#the world is going to end and crowley sits there with the ghost of aziraphale and admits how much it hurt (would hurt) him to lose him

[azfellandco]

I will say, I had forgotten about "I lost my best friend" "so sorry to hear it" in the time between when I'd first watched s1 and when I rewatched it the other day and it is haunting me. The way Crowley's face goes all scrunched up and vulnerable, cracked open.

[actual-changeling]

crowley and aziraphale missing each other constantly is painful and heartbreaking, but do you know what's even worse?

those tiny, distracted moments during which you forget.

six thousand years of being friends, of talking and meeting and living together.

crowley sits in nina's café and makes an asshole spill coffee all over himself, and then his head turns, expecting aziraphale's tiny, mildly disapproving smirk—and sees nothing.

aziraphale listens to angels having idiotic arguments, turning his head with his mouth open to whisper his annoyance to crowley—and sees nothing.

turning around expecting to see them, talking while expecting them to listen, holding a door open just to realise no one will walk through it, picking up the phone and flinching when it's muriel's voice and not aziraphale's, stretching out a hand and flailing when emptiness greets it.

they forget because you're supposed to be here. you have always been here.

any attempts at training their brains to remember fail. six thousand years. where did you go?

aziraphale returns to earth, and they do not talk, already drowning in chaos, but then—

something funny, something stupid, something they would tell the other about, and their heads turn with a wave of disappointment as they reflexively expect loneliness.

oh.

they're looking at each other, their brains scrambling to catch up because there you are, finally, after months of being haunted by ghosts.

you're here you're here you're here

crowley sighs, resigned and relived and so, so in love, and unable to ignore the longing scorching his skin, he reaches out and intertwines their fingers without a word.

they hold hands while the world almost ends and don't let go.

[lydiablackblade]

What I need today to cope with the S2 ending #1.

Today I want to see that everyone on Whickber Street is silently and in mutual understanding teamed up to support Crowley after Aziraphale had left.

He is not a daily guest anymore but he pops up time to time to do a quick check on the bookshop and on Muriel.

And when he does, Nina makes sure he always gets his shots of espresso and never let him go without it. Sometimes she offers different kind of roasts just to "survey".

Maggie recommends him small indie rock bands he might not know and she even gives him CDs so he can listen to them in the Bentely (only for him, she still sells vinly for the customers)

Mr Arnold invites him to his jazz band's gigs (they are playing quite good, tho) and as fellow Dr. Who enthusiasts sometimes they have a long conversation about how the Tardis works (Crowley knows it better anyway)

When Crowley is at Nina's, Mrs Sandwich comes over, sits to his table and shares every saucy gossip from the neighborhood whispering loud enough to let everyone hear them. She even manages to make him some sort of smile sometimes. Even some snores.

Mrs Cheng regularly invites him to her restaurant to eat with her family. (He rather drinks than eat, but still. And he'd never admit but he likes how the Cheng family shares the food with each other)

When he "dines" at the Marguerite's (I mean ordering something and stare at it then go for the alcohol) - Justine makes sure he always get an extra glass of wine and let him sit all night at the table until they close just brooding and playing with the utensils.

Mutt and his spouse managed tempting him once participating to one of their classic D&D game nights with their friends. It was a rather good evening but miraculously the dice was always in Crowley's favor somehow.

Even Mr. Brown of Brown's World of Carpets tried to have a small talk with him at the pub. Although he still doesn't know if Crowley was an escort or sugar boy (too old to be called boy honestly) who grew attached to his client too much or if he's a mob member or what was the real nature of his relationship to the former bookshop owner with whom he was seemingly glued together, but he thought he knows the feeling very well ghosted by Mr Fell, so why cannot he give comfort this poor fellow? After two minutes of trying to have conversation he practically run away from the pub bumping into tables and customers in panic. Nobody knows for sure what happened, all they saw was the ginger goth pushed back his shades to his nose and someone sweared he had heard hisses and a saw sudden flick of change of Crowley's face to something monstrous, but he was drunk already so no one believed him.

And for Crowley's utter surprise, once when he killed the time in St. James's Park, the Azerbaijani Sector Chief dropped a big bag of frozen peas next to him to feed the ducks and gave him a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder then moved on without a word. The human of course had no idea what had happened, all he knew this person now sits alone on the bench radiating sorrow without the blond man next to him. He lost comrades during his many years of service, so he could recognize the signs. "That's the nature of our profession buddy, but you'll be alright" he messaged with his act.

And Crowley honestly doesn't understand why everyone is so kind to him.

[i-llbedammned]

Why?

Title: Why

Word count: 700 ish

Summary: Aziraphale's perspective on the post season 2 nonsense.

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/49216786/chapters/124189855

It had all happened so fast that Aziraphale wasn’t quite sure what to do with it all. The promotion, the whole forces of Hell knocking on the door of his bookshop while he was in the middle of having a ball and finally having a dance with Crowley, the kiss.

The kiss.

Aziraphale ran a hand over his lips once more, feeling the ghost of it there. The ghost of the warmth and desperation and utter confusion. It had been millennia and never once had the demon been so close, close enough to taste that wicked heat that came off of him.

Sweet words, it felt good enough to be sinful in a way that made his heart feel like it was going to beat its way out his chest.

It felt awful enough to feel like he would be crawling over broken glass with his heart.

Which of course was ridiculous. He was making the right decision that would benefit both of them.

It was the right decision, right?

Of course it was. The Metatron said it and he spoke with the voice of God. If God willed it then it was all part of the ineffable plan.

Except for the fact that he didn’t say ineffable. He said great plan. Just like they did when they wanted to end the world the last time.

Just like the last time when he and Crowley save the world.

I forgive you.

It was a split second. He didn’t think, didn’t exactly know why he said it. It felt like the right thing to say, something a magnanimous angel would say to a demon.

It didn’t feel like it fit Crowley though. This wasn’t just any demon after all, it was Crowley. Something in his guts twisted awfully at the look of devastation, of utter disdain on the demon’s face.

Crowley who had been with him and stared down Satan himself. Crowley who had saved the whole world. Crowley who had first introduced him to food and pleasures. Who had spent many warm nights in his bookshop, drinking wine and eating food.

Crowley who had kissed him. By the light above, he had kissed him.

Aziraphale knew he shouldn’t be lingering on that. It surely wasn’t something that Heaven would look kindly upon. But all the same his thoughts drifted back to it. How much he wanted to stay there. But the Metatron was waiting. He never exactly told the Metatron yes, but he supposed it was implied. That it was expected of him and that he could best serve them both from up on high. Then why did he feel like crying? Why did he feel like he wanted to sit down with a good book with that awful snake sprawled across his lap?

He supposed he would never hold a book again. Or eat an Eccles cake.

Or see Crowley again when they weren’t in a state of battle.

Oh! Oh no. Can’t even think of that. There was no way he could raise a sword against Crowley.

Delicate Crowley. Sweet Crowley. Oh the demon would be so cross if he knew Aziraphale was thinking of him like that. In fact the angel was halfway tempted to say such things just so Crowley could appear and correct him.

Smoking or not, he would still like to see the demon’s face again.

Oh just why did he have to be so short sighted! Why couldn’t he follow him to Heaven, take the forgiveness that was offered to him and not to anyone else? He needed him. He needed him. He needed him here now.

Instead he got Heaven, all cold and white and perfect. A filing cabinet. Not even a desk. Never a morsel to eat again.

If this was the right decision, why did it all taste like ashes in his mouth?

On wooden legs Aziraphale walked into a supply closet and sat down. Curled up into a ball and rested his head on his knees. With a fearful intensity he let himself cry. Silent tears, but tears nonetheless. This was supposed to be good. Why didn’t it feel good? Why did he want to go back to the demon and earth? What was wrong with him?

[inevitably-johnlocked]

Do you know any good movie aus? Not as in they're actors, but fics written based on movie plots?

Hey Nonny!!

OHHHH! This is fantastic! Because I actually have ANOTHER ask looking for crossovers too, and the list is HUGE. So I’ve used this opportunity to split the list up into two. This one here is for my MFL list, and if anyone has any of their own to suggest, please add them to this list! 

So, check out Below!

CROSSOVERS and FUSIONS (Feb 2021) Pt. 1.5 [FICS TO READ]

See Also:

Fairy Tales and Fantasy

TV, Movies, and Books AU (Fantasy Pt. 2)

Wonderful Life AU

Sherlock / Hannibal Crossovers?

Science Fiction / Fantasy

Faes / Faeries

Disney-esque Fics

Moulin Rouge AU

Crossovers and Fusions Pt 1

Two More Miracles by PatPrecieux (T, 221 w., 1 Ch. || Good Omens Crossover || Angst With Happy Ending, 221B Ficlet, Temporary Character Death) – Tragedy and miracles go hand in hand.

Here, Though the World Explode, These Two Survive by TheTyger (G, 1,194 w., 2 Ch. || Good Omens Crossover || Post-TRF, Ineffable Husbands, Fluff, Reunion, Rings, Hurt/Comfort) – Tomorrow, it would be three years from that day. Three years with no rude text messages, no experiments being conducted while London slept, no body parts in the fridge. And John still sometimes caught himself buying extra milk and looking for cases and making two coffees.

Just the Book by Carenejeans (G, 1,495 w., 1 Ch. || Good Omens Crossover || Humour, Aziraphale’s Bookshop) – John's looking for a book. It's Aziraphale's bookshop, but Crowley provides customer service.

The Case of the Missing.... by Beth H (G, 2,601 w., 1 Ch. || Sherlock Crossover || Case Fic) – Crowley has gone missing, and Aziraphale hasn't a clue how to go about finding him. Luckily, help comes from above...or rather, from the side.

The Curious Case of the Missing Antichrist by Aedemiel (G, 2,865 w., 1 Ch. || Sherlock Crossover || Vignette, Case Fic, Desperation, Bad Ideas) – What if Aziraphale and Crowley had consulted the great consulting detective, Sherlock Holmes, about finding Adam Young?

Eye of the Storm by Calais_Reno (G, 2,996 w., 1 Ch. || The Day After Tomorrow AU || Survival, Cold Weather, Boy Scout John, No Major Character Death) – Weather has become the fifth horseman of the apocalypse.

Nice and Accurate Deductions by htebazytook (T, 3,179 w., 1 Ch. || Good Omens Crossover || Romance, Humour, Fluff) – Sherlock drags John to a certain bookshop in Soho.

Snake In The Flat by PatPrecieux (T, 3,293 w., 1 Ch. || Good Omens Crossover || Magical Realism, Fluff, Humour, Ineffable Husbands) – There can be a snake in the grass, snakes on a plane and now there's a snake in the flat.

The Picture of Sherlock Holmes by CarmillaCarmine (M, 3,306 w., 1 Ch. || Victorian Dorian Gray AU || Angst, Paris, London, Travel, Painting, Major Character Death, Opera, Captain John, First Meetings) – Sherlock Holmes, a rich and frivolous man, after a lifetime of debauchery finally falls in love. His heart chooses Captain Watson.

The Old Town by a_different_equation (T, 3,573 w., 1 Ch. || Hans Christian Anderson Fusion || Magical Realism, Christmas, Fairy Tale Elements, Love Stories, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Museums, Sweet Sherlock) – Once upon a time there were two boys. This is the story how once upon December, they found the missing Christmas Spirit, true love and new beginnings. A Queer fairytale for all seasons.

Holmes vs. Harkness by coinin (T, 3,960 w., 1 Ch. || Torchwood / HHGTTG Fusion || Crack, Mystrade) – In which Captain Jack gets in a little over his head and is introduced to the myriad joys of bureaucracy, Mycroft is smug, the Guide offers up some helpful advice, John Watson doesn't share, and, in a strange turn of events, Jack doesn't get laid even once.

Perfect by TrufflesTheMushroom (T, 3,984 w., 1 Ch. || Good Omens Crossover || The Apocalypse) – Crowley and Aziraphale have made a huge mistake. It's the end of the world and it all boils down to one fight. Crowley has picked John Watson. Aziraphale has picked Sherlock Holmes.

Limbo by Calais_Reno (T, 4,070 w., 1 Ch. || Good Omens Crossover || Waiting Rooms, Ineffable Bureaucracy, Paperwork, Explosions, Apocalypse, Second Chances, Declarations of Love, Nobody Dies) – Ordinarily Sherlock would be quite impatient by now with all this pointless waiting (for what?), but at the moment he feels as if he has all the time in the world.

The Baker Street Flat by Anonymous (PG-13, 5,000-20,000 w., 7 Parts || Lake House Crossover || Angst, Romance, LIVEJOURNAL Comments Fic) – John’s pretty sure it’s a sign of mental imbalance — of which he has been all too frequently accused of late — that he is actually entertaining the possibility that he is communicating with a total stranger two years in the future via the magic mail slot on the door of his new flat. He certainly won’t be mentioning this at next week’s session. On his way out the door to interview for a part-time position at a local surgery, another meeting where he has no intention of mentioning his most recent hobby, he drops a fairly sarcastic note: If you’re really from 2012, is the world about to end?

In the Shadows by Laur (M, 5,029 w., 1 Ch. || Loose Shutter Island Fusion || Disturbing Imagery, Psychological, Angst, Major Character Death, Grief/Trauma) – Do you believe in ghosts? When Sherlock’s eyes snap to him they are anguished.

come be my april fool by a_different_equation (M, 6,473 w., 1 Ch. || Great British Bake Off AU || Writer!Sherlock, Est. Rel., Fluff / Humour, Baking, Marriage Proposal, Military Kink, Domestics, POV John, Romance, Sherlock Wears Glasses, Sweet Sherlock, Bookstores, Queer Themes) – After leaving ‘The Great British Bake Off’, Sue Perkins has written a book about Victorian baking. Tonight, on April 1st, she is reading at ‘The Bard’, Mike Stamford’s bookstore in central London. It is the exact same spot where John Watson, battered and bruised, had learned all about his magnificent bastard – one Mr. Sherlock Holmes, famous gay crime fiction writer – for the first time. A story about found family, DRAMAtical lesbians, how to react when your boyfriend has a military kink but he doesn't want to act on it, oh, and popping the question. Sequel to 'i read your book, you magnificent bastard'. Part 2 of Magnificent Bastard!AU

The Babadook by CatieBrie (T, 6,886 w., 1 Ch. || Babadook Fusion || Post-TRF, Horror, Demonic Possession, Violence, Halloween, Grief, Angst with Happy Ending) – “A children’s book,” John mutters as he flips it open. The pages are scrawled with beautiful charcoal lines and thick black ink. The cover, bright red, edges the open pages and something tugs at the back of John’s brain. It’s a familiar feeling, black and tarrish and thick in his thoughts. He shakes it off and picks the book up off his bed, turning so that he can sit on the edge and spread the book out across his knees. If it’s in a word or it’s in a look, you can’t get rid of the Babadook. He turns the page, ignoring the pressure building beneath his chest. There’s a closet on one page; paper doors meant to be opened by the reader flutter as John reads the text on the other page.

What To Do With An Atypical Animal Within by HarveyDangerfield  & swimsalot (E, 7,804 w. || Harry Potter AU || Animagus, Porn With A Little Plot, Tail Porn) – Sherlock is determined to be an animagus. But what happens when it isn't a fox or a horse or a dog he's turning into?

The Lonely by elwinglyre (E, 7,888 w., 1 Ch. || Twilight Zone AU || Major Character Death, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Firsts, Sad Ending) – Witness if you will a distant planet with a dungeon made of desert sand and mountain stone. This planet holds one inmate, a man wrongly accused, serving a life sentence. His only solace, his notebook and the thought of the day when the supply ship brings him a pardon. Instead, salvation comes to John Watson in a large box and a visitor from The Twilight Zone.

Friend by esama (G, 7,909 w., 1 Ch. || Harry Potter Crossover || Character Death, Kid Fic) – Sherlock finds the skull when he's five.

Spell It Out by prettysailorsoldier (M, 8,344 w., 1 Ch. || Harry Potter Fusion || Teenlock, Christmas, Love Potion/Spell, Pining Sherlock) – Remaining at Hogwarts over break has become something of a tradition for Sherlock and John, staying behind together ever since their very first year, but, when Irene throws a gift of doctored coconut ice into the mix, plans quickly change, even if John doesn't. Part 6 of 25 Days of Johnlock

The Long Goodbye by elbereth (M, 8,367 w., 1 Ch. || Time Traveller’s Wife AU || Doomed Timelines, Time Travel) – Sherlock travels in time. The ending is known even before they meet, yet they choose to live this love. One of them knows the past, one of them knows the future, yet their deepest secret is safe from each other. Limited time, but unlimited love.

Sugar & Spice by Ttime42 (T, 8,476 w., 1 Ch. || Great British Bake Off AU || First Kiss, Baking) – Sherlock Holmes and John Watson compete on The Great British Bake Off.

Pygmalion by ancientreader (T, 9,136 w., 2, Ch. || Pygmalion AU || Magical Realism) – The spell to turn a statue into an animate being has been illegal in the UK for a hundred and seventy years when the -- body? -- is found on Hampstead Heath. It changes everything.

Am I the Current (Tiger) King of England? by Dee_Laundry (T, 9,360 w., 1 Ch. || Tiger King Fusion || Post-S4, Dreams, Friendship, John’s Sexuality, Sherlock’s Sexuality, Quarantine/CoVID-19, Past Character Death, Mentions of Violence, Mentions of Dom/Sub, First Kiss) – “I had the weirdest dream last night,” John said. Seven times.

I Could Try by Arcwin (T, 9,583 w., 5 Ch. || Greek Mythology Crossover || Post-TRF, Orpheus and Eurydice Myth, POV John, Pining John, BAMF John, Depression, Suicidal Thoughts, Horror, Angst with Happy Ending) – John is grieving Sherlock's death post Reichenbach until one day, he sees the violin case, and something inside him tells him to pick it up. Crossover between BBC Sherlock and the Greek tragedy Orpehus and Eurydice, wherein Eurydice is killed for her beauty and taken to the Underworld. Orpheus, being the son of Apollo (the God of Music and Medicine) travels to the Underworld to convince (via playing his lyre) Hades and Persephone to let Eurydice go. Orpheus then must travel with Eurydice behind him, not looking back, until they exit to the land of the living.

Puzzlebox by  standbygo (E, 9,867 w., 5 Ch. || Hellraiser Fusion || True Love, Supernatural Elements, Psychological Horror, First Kiss, Post S2, Angst with Happy Ending) – A love story with horror. A horror story with a happy ending.

you are a paradigm by 1electricpirate (M, 10,013 w. || Harry Potter AU || Wizard!John / Muggle!Sherlock, Magic) – Sometimes, only sometimes, when Sherlock is very far away and absolutely guaranteed not to return for at least three hours, John sits on the sofa and lets the tea make itself. In which John is (reluctantly) a wizard, Mycroft is (apparently) omniscient, and Sherlock is (surprisingly) oblivious. Part 1 of More Things Than Are Dreamt Of

Already Gone by johnwatso (M, 10,078 w., 8 Ch. || Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind Fusion || Non-Linear Narrative, Memory Loss, Ambiguous / Open Ending) – Dear Mr Greg Lestrade,  Sherlock Holmes has had John Watson erased from his memory. Please never mention their relationship to him again. Thank you, Lacuna Inc.

A Real Deal by toyhto (M, 10,339 w., 1 Ch. || Black Mirror-Inspired ||  Science Fiction, Post-TRF, Canon Divergence) –  Please be real, he thought and pulled Sherlock closer.

You Don't Need Wings to Fly by Laiquilasse (T, 11,326 w., 11 Ch. || Wonderful Life AU || Bullying, Angels, Suicidal Ideation, Christmas) – John, an angel, is sent from Heaven to help a desperate Sherlock Holmes by showing him what life would have been like if he had never existed.

Backup Copies by etothepii (M, 13,332 w., 3 Ch. || Dollhouse Crossover || Major Character Death) – When John dies, Sherlock doesn't know what to do. But Mycroft does.

Silent Night by khorazir (M, 15,060 w., 1 Ch. || Codebreaker / WWII / Imitation Game-Inspired AU || Care Fic, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Dev. Rel., Reunion, PTSD John, Christmas) – It’s Christmas Eve 1944, and Sherlock Holmes has received his most precious gift already: after a long, dangerous deployment, Surgeon Captain John Watson of the Royal Navy has unexpectedly returned from the front. As if this weren’t enough, there’s a case. Both events make for a night full of promise, excitement, and the difficult task of getting reacquainted with the man Sherlock hasn’t seen in three years and feared he’d lost forever. Part 2 of Enigma

In Arduis Fidelis by Raliena (T, 18,628 w., 10 Ch. || GI Joe Crossover || Captivity, Surgery, BAMF John, John “Three Continents” Watson, POV John Watson, Prisoner of War, Cobra - Freeform, soldier John, John-centric, Doctor John Watson, John is a Very Good Doctor, Violence) – Once upon a time John was a Soldier and a Doctor. And he was known John or Doc or Doctor. But things change. And he *earned* his right to the name “Three Continents Watson”. Part 1 of the Three Continents Watson series

Serendipity by Calais_Reno (T, 18,222 w., 3 Ch. || Serendipity Fusion || Christmas, Romance, Coincidences, First Meetings, Misunderstandings, New York City, Fate and Destiny) – A bit of New York Christmas fluff, based on the 2001 movie.

Magnificent by esama (T, 19,477 w., 1 Ch. || Harry Potter Crossover || Crossover Pairing) – The birth of the Ministry of Magic and his relationship with the British Government.

Much Ado About Nothing or Get Over Here and Kiss Me Already! by MorganeUK (NR, 19,847 w., 13 Ch. || Much Ado About Nothing AU || Mutual Pining, Angst, Lestrolly) – AU in modern time where the Holmes' are a powerful noble family, Mycroft is the chief of defences and Sherlock is working for secret service. Lestrade is a high rank officer in the army. Ms Hudson is an old Lady that took care of her niece and nephew Molly and John since their youth. Part 1 of the Sherlock / Shakespeare series

Dead Letter Office by a_different_equation (M, 20,364 w., 15 Ch. || ‘Bartleby’ Fusion / Office Setting AU || Different First Meeting, Epistolary, John's Blog, Angst with a Happy Ending, Pre-Canon, John Watson is Sherlock's Boss, PTSD John, Military Backstory, Writer John, Drug Use, Texting) – John Watson comes home from the war, gets a new job and meets Sherlock Holmes through Mike Stamford. Same tale since 1891, except this time it’s 2008, John is Sherlock’s boss, and they work together at the Dead Letter Office in London. It's not a love story, until it finally is.

When John Met Sherlock by MorganeUK (T, 21,293 w., 10 Ch. || When Harry Met Sally AU || Friendship, Friends to Lovers, Developing Relationship, Faking It, Mutual Pining, Background Lestrolly, Fluff and Smut, Rom-Com) – At first they thought that friendship was impossible. Then meet again and become friends. After dinners, texts, cases and discussions they become more, best friends. Faking orgasm before falling on the floor together to get real one... Then going back to pushing each other away again... Before falling in love!But not necessarily in this order.

You're The One by Mazarin221b (E, 21,768 + w. || WiP || Underage Dirty Dancing Fusion ||  Period Typical Homophobia, Sexism, Angst, Fluff) – John Watson is seventeen years old and has his life planned out: medical school, a commission, and an opportunity to change the world. He just has to get through three weeks at The Copper Beeches - a resort owned by one of his father's patients - with his annoying sister and his perfect parents before he's off to Cambridge. But John has a secret he's trying desperately to keep, and, it seems, so is just about everyone around him, including the incredibly gorgeous and amazing dance teacher, Sherlock Holmes, and his partner Irene Adler. Too bad Jim Moriarty seems to know precisely what everyone is hiding.

Into the Multiverse by AnAnYaH (M, 21,958 w., 18 Ch. || Avengers / Sherlock / Dr. Strange Crossover || Multiverses, Everstrange, Parentlock / Teenage Rosie, Sad Sherlock, Angry Sherlock, Sherlock/John Fight, Magic, Strange John, First Kiss, Whipping, Graphic Depictions of Violence, Threats of Rape / Non-Con, Mental Anguish, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Heavy Angst with Happy Ending) – Nothing lasts forever. I am beginning to think it's the same for you and me. In a world where we don't co-exist how long will it take to finally break us ? Or are we already broken in need of a fix ?A multi-chapter fic where Sherlock and John had to leave their lives to save the world from universal threats and pursue as Doctor Strange and Everett Ross.Will they ever reunite? Part 1 of the Everstrange series

Addicted to a Certain Lifestyle by KatsatheGraceling (M, 22,751 w., 1 Ch. || James Bond Crossover || Bondlock, BAMF John, Assassin John, Q is a Holmes, Clueless Sherlock, Omniscient Mycroft) – The one where John is a BAMF assassin. With an affinity for cuddly warm jumpers.

Impossible Improbable Truth by KaraRenee (M, 24,308 w., 9 Ch. || Labyrinth AU) – John and Sherlock take a case investigating the disappearance of a teenage girl and her toddler half brother. What they find is an impossible adventure that leads them on a journey of discovery of their sexuality.

The Art Of Seduction: A Study In Pulling by flawedamythyst (M, 25,279 w., 1 Ch. || Queer As Folk Inspired AU || John/OMC, Additional Tags to Be Added Upon Reading) – Sherlock ran a website called The Science Of Seduction, on which he gave advice on the best ways to get laid, wrote blog entries detailing the results of his various sexual 'experiments' and generally contributed to the stereotype of 'every gay man is a sex-mad playboy'. John avoided the thing like the plague. AU in which Sherlock treats sex like he does crime in canon. Inspired by Queer As Folk UK, but it very quickly went its own way. Part 1 of The Art Of Seduction

False Advertising by ravenscar (E, 27,722 w. || Office AU / Devil Wears Prada Inspired || Victor Trevor, Flashbacks, Hurt / Comfort, Angst with Happy Ending, Younger John/Older Sherlock, Marriage Proposal) – Sherlock is John’s boss and mentor at an advertising agency. Can they find love in the cut-throat workplace?

A Wizarding Barista's Field Guide to Seducing a Muggle by paradigmfinch (T, 29,344 w., 9 Ch || Harry Potter Coffee Shop AU || Wizard John, Muggle Sherlock, Bisexual John, Flirting, First Dates, Secret Identity) – To help pay for Healing tuition, John Watson gets a job at a coffee shop in Muggle London, where he soon sets his sights on a particularly gorgeous customer. John's seen plenty of Muggle films. How different can it really be to woo a Muggle?

Time Of My Life by fiveainley_ohmy (E, 29,719 w., 8 Ch. || Dirty Dancing Fusion || Bisexual John, Dancing, Gay/Demi Sherlock) – John Watson takes his alcoholic sister to a summer camp in attempt to rehabilitate her. He didn't expect to fall in love with the dance instructor.

Through Dangers Untold by hogwartswitch (E, 32,003 w., 13 Ch. || Labyrinth AU) – The Goblin King has fallen in love with John Watson and visits him in dreams. But the evil wizard who cursed the Goblin King cannot allow that to continue. Will John survive the labyrinth? Or will he become a lost goblin like all the rest?

Unsettled by AxeMeAboutAxinomancy (E, 33,879 w., 10 Ch. || HIs Dark Materials AU || Daemons, Dark Themes, Non-Con) – Sherlock's dæmon hadn't settled. Once John realised that, so much made sense. Though so much else didn't, because it practically wasn't possible. Part 1 of the The Utmost Edge of Hazard series

The Last Companion by standbygo (E, 34,101 w., 14 Ch. || Firefly Fusion || Prostitution, Case Fic, Falling in Love, Angst with Happy Ending, Slow Burn, BAMF John, Discussions of Non Con But Doesn’t Happen) – Thirty years after the Miranda Wars, there is peace, both on the Rim and the Core planets. There are a number of old social mores still in place, such as the Order of Companions, but there is a sense that even such respected practices are coming to an end… Sherlock is a Companion - the best Companion on Persephone. With a bit of detective work on the side, of course. Then he meets a man named John Watson, encounters a series of bizarre cases, and finds his world is getting turned upside down.

The Great Bakerstreet Bake Off by Elphen (M, 38,058 w., 8 Ch. || Great British Bake Off AU || Caring Sherlock, Sweet John, Fluff, Baking, Accidental Touching, Pining, BJ’s, Banter and Bickering, Oblivious Characters) – John has decided to watch The Great British Bake Off this year and he is determined to do so. As Sherlock joins him, he is certain that that plan is ruined. He's in for a surprise when he's allowed to watch it but the real shock comes when Sherlock decides they ought to bake themselves. What's more, they should bake what they make in the Bake Off. John's not so sure it's a good idea but when his insides flutter at the thought, he finds it hard to complain.

Toe to Toe by standbygo (E, 44,971 w., 26 Ch. || White Nights Crossover || Ballet/Dance, Slow Burn, Spies/Secret Agents, Angst with Happy Ending, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, First Kiss/Time, Shower Sex) – Sherlock Holmes is an international ballet star. After a favour for his brother goes south, he finds himself trapped in a foreign country, with a man named John Watson who could be an enemy... or an ally.

Silence by halloa_what_is_this (T, 44,993 w., 13 Ch. || The Piano Fusion || Victorian Sherlock, Dub Con, Voyeurism, Permanent Mutilation, Johniarty, Mute John) – In 1850, John is a mute young man forced to marry to save his father from indebtedness. His sister as his interpreter and his piano to keep him company, he travels to London to live with his husband James Moriarty. Without John's consent, James sells the piano to his friend Sherlock Holmes, who only asks for lessons from John in return. The lessons turn into a power play between the two when Sherlock proposes a deal: John may earn his piano back one key at a time, certain conditions attached. Part 1 of the Aborted Wings series

Crime is of the Essence by K8BNimble (M, 45,569 w., 18 Ch. || Harry Potter Crossover || Mystery, Slash) – When a man he hasn’t seen in almost ten years appears in his home with a man he thought was dead for twenty years, Harry Potter knew his evening had just gotten complicated. Written for Snarry Swap 2011. Named Hot Rec by "The Daily Snitch"1/18/2011. Snarry, past Harry/Sherlock. Long plotty mystery with light graphic slash sex.

Always 1895 by standbygo (E, 45,901 w., 19 Ch. || Oxford Time Travel AU || Time Travel, Friends to Lovers, Case Fic, Victorian, Period-Typical Homophobia, Pining, First Kiss/Time, First Meetings, Slow Burn, Angst With Happy Ending) – Time travelling historian John Watson goes to Victorian era England to study, and meets detective Sherlock Holmes. He finds himself torn between the work he was sent to do, the exciting life of solving crimes, and the extraordinary Holmes himself.

Curled (A Tangled AU) by crimsonwinter (G, 46,330 w., 13 Ch. || Tangled AU || Alternating POV) – Sherlock lives a limited life, high in a tower, and all he's wanted in eighteen years of isolation is to someday break free and see the floating lights. Somehow, a string of events leads him to John Watson, a surprisingly kind thief who steals his heart. Will they escape the selfish advances of Moriarty, Sherlock's paternal guardian, and will Sherlock find the meaning behind the silver lanterns?

The Boy Who Balanced on the Train Tracks by SinceWhenDoYouCallMe_John (E, 54,894 w., 5 Ch. || Harry Potter Crossover || John/Snape, Period Typical Homophobia, Character Death, Underage Sexual Attraction, Sexual Awakening, Time Turner, First Time, Poverty, Domestic Abuse, Death Eaters, Canon-Typical Violence, Angst with Happy / Bittersweet Ending) – Every year, on the 2nd of May, John Watson dreams of long black hair.

Say You’ll Stay With Me by justacookieofacumberbatch (E, 63,349 w., 21 Ch. || Pretty Woman Fusion || Prostitution) – It was just supposed to be an ordinary business trip, but when John’s car stalls out on Hollywood Boulevard, he meets someone who just might change his life.

Whispers in Corners by esama (T, 64,402 w., 10 Ch. || Harry Potter Crossover || Deathly Hallows, Crossover Pairing) – Everything started with a stumble - his new life in a new world as well as his surprisingly successful career as a medium.

Masters of Ink by Indybaggins (E, 67,382 w., 7 Ch. || Ink Master Tattoo TV Show AU || Angst, Banter, Body Modification, Cheating, Desire, Developing Relationship, Disability, Falling in Love, Feels, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, Married John, Past Drug Addiction, Pining, Requited Love, Sex, Slow Burn, Smoking, Tattoo Artist John, Tattoo Artist Sherlock) – First-meeting-on-a-reality-show AU, Ink Master edition! There is expert tattooing, slightly less expert flirting, and two men falling hard. But John is married, and they can’t all win.

The Craving in Between by love_in_mind_palace (E, 69,349 w., 16 Ch. || Wedding Planner AU || Infidelity, Romance, Angst with Happy Ending, Misunderstandings, Sexting & Texting, Alternating POV, Mary is Not Nice) – Sherlock Holmes, The wedding Consultant. Picky about his projects and a nightmare to work with. Rejects ninety percent of the couples after just having a look at them and can predict how long a marriage will last. But when unassuming, plain, John Watson reluctantly limps his way in his office, with his more than enthusiastic fiancée, Mary Morstan, instead of dismissing the ill-assorted couple on the spot, he promptly decides that the project, and the groom.. are definitely worth working on.

The Loss of Flesh and Soul by deuxexmycroft (M, 69,712 w., 6/8 Ch. || WiP || Silence of the Lambs Crossover || Serial Killers, One-Sided Relationship) – Five years after John Watson puts the murderous Sherlock Holmes behind bars, a vicious copycat killer emerges. A reluctant John is pulled out of retirement to seek the expertise of the only man who can help, a man who has developed an unsettling obsession with John himself. Part 1 of The Loss of Flesh and Soul

The Vampires of London by consultingdetective (E, 72,660 w., 21 Ch. || Dracula AU || Pining Sherlock, Army Doctor John, Sharing a Bed, Porn With Feelings, Plot Twists) –  Over one hundred years after the first battle, a series of murders have caught the attention of London's police force and Sherlock Holmes. While most of the city has forgotten the vampire that once walked its streets, the descendants of the Van Helsing, Harker, and Seward families have not.

Save Me or Let Me Drown by GubraithianFire (E, 72,986 w., 16 Ch. || Shameless AU || Dysfunctional Family, Alcoholism, Recreational Drug Use, Angst, Humour, Clubbing, Bipolar Disorder, Custody Battle, Mutual Pining, Family Fluff, Smut, Handcuffs, Anal Sex, Shower Sex, Rimming, Come Shot, Angst With Happy Ending) – How Sherlock escaped from his family, John sacrificed everything to his, and how, together, they built their own. Part 1 of the The Watsons series

This Is Your Song by agirlsname (E, 79,990 w., 19 Ch. || Moulin Rouge Fusion || Prostitute Sherlock, Poet John, Acting, Singing, Dancing, Writing, Poetry, Musical, Song Fic, Heavy Angst, Unreliable Narrator, Sherlock is French, Love at First Sight, UST, First Kiss/Time, Frottage, Coming in Pants, Anal Sex, Switchlock, Clothed Sex, Crossdressing, Secret Relationship, Forbidden Love, Jealousy, Terminal Illnesses, Grief/Mourning, Breakup/Makeup Sex, Past Drug Use, Attempted Rape, Canon-Typical Violence)– When John Watson is invalided home from the army in 1895, he moves to Paris to rediscover his writing and find a new meaning in life. His old friend Stamford invites him into a group of artist friends, and suddenly John finds himself auditioning to write a show for the famous brothel across the street. There, he meets the most beautiful man he’s ever seen - Sherlock, the star of the Moulin Rouge. But Sherlock is already promised to the investor of the show, the rich Duke Moriarty.

Sherlock, P.I. by Callie4180 (E, 83,264 w., 11 Ch. || Magnum P.I. Fusion || Past Relationships, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Canon-Typical Violence, Stalking, Creepy Moriarty) – For the Fall TV Sherlock fusion project. Sherlock, P.I. is an American television show that follows the exciting adventures of genius private investigator Sherlock Homes and his friends as they live their lives on the beautiful island of Oahu in Hawaii. Sherlock solves crimes as he wrestles with the ghosts and demons of his past.

Saudade by tunteeton (E, 96,952 w., 30 Ch. || After That Very Much AU || Case Fic, Non-Con Drug Use, Dubious Science, Canon Compliant up to THoB, John’s in Denial, Sub!Sherlock, Fake Non-Con Drug Use, Dom/Sub Relationship, Mutual Masturbation, Oral Sex, Kidnapping, Threatened Torture, Mary is Not Nice, Anal, Fluff, Non-Con Domming, Verbal Abuse, Slapping) – saudade (port.): a deep and melancholy longing for something or someone that is gone and not coming back. Homesickness, an emptiness in one’s soul, a love that remains after the loved one dies. John loses Sherlock, gains Sherlock and learns to never, ever, ever pray. Part 1 of the The Untranslatables series

Rosethorne by suitesamba (M, 98,888 w., 28 Ch. || Secret Garden AU || Injured Sherlock / John, Recovery, First Times, Minor Character Death, Disability, Past Domestic Abuse [Mary/OMC]) – John Watson, WWII army doctor, is injured in the line of duty and can no longer wield a scalpel. Sherlock Holmes, Britain’s best code-breaker, is side-lined by his own devastating injury. In a work inspired by Frances Hodgson Burnett’s “The Secret Garden,” the two men must find meaning and purpose in a world which seems to have taken away all they hold most dear. But of course, it really hasn’t.

Cake and Other Sins by  Indybaggins (E, 100,670 w. || Great British Bakeoff AU || Alternate First Meeting, Angst, Baking, Desire, Disability, Incest (Holmescest/Holmescest with John), Masturbation, Falling in Love, Oral, Outdoor Sex, Past Drug Use, Poisoning, Voyeurism) – Sherlock and John meet as competing bakers on The Great British Bake Off. There’s intense baking, lush recipes and enticing food. Mycroft, guilt, past sins in chocolate and gingerbread. And love. That too.

Fallen Through Time by susandwrites (E, 102,040+ w., 39/? Ch. || Outlander Fusion / Victorian AU || WIP || Time Travel, First Meetings, Meet-Cute, Frottage, Blow Jobs, Anal Sex/Fingering, Riding Crops, Rough Sex, Floor Sex, Breath Play, Light BDSM, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Switching, Romance, Sex to Love) – Inspired by my love of Outlander, but not exactly an Outlander AU. Sherlock Holmes, the world's only consulting detective, finds himself in Victorian London while investigating a murder. The first person he meets is Doctor John Watson, formerly of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers and his world is irrevocably altered.

Reichenbach Falls - Déjà vu by VeeTheRee (M, 180,436+ w., 29/303 Ch. || WiP ||Gravity Falls / Multifandom AU || Alternate First Meeting, Gay Sherlock, Mutual Pining, Unilock, Summer Romance/Love, Fluff, Insecure Sherlock, Villain Mary, First Kiss, Slow Burn, Doctor Who, Supernatural, Canadian John, French Canadian Lestrade, Insecure Sherlock, Mystery, Domestic Fluff, Developing Relationship Summer Love, Light Angst, BAMF! John, Case Fic) – Two Canadians, two Brits studying in Canada, and an upkeeper walk into a Mystery Shack…. and live there. Summer holidays are here, and the step-siblings, Irene Adler and Sherlock Holmes, find themselves in a boring town called Reichenbach Falls, Oregon, USA. It isn’t as boring as it seems, however, once Sherlock stumbles upon a mystery journal, and the author is unknown. The journal contains ciphers, a strange colour wheel, and information about magical creatures that are said to be looming in the Northwestern forests. With mysteries to solve in hand, he and Irene set out to get to the roots of the town, and the abrupt disappearance of the author of the journal. But they’re not alone - John Watson, quite the handsome nephew of the Mystery Shack owner Greg Lestrade, is on their side to help out, plus mess with Sherlock’s feelings, in a good way. Shenanigans, romance, fun, danger, and deductions ensue. Oh, and there’s also occasional SuperWhoLock and two dorky Winchester brothers to spark up the action later on. Part 1 of the Reichenbach Falls series

To the Sticking Place by blueink3 (E, 121,973 w., 20 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Musical Theatre AU || Showmance, Friends to Lovers, Bickering, UST / RST, Fluff, Virgin Sherlock, BAMF John, New York City / Broadway) – Renowned Shakespearean actor Sherlock Holmes has finally burned all of his bridges in the theatre industry save for his constant director, Greg Lestrade. John Watson has made a name for himself in the musical theatre circuit, but age and injury are working against him. Can they reinvent themselves for an all-male Macbeth without killing one another? Part 1 of the Screw Your Courage series

Bel Canto by bendingsignpost (T, 127,481 w., 16 Ch. || Phantom of the Opera AU || Secret Identity, Sherlock’s Violin, Operas, Aristocracy, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Disguise, Inheritance, Genderqueer Character, Classical Music, Singing) – After years of waiting for wealthy patrons to faint, Dr John Watson discovers a far more interesting patient in the opera house basement.

Welcome to Silent Hill by Cleo2010 (M, 130,227 w., 37 Ch. || Silent Hill Fusion || POV First Person Sherlock, Unrequited Love, Psychological Horror, Violence / Gore, Monsters, Nudity, Drug Use, Harm to Children, Cults, Distressing Imagery, Torture, Death) – John is missing. When Sherlock receives a text summoning him to Silent Hill he's intent on reclaiming his friend but the town has other ideas. Our detective must battle through a world shaped by his own troubled psyche as he uncovers the town's secrets, attempts to find John and hunt down Jim Moriarty. Part 1 of the Welcome to Silent Hill series

Drift Compatible by J_Baillier (E, 130,380 w., 26 Ch. || Pacific Rim Fusion || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Alternate First Meeting, Angst, Family Drama, Accidental Telepathic Voyeurism, Martial Arts, Sci-Fi, Internalised Homophobia, Rubbish Siblings, Army Doctor John, Medical H/C, Bullying, Neurodiversity, PTSD, Drug Use, Depression, Mourning, Adventure, Hurt/Comfort, UST/URT) – A washed out war hero struggling with his past. A prodigy who wants nothing to do with his family legacy. Both are looking for something—and someone—worth fighting for in a world where human civilisation is constantly under threat.

Out There by DiscordantWords (T, 131,695 w., 10 Ch. || X-Files Fusion || Slow Burn, UST, Case Fic, Government Conspiracy, Aliens, UFOs, Mutants, Mutual Pining, First Kiss, Coma) – FBI Special Agent John Watson, medical doctor and army veteran, is assigned to assist eccentric genius Sherlock Holmes with paranormal investigations on the X-Files project.

Omens On Baker Street Series by WorseOmens (NR, 155,294+ w. across 3 works || Series WiP || Sherlock / Good Omens Crossover || Post S4 Sherlock, BAMF Aziraphale, Soft Crowley, Jealous Crowley, Fluff, Angst, General Idiocy, Misunderstandings, Crimes, Humour, Pining, Crimes, Magical Shenanigans, Unlikely Friendships, ?Slow Burn, True Forms, Ineffable Dads, South Downs) – Sherlock and John are no longer the only crime-solving disaster duo in London. After Sherlock unknowingly wrongs a demon, he finds himself with two mysterious rivals in the detective scene. For Crowley and Aziraphale, it's just a bit of fun, but they end up learning more about human nature than they bargained for.

Skeletons by flawedamythyst (T, 174,262 w. across 3 works || Nightmare Before Christmas Fusion ||  Implied Character Death) – Sherlock's refusal to talk about his past hides far more skeletons than John could ever have guessed at. Halloween-esque AU.

In the Deep, Where Dark Things Sleep by HardlyFair (M, 184,979 w., 26 Ch. || Scorpio Races AU || Graphic Violence, 1960′s, Slow Burn, Past Drug Use, Bed Sharing, Water Horses, Folklore, First Kiss/Time, Horror Elements, Vet!John, Protective John, Magical Realism, Horse Racing, Mutual Pining, Angst with Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort) – The closer time crawls to November, the more water horses the Scorpio Sea spits out. The colder Thisby becomes. Sherlock Holmes is an islander - completely surrounded by the water. John Watson, he knows, comes from the mainland and lives for the Races. On the first of November, Sherlock will race. The man holding steady by his side is someone he never expects. A Scorpio Races AU (Maggie Stiefvater), but no knowledge of the book needed.

Rom-com adaptations... Series by MorganeUK (T, 211,229+ w across 8 works || Series WiP || Assorted Crossovers || Rom-Coms, Friends to Lovers, Fluff, Friendship, Additional Tags Per Story) –  Mostly Johnlock with Mystrade or Lestrolly. If you want a movie to be johnlocked, let me know :-) Each story is completely different from the other!

Enigma by khorazir (M, 289,667 w., 23 Ch. || Codebreaker / WWII / Imitation Game-Inspired AU || Case Fic, Espionage, Period-Typical Homophobia / Sexism, Pining Sherlock, Inexperienced / VirginSherlock, Implied / Referenced Drug Use, Non-Graphic Violence) – It’s the autumn of 1941, war is raging in Europe, German U-boats are raiding Allied convoys in the Atlantic, the Luftwaffe is bombing English cities, and the cryptographers at Bletchley Park are working feverishly to decode their enemies' encrypted communications. One should consider this challenge and distraction enough for capricious codebreaker Sherlock Holmes. But the true enigmas are yet waiting to be deciphered: an unbreakable code, a strange murder, and the arrival of Surgeon Captain John H. Watson of the Royal Navy.

Over/Under Series by khorazir (M, 319,561 w. across 5 works || Cabin Pressure Crossover || Post-S2 / Reichenbach, ReunionFriendship, Angst, Humour, Pining, Cycling, Mountains, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Dev. Rel., Case Fic, First Kiss, Pining, Family Issues, Inexperienced Sherlock) – After his Fall, Sherlock travels the world to destroy what remains of James Moriarty's criminal empire. When things don't go according to plan and he finds himself in desperate need of a discreet means of travel, cue MJN Air ...

[sparkkeyper]

Baby, It’s Cold Outside

Word Count: 3,797

Warnings: None    

Summary: Old habits die hard. Crowley and Aziraphale’s habits are very, very old. Building their own side is difficult when 6000 years of instincts won’t shut up. 

(Originally very loosely-based on the song "Baby, It's Cold Outside" but then it kind of did its own thing, haha. I was originally going to post this for Advent  Omens but uhhh you can see that didn’t quite happen. Written as ace but you can read it however you want, really. Guess what fools, it’s Soft Boi hours again!)

(Now on AO3!)

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The snow had started early in the day. When Aziraphale arrived at the Mayfair flat it was just a dusting. But the flurry had become a proper snowfall, and then quickly decided 'go big or go home' and transitioned into a flat-out storm.

This didn't phase the two immortals in the slightest, of course. If anything, the swirling flakes outside made it feel even cozier inside. Crowley's sleek, minimalist flat had grown a fireplace for the occasion, and a very surprised new chimney on the roof of the building found itself venting smoke that somehow managed to bypass three floors.

They sat together on the plush sofa (obtained at Aziraphale's insistence several months prior, on the grounds that he wasn't going to continue coming over if there was nowhere comfortable to sit, and Crowley couldn't have that) and drank wine and talked and laughed and reveled in the feeling of being cozy and warm on a cold, blustery day.

Time had traveled on in the usual manner since Armageddon failed to happen. The two of them were unwinding slowly. Thousands of years of looking over shoulders did not evaporate in an evening, benevolent Antichrist or no, and 'our side' was a concept they were still carefully exploring. But what a glorious exploration it was.

There was no limit to the amount of time they could spend together. It was a dizzying concept that they were both adjusting to, but one that carried a thrill through it all the same. Crowley had been sorely tempted to buy tickets to every concert, play, and musical revue London had to offer and do nothing but attend shows for the foreseeable future, the two of them together. In public. He very well might have done too, if Aziraphale hadn't talked him down amid giddy chuckles. "We have time," Aziraphale had reminded him, and Crowley was ecstatic to realize that it was true.

He had relented to two a week.

It was elating. They stood closer together, they sat beside each other on public transportation rather than one behind the other, they gave each other teasing nudges with elbows.

And sometimes - when they were both at least a bottle in - one of them might even bump their hand against the other's, and fingers might intertwine, and an electric tingle would flood Crowley like a live thing, and most importantly neither would pull away for at least two solid minutes and oh wasn't that alone worth saving the world for?

Crowley spent a previously-unheard-of amount of time at the bookshop and Aziraphale's face always lit up like the sun whenever he walked in. He arrived early, stayed late, sometimes didn't bother going home at all, often showed up with wine or snacks, and they were together and it was wonderful. He had fallen asleep on the bookshop couch in the past, but these months he got the impression that Aziraphale had zoned the piece of furniture as specifically his. There was a permanent place set aside for him in Aziraphale's home, in Aziraphale's life. It made a warmth pool in his stomach to think about it despite the creeping winter chill.

Aziraphale had begun to visit Crowley's flat in return. The angel had never once set foot in the place until the night after the airfield - Crowley had never given him the address, to be fair - but now that permission had been granted Aziraphale was here increasingly often. It was so like the easy evenings at the bookshop, just with more austere surroundings. Music, alcohol, debates and memories and slightly drunken speculation. The occasional temporary twining of fingers. It was good.

It was overwhelming sometimes, this new 'good'.

Aziraphale always left the flat at the end of the evening, usually around ten. He had no reservations whatsoever about chatting until dawn in the bookshop but the flat was a new environment, Crowley supposed. Possibly something to do with propriety.

Possibly something to do with thousands of years of distance that they were both still figuring out how to cross.

But that was Aziraphale, all right: as slow and steady as a glacier when it came to his set, comfortable ways. So much had changed in the past few months and the angel had had to adapt quickly. Crowley didn't begrudge him taking a few things slow. Old habits were hard to break and their habits were very, very old.

Crowley understood well how shadows could linger even in the bright daylight. It was all well and good to say he was off Hell's payroll. It was another thing entirely when instinct crept up on him screaming that he needed to watch his back, to sit a row behind Aziraphale on the bus, to have forty excuses ready for when Dagon came auditing. It took considerable effort to override those instincts and remind himself that 'together' was okay. It was allowed. And still he'd so far only managed to turn the volume down on them, not silence them completely. He didn't know if he ever would. Crowley didn't doubt Aziraphale had similar instincts of his own. If the angel felt better setting himself a curfew, Crowley certainly wasn't going to judge.

But tonight they were here, and warm, and sheltered from the blizzard. As 'retro' had begun to slide back into style, Crowley had picked up a sleek addition to his stereo system that was at once a record turntable, radio, tape deck, and CD player, with added Bluetooth capability for good measure. Strains of Vivaldi swam through the room from a vinyl, mingling with the crackling of the fire and the clinking of wine glasses. Aziraphale was settled deeply into the sofa, his posture several steps short of perfect which was how Crowley knew he was truly relaxed. Crowley, as per usual, was draped over the couch like he'd never seen one before in his life, as though he had too many limbs and didn't know what to do with them all. It was good.

Life was good.

It was a little after ten when Aziraphale spoke up. "It's getting late." His voice was a bit distant as he looked out the window, snow glinting in the reflected light as it fell. "I suppose I ought to be going."

There was a note of regret to his voice, a lack of conviction in his eyes, that Crowley had learned to read over the long years of the Arrangement. A smile pulled at the corner of the demon's mouth, covered up easily by another sip of wine. It was a very old game they played, treading carefully along the outside edges of things that could not or should not be said aloud. Expectations, angelic ones in particular, built a lot of barriers. Aziraphale wanted something that wasn't allowed him - or wasn't supposed to be allowed him - and couldn't bring himself to reach out and grasp it. It was Crowley's job to find ways for him to justify the forbidden something to himself.

In the subtle language they shared, the angel was asking Crowley to tempt him, and how could Crowley pass up a request like that?

"Awfully cold out there," the demon drawled, gesturing languidly toward the window with his wine glass. "Snowing like nobody's business. Wind and ice and subzero chill. Terrible night to be out in."

"I'm sure it's not so bad."

"Not so bad? It's been raging for hours! Look at it! It's knee-high! You expect me to try and drive my poor car out in that mess?"

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow at the demon. "Ah yes. Imagine if humans invented other forms of transportation aside from your horrid car."

The demon's argument was all bluff and they both knew it. The Bentley could slice through the snowdrifts like a hot knife through butter if Crowley wanted it to. It wasn't the strength of the argument that mattered - it was whether or not Aziraphale could twist it to bypass the metaphorical roadblocks. Crowley rose to the challenge by sprawling back on the sofa with a smirk. "Other forms of transportation? You mean a bus, in weather like that? And good luck finding a cab out there, angel. City's practically shut down."

Aziraphale stood, giving his back a tentative stretch. "I could walk, of course. I've done it loads of times. It doesn't take much more than twenty minutes, not counting the care that has to be taken for ice."

"Walk, he says!" Crowley tossed back the remainder of his wine like a shot glass. "Think of it - the first angel in history to catch pneumonia! Bad job I'm not working for Hell anymore; they'd give me an award!"

"If doing those temptations in Qashliq for you didn't give me pneumonia, I'm quite sure nothing will."

"Are you ever going to let that go? It was over four hundred years ago!"

"It was February in Siberia, no I will not."

"Suppose you did stay a bit longer," Crowley ventured, changing tactics. It was a risk, coming at the problem from such a direct angle when they were both so used to ghosting along edges. "Bookshop wouldn't go anywhere, would it?"

Aziraphale blinked at the abrupt transition. "Well no, I shouldn't think so. It's just...I mean if I don't return home someone might notice of course and well...people will talk."

Crowley leaned forward over his knees, seriously. "Angel. When, in two hundred years in that bookshop, have you ever given a single fuck what your human neighbours think?"

Aziraphale drew himself up with a huff, and Crowley was delighted to see familiar indignation winning out over nerves. "I am an upstanding member of the community, I'll have you know. And it's not just my neighbours, of course - it's yours as well. That little old lady who lives on the floor below, for example. She always gives me that look when I pass her in the lift."

"What look?"

"You know! That look! Like she thinks she knows what's going on between the two of us."

The demon grinned like a Cheshire cat and gave a suggestive wiggle of his shoulders just for the expression it painted across the angel's face. "You're worried that my neighbours are going to think you and I took a tumble in the sheets?"

"They already suspect! Or at least she suspects." Aziraphale was trying so hard to keep a straight face, but mirth glinted behind his eyes. "Do you know what she said to me as she was getting out of the lift the other day? 'Don't forget to use protection; you don't know where he's been!'"

Crowley howled, leaning so far back in his laughter that he fell off the couch.

"I don't know what's more outlandish, the idea that we're in here having a lurid physical affair or the idea that I don't know exactly where you've been."

Crowley wiped his eyes dry and held out a hand so the angel could help pull him up from the floor. "Remind me to miracle her fridge so that all her milk keeps past its date. 'Don't know where he's been' indeed."

Aziraphale fought to get his own smile under control, for the sake of his argument if nothing else. "Yes, but it just goes to show, Crowley, people do notice. And they will talk, I'm sure of it."

"Let them," he waved it off. "I've seen tissue paper with more durability than human gossip. It'll all get forgotten in a day or two." Crowley leaned over and refilled both glasses.

"Right. I suppose it will." The angel took a tentative sip and sat back into the sofa again. "Silly thing to get worked up about, really."

On a regular night that might have been the end of it. They'd had their verbal tennis, they'd had a laugh, and Aziraphale had accepted another drink. But try as he might, the angel couldn't seem to settle. There was a stiffness, a tension to his spine that would not unwind. He fidgeted with the stemware, shooting furtive glances at the window, the fireplace, the clock. 

The ceiling.

The final notes of Vivaldi faded out, leaving the room in silence, and Crowley rose to swap the record. The discomfort radiating off the angel was almost palpable and it made his own spine crawl. "Aziraphale--"

"Only, the wind really looks dreadful," Aziraphale blurted out, jolting to his feet and crossing to the window. "I really ought to go before it gets worse."

"Can't get much worse than it is, I think," Crowley countered carefully. "Best stay where it's warm."

"I don't..." Aziraphale stared out at the London skyline, nearly invisible in the storm. Pale fingers worried absently at the hem of his waistcoat. His mouth was down to a thin line and there was quite a lot behind his eyes. He looked pained. "I shouldn't impose."

"You're not imposing if I'm offering."

"It isn't...it isn't right for me to stay!"

The demon set down the vinyl he was holding, something dangerous layering his words. "Says who?"

"I've been ignoring protocol too much as it is--"

Crowley gritted his teeth, a growl rising in his throat. "There is no protocol on our side!"

"I know!" Aziraphale snapped. There was a beat of silence and the anger in the angel's face melted as suddenly as it had come, leaving his expression frustrated and upset. He scrubbed a hand across his eyes, almost apologetically. "I...I really can't...surely you understand why I can't just..." He ran a hand through his hair helplessly, eyes darting to the ceiling.

The demon set his glass down and moved over to the window.

It was a very old game they played. Crowley was good at his job and Aziraphale was good at the mental gymnastics required to fit through some of the more dubious loopholes. But every now and then they still lost.

He positioned himself in front of the principality, forcing Aziraphale to look at him.

"Angel," he said quietly, as though someone might overhear. "If you want to head home, I'll take you. You know I will. I'd just rather it be because you want to rather than because they would want you to."

Aziraphale looked truly miserable. "Crowley, you've been a marvelous host, you really have, but...I'm so sorry, I..."

Crowley stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. For just a moment the demon's face was soft, genuine. A bit sad but still impossibly fond. "Don't be." He gave the shoulder a gentle squeeze. "It's late. Get your coat, angel, it's cold out there." He doused the fireplace with a wave and stretched his back out. "Give me a moment to sober up and I'll start the car."

Aziraphale sighed, clearly frustrated at a great many things, but headed for the coat rack while the demon forced the alcohol from his system. "It ought to be fine," he muttered as the wine bottles in the corner finished refilling. "It ought to be fine. I can't explain it, I..."

"It's like someone's standing too close inside your personal space," Crowley finished for him quietly, pulling a coat of his own from the ether. "Like you're driving on the motorway and you end up in the blind spot of a lorry. There's no great outward change but all of a sudden the hairs are up on the back of your neck and your skin is crawling. And you just have this overwhelming sense of this is not a good place to be, get out."

"Yes," Aziraphale murmured unsteadily. "Yes, that's it exactly." His eyes found Crowley's, apologetic, searching.

"It is what it is, angel," he assured him softly. "We have time."

A weight seemed to lift from Aziraphale's shoulders. "I...thank you. Truly." There were things unspoken that Crowley could hear beneath that simple phrase. Thank you for understanding. Thank you for being patient with me.

Don't say that, hesitated on the tip of Crowley's tongue. Instinct was, of course, very old and very strong. He swallowed down the words and searched for new ones to replace them.

"You're welcome," he said quietly. The syllables tasted foreign in his mouth.

There was silence in the flat as he buttoned up his coat. Despite the passing months they truly had only moved the barest steps away from where they had been.

They had so very far to go yet.

But it was true. They had time.

"Right." He tried to break the mood as casually as he could, slipping dark glasses on and turning his voice into something light and easy. "Shall we be off then? After you, angel."

The lift ride down was silent, subdued. Something complicated was warring behind the blue eyes and Crowley wasn't going to even begin to touch on it until they were in the car. Aziraphale's steps faltered as he reached the glass doors of the lobby, and Crowley was halfway down the outside stairs before he realized he wasn't following.

"Oi, you coming?"

Aziraphale stared down at the space beyond the door with a peculiar expression: uncertainty and determination and anger and hurt. "I - I don't..." There was a moment of indecision, of frantic debate on his face, then he backed quickly over to the lobby bench and sat down hard.

Crowley pulled his coat tighter about himself as the wind bit through his clothes and ducked back into the building.

Aziraphale held very still, eyes closed and fingers gripping the edge of the bench.

"Angel?"

"Give me a moment. Please."

Crowley paced a cautious half-circle around him, instinctively scanning the principality for damage and the storm beyond the glass wall for threats. Another old habit - nearly useless now but one he wasn't going to be able to drop any time soon. He sat down beside the angel and the lobby was quiet for a very, very long time.

"I think," murmured Aziraphale at last, "if it's all right with you, I'd like to stay."

Crowley studied him closely. "Are you sure?"

"No." Aziraphale met his gaze. "I haven't been sure of much of anything, recently. Not since Tadfield. But I do not want to be forced back to the bookshop tonight."

"Shouldn't force yourself to stay if you're only going to be miserable."

"It's not so bad down here, that's the silly thing. But for some reason the idea of going back upstairs is just..." He laughed wryly. "What a mess I've made of the evening."

"It was a fine evening," Crowley told him earnestly.

"I thought so too, at least until the end there." He straightened, and looked a bit more like himself to Crowley's eyes. "And it's my most sincere hope that, with some more wine and another record, it might be again. Give me a few minutes. I think I can work up to it."

The demon took his glasses off and studied him closely. The determination in those eyes, the set of that jaw, were so familiar they hurt. There was a nervousness there, but there was a stubbornness as well. Like the glacier: slow, steady, but deep down so, so strong.

Crowley reached behind himself and retrieved a pair of full wine glasses that suddenly and thoughtfully decided to exist. "You know, I reckon..." he said quietly, handing one to Aziraphale, "that these will taste just as good right here as they would upstairs."

Aziraphale blinked. Glanced from his glass to the demon to the lift and back again. And his expression softened considerably.

"And if music and wine is what it takes to hang onto your company for a little longer, I s'pose that's the sacrifice I'll have to make, won't I?" He sat his phone down beside him and with a few taps Mozart began to play from its speakers.

Aziraphale stared deep into his wine glass, a smile spreading across his face that he didn't seem quite ready to share with the world yet. "A little unorthodox, isn't it?"

"And?" Crowley shrugged. "Last I checked, there's no protocol on our side."

"So there isn't. Do you know, I think I like that about it."

The demon lowered his voice. "Say the word any time, you know. We'll go, no questions asked."

"I know." Aziraphale let out a long breath and settled back onto cushions that were suddenly far more plush than anything the lobby bench had seen before. "But at the moment I'd rather be here."

The storm howled beyond the glass wall but the central heating vent behind them kept any stray chills at bay. They sat in gentle silence for a long time.

Piano Sonata No. 14 wound through the room, mingling with the warmth and the wine to kindle a sense of calm: a concoction of human magic that miracles, for all their power, could never replicate. Clever things, those humans.

Crowley traced a finger around the rim of his glass. "Can I ask what changed your mind?" he asked softly.

Aziraphale gazed off into the distance for a moment before looking back to his companion. "It was the 'you're welcome', funnily enough. You've always objected so vehemently to being thanked before."

"Yeah, well..." Crowley took another sip of his drink so as not to meet Aziraphale's eyes. "Like being in the blind spot of a lorry."

Aziraphale nodded. "It's..." He trailed off. Took a swig of wine and swallowed it down hard, as though for courage. "It's a comfort," he admitted so quietly that Crowley had to strain to hear him. "To know that it's not just me."

Crowley pursed his lips. "Not by a long shot, no" he confessed, equally quiet.

"I know accepting gratitude doesn't come easy to you. But you managed, tonight."

"It isn't a footrace, angel. I'm not asking you to keep pace with me."

"I know that. And I'm grateful. It's just... seeing you be brave makes me feel like...like I can be as well."

That smile was tugging at the edge of Crowley's mouth again. He reached out and clinked the edge of his glass with Aziraphale's. "Course you can be. Always have been."

The angel smiled back at him, warm and glowing and grateful, just the faintest hint of pink darkening his cheeks. With a daring Crowley had only seen behind the safety of closed doors and wine bottles, he placed a hand on the bench between them, palm up. 

Crowley took it.

Meeting him in the middle, as always.

"Careful, angel," the demon murmured in his ear. "Remember, you don't know where I've been."

Aziraphale gave an undignified snort into his wine glass and their laughter echoed throughout the lobby.

The storm raged cold outside, but here, in their own little in-between place, they were warm.

[mintly]

Days 1, 2, 3. Ghosts, Bones, Graveyard

I’m playing very fast and loose with these prompts, forgive me.

***

The end of the world came and went. The Earth and its billions of humans stumbled onward, as they always had, in their endless, miraculous circles about the Sun. The seasons changed too, as they always had—that first final August morphing to September and then shivering into October, the leaves littering golden across London’s greenspaces. It was a familiar scene, and a welcome one. Autumn arrived in the same way it had for the past six thousand odd years. The routine was reassuring.

But that wasn’t to say that evil, for lack of a better word, wasn’t lurking in dark corners, in graveyards, in the scrolling stock market marquee. It wasn’t to say there was no improbable, horrifying event on the horizon, just as potentially catastrophic as the averted apocalypse or even more so, in certain schools of thought.

Familiarity was dangerous. The passage of time had a way of dulling memory, of easing fears, even in those immortal beings who might otherwise notice tiny, incremental changes in the fabric of reality. Particularly if there were other pressing matters to attend to.

***

“Red or white?” 

“Oh, more of this, I should think,” Aziraphale said. He watched the dregs of their previous bottle drop into his glass. The wine rippled, creating perfect waves in a blood red sea.

Aziraphale heard a crash in the other room, followed by a quick string of curses. After a moment Crowley emerged from the backroom, victorious with bottle in hand, though dustier than when he left.

“That table fell over all on its own, honest.” Crowley held up his hands.

“I’m sure.”

Aziraphale snatched the bottle and began the arduous process of drunkenly wiggling the cork free.

“It’s true! That Macbeth was just waiting to throw itself to the floor.”

“Suitably dramatic.”

“‘S what I thought.”

The pair of them met up for dinner once or twice a week, usually resolving in an evening of drinking and increasingly nonsensical conversation. So, not much had changed. Aziraphale wasn’t terribly fussed. He’d always been doing what he wanted to, more or less, except now he didn’t have quarterly celestial reviews. 

Ah, right. Aziraphale gave up on the corkscrew and miracled the cork away to either the void between atoms or somewhere in rural Mongolia. One couldn’t be certain.

Without fear of reprimand or need for exaggerated self-justification, it almost took the excitement out of it. Almost.

Aziraphale filled Crowley’s glass and passed it to him on the couch. Their fingers brushed, briefly, and the ghost of sensation sparkled there, for just a moment. He sat back into his chair and tipped wine into his own glass.

He turned away as Crowley settled into one of his signature sprawls on the couch. Something about the way his shirt would ride up over his belt always did something funny to Aziraphale’s heartbeat. He used to fear he had some sort of an arrhythmia. Although, admittedly, it seemed unlikely in his Heaven-granted corporation. He stopped reading medical texts after that.

Aziraphale squinted at the bookshop windows. The first hint of morning light was wading its way through two hundred years of caked grime and dirt.

“We should go to the park.”

“What, now? I don’t know about you, but I can barely get two feet under me at the moment.”

“Sober up a touch then. I doubt there will be many humans there so early, but you know the pond’s lovely this time of day and some fresh air would do both of us good.”

“Espousing public drunkenness, angel? If only Heaven could see you now.”

“They wouldn’t dare say anything about it after our little stunt. Oh, indulge me, you old snake.”

Crowley groaned before curling upright into a sitting position in a manner that suggested a few too many vertebrae. He’d never quite figured out human bones.

“Fine, fine. Have it your way,” Crowley said.

Crowley tried to sound put-upon, but Aziraphale found it came out rather fond instead. The edges of his exposed yellow eyes crinkled with amusement, and Aziraphale, pleased, smiled back, as if it were the easiest thing in the world. And, for now at least, it was that simple.

Next

[junkolt]

Small crossover 1k drabble, established friendship, just feeling out some Good Omens x Supernatural thoughts, commonalities, and internal monologues. 

Crowley knows a thing or two about waiting. He knows about surviving the years one talisman at a time to hold back the doubt threatening to envelop him. An oyster to his lips in a Roman popina. Breath in his hair under a painting in Florence. Fingers against his on a leather strap in a destroyed church. Aziraphale’s long stares, careful invitations, keeping Crowley at exactly the same arm’s length away for millennia. Each talisman carried Crowley’s feet another hundred years beside Aziraphale without asking for anything else, not while it would mean the destruction of them both. Aziraphale’s friendship was enough. Aziraphale’s bright craving gaze had to be enough.

Castiel talks to Crowley about waiting, and tokens. A mixtape held out to him, an intimate piece of the man he loves, with that man’s yelling still ringing in his ears. A thigh pressed tightly against his on the plenty-big couch as they watch Tombstone. Cradling arms and a hand on his cheek after another grace-induced seizure. He bleeds from the sharper edges of his tokens, but clutches them tightly through every spat. Dean yells when Castiel leaves and yells when he stays, until he calms down and his hand never leaves Castiel’s overcoat, like a handrail on a spinning world. Every grasp carries Castiel another year. Dean’s brotherhood and devotion was enough. Dean’s dilated eyes and parted lips had to be enough.

Castiel remembers devastatingly handsome and I need you and now that I’m alone with you I’m happy and a delicate and wounded hey before a snarled never do that again.

Crowley grimaces and understands. He remembers they would destroy you and let me tempt you and you go too fast for me, which is anything but no.

* * * 

Aziraphale knows a thing or two about taking too long. He knows about the years spent thinking he bore that affection alone, and it had been hard not to lean in then. Then Crowley leaned too close, grasped too tight, yellow eyes glittering, and Aziraphale understood, and it became harder. There are a thousand reasons to say no, and he’s the only one willing to vocalize them and keep destruction at bay. He’s been saddled with pulling back, looking away, putting up walls, and hearing the breath hiss between Crowley’s teeth like Aziraphale has dealt him a physical blow. He stares down into his wine glass, damning them both, gripping the stem until his hand shakes. Crowley lounges with his legs spread and his fingers steepled, sinning and sinful and staring at him like he wants to see Aziraphale sweat. Aziraphale meets his gaze; he may as well give Crowley at least that. 

Dean talks to Aziraphale about taking too long and running out of time. How many times has he watched Casl blink out of existence, each time taking a bit of Dean with him? He curses the day he finally found Cas in Purgatory, after a humiliating year of praying to him night after night, each prayer more dizzyingly pathetic than the last until Dean was sure Cas knew where his stupid fucking heart lay. It was hard enough not doing anything about whatever the fuck they were, and then he saw Cas and the burning I hear you, I see you, me too in the sheen of Cas’s eyes. God fuck, pulling his hands away after that felt like flying — Dean was sick, shaky, helpless in the hands of someone else — until Cas’ shoulder was under his palm again. And Cas watches him with warmth and patience that was more deserving by a demon like Meg than by Dean.

Dean remembers I always come when you call and knowing you has been the best part of my life and I love you just before an aching and permanent silence.

Aziraphale remembers our own side and we could be godfathers and anywhere you want to go.

* * * 

They all know about fear.

God sits on Castiel’s shoulder and John Winchester sits on Dean’s. After a long hunt, Dean is tired enough to let Sam drive and he sits in the backseat with Cas. It would be all too easy to let himself go, to lean his head on Cas’ shoulder and sleep on the way to the motel, but he knew if he gave himself an inch his body would take a mile. Cas probably thinks he’s being surreptitious, arranging himself with shoulder against the car door and an arm thrown across the backrest to be more comfortable to lay on. Always the helping hand, that bastard. Dean looks away to save them both, and Castiel feels the cold ghosts of their fathers in the space between them.

Crowley can feel Heaven and Hell pressed between Aziraphale and him. Aziraphale makes sure they always have the pretense of a job between them, some blessing or tempting to be doing, some news on the ineffable plan. It’s every other sentence out of Aziraphale’s damned mouth: I am an angel and you are a demon outside the bookshop, I am an angel and you are a demon under a bandstand. Crowley wants to snap at him, like Crowley will sodding forget? But he eventually sees the words as the prayer bead chanting they are, as if that will save them. Crowley pictures standing on trial in Hell, Aziraphale on his own trial in Heaven; But at least I didn’t kiss him, Your Honor, so you see, perhaps a slap on the wrist then? Preposterous.

Best not push things too hard.

Look, there’s a lot going on right now and maybe it’s not the best time.

Maybe after the world doesn’t end. If it doesn’t end. Maybe.

[sushiandstarlight]

“Family”: NaNoWriMo 30 Days of Prompts

Yesterday’s Prompt

Read this story on AO3

Personal note: I had a bit of an epiphany this morning.  The kind that’s painful, but illuminating.  I’ve kept a few people on the outskirts of my life even though they’re people that did me a lot of damage when I was younger.  And folks have asked me why I keep them around.  I’ve asked me why I keep them around.  Because as long as they are there, I fear being judged.  I fear being attacked and hurt again.  It occurred to me this morning... I keep them there hoping they realize what they’ve done.  I want them to realize and I want them to apologize.  So, I sat down and I wrote this.

Moonlight greeted Crowley when his eyes opened. Unusual, that. It had taken him time to adjust to a quieter life. Not just the silence of the countryside, although that had been strange after so long in the city. It reminded him of older times. Simpler, maybe, but not always better... no matter how the short memories of humans chose to see them. No, it took time to let go of the anxiety that, at any time, one one of his lot could show up and drag him back. Back to that life in the dank and stink. A life of assignments about which he felt ambivalent. Criticism of his work, at best. The stoic silence of non-comprehension, usually. Fear of destruction at worst.

He stretched and rolled onto his back. But, he was- relaxing. He could feel it in the lack of tension in his shoulders. How he slept in a bed instead of on the ceiling. How his sleeps were now naps- hours instead of days or years or decades. There was nothing to avoid with unconsciousness now. He still scanned the area while he was out gardening, but he was doing it half the time he was in the beginning. Progress, he was making progress.

It wasn't all self-work, though. A lot of it had to do with the angel tucked into the covers beside him. 

At first, he had insisted on not sleeping. And, maybe, that had been a blessing in the beginning. Crowley could truly rest knowing the angel was watching over him. But, the weariness had caught up with Aziraphale eventually. Crowley would catch him napping in the warm sunlight of the sitting room, book dropped out of sleep-numbed fingers. Sometimes, if he woke in the night, he would catch Aziraphale having drifted during his Watch. They hadn't talked about it. When Aziraphale started sleeping through the night with him, he didn't mention it. Just curled closer to him, joyful for the evidence of trust: I can lay myself beside you at my most vulnerable and not fear.

He shifted carefully onto his side, bent on catching the angel in one of his rare, unguarded moments. Yes, they were becoming more frequent, but they were still something of a gift for Crowley, after so many years of not sharing this much space and time with him.

The sight that greeted him wasn't one of his best friend at peace, but strained. His face was dawn and lined with stress and fear. And, now that he was paying attention, Crowley could feel him trembling, ever so slightly, beside him. His fists were clenched over the covers. He was talking to someone in his sleep- quick clipped responses that, obviously, weren't moving in the conversation in the direction he hoped because the shadows deepened in his face. Crowley couldn't hear make out what he was muttering. He slid a hand across Aziraphale's middle and gave him a little shake.

The angel's response was swift and shocking in the silence of their room, shrinking back away from the touch and sitting up suddenly, back pressed against the headboard. His eyes darted around the room, taking it all in and wading through confusion before understanding. But, his body wouldn't listen, holding itself tight, his breaths coming in quick pants.

“Hey, hey Angel!” Crowley was sitting up now, too, the sheets falling away from his torso, “Angel, you're okay. You're alright. Hey, look at me, eh? Breathe with me. You're going to hyperventilate.”

Aziraphale eyed him wildly, still shrunk back against the headboard, but met his eyes. He nodded, breathing with Crowley. Crowley deepened his breaths as the seconds ticked by and watched as Aziraphale followed his lead. His shoulders didn't relax at all, but his breathing steadied. Eventually he sagged back, looking away to collect himself. Crowley gave him space, scooting up to sit next to him, but being careful not to touch.

“They found me. Right before the end.”

“Who did?”

“The other angels: Michael, Uriel, Sandalphon. They found me right before the trumpets sounded.”

“They try to drag you back?”

“Well...” Aziraphale was still staring off into space, his face pinched.

“Did they hurt you?”

“They roughed me up a little,” Aziraphale's hand snaked around his own middle, even though the pain of the punch was long gone something about it still hurt, “nothing too bad.”

“How was that supposed to bring you back into the fold?”

“They weren't,” Aziraphale swallowed and when he glanced back at Crowley his eyes were glittering damply, “That is, they didn't seem terribly interested in having me back.”

Crowley narrowed his eyes at him in the darkness, but reached for his accumulated store of calm. A drop a day, it had been filled since settling here. But, he didn't want to test it's depths. Not when it came to Aziraphale's safety and happiness. There wasn't enough bucket.

“I thought I could reason with them. I thought I could convince them... That there was another way, another side. That Good and Bad were human choices, but that we also had our own choices we could make.”

Crowley nodded, letting him speak.

“That maybe we could mend fences, so to speak.”

“Aziraphale,” Crowley drug his voice back from dripping with the pity he felt, but only just. That's not what he needed right now.

“I know. It was stupid.” Aziraphale was examining the bedsheets now, twisting the ones over his belly in his fist.

“It wasn't stupid. It was hope. Angels are supposed to be hopeful.”

“They're also supposed to love!” The statement rang out in the room, practically yelled in frustration. Crowley contained his startled gasp but knew his eyes were comically wide. Aziraphale was a lot of things, but loud was not one of them. And he was shaking again, “I thought... I thought. Well, it doesn't matter does it?”

“Your thoughts always matter to me, Aziraphale,” and if Crowley's voice broke over the word 'always', it didn't need to be mentioned.

“I think I wanted them to say they were sorry.”

“For ending the world?” Yeah, he sounded incredulous.

“For how they treated me,” it was said so softly, the words seemed to have no integrity, especially after his outburst.

“I don't understand, Angel,” Crowley reached out, making eye contact, and when he received a nod of consent, placed his hand over the Angel's knee over the blankets and squeezed, “but I want to.”

“See, that's it precisely! Crowley, you always listen to me. Even when it's about silly books or the new sushi restaurant or the terrible play we both just saw. You,” his throat worked, “you make me feel valued, of import.”

“Because you are,” Crowley cocked his head to the side, “you've always been important to me.”

“But I never was to them, Crowley.”

A beat of silence passed, each digesting that statement. Crowley couldn't argue it. He had been in Heaven in Aziraphale's corporation. If how they treated him then was how they had always treated him. It took everything to remember that he was touching the Angel so he didn't clench his fist.

“I think I tried so hard to reach them... Because I wanted them to see me that way. I wanted them to see what I could bring to the situation, what I had always had. What I've grown to have. With, with no small amount of help from you, dear,” he waved Crowley's protestations away, “I know you haven't made me who I am, darling, but you've helped me see who I am and that is priceless.”

Crowley smiled at him and scooted a little closer, their thighs brushing under the covers.

“I think I hoped they would see and they would apologize,” he winced, “please don't laugh.”

“It's not funny, Aziraphale, I understand now.”

“I wanted them to realize how they treated me was wrong. That I had a part of all of this. That I always had. I wanted them to say they were sorry, to me, personally.”

“You would have forgiven them.” Crowley thought, to himself, that that already made Aziraphale a much better angel than all of them combined, but he didn't voice that thought.

“Well, I don't know. Probably. I don't think I could have forgotten what they did. How they made me feel.”

“You wanted it for yourself.”

Aziraphale shifted uncomfortably.

“It's okay to want things like that, for yourself. Hell, I still talk to God sometimes. I still ask my questions. I still want answers, Aziraphale. I mean, at this point it almost doesn't matter. We have our side: our reward and our peace. But, it still burns that she cast me out. I still want to understand it. Doesn't mean I want to go back. Doesn't mean I want to be an angel again, white wings and halos and sharp, drab suits.”

“I'm sorry, Crowley, for both of us. They never did deserve us, did they?”

“Nah, and they never really had us.”

“True,” Aziraphale tilted his head to rest on Crowley's shoulder and Crowley ghosted a kiss over the top of his head. Family. They were family, the two of them.

“This world, though. It's full of possibilities and weirdness. We fit in here.” But, maybe they weren't completely alone.

Aziraphale hummed softly, drifting again. Crowley slid back down into the covers, pulling the angel with him.

“I fit here,” Aziraphale murmured into his neck as Crowley held him close, relaxing into sleep. Crowley would watch him, this time, for any more stressful dreams.

Previous Prompt Ficlets:

Hearth / Frosty / Ribbons / Wrapping / Cardinal / Coal / Unwrap / Blustery

[puffinsional]

hey! so in honor of good omens’ 30th anniversary and the drama’s 1st anniversary, here’s something i’ve been working on and off for about a year now...

presenting our side, a good omens story playlist!

i was inspired after coming across so many fantastic songs that work for aziraphale and crowley (many from listening to other peoples’ playlists, actually) and i thought it would be interesting to recount their entire journey through those songs. my goal was to make it feel like you were listening to the story just by listening to the playlist.

you can listen to the playlist on spotify or youtube! track list, lyric links, and story markers are under the cut.

special thanks to @rcmclachlan, @askazicro, and other good omens playlist makers for helping me discover many of these songs. i’m also including their playlists/tags under the cut if you wanna check out even more songs! also thank you to thomas ginnona for some classic rock consultation.

extra special thanks to my fantastic friend @humananalytica for helping me this entire time i’ve been working on this, sending me songs to listen to, helping bounce off ideas and give a second opinion every time i pester her, beta-ing, and for just in general being someone i can share my love of good omens with.

i’ve worked really hard on it so i’d be delighted if y’all can give it a listen! thank you very much!! m(_ _)m

TRACK LIST:

OVERTURE: A Tale of an Angel and a Demon

“Come With Me” - Chxrlotte

“A Rainy Night in Soho” - The Pogues

“I'll See Your Heart and I'll Raise You Mine” - BellX1

ACT I: The History of the World, Before the Armageddon

It Starts With a Garden

“From Eden” - Hozier 

"I'm With You" - Vance Joy

“An Act of Kindness” - Bastille

Hereditary Enemies

“Iris” - Goo Goo Dolls

"Losing Battles" - Josh Ritter

Policy Decisions

"The Garden" - The Crane Wives

“A Thousand Years” - Sting

"The Only Way (Hymn)" - Emerson, Lake, & Palmer

"Antichrist" - The 1975

Invitations

"Valentine" - Hope Tala

"Sit Next to Me" - Foster the People

"Try to Be" - Bonny Doon

The Arrangement

"Running Up That Hill (A Deal With God)" - Kate Bush

"Heads/tails" - Hotspur

"Walk Across the Water" - The Black Keys

Fraternizing

"How Does a Duck Know?" - Crash Test Dummies

"Monster" - Pomplamoose & dodie

“Chasing Twisters” - Delta Rae

Sorry, Consecrated Ground

“Do I Wanna Know?” - Arctic Monkeys

"What Kind of Man" - Florence + The Machine

A Bag of Prophecy Books

"The Thief" - Brooke Fraser

“Who Is In Your Heart Now?” - Studio Killers

“I Can't Behave” - Caravan of Thieves

“Devil's Backbone” - The Civil Wars

A Thermos Full of Holy Water

"Pick U Up" - Foster the People

“Holy Water” - Tommy Newport

“Waiting for the Miracle” - Leonard Cohen

Slowing Down

“How Long” - Matchbox Twenty

Delivering the Antichrist

"So Desperate" - The Mountain Goats

"The Things We Do For Love" - 10cc

“Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy” - Queen

Purely Social

“Drink!” - They Might Be Giants

"Heroes" - David Bowie

The Gardener and the Nanny

"Keep Her Closer" - Swimming Tapes

"Snakes and Lovers" - Spandau Ballet

"Five Years" - David Bowie

Harry the Rabbit

“Just Like Heaven” - The Cure

"1999" - Prince

"Someone's Missing" - MGMT

The Naming

"Apocalypse Please" - Muse

"London Calling" - The Clash

INTERLUDE: Crowley Yells at Some Plants

“Music to Soothe the Savage Snake Plant” - Mort Garson

ACT II: The World Has Started to End

To a Little Village in Oxfordshire

“Absolutely No Decorum” - The Ark

“Ride” - Clans

Tip-Top Shape

“Damn Your Eyes” - Etta James

Four Letter Words

"I Am Not a Robot" - Marina and the Diamonds

"When You Die" - MGMT

Velocipede

"Pedal Your Blues Away" - R. Crumb and the Cheap Suit Serenaders

Foolish Principalitie

"Put Down the Duckie" - Sesame Street

"Baby Blue Eyes" - Peter the Human Boy

"666 Conducer" - Black Rebel Motorcycle Club

The Third Alternative Rendezvous

"Just Between You and Me" - Lou Gramm

“End Love” - OK Go

"Allies or Enemies" - The Crane Wives

“Stomach It” - Crywolf

“December” - Collective Soul

It's Over

"Leaves" - Gregory and the Hawk

“Silence & Sirens” - The Narrative

"Drowning Shadows" - Sam Smith

A Plea (If She's Listening)

“Bad Blood” - Sleeping At Last

The Lords of Hell

"Warrant" - Foster the People

“What If the Storm Ends? (The Lightning Strike, Part I)” - Snow Patrol

Alpha Centauri

“Something Happened on the Way to Heaven” - Phil Collins

“Origin of Love” - Mika

"Eternally Missed" - Muse

“Flowers for a Ghost” - Thriving Ivory

God's Spokesperson

“The Truth” - Foster the People

"All These Things I've Done" - The Killers

How to Navigate

“Gravity” - The fin.

"Dear Wormwood" - The Oh Hellos

“Hold the Line” - Toto

No Longer Keeping Score

“Hurts Like Hell” - Fleurie

"Can't Smile Without You" - Sleeping At Last (cover of Carpenters)

“Never” - Seira Kagami*

Aziraphale's Plan

“The Sunlight Through the Flags (The Lightning Strike, Part II)” - Snow Patrol*

“Sure as Hell Not Jesus” - Cosmo Jarvis

Crowley Drives Through the Flaming M25

"Get Yourself Together" - The Black Keys

“Burnin' For You” - Blue Oyster Cult

"Dreams and Disasters" - Owl City

Things That R.P. Tyler Would Like to Say (But Can't)

“You're On Fire” - They Might Be Giants

Aziraphale and Crowley Watch the Others Stop the Apocalypse

“Dream Sweet in Sea Major” - Miracle Musical

Adam's Satanic Father

"Hells Bells" - AC/DC

“Get It Together” - Mystery Skulls

Beside You

“The One Moment” - OK Go

“Daybreak (The Lightning Strike, Part III)” – Snow Patrol*

Agnes Nutter's Last Prophecy

"Butterflies and Hurricanes" - Muse

If You'd Like

"Breakfast Square" - Hana Vu

"Landscapes" - Gregory and the Hawk

The Swap

“Heaven or Hell” - Digital Daggers

Holy Water and Hellfire

"Crossfire" - Brandon Flowers

“Sinners” - Lauren Aquilina

Temptation Accomplished

“In Our Bedroom After the War” - Stars

"Heaven Is a Place on Earth" - Belinda Carlisle

CONCLUSION: The Very First Day of the Rest of Their Lives

“First Day of My Life” - Bright Eyes (covered by Jesse Daniel Smith)

“Nobody” - Hozier

"Our House" - Crosby, Stills, Nash, & Young

“A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square” - Vera Lynn

* indicates a song that’s only included in the YouTube playlist

Sources: rc’s music tag/playlist, askazicro music tag/community playlist, michael sheen’s hardcore gomens playlist, other referenced playlists (x x x). also my local cvs. yes really

[moveslikebucky]

IT’S FINALLY FINISHED Y’ALL

After leaving it sitting for almost six months, coming back and extensively rewriting the first two chapters, and making myself a posting schedule that threatened to bite me in the ass the whole time, the Raiders of the Lost Ark/Good Omens Fusion is FINALLY FINISHED!

In this chapter:  Hijinks at sea!  Subterfuge in a secret base!  Holy relics more powerful than human understanding!  Aziraphale finds a grenade!  And happy endings are the name of the game <3

I’m here with my usual nonsense but I'm thanking much more people this time, @narumikaiko for the wonderful beta work, @yamisnuffles for the art that led to this existing, @luritto for the britpicking, and @cassieoh for the absolutely stunning art in this last chapter (which I am still crying about).  There are so many of y’all I wanna ping in this for cheering me on, y’all know who you are, and you know that I love y’all so very very much.

And so, an excerpt, with a link to the fic at the bottom:

---

The Bantu Wind, the next morning

It’s not the sunlight through the porthole that wakes him up.  Not the gentle rocking of the boat on the waves.  Not Crowley coiled around him like the snake he is, nuzzling into his neck and mumbling in his sleep.18

It’s a lack of sound, actually.  The engines that had hummed on throughout the journey have stopped completely in the morning light, which is very unusual.  

With more than a little difficulty (partly from how clingy Crowley is, partly from just not wanting to leave) he extracts himself from the demon’s embrace.  Crowley sleepily reaches for him, not yet cognizant of the world around them.  His hand lands on Aziraphale’s pillow from the night before, and he pulls it to his chest and buries his face in it.  It’s endearing as anything and makes Aziraphale want to climb back into the bed and wrap Crowley up in his arms, maybe stay that way for a few weeks.

It can’t last though, this thing they’ve started.  No, once this is over and they’re back in London they’ll have to go their separate ways.  This would be considered treason by either side, and the punishment for that would be a world without the other.  Death for them both, most likely.  No, best to move on from it.  

Aziraphale pulls his clothes back on and watches Crowley sleep for just a moment.  Watches the sunlight streak across his pale skin, watches the rise and fall of his breathing as he nuzzles closer into the pillow.  He commits it to memory, all of it.  No matter how many centuries go by, Aziraphale will never forget how it felt to kiss Crowley and to hold him tight.  To wake up wrapped in his arms.

Angels are not supposed to want.  Angels are not supposed to have this single-minded love for one being above others, unless that being is God Herself.  It’s against everything in his nature to feel the way he does.  But his heart aches with it.  This want to love and to be loved, the way humans do.  The desire to have that with Crowley .

Crowley starts to stir and Aziraphale quickly looks away, busying himself gathering up his odds and ends into his satchel.

“What’s going on?” Crowley mumbles from the bunk.  Aziraphale looks back to him.  He’s blinking slowly, eyes fully yellow in the early morning haze, glowing in the shadow of the sun through the window.  He’s still holding on to the pillow, and he’s staring at Aziraphale so openly and so lovingly that the angel feels his corporation might just give out.

“Engines have stopped,” Aziraphale says, schooling his face and looking away, “I’m going to go speak with Katanga, see what’s going on.”

Crowley perches himself on the edge of the bed and reaches for Aziraphale’s hand.  Despite his better judgment, Aziraphale lets himself be pulled back over and into an embrace.

“What’s this for?” Aziraphale hears his voice waver as he asks.  He’s not ready for this conversation, not quite so soon.

“Just because I can,” Crowley says, breathing in deeply.  

“Crowley, we shouldn’t…” He can feel the sting at the corner of his eyes as he trails off, not wanting to finish the sentence.  Wanting Crowley to insist for once, just this once, on what he knows the demon wants.

“You’re right,” Crowley whispers into his shirt, breath warm against Aziraphale’s skin through the cotton.  That’s not what he’d wanted to hear.  He wanted pushback, wanted Crowley to shout at him, to push him into doing what he should be brave enough to do on his own.

Crowley looks up at him, hurt evident on his face, but he doesn’t push.  Aziraphale runs his hand gently through Crowley’s hair, pushing it back off his face, trailing his fingertips slowly.  Crowley leans into the touch, savoring it.  

“You understand,” Aziraphale pleads in a whisper, “please tell me you understand.”

Crowley locks his eyes with Aziraphale as he turns and kisses the angel’s palm, “yeah, angel.  I do.”  Aziraphale kisses his forehead and then turns to leave.

He makes his way through the ship, finding Katanga on the bridge with a pair of binoculars.

“What’s happened, why have we stopped?”

“Ah, Dr. Fell, see for yourself,” Katanga says, passing him the binoculars, “we have some very important friends.”

“Oh bugger.”

There’s a German U-boat approaching, and quite swiftly at that.  Soldiers and officers standing on deck along with Belloq.  

“I sent my man for you; you and your friend must disappear.” Katanga says, herding him towards the bridge door.  “We have a place in the hold, they won’t look there, go, go!”

Aziraphale rushes back towards he and Crowley’s quarters, ducking through shipping crates, making his way through those narrow corridors.  He slams the door open, but finds the cabin empty.

“Dammit, Crowley,” he mutters under his breath as he takes to the hallway again, weaving through the pirates running around preparing the ship to be boarded.

He rushes between the shipping crates, looking for a place to hide.  Suddenly, someone reaches out and grabs him by the arm, pulling him into a very cramped space between two crates.

“Shhhhh…” Crowley hisses at him, putting a finger to the angel’s lips and keeping a firm hold on his shoulder.  “Little demonic miracle, they shouldn’t see us but they can still hear.”  Aziraphale has a vague rush of memory from the night before, of the soft touches they exchanged.

On either side of the small opening soldiers pass by.  They both stay stock still, not daring to breath.  Crowley lets go as soon as they’re gone, and Aziraphale can still feel the ghost of his hand on his shoulder.

They peer out from around the corner.  Katanga stands in the center of the deck, facing them.  A soldier has a gun pointed to his head, and the rest of the pirates are held back by soldiers pointing guns in their directions.  An officer stands with his back to them, flanked by both Belloq and the man in black.

[Continue Reading on AO3]

[floraobsidian]

Fic / Taglist Masterpost

Fics (by fandom)

Critical Role a trust slowly gained -- oneshot AU in which Bren Aldric Ermendrud, Scourger of the Empire, joins the Mighty Nein under the alias Caleb Widogast to spy on them [read on AO3]

here, at the end -- oneshot, SPOILERS for Campaign 2 epilogue [read on AO3]

Dragon Age Crown of Laurels -- slowburn enemies to friends to lovers, Nathaniel Howe/Aedan Cousland/Morrigan. Begins during Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening and continues into the years of aftermath. [read on AO3] [blog tag]

Spearmaid of Alamarr -- DA:I, Revas Lavellan dies in the Fade. The woman who remembers being Revas Lavellan walks out. [read on AO3] [blog tag]

The Precipice of Change -- affectionately titled Inquisitwors and a collab with thedivinewhitetail. A Vashoth mercenary and a Dalish spy hear rumors of something gone wrong at the Conclave and go to investigate. Then they wake up, marked with strange magic. What are a couple of non-Andrastians to do when everyone is suddenly looking to them to fix things? [read on AO3] [blog tag] [sideblog for the fic]

Doctor Who when she needs me -- oneshot, the Thirteenth Doctor and Jack Harkness and a much-needed moment of comfort. [read on AO3]

in darkness we see starlight -- oneshot, AU, Thirteenth Doctor/River Song. The Doctor regenerates. River is with her. [read on AO3]

Truce in Time -- oneshot, a Christmas gift for one of my housemates, featuring his Rory-as-the-Master and the Thirteenth Doctor. [read on AO3]

An Awful Lot of Running To Do -- on hiatus, a series in which I present the changes to canon if the Doctor had stayed around on Messaline for a few extra hours after the death of his daughter, Jenny. currently sitting at two whole chapters, but the outline extends well into Capaldi’s time and a little bit into Whittaker’s. [read on AO3] [blog tag]

home is where your hearts are -- two-part series, a fiftieth anniversary AU in which Gallifrey rebuilds, the Eleventh Doctor goes searching for home, and the Master is adopted by some refugee children. Featuring: the Moment as the deus ex machina it deserved to be, Romana, the Doctor’s mother, and Susan Foreman, along with a few other cameos. [read on AO3] [blog tag]

Good Omens when this is blown over -- oneshot, episode 6 missing scene. Aziraphale and Crowley and the night after the last day of the world, and some much needed rest. [read on AO3]

Star Wars the found families ‘verse -- on hiatus, series, my heart and soul went into this and then Disney killed my inspiration but by god I’m going to write the rest of it one day. Rey is a Skywalker, raised by the ghost of her grandfather on Jakku. Many things are different. Many things are the same. Queerplatonic Jedistormpilot, stormtrooper rebellions, Force ghosts in abundance, Mara Jade, and much much more. [read on AO3] [blog tag]

Welcome to Night Vale chill radio host times -- on hiatus, a series AU set sometime after the events of Triptych, featuring Kevin in Night Vale, angels, and the act of finding one’s self again. [read on AO3]

Misc Tags

flora rambles (for nonspecific writing posts), flora writes (maintag for writing excerpts and fic updates)

[ineffably-good]

Prompt: Old Fashioned

Today’s thirtieth anniversary Good Omens Celebration Theme is Old Fashioned. And here’s my contribution!

Read the whole set on AO3...

-- 

Aziraphale didn’t get many chances to feel like the modern one in his relationship with the demon known as Crowley. No matter how he tried to stay on top of things, it always felt like the demon had gotten there first. If there was a new invention, a new technology, a new food – somehow, the demon found out about it and made a big to-do of introducing it to the angel. He didn’t seem to do it to prove anything; in fact, he seemed to enjoy the process of finding new things for the angel to experience and try. It was… almost sweet.

But just once, just one time, Aziraphale wanted to be the one who was a few steps ahead. Which is why, after he discovered that Crowley had dealt with their argument by going to sleep for a long, long time, he decided to take advantage of this -- his big chance to get out in front of things, so to speak.

He spent the rest of the 19th century, after it became apparent that Crowley wasn’t planning to wake up anytime soon, scanning the papers, attending lectures at the explorers’ clubs and science societies, and dropping in on technical expositions wherever he could. And whenever he learned about something new and interesting that could fit into his bookshop or lifestyle, he became – what was the phrase? An enthusiast. An investor. What would someday be called an early adopter.

He had one intention in mind through all of this. When that miserable demon got up from his fifty year sulk, he was going to walk into the bookshop and feel like a visitor from the stone ages. And he, Aziraphale, guardian of the eastern gate, was going to enjoy that moment very much.

--

He knew, of course, the instant when Crowley woke up. He’d been keeping an eye on him for quite some time now. What he didn’t know was how long it would take the demon to get in touch with him. He could, after all, still be angry about the holy water incident. Or he could be embarrassed about the whole thing, not sure how to proceed.

Aziraphale had thoughtfully taken care of this, however, by having a lovely upright phone installed in Crowley’s home. He’d been certain to get the one with the loudest possible ring, for maximum effect.

Which, after giving the demon an entire three days to make contact with him in some other way, he decided to use.

After going through the necessary steps to place the call, Aziraphale held the receiver of his own phone to his ear and listened to the thunderous ringing taking place on the other end.

A loud rattling noise a few moments later indicated that the receiver had been taken off the hook.

“Hello? Crowley? Hello?” he called.

He heard, instead of a voice returning the greeting, a vague and distant sound of hissing and the clatter of what sounded like a rather expensive telephone hitting the floor.

“Aziraphale?” a voice shouted from far away. “Aziraphale where are you? I hear your voice!”

“In here!” Aziraphale called out. “Pick up the – the small black handle-shaped thing on the floor!”

“Aziraphale!” the demon shouted, sounding frantic. “Have you been discorporated? Oh god, I slept too long! Don’t worry, I’m coming to find you!”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. This was not going as planned. But as long as Crowley showed up at the bookshop in relatively short order, he supposed it was all tickety boo.

 --

The demon came slamming through the front door of the shop not twenty minutes later, looking incredibly spooked.

“Ah, awake are we?” Aziraphale said wryly from his seat at the desk.

“Angel!” Crowley said frantically. “I thought you were discorporated! Your voice… was in my apartment… but very faint… and – and what on earth is going on in here?” He blinked and looked around. “Why is it so bright in here?”

Aziraphale lowered his reading glasses and peered at Crowley over the top of the frames. “I assure you I’m quite well. I wasn’t a ghost, I called you on the telephone. See??”

The angel pointed to a large, black contraption on his desk that looked to Crowley like a combination of a very ugly vase, a few bits of yarn, and some kind of misshapen drinking glass.

It looked, he realized, exactly like the thing that had made the awful noise in his apartment earlier in the day. The thing that he had then smashed to bits on the kitchen floor when it wouldn’t stop shrieking. Right before he heard the angel’s disembodied voice, he realized.

“A – a telephone?” he asked. He shook his head trying to clear it. He always felt a little slow on the uptake after a long nap.

“Yes indeed,” Aziraphale said. “It’s the latest thing! I can pick up this bit here,” he said, demonstrating, “and click this bit a few times, then speak to someone who is in an entirely different place! Nearly everyone is using them!”

“You – you had one of these things installed in my home? While I slept?”

“Well,” Aziraphale said, straightening his waistcoat superciliously. “I know how you like to be kept up to date. And you’ve missed rather a lot.”

Crowley frowned and took a good look around. There were strange fixtures hanging from the ceiling and emerging from sconces on the wall that burned much too brightly and steadily to be gas-lit. It was all a little too intense, to be honest – it made his eyes hurt to look at some of them. Crowley’s eyes had been formed in the times when it was sunlight during the day and firelight at night – they were not meant for this – this incandescent disaster. He winced and dug around in a pocket for his sunglasses.

“Oh, my dear, does the new electric light hurt your eyes? It does take some getting used to; I do hope it doesn’t give you a headache,” Aziraphale said kindly. “But if it does, they’ve invented the most wonderful thing called aspirin! Shall I get you one? It will fix you up as quick as anything!”

Crowley blinked and looked at the angel, who blinked back at him innocently. The demon was not fooled. The angel, blast him, was enjoying something about this whole scenario, and enjoying it immensely.

“What,” he said slowly, “is going on.”

Aziraphale shuffled the papers together that he’d been working on and ostentatiously pulled out another new invention – one he was rather personally fond of, the brilliant little paper clip! – and made sure Crowley was watching as he fastened the pages together into a neat pile. Then he pulled out the newly minted fountain pen to mark something with on the topmost page – he’d made sure to buy at least ten of Waterman’s first 200 pens, as soon as they hit the market in 1885, and always kept one at hand.

Crowley continued to stare at him.

“Nothing is ‘going on’, my dear,” Aziraphale said. “You simply made a decision to sleep through some very important years! The world moved on while you were sulking – I mean sleeping, of course -- and it’s going to take you a while to catch up.”

Crowley gaped at him, starting to get the picture.

The angel capped his pen and smiled warmly at Crowley. “Don’t worry, though,” he said. “I’ll help you.”

“Ah,” Crowley said. “So that’s how this is going to be, is it?”

Aziraphale gave him a look of absolute innocence. “Whatever do you mean?”

“You’re aggravated with me about sleeping for so long so you’re going to rub my face in each and every thing I missed?”

The angel had the gall to look wounded. “Why no,” he said, seemingly sincere, “not at all! I can’t wait to share with you a few of the things they’ve come up with! Why you haven’t seen the gramophone yet – or, or moving pictures! And oh, you’ll love the zipper! So much fun, all that up and down movement! And, of course, there’s all kinds of horrible new weaponry that your side probably had a hand in; I won’t be showing you those. And then there’s the combustion engine. Why some people even say that horses will soon be obsolete, and we’ll all be zipping around town in one of these mechanical carriages!”

Crowley sat down heavily. Perhaps sleeping hadn’t been a great idea.

“Is there still wine?” he said blearily. “Or has that been improved, too?”

Aziraphale hopped up. “Of course there’s wine! How silly of me, I should have offered you refreshment right away. You sit there quietly and let me get that for you.” He bustled off towards the kitchen, then stopped and called back cheerily. “Oh, and I’ll just get you that aspirin too, shall I? You don’t look at all well.”

Aziraphale allowed himself one triumphant grin as he walked towards the back room. Time to select the best vintage from the last fifty years and begin making peace with his old adversary.

[holycatsandrabbits]

“I think I’m falling in love with my best friend.”

Lloyd hadn’t expected that it would be easy to talk about this, but Mr. Fell had a very peaceful, somewhat knowing look on his face, and the story just flowed out. “We’ve been friends a long time, but I think it’s starting to be more for me. And I want to ask him to prom, so I thought I’d write him a note, because, you know, we’re in high school, we write notes like third-graders.” He gestured to his computer, which showed nothing but a blank page.

They were alone in the bookshop now, as it was nearly closing time and already dark outside. But Mr. Fell didn’t seem anxious to chase Lloyd away. Instead he settled into a chair and handed Lloyd a cup of hot cocoa that (as usual) seemed to have materialized from nowhere.

“You know,” said Mr. Fell, “writing a letter to one’s beloved is a time-honored act of love. And Crowley, if you are making fun of me right now I will never write you another letter.”

Behind Mr. Fell, Mr. Crowley stilled whatever sarcastic gesture he’d been making and cleared his throat. “Please continue, Lloyd.”

“But I can’t,” Lloyd said softly. “Jason is handsome and funny and sweet and smart and I—I am a mess. I don’t even know how to talk to him about this, so I thought the note—but I can’t write. Sometimes I think I can’t do anything.” He clutched his empty hands together. “I feel like I’d be so bad for him. He’s such a wonderful person. And he’s been weird the last couple of days, and I don’t know if he even wants to be my friend anymore. What if it’s because he thinks I’ve been acting weird and he knows I like him but he doesn’t want me to? I could ruin our whole friendship. Geez, listen to me, I’m sorry.” He rubbed at his cheek in case the tear in his eye fell onto it.

“Angel,” Mr. Crowley said quietly, “it might be time for one of your parlor tricks.”

Mr. Fell made a face at his husband. “Will you stop calling ethereal miracles parlor tricks?”

Mr. Crowley made a show of considering it. “Ah...no, that’s not likely.”

“Why do I even keep you around?” Mr. Fell asked.

“I believe you’ve said that I’m Temptation Incarnate.”

“Yes, well, that’s a job description, not a personal quality.”

Mr. Crowley’s eyebrows rose above his sunglasses, and there was the ghost of a smile on his mouth. “Really?”

Mr. Fell rolled his eyes, but he also blushed. To Lloyd he said, “I feel I should warn you that the handsome ones are trouble.”

Lloyd laughed a little, and Mr. Fell gave him a gentle smile. “My dear, may I show you what my favorite thing about you is?”

“Uh—sure?”

Mr. Fell pointed to Lloyd’s reflection in the darkened shop windows. The image blurred and then changed, and instead of Lloyd sitting there, there seemed to be a person made of colored lights that sparkled like jewels.

“You might see yourself as a mess,” Mr. Fell said, “but this is how I see you. All the beautiful parts of you that make up your soul. The blue gem in your left shoulder, that’s the part of you that gave your coat and scarf to that homeless man last winter. The pink just under your heart is the part of you that spent an entire Saturday helping your cousin find his lost cat, right before that awful storm we had.”

Mr. Crowley spoke up. “What’s the big gold part?”

Mr. Fell smiled. “Oh, that is one of my favorites. That is the part of you, Lloyd, that opens your bedroom window every day to yell to your six-year-old neighbor that his violin playing sounds wonderful. Even though, of course, it doesn’t. You have no idea, my dear, what a difference a simple act of kindness like that can make. He’s going to be a musician someday, make music for the whole world, and that gold part you see there is your contribution to it, because that music won’t come only from his talent but also from your encouragement when he needed it.” Mr. Fell laid a gentle hand on Lloyd’s shoulder. “You are stunning, my dear. And this is what people truly care about and want in a partner. How do you think I ended up with him?” Mr. Fell tilted his head toward his husband. “His soul rather looks like yours.”

Mr. Crowley made some sort of exasperated growling noise and another sarcastic gesture, but Mr. Fell just smiled. “You are worth loving, Lloyd. If Jason is your friend, then he already knows this about you. People who are friends first often make the best romantic partners for that reason.”

Mr. Crowley was still frowning at his husband. “And sometimes it’s the case that both friends want it to be more and for whatever stupid reason don’t tell each other.”

“It is a risk,” Mr. Fell agreed. “But if you feel this strongly about him, it might be a risk worth taking.”

Lloyd watched the window reflection turn back to reality—well, whatever passed for reality in the bookshop, anyway. “Can you—” His voice wavered a little. “Can you help me write the note?”

“Of course!” Mr. Fell exclaimed.

“Oh, no,” Mr. Crowley objected, “Aziraphale, you’re just going to put in a lot of flowery language. These are modern kids—”

“Hush, I am not,” Mr. Fell said. “Lloyd, just say this: Jason, I have been by your side for so long that I know there is nowhere I would rather be. We have walked together past my fears, and now, I would like to ask you to follow me somewhere new, somewhere we might be even closer.”

Mr. Crowley spoke up, very softly. “You memorized that?”

Mr. Fell raised his eyebrows in surprise. “People do like to remember their proposals, my dear.”

At school the next day, Lloyd found his hand was shaking as he held out the piece of paper to Jason. “I wrote you a letter.” He’d even printed the damn thing, somehow feeling like Mr. Fell would have wanted him to.

Jason didn’t take it. He was looking everywhere but Lloyd’s face. “That’s great,” he said absently. “Sorry I've been weird the last couple of days. I've been trying to figure out how to...sod it. Look. Lloyd, you are the best thing that ever—you’re so amazing. And I don’t want to make things weird, but—do you want to go to prom with me?”

********

Bonus: the whole proposal (which Crowley also still has memorized, of course, it took him long enough to write the damn thing):

Aziraphale, I have been by your side for so long that I know there is nowhere I would rather be, because when the two of us are together, what is too dark becomes light, and what is too bright becomes shaded. We have walked together past my fears, and now, I would like to ask you to follow me somewhere new, somewhere we might be even closer. For you I would ignore all the voices in my head that tell me that I'm not good enough and it's not right to ask someone like you to be with me. For you I would struggle away from my past and stake my whole heart on hope. I would jump and trust you to catch me. For you I would believe again. Will you marry me, Principality Aziraphale, Guard of the Eastern Gate?

And the reply (which Aziraphale had also written beforehand, because he figured a proposal was coming, but which he sternly insists that he made up on the spot):

Oh, my darling, you know my answer already. But let me make sure that you know this: Crowley, you are the reason I never gave up on love even when it was so often denied me by the people who said they loved me. You, who couldn't say it, but gave it so freely, the way true love is always given, without knowing if it would or could be returned. My dear Serpent, for you I would Fall. But I don't have to, because loving you is not wrong. It is the best thing I have ever done.

*********

Mr. Fell’s Bookshop ficlet master post (ficlets 1-5)

(meet Lloyd for the first time in ficlet #4)

Find me on Ao3: HolyCatsAndRabbits (Dannye Chase)

[ineffablegame]

Can you do a fic for the road trip prompt?

@art-takes-time I feel I owe you an apology for three reasons.  1) I picked some of the worst possible destinations for a road-trip.  2) The jokes in this are simply awful.  And 3) this is so incredibly cheesy.

Also published on my Ao3.

Road-trip

When they are finally properly married, Crowley insists they go on a honeymoon.

“It’s tradition,” he says, firmly.  “Otherwise, the marriage could be annulled.”

Aziraphale skews him a skeptical glance over the top of his book.  “I think we quite thoroughly dispelled that possibility, Crowley.  Multiple times.  In swift succession.”

For a moment, Crowley must make a heroic effort not to get distracted by fond memories.  “Still,” he soldiers on, “the honeymoon is paramount.  Think of all the places we could go.”  Aziraphale dithers, looking like a turtle that’s been asked to vacate its shell, and he adds, “All the food you could eat.”

Aziraphale lowers his book and narrows his eyes with grudging curiosity. “What… where did you want to go, precisely?”

“Somewhere far away,” Crowley says.  This path must be navigated with care, not a foot out of place, or Aziraphale will refuse in a heartbeat.  “Somewhere with wide spaces and open roads and—and grand vistas.”

Aziraphale raises the book again in a pointed manner.  “If you aren’t going to come out and say it, the answer is no.”

“Apple pie,” Crowley says, relentlessly.  “Sourdough bread, biscuits and gravy, gumbo, lobster…”

“Out with it, Crowley.”

“Beignets.”

Aziraphale winces as that well-aimed missile punches through the chink in his armor.  “I’ve never cared for the colonies.”

“Think of it,” Crowley insists, gently slipping his hands around the angel’s wrists, tugging them down.  Aziraphale scowls, lips pursed.  Crowley leans in until the tips of their noses touch.  “A road trip holiday.  Could be fun.”

“I grow weary of your wiles, old serpent,” Aziraphale mumbles, and kisses him, the stern line of his mouth already softening.

-

In the end, Crowley suspects it’s the beignets that did it.  Aziraphale acquiesces, provided they make a stop in New Orleans. “For the history, of course.”

“Of course,” Crowley says, because he knows when how to quit when he’s ahead. He’s curious about the Voodoo scene, anyway.

-

It is, broadly speaking, a road trip.  But when the only two occupants in the car (the Bentley, of course, miracled over the Pond in a staggering feat of occult power) are ethereal and infernal beings, roads as they appear on the map are more like friendly guidelines than concrete (or asphalt) rules.  The road goes where Aziraphale and Crowley want it to go, and the time on the road lasts exactly as long as it takes them to wonder, are we there yet?

Aziraphale has acquired what is perhaps the world’s last disposable camera.  He’s very proud of this technological wonder, Isn’t it amazing, Crowley?  Look, you simply wind the dial and—

Crowley puts on an exasperated front, but he is secretly quite proud of the angel.  Disposable cameras are roughly twenty years out of date, which is a fair sight newer than Aziraphale’s typical fifty.

It’s the little things, he decides, and flashes a sardonic smile when Aziraphale points the camera at him.

-

In New York City, they attend a Broadway musical about one of the nation’s Founding Fathers.  Aziraphale is initially skeptical – oh, I don’t know about this, it’s nothing like Sondheim – but by the end of the first act, he is leaning forward in his seat, eyes rapt on the stage.  By the middle of the second act, he is weeping. Crowley threads his fingers into Aziraphale’s, thumb rubbing over his knuckles.

Their last stop in New York City is at the Statue of Liberty.  They stare up at her, disconcerted; towering, beautiful, pitiless, she bears a distinct resemblance to Someone Else they both know.

-

In Maine, Aziraphale gorges himself, cracking open lobster claws with the sort of zeal Michael reserves for smiting demons.  Crowley watches, tension mixed with gut-molten wanting, as the angel luxuriates in the tender flesh greasing his fingers and lips.  The demon’s mind is a welter of temptation and sin, and he cannot wait until he gets his husband back to their lodgings.

-

In South Dakota – of all places! – they stop at Wall Drug.  After seeing all the signs peppering the highway, they couldn’t not stop at Wall Drug.

“Well,” Crowley mutters, “this is a distinct disappointment.”

“I think I recall you inventing this,” Aziraphale says.

“Nah.  I never.”

“You did.  We were very drunk.”

Crowley huffs a sigh.  “Had to’ve been.  I can’t decide if I’m proud or ashamed.”

“Oh, I don’t know.  It does have a… a quaint, folksy charm, if you will.”

“Nnngh.”

“Oh, look!” Aziraphale points.  “That giant horned rabbit fellow.  You can take pictures sitting on it.”

“Angel, I swear to G—to Somebody—”

But Aziraphale has already swanned off to pester a pair of tourists, waving his disposable camera in their faces.  After a blank moment of studying the ancient technology, one tourist nods. Aziraphale drags Crowley over and pats the jackalope’s white rump.  “Up you pop.”

“I will kill you for this,” Crowley vows through gritted teeth.

His anger is short-lived, for Aziraphale scrambles up behind him and winds his arms about Crowley’s waist.  The demon tries valiantly to glare at the camera, but – feeling Aziraphale snug against him, comfortable and ridiculous and radiantly happy – he can only muster a little frown.

-

They expect to be in New Orleans at some point, and so they are, geography be damned.  Aziraphale, to his credit, remembers his excuses about history and leads Crowley through the French Quarter.  He murmurs his appreciation at the colorful buildings, the intricate latticeworks of the balconies, the ghosts and shades steeping the very pavement beneath their feet. The air is a fug of garlic, seared sausage smoke, and sautéed vegetables.  Occult energy sings through the city, the magic a spice on Crowley’s tongue.

Aziraphale turns into the first café they come across and orders a plateful of beignets.  Crowley watches, later, as the angel licks fry grease and powdered sugar off his fingers. Later still, as they leave the café to wander the streets under humid starlight, Crowley tugs Aziraphale into a quiet alleyway and presses him up against the bricks.  He kisses him, tastes the sweetness of his lips, his mouth.

-

They go to the Grand Canyon.  Staring out across the vast expanse, Crowley suddenly feels very old and very small. But the look of amazement on Aziraphale’s face is well worth the reminder.

“It’s so… Oh, it’s just so…”

“Grand?”

Aziraphale gives him a quelling look.  “Yes, all right, be flippant.”

“I would never.“

Aziraphale purses his lips, but his gaze softens as he studies Crowley.  “Thank you.  For all your wiling.”

“Knew you’d like it,” Crowley grumbles, aiming for surly.  Sounding simply besotted.

Aziraphale takes Crowley’s hand.  The brush of his lips on Crowley’s palm is a blessing, an offering, the sweetest pain Crowley can fathom.

-

In San Francisco, they go for cookies in the Castro District.  Crowley, who has been sneezing and sniffling ever since they set foot in the city, is marginally cheered by the sight of Aziraphale with an extremely phallic macaroon cookie.  Bless him, the angel even ordered one with white chocolate and red sprinkles on the scrotum.

I love him, Crowley thinks, helplessly, as Aziraphale tucks in.

-

When they arrive back in London, Aziraphale finds perhaps the last shop on the planet that will send disposable cameras out for development.  The angel expects the pictures to be beautiful, and so they are – exquisitely shot, each vividly colorful, each of a resolution that would make Sony and Nikon and Apple weep with envy.  He puts them in a scrapbook, carefully labeled “Our Travels” in block letters, and gives it to Crowley for their first anniversary.

An inscription adorns the inside cover.  ‘To my husband,’ it says.  ‘I look forward to seeing all the wonders of the world with you.’

[aethelflaedladyofmercia]

Terrors

Hey, you know what I’m not going to do for @drawlight‘s advent challenge? I’m definitely not going to write a 3,000 word fic about PTSD and night terrors!

05 - Fire (2,992 words)

The first few days after the world didn’t end, Crowley was almost a new being.

The first few days, he was relaxed, casual, unselfconscious.

The first few days – nearly a week! – Crowley took his glasses off whenever they were alone. He met Aziraphale’s eyes, he laughed, he smiled, and oh, that smile. It was the real one, the one Aziraphale had seen too rarely since Eden. Wide, toothy, a little nervous, genuine.

The first few days after the world didn’t end, Crowley seemed happy.

It was hard to notice, after that, when things changed. After all, if Crowley acted a bit more as he had for six thousand years, well, that didn’t ring any alarm bells. They were still trying to decide what level of openness they were comfortable with. Bound to be some false starts.

At the end of September – over a month after the world didn’t end – Aziraphale realized Crowley was back to wearing his glasses all the time.

By the end of October, he couldn’t remember when he’d last heard Crowley laugh, even the sarcastic chuckle the demon had been fond of.

By mid-November, the smile was gone.

By the start of December, Crowley was as tense as ever, perhaps more so, even as he sprawled across the bookshop sofa as if he’d never even heard of bones.

“Crowley, my dear, are you quite alright?” Aziraphale finally asked, looking up from the book he’d been reading.

“Nh,” Crowley helpfully responded, running his finger along the screen of his phone. “’M fine, really. Just gotta finish this level. Flash games’re one of my best inventions.” He gave a tight-lipped smile that wouldn’t have passed muster even in those August days when they’d been sure everything was about to fall apart.

“Is this one of your real inventions, or one of the ones you took credit for because you knew it would confuse Hell?”

“Don’t actually remember.” His finger zigzagged. “No the green one, the green – arg.” He tossed the phone aside. “That was my last life.”

“Sounds serious.”

“Eh. I’ll have more in about an hour.” He flopped back again, arms and legs finding a new, even more unlikely sprawl. It was almost convincing, except for the way his right foot tapped, hard enough to shake his whole leg. Except for the way his head jerked here and there, searching, searching…for what?

Aziraphale closed his book and placed it on the arm of his chair. “I suppose that means you have some time to talk.”

“Talk? Sure. I’ll talk.” Crowley suddenly sat upright. There didn’t seem to be any intermediate stage; one moment, a heap of limbs and black fabric, the next a narrow demon sitting on the edge of his seat. Aziraphale didn’t miss the way he shook his head, or the way his leg continued to bounce. “What do you want to talk about?”

“Well, I would very much like to talk about whatever has you so on edge. Although I know you’ll tell me to stop worrying.”

“Really, Angel, ’s nothing.”

Aziraphale watched for another moment, then stood up, coming over to sit next to Crowley. “It clearly isn’t ‘nothing,’ because – ” he sighed as Crowley jumped to his feet and stalked across the room.

“Really, I’m fine. I just need, I don’t know, coffee. Tea. Something.”

That sounded like the last thing he needed. “I can get you some chamomile…”

“No! No, I…” Folded his arms. Unfolded them. Paced a little more. “I can’t sleep.”

“Ah,” said Aziraphale, with as much sympathy as someone who hadn’t slept since before the invention of the horse collar could muster. “Well, I understand chamomile helps.”

“No I mean…I can’t sleep. Don’t want to. Need to stay awake.”

“Alright. I still don’t see the problem.”

“’S like…” Crowley sat down on the sofa again, hands folded in his lap, thumbs bouncing off each other. “If you suddenly decided to stop eating. Have you tried? To go without?”

“Of course. Why, just a little over a decade ago, I went an entire week without eating. I was very proud of my restraint.”

“This wouldn’t be the same week you discovered Harry Potter and didn’t move from your chair until you’d read it all, would it?” The ghost of a real smile hovered on his face.

“It doesn’t matter what my inspiration was!”

“No, but. It was only a week. Try a month. Try three months. It’s…I’ve trained my mind to want sleep. It’s not easy to quit.”

“Why quit, then? Or, perhaps ease yourself off it, instead of all at once?”

Crowley shook his head. The leg was bouncing again. “I. I don’t want to dream anymore. And I can’t figure out how to stop it. So I can’t sleep at all.”

Aziraphale had never dreamed, not that he could remember, though he’d only ever slept a handful of times. However, he’d once read a book on dreaming. Several books, actually, but the ones involving Freudian theory were unlikely to be useful in this situation.

“I believe it helps to relax first. Perhaps the amount of stress you’re feeling is causing you to dream?”

“’M not…what makes you think I’m stressed?”

Aziraphale just raised his eyebrows. Crowley scoffed and looked down at his hands. “Fine. I’m stressed because I don’t want to dream, my stress causes dreams, dreams cause stress – how do I make it all stop?” He was all but pleading.

Instead of answering, Aziraphale placed one of the worn pillows that decorated the sofa onto his lap.

“You.” He sat so still, but Aziraphale was sure his eyes were darting between the pillow, the angel’s face, back and forth. “You can’t be serious.”

“Why not? I don’t have anywhere else to be. Come now, no reason to be shy.”

Slowly, so slowly, Crowley lay his head on the pillow, face turned away from Aziraphale.

“Are you going to take those glasses off?”

“Nh.”

“I can’t imagine they’re comfortable.”

“Fine. Just. Don’t look.” Those words hurt more than he could say – since when had Crowley hidden his eyes from Aziraphale? But he waited as they were removed, folded, put away.

Crowley didn’t settle easily. His shoulders were still tense where they pressed into Aziraphale’s thigh, and he could see the stiffness in the Crowley’s back.

Not sure what to do – but wanting to do something – Aziraphale brushed his fingers through Crowley’s hair.

The reaction was instantaneous.

“NGK!” Crowley’s hand shot up, knocking Aziraphale’s fingers aside, covering his head as if he had a wound. He started to twist and look back, but apparently remembered he was hiding his eyes and turned stubbornly away again. “What…what are you doing?”

“I…I just thought…” Aziraphale took a deep breath, and carefully placed his hand on the back of the sofa, where it was in no danger of touching Crowley. “Rhythmic tactile sensations are very relaxing. I thought it might help.” When Crowley didn’t move, he added, “I won’t do it again if you don’t want me to.”

The demon’s hand lifted, slowly, slowly, and settled on the couch in front of him. “I guess it’s alright. Just to try.”

Aziraphale lowered his fingers and gently ran them through the bright red fire of Crowley’s hair. It was stiff with whatever gel he used, but the strands fell apart under a bit of pressure. Under the shell of product, it was soft. Warm. He ran his fingers through again, again, mesmerized by the feel of it.

And slowly, the shoulders relaxed, the back softened, the breath slowed. After perhaps twenty minutes, Crowley was asleep.

For the first hour, Aziraphale congratulated himself on so easily finding a solution. He wished he’d remembered to bring his book over, but he enjoyed the chance to study Crowley’s face, now untroubled in sleep, and to explore the thick red hair that was spilling across his lap. He even chuckled a little, thinking how Crowley would react when he woke up, finally rested and relaxed but his hair a disaster.

It was during the second hour that things started going wrong.

The tension came back into Crowley’s shoulders, one twitch at a time. His fingers jerked and spasmed against the sofa cushion, weakly grasping. Crowley said something, mumbled, under his breath, but it sounded pained. Scared. Panicked.

With growing alarm, Aziraphale rested a hand on Crowley’s shoulder. Should he try waking him? He wasn’t certain, but this didn’t seem right. Perhaps the demon had slept long enough. “Crowley? Are you alright?” No reaction, except that the mumbling got more frantic. “Crowley, I rather think – ”

Without warning, Crowley rolled onto his back, kicking, thrashing with his arms. “Aziraphale!” he shouted, louder than the angel would have expected. “Where the Heaven are you? Aziraphale!”

“I’m right here!” He shook Crowley’s shoulders more urgently, but the now the demon seemed to be fighting, arms going in every direction as he shouted again and again, with more urgency.

“Aziraphale! AZIRAPHALE!”

“Crowley! I’m here! CROWLEY!”

Shouting didn’t make any difference. For ten minutes, the demon thrashed and called and sobbed, then just as abruptly fell silent again. Soon after that, he was sound asleep, as if nothing had ever happened.

The angel, meanwhile, was completely shaken. He’d never heard fear like that in Crowley’s voice, not in six thousand years. And he hadn’t been able to do a thing to help. His fumbling fingers found their way back into Crowley’s hair, but it seemed too little a thing now.

The second round came an hour later.

Aziraphale thought he was prepared this time. He made soothing noises as the tension started to form in Crowley’s back, then switched to a gentle mantra of I’m here, I’m here.

It was no use – the thrashing, the shouting came back, even more intense than before. And something else.

Aziraphale had once heard that demons could project their dreams on the world around them, but Crowley had scoffed the idea, grumbling that he’d never seen anything when he’d woken up. The reason, Aziraphale was about to discover, was that it took a strong dream, and the images lasted only as long as the dream did.

As Crowley thrashed in his lap, sobbing his name, he’s gone he’s gone he’s gone the first flames began to appear around the couch.

Aziraphale slapped at them, alarmed, but it was only light – the illusion of fire, without heat.

But they spread.

Across the floor, up the shelves, until the entire room was filled with dancing red flames, flickering, flaring, and Crowley screamed with such despair AZIRAPHALE!

But when, fifteen minutes later, Crowley settled down again – the flames dimmed and vanished, leaving nothing but a memory, and a tremor that Aziraphale couldn’t quash.

An hour later came the worst yet.

There was no warning this time. One moment Crowley was lying peacefully, the next, flames were shooting across the ceiling. A beam crashed down, a window exploded from the heat and pressure.

It seemed impossibly real; Aziraphale could no longer see the peaceful stillness of the shop behind the illusion, just the unrelenting horror of Crowley’s night terror. He was choking on smoke, he could feel the heat of the flames, worried they might actually ignite his books, and still, still Crowley thrashed in his lap, calling, calling and then –

He sat upright, eyes wide, pure gold without a hint of white, full of fear and pain beyond anything the angel had ever witnessed as he screamed –

“SOMEBODY KILLED MY BEST FRIEND!”

“Crowley!” He grabbed the demon’s face in both his hands, turning it towards him. “Crowley, dear, I’m right here, I’m right here.”

But those serpent eyes didn’t see anything. “Bastards! All of you!” The thrashing hands grabbed at Aziraphale’s coat, his shirt, his hair. They didn’t hurt – there wasn’t much strength behind them – but they were unrelenting.

“Crowley, please!”

And then a wordless, broken scream that just went on and on as the shop burned around them.

After twenty minutes, Crowley collapsed back across the angel’s legs. Once again, the fire was gone as if it never existed, but Aziraphale couldn’t stop the tears running down his face, the sobs wrenching his own shoulders.

An hour passed.

Then another.

Every time the demon moved, Aziraphale held his breath, terrified for what would come next.

When it started again – faster breathing, tossing and turning – Aziraphale couldn’t do anything but cry, hand pressed to his mouth. He didn’t have any comfort left to offer.

But this time, Crowley’s eyes snapped open with a gasp, hands clutching at the sofa…then he sighed. “Guess that didn’t work after all,” he muttered.

Aziraphale didn’t dare to move. Those golden eyes wandered over to his face. “Angel? What’s wrong?”

“Crowley?” he asked weakly.

The demon sat up, reached a hand over to brush Aziraphale’s tear-stained face. “What happened?”

“You woke up,” he whispered wonderingly. And before he could even think about it, Aziraphale threw his arms around Crowley pulling him close, sobbing into his shoulder. “I thought you weren’t going to – I didn’t know what to do…”

“I can’t have been asleep that long,” Crowley protested. “I just…I had a nightmare,” he confessed, as if it were an embarrassing secret.

Aziraphale just wept harder. “I thought I could help! I’m so – I’m so sorry, Crowley! I didn’t know what to do, I’m sorry!”

“Hey.” Hesitantly, awkwardly, he twined his own arms across Aziraphale’s back. “I woke up, didn’t I? Nothing for you to do.”

“But the other three times!”

“What?” Crowley pushed them apart to meet Aziraphale’s eyes, his own still solidly gold, wide with fear. “What other three times?”

--

They didn’t see each other for four days.

Crowley needed time to absorb what Aziraphale told him, about the illusory fire, the things he had shouted. Things he’d tried to hide, after the Apocalypse. After all, the shop hadn’t really burned, Aziraphale hadn’t really been hurt, so what was there to tell?

Nothing at all, except for the images that still haunted his dreams, and the fact that his eyes wouldn’t change back to their more human shape, the fact that he still smelled fire in the shop some days.

Aziraphale needed time to process, too. And he did that best while reading.

He’d once read a book on dreaming. Now he read as many as he could find.

On the fourth evening, he showed up at Crowley’s flat, unannounced, with several boxes of supplies and a plan.

--

The nightlight was a cool green, not too bright, making the bedroom appear to be underwater. The illusion was slightly spoiled by the little stars stuck to the ceiling in complex constellations – just regular glow-in-the-dark stickers, but Aziraphale had miracle them a little brighter.

The record player in the corner played some of Crowley’s favorite Nocturnes, the ones he’d been certain Aziraphale didn’t know about. Soft and soothing music filled the room.

The bed had already been comfortable, but now with fresh pillows, an extra thick mattress cushion, Crowley felt as if he was sinking into it, surrounded. Even though the room was a perfectly comfortable temperature, Aziraphale added a thick duvet with a tartan cover. It was heavy, and it smelled like the angel. It felt…secure, somehow. Safe.

But that wasn’t all.

Crowley looked at Aziraphale, dressed in tartan pajamas, hands nervously resting on the edge of the bed. “Are you sure you want to do this? It’s really not –”

“I’m certain.” Taking a deep breath, Aziraphale slid into bed beside Crowley, fussing with the duvet, trying to tuck them both in under it. “And I don’t want to hear another word against it.”

“It’s really nothing, Angel, I don’t need to sleep. All this is just –”

“All of this is to remind you that you are safe. There’s no fire. No demons. No…whatever other terrors are lurking in your mind. I am here, you are safe, and we will get through this together.”

Crowley sighed, turning onto his side to face Aziraphale. “I know I’m not in any danger.”

“Knowing you aren’t in danger isn’t the same thing as feeling safe.”

For the first time in over a month, Crowley felt a real laugh rise inside him. “You read a few books and you think you’re an expert.”

“I’m as good as you’re going to get.” Warm arms, thick, strong, soft, wrapped around Crowley and drew him close, pressed him to the angel’s heart.

“What if the dreams come back again?”

“They almost certainly will. But we’ll find ways to fight them. I already have some ideas.”

“You don’t have to,” Crowley muttered, one final protest, one final doubt. One final shame. “I’m the one who’s broken. After everything we went through, you shouldn’t have to fix me.”

“Oh, no. My dear Crowley.” The faintest pressure of lips against the top of his head. “I didn’t fight all of Heaven and Hell to create a world where you are scared all the time. It is my duty – no, my pleasure to help you, my dearest friend.”

Crowley was too choked up to say anything, so instead he twined his arms around Aziraphale, let himself relax against Aziraphale, breathed deeply the scent of Aziraphale until it filled his whole mind.

“Now,” came that precise, officious, lovely voice, “we need to make sure you’re thinking of something completely unrelated to the fire.”

“How do you propose we do that?” Crowley asked in his most suggestive voice.

“Shush, you.” Aziraphale shifted, sliding his cheek across Crowley’s, bringing his mouth to Crowley’s ear, and spoke softly, soothingly. “It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.”

“Actually, I prefer Persuasion.”

“Interrupt me again, and it’ll be Northanger Abbey.”

“Ngk.”

But he smiled into the angel’s shoulder as he began again: “Sir Walter Elliot, of Kellynch Hall, in Somersetshire, was a man who, for his own amusement, never took up any book…”