplished or of how human he behaved. His miracles were not good enough, his lifestyle too greedy, he was not representing heaven well enough - in short, he was not enough.

The reprimands had always been accompanied with seemingly caring smiles that made him curl into himself guiltily. ‘They only wanted to look out for him and make sure he wouldn’t lose his way. It would be quite unfortunate if something were to tempt him that would bring him onto a path he could not turn back from. His frivolous, needy behavior put him at risk. They were only worried about him, of course. It would be a shame if his selfish preferences for human pleasures made the divine plan fail, wouldn’t it?’ The reminder had always caused a cold shiver of fear to run over his body.

Pressing his lips together, the angel tried to summon his smile. It would not do to ruin the lovely moment. Crowley was right next to him and deserved all of his attention. Despite his fear he’s been too ashamed to admit to, the demon had chosen him in the end. Even though they did not need to work together anymore, he was still here. He should be grateful. He should be humble.

Determined to make the demon feel good for choosing to spend his time with him, he pushed himself to his feet. He’d order them a lovely dinner and fetch another bottle of wine for his friend.

A hand gripping his elbow stopped him.

Crowley’s perceptive eyes were filled with concern as he examined his angel.

“What’s wrong?” He demanded, his hand tightening.

“Oh, n-nothing at all, my dear.” Aziraphale stuttered, stiffening at having been caught.

“Bullshit.” Crowley hissed. He looked angry, suddenly. Fear caught in the fair man’s throat.

“Get here, angel.”

With a firm grip, he pulled Aziraphale close. Flailing helplessly, he landed in the demon’s lap. A mortified flush heated his cheeks. He did not want Crowley to feel all of his weight! It was bad enough that he was angry at him. He felt untethered and intimidated, reminded of being called to heaven for unknown reasons to be reprimanded. They’d never told him what his visits were about, leaving him to guess and try to read their unmoving expressions. Seeing Crowley mad at him was even worse.

He tried to squirm free, to his utter humiliation feeling tears rising. He had no idea what was wrong with him! He was usually so much better at holding on to his composure. He’d grown weak and pathetic.

“Angel! Aziraphale.” Crowley’s voice held a terrible edge to it. He took the angel’s chin in a firm grip and turned him to face the other. Filled with uncertainty, the blonde angel raised his eyes after a fearful moment. He was confronted with liquid, sulfur colored fire.

“Who made you feel thisss way?” Crowley demanded, his voice barely more than a reptilian hiss. He looked livid.

“W-what?” Aziraphale stuttered, completely floored by the question.

“This.” The demon growled, laying a palm into the softness of his friend’s middle he’d tried to hide without allowing him to escape from his spot. He was close enough to warm the angel’s cheek with his breath.

Mortified, Aziraphale tried to squirm away, before the demon’s words stilled him.

“Someone made you ashamed. I saw it. Tell me who made you think you are anything but perfect and I will vanquish them!” He snarled through sharp teeth. “It was those fucking angels, wasn’t it? How dare those bastards make you sad? I should have incinerated every last one of them!”

Ranting himself into a proper rage, Crowley pulled his friend against his chest and cupped his face with a scorching palm, hot as if the rage of hell itself burned in his slender body. Their faces were almost touching.

“They are all fucking idiots, the lot of them. They wouldn’t understand beauty if it kicked its boot so far up their arses-”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale mewled in distress. The irrational fear of his friend getting into trouble made him grip the demon’s shirt hard. His words tumbled over him in a jumbled mess, too intense to grasp.

The demon seemed to feel his distress and allowed his hand to slip into pale blonde hair, suddenly very tender. His eyes were serious.

“I want you to listen carefully, Aziraphale. There is nothing about you you should ever feel ashamed of. You are the most infuriatingly beautiful creature I’ve ever seen in my 6000 years of existence. You are the bravest bastard and the kindest fucking angel there is and I think- I think- I-”

He broke off, apparently frustrated at his inability to tell the angel what he felt for him. How perfect he was in his eyes – blindingly perfect.

“I don’t- you are very kind, my dear, but- you don’t have to-” The angel stuttered, flustered by being so close and being told such preposterous things. Crowley was so kind to try to make him feel better once again, but he could not rely on the other to take care of him just because he was overly sensitive over his personal failings.

Crowley shook his head, clenching his teeth hard. His hand around the angel’s waist and in his hair stayed gentle.

“No. You don’t get it. Aziraphale, those fucking arseholes made you feel like you were – I don’t know – I don’t care what they thought! They were wrong to constantly tell you your fucking miracles weren’t up to their bloody standards or whatever blasted issues they had. Fuck them. Fuck them!”

His arm around the stunned angel tightened impossibly, bringing them so close that there was hardly any space left between them and their breath mingled. Aziraphale’s heart was racing. He clutched the demon’s shoulders with shaking hands.

“I need you to understand, angel. This body is fucking perfect. It’s – it’s warm and soft and smells so bloody good I could get drunk on it. I just – I love touching you. And you – you are mine. You are the best thing that’s ever happened to me and I feel so lucky to have you, in whatever way I can get you. You are my everything and I will – I – I will not allow you to get up until you understand how fucking wonderful you are.” He finished his rant with his somewhat childish promise, yet his eyes were alight with conviction.

“Oh.”

Aziraphale was at a loss for words. Never had anyone told him something to loving. Crowley’s expression was determined as he settled back against the sofa and waited.

Blinking, the angel tried to sort though his overwhelmed feelings. It was not easy when they were closer than they’d ever been. Crowley was so alive under his hands. A shiver of pure pleasure rolled over him as the demon gently ran his hand though pale locks.

Oh

Feeling a flush rising to his cheeks that had nothing to do with his insecurities, he ducked his head.

“Hey, none of that, angel. Look at me.” Crowley crooned, his voice much softer now that he’d said what he needed to. This time, he waited for his friend to be ready to meet his eyes. They were filled with softness. “Talk to me.” He demanded quietly.

Gathering his confidence, Aziraphale tried to make light of his worries. However, his tongue felt heavy with nervousness and his body was thrumming with contrasting heat and excitement he did not know how to handle.

“I-I’m afraid I’m suffering from some minor self-esteem issues, my dear. Staying in this, uh, position until they will be fixed, might not be, um – entirely feasible-”

“I don’t care.” Crowley grumbled stubbornly. “What do you need me to do? What can I tell you to prove to you how much better you are than you think? How can I show you?”

His voice was deep and filled with confidence. His determination somehow made him appear even more vivid. A fiery beauty bathed in orange light.

Aziraphale sighed, filled to the brim with yearning.

The worried lines on the demon’s forehead smoothed out. He’d seen something on the angel’s face.

Before fear could take hold in Aziraphale and force all the terror he felt at the prospect of discovery into the forefront of his mind, Crowley breathed his name between them like a prayer.

“Oh Aziraphale.”

His lips parted as his expression became one of such tenderness and wonder – he leaned in until there was barely any distance left between them. Aziraphale’s body filled with thrumming energy, yet he was weaker than he’d ever been.

“May I kiss you?”

The quietly spoken words required a long moment to register with the befuddled angel. His heart leaped.

“Wha- but – why?” He stuttered. His brain seemed to short-circuit. The most beautiful creature in god’s creation could not possibly want to- and with someone like him-

Crowley laughed, a warm burst of air against his lips. His eyes were bright with amused affection.

“Because I love you, angel.” He said simply.

Aziraphale pushed himself back, stunned. His blue eyes were wide as they examined the demon for any trace of a lie. There were none. He simply waited patiently for his fair friend.

“Oh. Oh dear. Well, in this case, p-please proceed.” The angel stuttered, choking on his feelings. The tears burning in his eyes were not of shame.

With a smile far lovelier and more tempting than even the first he’d used to shake the foundations of Aziraphale's world, the demon cupped his cheek and leaned in.

The first brush of lips against his was barely a whisper. Crowley kissed him like he was fragile. He seemed to savor every second of it.

Aziraphale felt a smile against his lips. He shivered with pleasure.

A tear ran down his cheek that was cradled by Crowley’s hand. The demon pulled back immediately, his features filled with concern. Aziraphale smiled at him shakily. He held on tighter to the well built shoulders under his fingers, feeling so light suddenly. He feared he would float away were it not for the arm wrapped securely around his waist.

For the first time in his existence, a feeling of complete certainty washed over him. He was, finally, right where he belonged. The surge of confidence was unfamiliar to him, but it was so strong it swept him along like a cool wave. He situated himself more comfortably on the demon’s lap, drawing a strangled sound from him as he pushed himself as close as possible. This time, it was Crowley who flushed adorably.

“I’m perfectly fine, my dear. Splendid, even. This is all rather- rather lovely.” Aziraphale promised, smiling bashfully at his best friend – or his lover, perhaps.

The blush dusting his cheeks, the shining eyes and giddy smile filled the demon with adoring amusement. Once again he was astonished at how intensely he could feel for his gentle bastard. It made him a little exasperated at how mushy he’d become. A fool in love.

“Oh for heaven’s sake, kiss me again, angel.” He complained sheepishly, pulling him back with a noise that was almost needy. The sound, as well as the way the demon was clutching him close as if he would drown without him finally drove the realization home that Crowley wanted this just as much as he did. A pure, unbridled joy filled the kiss. Both suddenly could barely control their smiles.

Full of sudden elation, he pushed himself closer and kissed Crowley like he had barely allowed himself to dream of. His aura flared, blindingly white and yet velvet soft around the creature of darkness. He, more than any angel, knew how to love. And love Crowley he would.

He surprised him with his tender kisses, his unexpected confidence, as he angled his demon’s head the way he wanted it and touched him with such ardent admiration and affection that the slender hands holding him had to clutch his coat for support. Their lips parted for only a moment, allowing Crowley to draw a shuddering breath, utterly floored by being taken charge of so suddenly. The angel claimed his lips again, greedy and no longer self-conscious about it as he felt his demon whimper in his arms.

Though Crowley had had plenty of time to get used to loving his best friend, he had little experience with being touched with love. Neither had ever had much interest in sexuality, unless it concerned the person they wanted with every fiber of their being, celestial or physical.

When the angel finally pulled back, Crowley followed his lips wantonly, completely and entirely seduced.

He blinked up at him as if he’d just woken up from a sweet dream and Aziraphale could not help himself. He tilted his face up and kissed him again. This time, he coaxed his mouth open skillfully and drew a gasp from the demon. He quivered in his arms, arching up this slender, graceful body to be closer.  

Aziraphale kissed him until the red-haired man’s breath grew erratic, until his limbs grew heavy, until his body melted helplessly against the back of the couch with the angel leaning over him and making him tilt his head back. Aziraphale caught and supported him and kissed and kissed and kissed him until the demon forgot everything around them. The world narrowed down to the sunlight-warmed skin of his angel and the way he drove him to desperation with his lips and hands in his fiery hair and on the vulnerable skin of his exposed neck. He had not expected his innocent angel to kiss him within an inch of his sanity.

A mewl of complaint escaped Crowley that he would deny till the end of the world as his lover finally pulled back from his lips. Whining, he tried to pull him back in, grinding his hips temptingly.

Aziraphale barely bit back a moan as he was brought in contact with the wanton demon.

“Wait, you heathen! I have- oh dear! I have something to say!” He complained breathlessly.

“Then say it, angel!” Crowley demanded impatiently before attacking the smooth skin of his neck with hot lips and sharp teeth. He only grazed him playfully, though.

A choked sound interrupted the angel’s attempts to make his point. He had to squirm away from the seductive mouth on his tender skin to gather his thoughts. Crowley whined like a sad puppy.

“I- I just want you to know- stop it!” He laughed, interrupted by the demon’s attempts so tempt him closer to his body by moving ever so very invitingly.

Pouting but following his angel’s wish obediently, Crowley settled back into the cushions.

“Spit it out, doll. I want to get back to you kissing the breath outta me!”

Aziraphale giggled, elated at the prospect of being allowed to do just that. He wanted to get something out there now though, even if, after everything they’d been through, it might be superfluous.

“Crowley, my dear, I know you have waited for this silly angel for a long time. You have been so much braver than me, and so patient with me. You deserve to hear this and be told every single day until the sun burns out and the last day dawns on you in my arms.” Cupping his handsome face, Aziraphale looked deeply into his wide, reptilian eyes.

“Crowley, I love you.”

Suddenly unable to stop saying it, he brushed a kiss over the stunned demon’s lips.

“I love the way you smiled at me the day we met and every time I saw you since.” He placed another kiss on his sharp cheekbone, relishing the shiver of pleasure under his hands.

“I love the way you move. You are the most graceful, overly dramatic, beautiful creature I have even beheld.” Another kiss to his jaw.

“I love the way you offer acts of kindness and ask for nothing in return. Even though you try to hide it from me, you are the best person I have even had the pleasure of being with. You leave me in awe.” He kissed his forehead, relishing the way the sulfur-coloured eyes fell closed trustingly.

“I love your ridiculous music, the preposterous car and the way you try to be mean and frightening even if you slip up sometimes and show how loving you truly are with those little gestures.”

One more kiss was placed on each eyelid. The demon had positively melted under him.

“My world revolves around you, my dear. I love you.” Aziraphale added with infinite tenderness.

The demon blinked dazed eyes open, and smiled.

It rocked Aziraphale’s world.

_________________________________________

Tell me what you think? (Writers need sugar) Also I’m considering writing another, E-rated addition (with Crowley’s POV). Let me know if you want to be on the tag list <3