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theycallmemisterbutterfingers · 4 months

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Somebody To Luuuvvvvvv

so, i wrote this fic a WHILE ago, and promptly forgot abt it lmao. it was something i worked at on and off for a month, so it may be a little disjointed. also, I very much recommend listening to Somebody To Love (Queen) while reading, although depending on how speedy you are with reading, the fic will extend past the song's length. ALSO, I started writing it to mirror the lyrics of Somebody To Love, but I lost track of it a little in the last stretch, since there's a lotta instrumental and I just kinda went off HAH

anyhow

oh also i drew this little animation in like October and i'm sorry and you're welcome? sorry because ACK i swear to god i can draw better but you're welcome in case you like it ,,,,, yeah ,,,,,,, much love!!

Can

Anybody?

Find me

Somebody to…

Love.

…

Crowley launched himself up from his desk, sending a few pieces of glass clattering to the floor, shattered remains of his heart. He wobbled for a moment, the alcohol settling in weird places. Reality spun. He thought he saw stars. And then worse.

He thought he saw his angel.

His knees buckled, and his hand shot out to brace himself on his desk. His other hand reached up to shakily run a hand down his face. Take a look at this poor sod, he thought bitterly, about to berate himself. Then he caught a glimpse of himself in the reflection of his window, and he traced the scars down her cheeks that the tears had left in their wake. Crowley sighed, then chuckled—a small, self-deprecating one. Oh, what he’s doing to me.

He’d spent all his years believing in the bastard, chasing him, wanting him, hoping that they were the same. Thinking that maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t fully alone.

And then the angel took his heart and blasted it away with his halo. With his Heaven-besotted ideals that Crowley thought he had left behind. No such relief.

And all Crowley wanted was to love and be loved by him. Too much to ask, turns out.

…

He was behind the wheel. Again. He didn’t quite know how he got there, really, and he didn’t know where he was going, either. All he knew was that he was driving—driving away. Driving far away from…what? The work he had put in for himself—for his angel—to live a life safely in the corner? Maybe. Driving away from being alone? Hm. As if he could be driving away from the ache in his bones and towards Az—well. He wasn’t, at any rate. Crowley cursed himself under his breath and pulled over.

The sun was setting, colors bleeding out into the sky. Bleeding out. Now that was something that Crowley was familiar with. He looked up at it all, trying in vain to see anything—any sign from the Universe, from God, anything at all—but no. His knees hit the dirt. “God…what’re you doing to me? You listening? This part of your Great Plan, too?”

Nothing. Crowley dug his nails into his palms until he drew blood.

They do say that snakes can’t cry.

Well.

They also say snakes don’t fall in love. That they can’t feel it.

But just look at Crowley.

🌟

Aziraphale hurried through the empty space of Heaven, a harried look on his face. He had been working nonstop ever since he returned, trying to prove his worth, trying to do good, trying to be good. But there were stares pricking the back of his neck. Veiled criticism, judgement. They thought him odd, strange, impure. Tainted from Earth. They don’t want me here, he thought, then quickly shook it away. He had to keep faith. Believe in good in others, and the good of God.

But there’s nobody left to believe in me.

…

Aziraphale blinked. He had been heading towards the higher floors, but his feet had betrayed him. They had led him to the globe. His chest warmed seeing Earth, but there was this terrible, sudden ache in his gut. Aziraphale put a hand to his stomach, breathless for a moment.

Guilt.

Horrible, horrible guilt.

His hands shook. His stomach roiled like there was a nest of snakes, snakes, Crowley, his Crowley, his Crowley that he left behind, the desperation etched into his face as he—

Stop, he told himself. Stop. You can’t. Push it down, push it down, remember? You need to focus on your tasks. You need to forget.

Do you? Part of him whispered.

Quiet, he thought. No thoughts. You must be good.

It would be good, this traitorous part of him whispered. You would be doing a good thing. Checking up on that nice angel, Muriel.

Oh, yes, Muriel. Of course. It would only take a moment to pop in, after all. He wrung his hands, thinking hard and thinking fast. His tasks weren’t too urgent—just some paperwork, a few visits to the superiors; yes, it would be fine. Tickety-boo. Besides, he really needed to make sure the bookshop and Muriel were fine. Nothing else. What else would there be, really? For such a quick visit, especially? Aziraphale was still for a moment—save for his hands, which shook like leaves—and then with one decisive motion he tapped the globe, and felt himself dissolve into light.

🥀

Crowley slumped in his Bentley, cheeks stinging, throat hurting. Queen played over the speakers, but he kept losing track of the song, sliding in and out of white noise. After a few moments, he inhaled sharply and clenched his jaw. He was alright. He was fine. He was a demon. Of course he was alright. In fact, he was so alright, he would go and make sure Muriel hadn’t sold anything. At the bookshop. Because he was alright he was alright he was FINE. He stomped on the gas pedal with a bit more vigor than usual and began to whip through the streets, disregarding anything his mind might mutter to him. Perhaps that—Crowley ignoring himself as much as he possibly could—perhaps that was why he didn’t notice the feeling of his angel returning to Earth.

…

Crowley slammed the Bentley’s door shut and sauntered across the street to the bookshop, confident as a lioness. The confidence was a sham. He was a right wreck internally. He unlocked the door and swung inside with carefully practiced nonchalance, carefully hidden nerves, everything under the surface, as it should be. But the memories still hit him like a Bentley going 90. Frozen, he could do nothing but boggle at the bookshelves with their alphabetized books all in the right places and the angel wing mug with hot chocolate still steaming, until he heard a cheerful voice from up the stairs, “Be with you in a minute!!”

This managed to jolt Crowley out of his reverie, and he managed to shout back, “It’s me!”

“Oh!! Ah,” and there was quite a bit of shuffling around. Crowley shoved his hands in his pockets and tried to take measured breaths. Being back in the same place, the same spot where he—

“Hello, Mr. Crowley!!” Muriel beamed over the banister upstairs before hurrying down the stairs. “Haven’t seen you in a bit!”

Crowley hummed noncommittally. Muriel fidgeted.

“Did you need anything, Mr. Crowley?” They asked, looking at him a little too expectantly. Crowley had a sudden memory of that kid he had encountered as Bilidad, the little one who wanted to be a lizard.

“Erm…”

It wasn’t to check on the books, really. What did Crowley need?

Well.

Wasn’t it obvious?

He needed him.

His angel. His Az—hm.

His A—guh.

His A…He needed Aziraphale.

There, he said it. Wasn’t so hard.

He needed his somebody to love.

But his somebody was gone.

He didn’t say any of this to Muriel, though. Instead, he just shrugged. “Thought I’d stop by, make sure you hadn’t sold anything.”

Muriel shook their head vehemently. “Oh, no, certainly not!! I remember what you were like when I first took over the shop,,” they took on a grumpy, spiky air then, ignoring the dinging of the shop bell, “Now listen here, Muriel, if you sell any one of these books, I will march right up to heaven and tell those higher-ups that you are doing Very, Very Bad Things. So do not, under any circumstances, sell these books!!” Muriel finished their impression attempting a scowl matching Crowley’s, cementing their inability to make any sort of coarse expression.

Crowley scoffed and was about to complain that he did NOT sound like that, not in the slightest, when—

“Oh, Crowley, did you really?”

Fireworks rocketed up Crowley’s spine and exploded in his chest, and he whipped around to see—

To see—

His angel.

Aziraphale standing in the doorway of the shop, looking like he was already regretting even stepping through the door, but still with that nervous, gentle smile Crowley loved so, and he could do nothing but gape at Aziraphale, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. Aziraphale didn’t fare much better, only just managing to stand there, wobbly and woeful. Muriel, slowly becoming more adept at social situations, sidled into the back room, and the sound of the door shutting snapped Crowley out of his stupor—and his wounded heart throbbed.

“Back to forgive me again, then?” Spat Crowley bitterly.

“Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale breathed, teary-eyed, and before Crowley could say anything else, Aziraphale rushed into him, grabbing his lapels and burying his face in Crowley’s chest.

“I mi-i-issed-d you,” He sobbed, and Crowley wanted to shove him away, wanted to snarl barbed words and sharp jabs, wanted try and make him feel some semblance of the pain he felt—

But he couldn’t bring himself to do so. He couldn’t bring himself to hurt his angel, when he was already so awfully distraught. So he put a tentative, shaky hand on Aziraphale’s back, and said, quietly, “Hi, Angel.”

Aziraphale sniffed loudly at that and looked up at him. Then he stepped back, only slightly, and they simply looked at each other for a moment. Then—

“Why did you leave—?!” They started, simultaneously, then stopped.

“Well, you were the one leaving, Angel,” Crowley snapped, brows knitted together.

Aziraphale looked at him quizzically and sniffed again. “B-But I asked you to come with me, dear. I wanted you to come with me. I wanted you to come so terribly,” his lip wobbled, “And-and then you got mad, and ki-kissed me, and then—hic—and then you left!”

Crowley scowled, confused. He was quite certain that Aziraphale had been the one to do the leaving.

“But you abandoned me,” he said, voice rough, “After all we’ve gone through! I thought we were a team, Aziraphale. I thought you liked me how I was—not an angel, not a demon, as me.”

Aziraphale whimpered, wringing his hands. “But I do like you, Crowley! I’m so, so s-sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you, I promise, I just—I want to be with you, oh so much! And we could be together, in Heaven, as angels, without messiness, and—and, oh, I thought you’d be happier as an angel. I mean, you used to be, when you were…”

Crowley sighed, his anger beginning to cool. Oh, Angel. “I don’t want Heaven. I don’t want to be who I was. I just want to be me, now, here, with you,” He said, as gently as he could muster, taking his sunglasses off. Aziraphale blinked, another sparkling tear trailing down his cheek. Crowley had to curb the urge to wipe it away by shoving his hands in his pockets.

“B-But…but an angel? A-a demon?? That—”

“Would be alright.” Crowley finished, trying to smile, trying not to hope. “We could do it.” Aziraphale wavered, unsure, worried. He cast a look around him, and then, resolutely,

“I need to go back.” Crowley’s heart plummeted to the floor and shattered like an empty bottle. Again.

He made to leave, eyes already stinging, but Aziraphale grabbed at him. “Wait, Crowley!!” But no. Not again. Never again. Crowley wrenched away, looking at the ground, trying to stride past him, a painful crescendo rising in his head, already berating himself for trusting so quickly, hoping so easily, and then, and then he felt a soft hand tilt his face up and take off his glasses and, and, and—and Aziraphale was kissing him. Kissing him. Crowley’s thoughts blinked out of existence completely. All he could focus on was Aziraphale, him against Crowley’s lips, again, finally. Aziraphale’s tears wet Crowley’s cheeks and burned there and Crowley didn’t mind in the slightest. And he kissed back, fiercely, not caring if the rest of him burned up as a result.

Aziraphale gasped at the kiss deepening, and something roared deep inside of Crowley, and then, suddenly—Aziraphale pulled away.

It was as if Crowley had been lit on fire and then doused with cold water, and all he could do was stand there, shivering and overheating at the same time. Aziraphale, though shaking as well, took a deep breath.

“Crowley. I am going, but I’m not leaving,” and he took Crowley’s face in both hands, “I’m not leaving you. I never meant to in the first place. I’m sorry. Please…forgive me.”

Crowley didn’t know how to respond. What could he possibly say? What could he—

A tear slid down his face, and Aziraphale brushed it away with his thumb, tenderly, lovingly.

And Crowley broke.

“Oh, dear,” Aziraphale murmured, and cradled Crowley close as he crumpled into his arms. He trembled like a leaf, loud sobs wracking his body.

They sank to the ground together, and stayed that way for a long time.

Eventually, Crowley could breathe without feeling like he was suffocating. Cheeks burning, he slowly sat up, looking anywhere but at Aziraphale, embarrassed. “Ngk—sorry, Angel.”

“My dear boy,” Aziraphale turned his face back to him with a feather-light touch, “You have nothing to be sorry for.” Crowley damn near started crying again. He nodded and sniffed, rubbing his face. “You’re too nice to me.”

Aziraphale smiled at him, eyes twinkling. “Nice is a four-letter word.”

They gazed at each other adoringly, neither quite believing that they could hope again, hope for a future together, as hope was a four-letter word, too. Then Crowley looked down at the ground. “So…you have to go.”

“I will be back, Crowley,” Aziraphale said, and stood up, “I just need to do a few things first.”

“I need you,” Crowley pleaded, on his knees, all defenses forgotten, all barriers down. “Stay. Please.”

“I need you too,” Aziraphale said softly, doe-eyed, and kissed him on the forehead. “I want to stay with you. But I have to keep Earth safe. I can change things, in Heaven. I can stop the Second Coming.”

His face hardened and, for a moment, looked every bit the Archangel he was supposed to be. “Even if it means making a few…executive decisions. In the name of good, of course.”

“Of course,” Crowley echoed, feeling a bit dazed.

Aziraphale smiled at him and then looked up, wings materializing behind him. “I’ll see you soon, dear.”

Crowley, as if struck by a pin, sprung up towards Aziraphale and kissed him once more. Aziraphale, who had already begun to glow with departure, kissed back just as hard, if not harder. Crowley held onto the quickly dissipating angel tightly, as long as he could, until Aziraphale fully disappeared…and then Crowley fell flat on his face.

Oh, would you look at that, Crowley mused to himself, ass up, face down. I’ve fallen. “Erm,” said a timid voice behind him, “Would you like some hot chocolate, Mr. Crowley?”

thank you for reading!!!!!!!

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kill-the-hand-of-shakespeare · 3 months

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“Unknown”

———————

The rope finally snapped.

Aziraphale watched as Crowley felt his heart fall out of his chest and straight down to hell. He bared his teeth, and snapped his head towards the Angel, balling his hands into fists as he stood.

“What do you want, Aziraphale?! Spit it out! If you’ve come here to tell me I made a mistake, you don’t get to decide that for me!” He yelled, pointing a finger at Aziraphale, who threw up his hands in defence. No, no he’d lost him. He could see the hurt and anger in every aspect of Crowley’s being.

The Angel shook his head violently, and stood up, watching as Crowley took a step backward- running away. He was running away again and Aziraphale didn’t know if he could stop him this time.

“No! Wait - Crowley, please that is the farthest thing from what I’m trying to say! I- oh good Lord!” Aziraphale tried, watching the demon shake his head.

“No. No, Aziraphale. You don’t get to do this. Not again! Do you know what you did to me?! I have been ruined for months over you! I have been wracking my brain trying to figure out how to forget you! How the hell to get all of this-” Crowley gestured at him, the book shop and himself, “Out of my head and away from me- but I can’t, Aziraphale. You are ingrained in me and I fucking hate it! I can’t escape you!” He seethed, and the silence that followed was eerily quiet.

Aziraphale felt this throat tighten. Felt that fear creep back up. Forget him? Crowley wanted to get rid of him? He said he hated how tied together they were...

Aziraphale tasted the salt on his tongue as he opened his mouth to pull in a shaky breath before he realized he was crying. He watched Crowley’s heated gaze cool ever so slightly before he turned his face away to wipe the tears.

He looked out the window. It had started to rain in London, as it always did. But somehow he felt that Crowley had something to do with the quiet thunder that rolled in with the blanket of grey clouds that now hid the sun from view.

The clock ticked behind Crowley. They had been here before, yelling at each other in this very spot. Aziraphale stifled the sob that rose from his chest, but it came anyway. He took a shaky breath and nodded.

“I did.” The Angel whispered weakly, “I did see what I caused. I heard you- cursing God. Screaming at Her. I saw you in the bars and here- I saw how I hurt you, how I caused you so much pain-“ he shook his head, voice becoming strained.

He never looked for long. He didn’t want to intrude on Crowley’s privacy, but he wanted to see him when the old recordings weren’t enough. When he’d heard Crowley curse God, Aziraphale knew it was really him Crowley was so angry with. He heard the demon sigh and shift, trying to calm himself down, but thunder rolled heavy outside, and shook the window panes of the bookshop.

“I don’t forgive you, Crowley.” Aziraphale said again, turning to face him again, wiping the tears, even when they kept falling, “Because there was nothing ever to forgive.” He whispered, and watched the furrow in Crowley’s brow smooth from anger to guilt, and he had to look away again.

How dare he make Crowley feel so many negative emotions. How dare he hurt him, and then beg for mercy. He hiccuped a soft sob and looked away again, hands wiping away the tears sloppily, but they only fell faster.

“You have every right to want to forget me- you may be right. Maybe... Maybe it would be best, even. I’ve hurt you, Crowley. I know that. And I can’t explain how sorry I am. How much I missed you.”

Aziraphale didn’t try to stifle the sobs, he spoke through them, “How much I just wanted... You. Wanted to be around you, to talk with you. I sat and thought up every scenario until there were none left.” He cried, wiping the tears from his stupid beard that he’d grown to look more authoritative. Supreme ArchAngel his buttocks.

“But that- that feeling. The emptiness? The ache in my chest and stomach... Feeling like I couldn’t take a breath correctly, it never went away...” he weeped, hugging himself, he shook his head.

This was wrong. He was wrong. He was just hurting Crowley more. That’s all he ever did- was hurt him.

“I just wanted you to do it again- to kiss me again. To sit around with me, or call me on the phone- I just wanted us again and I was stupid for thinking I could keep you safe by giving that up!” Aziraphale said as he turned to look at Crowley, and saw the same hot tears now on the demons face.

And he looked... Devastated. It made Aziraphale hug himself tighter, a gasping breath pulled into his lungs. “I’m so sorry, Crowley. I never, never wanted to hurt you. Especially you, out of anyone. Not my only friend, and the person I...” he paused. The clock ticked in the silence - neither one of them were really breathing.

“The person I love most.” He said quietly, and watched Crowley’s face twist in pain.

———————

I left you on a cliffhanger and for that, I apologize, but I had to say goodbye to a family member at the beginning of January, and had a hard time focusing on anything, really. But I think I’m back, and have finished up the last few chapters, and after GOAD smut war, ending on the 14th (I think?) I’ll post this on Ao3 and edit it a bit more. For now, enjoy ❤️

< Previous

#aziraphale #crowley #crowley x aziraphale #good omens #good omens2 #aziracrow #good omens fanfiction #azicrow #good omens 3 #good omens theory #unknown

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nicolegmattos · 3 months

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Crowley was drinking alone at the bar. He had finally stopped being miserable at home and had upgraded it to being miserable at a bar not too far away.

It didn’t seem like a bad idea earlier. But now, after drinking quite extraordinary amounts of alcohol, maybe he shouldn’t have come. At least not to that specific bar.

From where Crowley was seated he could see the exact same table he used the last time he was there. When he was surprised by a discorporated Aziraphale just after he thought he had lost his best friend forever.

Best friend. He took another shot.

- Whoa! Easy there, sir - A young woman approached.

The glass hit the wood with a loud noise.

- What do you want? - He could or could not have said that a little more rudely than he intended.

- Oh, I see - She stepped back. - You like being depressed on your own.

- I’m not depressed.

- Is it because of a woman?

Crowley allowed himself the free will of ignoring her. Unfortunately, it didn’t work as well as he thought it would.

- I knew it! - She insisted. - It’s always because of a woman.

- Yeah. Congrats, Sherlock. Have a gold star.

Crowley gestured to the barman and he filled the glass again.

- Is she beautiful?

- Gorgeous - Sarcastically, he went along with it. Maybe she’d leave him alone once she had her curiosity satiated.

- How is she like? I bet I can guess your type.

- Bet you can’t - He grinned and took a sip of his drink.

- Brunette?

Crowley shook his head.

- Blonde. Platinum blonde.

Almost white. And a bit fluffy. Like the clouds.

- Badass? - She continued.

Not exactly.

- Too pure.

- Clever?

- Only when he’s not stupid - Crowley answered, hoping that would put an end to the interrogation.

- Oh - She had the decency to look embarrassed. - Ok.

Crowley finished his shot and left a good tip on the balcony. He should have stayed home.

******

His flat was exactly the same as always. Basically empty. Except from the plants and a good amount of empty bottles of all drinkable things he could think of.

He threw himself on the sofa and took off his sunglasses. After a moment of silence, he allowed some tears to fall down his face.

- I miss you, Angel - Crowley said. To no one in particular.

But up there, somehow, maybe the message got delivered. The Supreme Archangel was now looking at a picture of him and a certain Demon, took in a famous stage in 1941.

- I miss you, Crowley - Aziraphale said.

#long text again #I think this is becoming a habit #let me know if you have any requests #I’ll gladly take them #ask away!#good omens #good omens fandom #ineffable fandom #crowley #aziracrow #ineffable husbands #aziraphale #good omens s2 #good omens season 2 #ineffable heartbreak

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thedemonknownasbilly · 5 months

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As We Know It: Chapter One

Takes place after Season Two

Word Count: 860

Warnings: blood, Armageddon (mentioned), war (mentioned), slight angst, Crowley drunk on Laudanum

Aziraphale x Crowley

He/him for Aziraphale // he/they for Crowley

The Angel seemed to be seeing doubles, stumbling down the once familiar streets of London. The Bentley was nowhere to be seen in front of the bookshop, her parking space even gone. And so Aziraphale trekked on, hardly noticing the stares and cries of his name as blood dripped from his pale skin, he knew he was a sight to see, but he just simply didn’t have to energy to fix himself, and he was afraid that his miracle might set off alarm bells in Heaven.

At last though, he found the home he was looking for, it seemed as though his prior permission dating back almost a hundred odd years still stood. For you see, Crowley is a clever demon, no one could find or even see his home if he didn’t give them explicit permission to. And Aziraphale counted the stars lucky that he still could. He did his best to wipe away the tears, but it only stained his cheeks red. He wanted to present himself as strong to the one he missed.

Ding-dong.

He could hear stumbling and curses coming faintly from the door, and suddenly it swung open.

“You.” The demon sneered, not letting Aziraphale say a word before he went into their rant, too drunk on Laudanum to notice that his old friend was battered and bruised. “Let me guess, world’s ending and you need my help? Or Heaven ordered you to force me back up?”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale tried, leaning on a wall for support, beings such as themselves didn’t really need to breathe and yet he felt like he couldn’t get enough air.

“No. Shut it.” They snapped, “you left me. I gave you my heart. My soul. I have wanted you since the Garden. Maybe sooner but I knew for sure then. And I thought you wanted me, how foolish was I? I was just some pet to you.” He spat out.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale tried again, both to gain their attention but also in protest, he could feel his form getting lightheaded. “Please, help me.” He whimpered out, red tears forming yet again in his eyes, out of frustration and sadness. “You were never a pet, you were the bloody Starmaker, I just… I wanted your smile back.” He whispered, feeling himself sway as he tried to stand tall. And what he said seemed to make the demon pay attention, because suddenly they stood tall and the glasses were off, eyes wide and lips parted in horror as they took in the sight of his angel.

“Oh, oh, what have they done to you? How did I not see…” Crowley appeared angry at himself for not noticing, taking Aziraphale into their arms and picking him up bridal style, rushing him into the sleek bathroom.

“No miracles,” Aziraphale pleaded, “please, don’t let them find me. I don’t want to go back.”

“I won’t let you go back,” Crowley promised, setting Aziraphale onto the cold counter top, immediately rushing to get a bath going before searching for the human first aid kit. “I won’t let them take you from me again.” They said, quite determined. Aziraphale had closed his eyes, clearly everything took too much effort for him now, Crowley took the moment to rush to his bar and grab a bottle of whiskey and sherry.

“Here, drink this, angel.” Crowley said, pressing a glass of sherry into Aziraphale’s hand while he doused a rag in whiskey. “I’m going to try and clean this up as best as I can before I put you in the tub. Is that alright?”

“Please, help.” Crowley would take that as a yes, carefully undoing all of the layers, a pit in his stomach forming as each layer seemed to be bloodier than the last, but in their opinion, the worst of it all, was the burnt skin. Hellfire. They used hellfire on his best friend.

“I’ll kill them all,” he grumbled, taking the rag and carefully cleaning up the blood from Aziraphale’s pale, skinnier frame. “You need food, angel. Don’t like seeing you like this.”

“Mm, I miss Eccles cake…” Aziraphale murmured.

“I’ll get you as many as your heart desires.” They promised, willing the tears in his eyes to go back as they helped Aziraphale out of his trousers and undergarments, picking him up once more to settle him into the sweet smelling tub, his heart aching as a cry slipped out of his lips. “I know, I know, but it’ll make you feel better faster,” Crowley whispered, stroking the now dirtied white blonde hair of their beloved friend.

“I’m sorry, Crowley,” the demon knew exactly what Aziraphale was referring to, about to reply but then the angel continued. “I’d quite like to make it up, a second chance if you’re willing.” It was all Crowley ever wanted to hear, but he couldn’t. Not yet. Not until he knew Aziraphale meant it.

“When you feel better, okay? Because I don’t want to be gentle when I kiss you.” That earned the demon a smile and a chuckle from the angel, whose eyes were still closed as he sunk into the warm water, feeling his injuries tingle as they slowly healed with old, human magick.

“Sounds like a date.”

#good omens #aziracrow #aziraphale #aziraphale x crowley #crowley #good omens s2 #azicrow #aziraphel #anthony j crowley #crowly x aziraphale #az fell #azirowley #thedemonknownasbilly #tdkab #as we know it

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lifblogs · 7 months

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Poison

AI-less Whumptober: Day 1 Drugging | Sick | Poisoned @ailesswhumptober

Fandom: Good Omens Rating: Explicit Word Count: 2224 Summary: Michael blames Crowley for Aziraphale ruling Heaven, and they decide to poison him. In his agony, the only person Crowley can call out to is Aziraphale. WARNING: Graphic Depictions of Violence READ ON AO3

Crowley pitifully dragged himself forward, gritty cement from the alley rubbing into his skin, his clothes. He didn’t much care for the coarse scraping, but it was almost nothing compared to the Hell he was in. Was the ground shaking? The sky falling?

His wings were burning off his back. He was sure of it. Could smell them crisping, feathers that were already black somehow even more so now falling around him. Ruined.

The pain. His world was on fire, his blood coursing with hot, burning poison. He could barely see as it was, the poison reaching into the blood vessels in his eyes, which had all burst. Tears streamed from his eyes. Tears! Such a human thing.

And all the while he didn’t even know where he was trying to crawl to as his body burned.

Would he be discorporated or destroyed? If he didn’t know any better he’d think Michael had gotten him with a drop of holy water.

He could hear their words in his ears, their hatred dripping into him even without the aid of that wicked ring: So you thought you could be clever? You thought you could let Aziraphale rule without any consequences? My dear Crowley, you’ve ruined it.

It. Heaven. The world he loved so much. All because he walked out that door, all because he let Aziraphale do what he wanted. And why wouldn’t he? There was nothing left to do.

But, oh, of course this was his fault. Wasn’t everything?

His burning brain briefly wondered, Maybe I should’ve been a better kisser.

His heart ached like a fist clamped around it, something even worse than the poison. No, no, no, no, no!

Crowley tried laughing at it, but he choked, an acrid taste deep in him alighting on his withering tongue.

“MICHAEL!” he screamed.

All seemed to go black for a second, but it wasn’t a blessing (oh, a blessing). It was more like he was separated from his body and then was forced to return to it. Forced to return to the ruin brought upon him by Michael the archangel.

They’d cornered him, cursed him; Crowley, the betrayer of angels, of God. His “stupid angel” was doing it all wrong, and things needed to get back on track so they could have their war.

War. Oh, what a funny thing. Michael existed not for God, but for war.

They’d jabbed him in the neck with a gold ring, a sharp end protruding from it, and then he had collapsed, everything in his existence changing in that one moment.

This was all his fault. That was the accusation, at least.

But no matter what he’d done Aziraphale didn’t want him, didn’t want to be a them, an us. Not on Crowley’s terms. Not in any way that was safe. And now, here he lay, a fallen angel, a fallen demon, burning away into smoke.

Aziraphale. Have to get to Aziraphale.

It was all him. All about him.

“Help—” Crowley choked out, ruining smoke issuing forth from his mouth; past chapped, peeling lips. Lips that had failed.

This set him in a coughing fit that was surely supposed to be the end of him. Each inhale brought nothing but death. No air, not for him. Nothing so sweet as air.

In a way, he didn’t need it, but he was tied to this body. It was him.

For a moment he imagined Aziraphale—his attachment to his own body—and imagined it being destroyed like this.

The thought broke his heart, even as it passed into shadows and smoke.

Wait…

Was this Michael’s plan?

Was Michael going to attack Aziraphale next? Or was it just that he was the demon, he was the bad guy. Got to smite them, right? Can’t have the bad guys running amok.

Crowley forgot where he was, what he was supposed to be doing. Time passed, surely, but he was hardly aware of it. Then a thought came across to him.

Aziraphale.

Help.

Right! Right, that’s what he was supposed to be doing.

But how? How?

Just stop burning. As easy as that. Just stop.

And Crowley tried, tried to tell himself he wasn’t burning, but he was! He was!

And Heaven was too far away. And could he even get in the entrance? He’d sink into the water surely, be dragged down to Hell. Maybe the elevator. But he’d only entered it once before with Muriel. On his own he didn’t stand a chance.

Bees.

Something about bees.

Crowley rolled onto his back, panting, gagging, and tried to call out for Aziraphale.

He couldn’t breathe. Oh, Satan, he couldn’t breathe.

With enough coughing whatever was in his burning lungs came up in his mouth, and he didn’t want to even explore what that was, what it could be.

Maybe it’s—

No, no, no!

If he thought about it he’d throw up. His stomach was already dying anyway, so maybe it was just—

Hot saliva crowded Crowley’s mouth and he tried to roll onto his side, but next thing he knew he was retching and choking.

Burning. Everything was burning. Maybe hotter than the fires of Hell. Fires they’d tried to kill Aziraphale with.

No, no.

In trouble.

Aziraphale was in trouble.

Had to be. What else would be going on?

“Azira—” Crowley tried to get out before becoming a choking, gagging mess again.

Aziraphale.

How to get to him?

Maybe he can come to me.

Yes, that’s what had to happen. There was no other way.

Crowley tried to look inward, to feel what was left of himself amongst this burning, poisoned ruin. And there, he found something. Not a light, or a soul, but something. He tried to look into that something he found, to find the parts of Crowley that were Aziraphale: the memories, the emotions, even the tiny gestures.

Images flashed in his mind’s eye.

Aziraphale smiling at him. Aziraphale saying smitten, looking at him with such an intensity that Crowley hadn’t noticed at the time. Aziraphale telling him to dance. You go too fast for me, Crowley.

He did his best to project those feelings and memories outwards, to picture the whole Earth, spinning and hurtling about through space, to picture the curtain drawing back on this realm, looking behind and finding Heaven. Crowley wasn’t sure he’d be able to actually find or sense Aziraphale this way, but he did what he could. He called out to him. And then he sent his pain, a black, writhing thing that was powerful enough to encompass the whole world. Pain so brilliant and ruining that Crowley wished for a drop of holy water, wished for someone’s mercy. But there was no mercy, not in this universe, or the next, or even the one after that.

Crowley started to realize how alone he was.

He didn’t have his car with him, his plants.

Didn’t have his angel.

He was just a demon in a filthy alley, sick and poisoned into wishing for nothingness.

Aziraphale.

“Crowley?”

He had to have imagined that. The word sounded garbled as it was with poisoned, scorching blood coming out of his ears, smoking against his skin, against the ground, his hair.

He cried, and tried to scream.

Alone. He was alone.

That voice wasn’t real.

“Crowley? Oh, good Lord!”

Hands were on him, and he tried shooting upwards, to fight, to push away.

“No… Michael…” he got out.

“I’m not Michael. It’s me. Aziraphale.”

Crowley could barely see through the damage to his eyes, the blood pouring forth. He thought he could make out white hair.

“Fake,” he coughed out, and then collapsed into tender arms.

“What’s happened to you?”

Crowley couldn’t answer. There wasn’t enough left working in his body to do so. He shuddered where he lay against Aziraphale’s chest, smearing his clothes with blood and the ash of his ruined feathers.

There was a hand on his chest. Was it glowing?

It was probing around, looking for something. And all the while he heard a familiar voice fretting away.

Crowley wanted to sink into that voice, sink into the body he was held against, not be himself any longer. It was too much. It was all too much.

“Good Lord, they’ve poisoned you with sulfur.”

Ah, that made sense.

Sulfur. The irony. Yet another trapping of what made him a demon, and now it was in his blood, destroying all in its path.

“I am permitted as many miracles as I like, and I think this calls for one.”

Crowley wanted to scream at him to get on with it. He clutched at Aziraphale with shaking, swollen fingers. They were surely discolored, all kinds of black and purple.

A feeling of emptiness whooshed through him, and next thing he knew the pain began to leave. It didn’t leave slowly, but in great waves that receded from a shore. And these were waves that never crashed back down, waves of an ocean that disappeared entirely.

He could see again, could hear again. And while he didn’t need to, he could breathe again.

Crowley gasped, awash in the feeling of being okay (how am I possibly okay?).

“Oh, Aziraphale,” he cried, throwing himself against the angel, and never wanting to let go, hoping that he wouldn’t let go.

He was shaking; and crying; and he didn’t even know why when being alive was, for the moment, bearable again.

“Crowley, I felt you calling for me, and I came as soon as I could. Oh, I’m so sorry.”

Then the anger came, anger that had been simmering for weeks, waiting for a time to rise and boil, to have prey it could pounce on.

The prey was here.

Before Crowley knew it he was drawing back from Aziraphale and had to physically restrain himself from hitting him by grabbing his own wrist.

“You idiot!” he screamed in his face.

Aziraphale dropped him. He didn’t land quite on the cement, and was in fact draped across one of Aziraphale’s legs.

“What?”

“You! You’re such an idiot! Didn’t I tell you they were toxic? Why did you want to work for them? Why?”

“Not for them,” Aziraphale clarified. “They work for me.”

Crowley rose, assessed his missing feathers, his bloodied hair and clothes. He was sticky with what had previously been his fiery blood. He ran his hands through his hair, pacing back and forth like a caged animal.

Facing Aziraphale again, he cried, “If that were true this never would have happened. Michael wouldn’t have hurt me. And if they’re doing this to me, then what”—at this point he grabbed him, pulled him to his feet and slammed him against a brick wall hard enough that it cracked and dust scattered—”do you think they’re going to do to you?”

“C-Crowley, I didn’t mean— They will be dealt with.”

“Sure. And what are you going to do all-mighty Aziraphale?” he taunted. “Give them a slap on the wrist? Or why don’t you just say fuck it and erase their name from the Book of Life?”

“You know I can’t—”

“To Hell with what you can and can’t do! Look at me! Look at me!” He took in Aziraphale’s horrified gaze, and yet it still wasn’t enough. How could it be enough when this had happened, when Crowley was sure he’d never sleep just so he could avoid the nightmares? He had to clean parts of his lungs off of himself and Aziraphale was surely going to go right back to Heaven with a skip and a hop and make sure things were all tickety-boo again. “You think whatever you do will be enough? You think you can stop whatever they have planned? I’m collateral to your stupid plans, your stupid want to rule.”

“Not to rule, to fix things! To make them better.”

“Look what better did to me.”

Crowley felt a sound of disgust rise in his throat, akin to the need to spit. He shook his head, mouth set in a firm grimace, and pushed away from Aziraphale. He turned away. Betrayed. Defeated. Alone.

“Go back to Heaven, angel.”

“Crowley, I—”

Crowley whirled on him. “Leave me alone!”

Aziraphale’s eyes shone with unshed tears. And knowing him they wouldn’t fall. Yet another thing to break Crowley’s heart.

His face was set in a look of helpless distress, perhaps of guilt, but his angel couldn’t do anything so un-angelic as to apologize.

He swallowed roughly.

“But, Crowley, you’ll be all alone. You were hurt. Let’s—”

Crowley turned away from him. Somehow he clawed words out through his gritted teeth, scraping them up from the remains of his respiratory system, “If you don’t leave right now I am going to do something very, very stupid.”

What that stupid thing was, he didn’t know. Perhaps exploding on the spot.

Aziraphale’s silence settled into the spaces between his heartbeats.

Finally: “As you wish.”

And then Crowley was alone. All alone, and covered in the gore of his poisoning, of Aziraphale’s failure to fix Heaven. Of his own failure.

He sat down in the alley, and he thought perhaps a few days had passed before he had it in him to get back up again. When he did, Crowley made for the Bentley. He had to get away. Just away. And yet, nowhere would be far enough.

#ailesswhumptober2023 #day 1: poisoned #good omens #crowley whump #hurt!crowley #whump #good omens fanfiction #fanfiction #writing #my writing

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cloud-based-and-rainpilled · 8 months

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Halfway through Staged 3 and pretty sure the reason it doesn’t “work” is the reason why Good Omens 2 does work: the natural progression of David and Michael’s and Crowley and Aziraphale’s relationships respectively is codependence. One show understands this, but the other doesn’t

tl;dr At bottom

Aziraphale and Crowley simply cannot exist without each other. They are “on their on side.” They have trauma bonded for centuries. When the external obstacles tearing apart Aziraphale and Crowley are removed, they’re left with their unaddressed trauma and can’t communicate their feelings

This internal conflict, which is long established, tears them apart. They are codependent yet can’t see eye to eye. This is a real conflict that feels natural

The big “a-ha” emotional moment at the end of Staged 2 is David and Michael realizing that (after every other character basically screams at them) they love and need each other. They are the only ones who understand each other; they are “on their own side”

When their external obstacles are removed, instead of exploring the intensity of their relationship and implied codependence, it forces conflict. Georgia messes with the room; Michael seems irrationally angry from the jump; the script relies on the meta nature of it for the humor. Everything feels “off,” and, well, “staged” for lack of a better word

The moment when Michael decides to go back into production because he’s jealous David did a role without him, there’s a bit of a throwaway line where he says “I can’t believe you’d do something without me.” It’s framed as jealousy of David working, but at face value, it’s, “How could you ever do anything without me?”

Exploring their codependence would have been more narratively sound and have a better baseline for comedy to come from it. However, this was never going to be possible, because while Staged isn’t “real,” inherently, because it’s meta, it kind of is

(Tinfoil hat time!)

This sounds sacreligious, but Michael Sheen is not convincing at all in this. He holds this resentment that seems to come from nowhere and feels hollow. The script isn’t helping much, but this is far lower quality wise than other performances he’s given. He does not want to be doing this shit again

Michael’s a (self-admitted) sensitive actor. He drowns himself in every role, especially Aziraphale, who he says “lol he’s literally me.” He cried on the last day of shooting; there’s absolutely no way the Breakup ™️ in Good Omens 2 didn’t affect him deeply, especially considering a 3rd season still isn’t confirmed

Imo he drags his feet because this entire season is the Breakup ™️ again, and he’s emotionally exhausted and doesn’t want to do it. If the script were better/had more levity/allowed for improv then maybe, but as it stands, it’s just a bummer, and everyone who watched it agrees

But I don’t think a plotline exploring David and Michael’s codependence would have ever happened anyway because, well, it would be really fucking awkward

Staged 1 is about them becoming friends, and, lo and behold, they actually did become close friends while shooting

Staged 2 is about them realizing how much they need and care about each other, and by their own accounts, they became much closer during this time as well

So, if Staged 3 were about them examining the closeness of their fake selves and the possible unhealthy aspects of it, that would force them to be incredibly vulnerable, not just as actors, but to their real relationship, because the events of Staged have mirrored how their friendship has developed

They are obviously not their characters on Staged, but there is a distinct pattern of a blur of real life and fiction. They run the risk of people falsely thinking they have a codependent dynamic and judging them accordingly, or, even worse, having to confront actually having a codependent dynamic, and in a very public way

I haven’t finished, so maybe their codependence is addressed, but right now it seems like it’s entirely avoided, which was a huge aspect of the ending of series 2. It makes the conflict feel forced and any interesting character exploration is blunted by antics

tl;dr In Good Omens 2, Crowley and Aziraphale are codependent, which is established, and creates conflict. Codependence is addressed in Staged 2, but barely acknowledged in Staged 3. A real point of conflict that could be interesting is ignored while forced situations are pushed instead, which aren’t as funny nor compelling

I believe personally that the ideas dried up for Simon, Michael was emotionally exhausted from the ending of Good Omens 2, and a plotline centered around David and Michael’s codependence in Staged was avoided because it would hit too close to home

Still haven’t finished it so it could turn around, but right now it feels like a big missed opportunity which came out of uninspired writing and avoiding self reflection

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ofpineapplesanddawns · 1 year

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@out-grid Here’s another one-shot for the alien au! This one takes place between returning from investigating a strange signal and before Ligur dies.

Warning: alien biology, acid blood

On with the fic!

Aziraphale, in all his years of medical training, had never seen anything like this before. Hours later, he would come to hate how absolutely fascinated he had been about this when Ligur was first brought into the medical bay.

The poor man was somehow still alive, even after his helmet was damaged and his face exposed to the cold vacuum of a low-atmosphere planet or moon, they still weren’t sure what it was. Aziraphale suspected it had to be because of whatever this strange, ugly little thing that was attached to his face. He spoke aloud as he did his examination, his words recorded for the research logs.

He couldn’t tear it off, he noted, when he quickly discovered that the creature seemed to have an acidic blood. Captain Archer demanded that Aziraphale figure out how to remove it soon, or they would have to kill the engineer. To which their second engineer, Hastur, threatened to gut Aziraphale like a fish if he let Ligur die.

And then there was their science officer, Crowley, who had gone down to the surface for curiosity and research sake with the other three, who had witnessed what had happened. Yet he wasn’t talking, too shaken up. Aziraphale paused in his narration to look over at Crowley, who was typing away at a computer.

“Dear?” He called out to Crowley, who stopped, turning to look at him. “If you’re more comfortable, you could return to your quarters, you don’t have to be here while I do this.”

“I’d... I’d rather be here.” Crowley replied after a moment’s hesitation. “I want to make sure Ligur is alright.”

His vital signs said he was, even though there was something terrifying clamped on his face right now.

Aziraphale sighed softly. “You’re shaken up, I’d rather you not have to witness me being all... cold and scientific about one of our crew mates.”

Crowley shook his head. “No, I want to be here. It’s my fault anyway...”

“What?”

“I... when we...” Crowley ran a hand through his hair. “When we found the chamber, where these... weird egg things were, Ligur told me to go and check them out. I refused, I didn’t trust them, something seemed so wrong about them and I didn’t want to get close. Well, he tried to shove me into the chamber, and I fought back. He fell in instead.”

Captain Archer and Hastur hadn’t witnessed it, they had been examining something else, from what both had told Aziraphale. They only came to the chamber when Crowley screamed for help, and they had found Ligur writhing on the floor, his helmet’s screen shattered, and this fleshy, bony thing latched onto his face.

Hastur was prepared to murder Crowley when they got back onto the ship, but Dagon was quick to stop him. Crowley had been in a state of shell shock for a while now, it was amazing he was even typing at the computer, let alone talking. But then again, he was always most relaxed when he was around Aziraphale.

The medical officer frowned, shaking his head. “Anthony, it’s not your fault. I’m sure if this was reversed, Ligur would be just as upset about this happening to you as you are of it happening to him.”

“No, he hates me, he’d probably have left me to die.”

“Gabriel would never have allowed it.”

“He hates me too.”

“You are a valued member of this team, and one of the only people aboard who can fly this stupid ship, I think they’d save you despite their hatred.”

Crowley scoffed, but smiled just a little bit. “Thanks, angel.” He rose from his seat and carefully approached, looking at the pale, spider-like alien. “Ugly fucker.”

“Tell me about it.” Aziraphale grabbed a syringe and carefully pushed the needle in, maybe he could take a blood sample, see if he could-

“Shit!” He rarely cursed, but he couldn’t help it when the glass of the vial bubbled and melted just seconds after he removed the needle. He dropped it to the floor, watching as it burned at the floor. “That’s...”

“Extremely corrosive.” Crowley hissed. “What the fuck sorta alien has acidic blood?”

“Whatever this thing is, apparently.” Aziraphale tisked, staring at the alien, before they watched in horror as it seemed to move. “Get away!”

Crowley and Aziraphale both moved away from the table and watched as the alien shuddered, moved, before falling to the side and onto the floor. It didn’t move, it didn’t make a sound. Ligur gagged, coughing hard, but appeared to be sleeping still. His vitals had spiked for a moment when the little beast had moved, but now they returned to normal.

The room was quiet, except for the sound of the heart monitor and the ship’s gentle groans of metal. Aziraphale wheezed through his teeth. “Good lord...”

Crowley was the first to move, approaching carefully, then gently kicked the thing with his foot. It didn’t respond, it was clearly dead.

“Maybe it... can’t handle oxygen?” Aziraphale asked, trying to figure out what happened. “Or-or it couldn’t survive whatever it had been doing to Ligur?”

“Don’t know, don’t care. It’s dead.”

“Let’s hope that’s that then. We don’t need anymore trouble right now.”

Sadly, it was not the end of their troubles, more were to come in just a few hours time.

Fun fact: did you know that the director of Alien, Ridley Scott, used to work on the first era of Doctor Who and was originally going to be the designer of the Daleks, but Terry Nation did it instead?

Just thought that’d be a fun Doctor Who-Alien fact for you guys, even though this is a Good Omens fic.

#john's drabbles #good omens #aziraphale #crowley #anthony j crowley #ineffable husbands #crowlien au

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southernpansy666 · 2 years

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Daddy’s Little Serpent

It started to rain. But it was no big deal……

As long as there wasn’t a storm……

Lightning lit up the sky as thunder roared, bathing the nursery of South Downs in a eerie white light. Baby Eden wailed in terror as Aziraphale tried to soothe her. Being in her Papa’s arms didn’t seem to calm her like normal. “Hush Little One, it’s alright. We’re not going to let a little storm anywhere near you, isn’t that right Crowley?”

“Stupid weather app….no storms it said! Just a light shower here and there…..Oh yeah course not!” Crowley mumbled as he dug through a cabinet drawer.

“Crowley, love, perhaps we should take her to our bedroom? Maybe then she’ll calm down a bit.” Aziraphale thought his heart would break at the sight of the little baby, who had currently resorted to trembling from the last lightning flash.

“Hang on, let’s try this, maybe she just needs to be distracted.” Crowley pulled a duck shaped teether out of the drawer. “She is teething too that probably isn’t helping her mood.”

“But look at her Crowley! She’s shaking; you know how much storms scare her.” Aziraphale’s voice cracked. He had half a mind to dart straight into his and Crowley’s bedroom and never put her back in the nursery….

“Hey it’s okay you two, here-“ Crowley gently waved the duck teether and as expected, Eden stopped shaking and grabbed the toy with chubby fingers.

Crowley sighed in relief when Eden began to gnaw on the toy and he wiped away her tears with gentle fingers. “There now, all better. If the storm doesn’t fuck off I’ll miracle it away myself and make sure a storm never strikes here again.”

“But we can’t interfere with the weather like that, can we?” Aziraphale rubbed Eden’s back comfortingly, relieved that she had stopped shaking.

“We’ve interfered with a lot of things angel.” Crowley said as he stroked Eden’s soft tufty hair, which was starting to form beautiful curls.

“I suppose you are right….”

“Are you sure it’s safe for her to be left alone with the teether in her mouth?” Aziraphale asked as he watched Crowley put the baby back in her crib.

“Of course. Look, she’s much calmer now that the storm has passed.” It was true, it was just sprinkling now and things had quieted down at last.

“Now, let’s go downstairs for some tea and fix Eden a little snack?”

Aziraphale gasped, “ Oh Crowley she shouldn’t be left alone in this state!” He was about to scoop her up out of the cradle when Crowley stopped him.

“Angel, she’s calmed down and so has the weather. And you’ve been pushing yourself too much……you look exhausted. You need a breather….we both do.”

Aziraphale scoffed, “I have no idea what you are talking about dear boy!”

“Angel, you’ve been overdoing it ever since the baby started teething.”

“Because she’s been quite fussy and according to the books I’ve read, teething is quite painful…..I can’t bear the thought of her being in any sort of pain….”

“Aziraphale, we’ve been miracling the pain away for her when chewing on a teether doesn’t seem to help.”

“Well, yes, but then this blasted storm hit and it was the worst one yet! You saw how upset she was!” Aziraphale was suddenly hit by a wave of exhaustion and he suddenly felt drained.

“You see Aziraphale? Your wearing yourself out, change of plans, I’ll make the tea and snacks while you stay here. I’m not risking having you fall down the bloody stairs!”

Before Aziraphale could protest further, Crowley had pushed the nursery rocking chair next to Eden’s crib and he had a tartan blanket under an arm.

“Sit.”

Aziraphale let Crowley help him sit down and the blanket was tucked around his shoulders. “Now, you take it easy for a tick. I don’t want you to leave this spot unless absolutely necessary….which won’t happen because I won’t be long. I will find both of my angels relaxing and everything will be fine.

Crowley turned to the baby who looked up at him with blue serpentine eyes. “Now, Eden, you keep an eye on your Papa. I’ll be right back.” Crowley gave them each a kiss and he left the nursery.

Aziraphale and Eden’s gazes met. “As much as I hate to admit it, I am exhausted….perhaps your father’s advice is exactly what I needed to hear.”

Eden’s little wings flapped as she grinned at her Papa. “I just love you so much Little One, as your father always says, more than you’ll ever know….”

“Bah.” Eden concurred which made Aziraphale laugh.

It was nice to, as Crowley said, “take a breather.”

Crowley returned in record time with two cups of steaming tea with apple slices for the baby on a tray. He pushed the nursery door open and his gaze was met by the sight of Aziraphale, sound asleep in the rocking chair.

“Heh, I guess we’ll let Papa sleep while you have your snack, how does that sound Queenie?” Crowley turned to the crib......

Aziraphale’s eyes fluttered open and he was greeted by the sight of Crowley, who for some reason was cursing quietly to himself and was….why was the nursery in such disarray? Eden’s toy box was on its side with toys everywhere and the dresser and cabinet drawers were open with clothes and baby supplies everywhere….. Even the baby’s wardrobe’s doors were wide open with clothes strewn about everwhere…

“Shit shit shit shit shit! Fuck fuck fuck fuck!” Crowley groaned to himself as he checked under a pile of blankets for the third time.

“Crowley? What the hell have you done to the nursery?”

Crowley shot to his feet and turned to meet his husband’s shocked gaze. “Angel, uh, don’t get up! Everything is fine!”

Right when he said that, a peal of thunder shook the sky and once again lighting up the night sky.

“Aziraphale wait!” but it was too late, Aziraphale darted to the crib, but then cried out in horror.

The baby was gone.

And that’s when the power went out.

“Oh this is all my fault!” Aziraphale sobbed. “I shouldn’t have taken my eyes off of her, even for a second!”

Aziraphale wiped the tears from his eyes as he heard Crowley call Eden’s name. He had left the nursery once he restored the power and reassured Aziraphale that he would find their daughter.

Crowley had told him that when he returned to the room the baby was gone.

Aziraphale had ignored his exhaustion and searched the nursery himself, making it even messier, but there was no sign of the baby.

Defeated, Aziraphale went to his and Crowley’s bedroom and sat on the side of the bed, clutching Eden’s tartan baby blanket in his hands, staring at the name he had embroidered on himself.

“I’m so sorry.”

Crowley ran upstairs when he heard sobbing.

“Angel!” Crowley cried as he followed the sound into his and his husband’s bedroom.

“Aziraphale, darling, why aren’t you in the nursery?”

“Because she isn’t in the fucking nursery you idiot! I looked everywhere! I can’t find her!” Seeing Crowley enter the room without a baby in his arms made the angel snap.

Crowley darted to the angel’s side and pulled him into his arms. “I haven’t finished searching the cottage love. I won’t stop until I find her, I promise you.” Crowley’s voice cracked as tears stung his own eyes.

That’s when Crowley noticed a lump in the middle of the bed, and it was moving. “Angel, do you know what that is?”

Aziraphale wiped his eyes, “I frankly don’t give a damn what it is-“ the angel stopped at the sight of the strange lump, whatever it was it was rising and falling, as if it was breathing.

At Crowley’s gesture, Aziraphale stood up and backed away from the bed and with a quick motion, Crowley yanked off the blankets…..

Revealing a small, white serpent with shimmering black scales speckled across its sleek body.

“Wot the fuck?”

“My baby!” Aziraphale cried and without hesitating, scooped up the tiny serpent in the tartan blanket.

“Crowley, look she’s changed her form! For the very first time! Isn’t it wonderful?!” Aziraphale hugged the tiny bundle close, bursting with pride, but mostly relief that his daughter was safe and sound.

“Heh, I knew I’d find her!” Crowley said, pulling them both into his embrace. “That’s my girl.” He didn’t even bother to cover up his own tears or shaky voice when Eden suddenly turned back into their chubby red haired baby girl, her wings flapping madly.

“She must have slithered in here when she got scared or to explore…it’s hard to say since you were napping and I was downstairs.”

The fathers had moved into their bedroom. Crowley didn’t have the heart to separate Aziraphale from Eden, especially after such a horrible scare. So to Aziraphale’s delight, Eden would be sleeping with them tonight. The nursery was in no state for her to sleep in anyway.

“Whatever the case, I’m glad she came here…..I guess she knew we would come in here eventually.” Aziraphale murmured, his eyes not leaving the baby as she played with his ring finger, captivated by the golden serpent that circled her Papa's finger.

After some coaxing, Aziraphale finally drank his tea and Eden ate her apple slices and to Crowley’s relief, the storm had passed.

And once his husband got some much needed rest, he would plan a much warranted celebration for Eden’s newest milestone.

The End

#GoodOmens #goodomensseason2 #aziraphale #crowley #ineffable husbands #ineffable parents #ineffablefamily #eden #badomens #south downs cottage #snek crowley

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massivelycreepypineapple · 4 years

Text

Love Of My Life

Request: Crowley and reader dancing "queen love of my life" or it can be a scenario in which they fight and the two hear this song or "freddy mercury and montserrat caballe how can i go on"

Pairing: (Good Omens) Crowley x Fem!Reader

Song: Love of my life by Queen

A/N: This is my first song fic. Not really sure if it came out good. I’m really sorry if it’s bad! I’m also sorry this took so long to get out. I’ve been so swamped with work.

❅ ❅ ❅

Y/N was livid. She couldn’t believe he forgot about their date again. This was the third time in a row and she was getting sick and tired of his excuses.

“It’s hell and heaven related, Y/N!” Crowley had snapped at her when she asked him where he kept running off to, after the second time he forgot. “Some things are more important than a damn date night.” He then stormed off. Again. Of course to Aziraphale’s place.

She understood that being a mere human she wouldn’t take priority over celestial things. But the third time he forgot had done it for Y/N. There had to be a limit for her patience and she found it.

He was supposed to pick her up from her place. She had waited for him two hours past the agreed upon time and she had had enough. She changed her clothes into something comfortable and decided to heat up some take out. Just as she was about to put it in the microwave, the door burst open and Crowley stumbled into her apartment. Drunk.

Y/N rushed into the living room, and saw him lean against the wall. His eyes lit up after they landed on her. He pushed himself off and walked towards, going in to hug her. But Y/N pushed him away, glaring daggers at him.

“No!” She shouted, “You can’t just come in here, reeking of alcohol and pretend like everything is fine, Crowley!”

“Love-“

“Shut up! Just shut up! I understand there are more important things than me going on, with Armageddon just ending and everything. I really do, believe me. But there’s a limit for everyone and I have just about reached mine!”

Crowley sobered up at her outburst. He didn’t expect to be yelled at. He didn’t understand what he was doing wrong. He was doing everything in his power to keep her safe. After Armageddon, hell and heaven were pissed off at him and Aziraphale. He had to make sure that they didn’t find Y/N. He’d die before letting anything happen to her. And yet somehow here she was yelling at him.

Y/N continued with her rage filled monologue, “Maybe it’s the fact that I'm bloody human and you’d rather stick to your celestial friend here. Someone who gets you better. It’s not fair that you leave me behind every time!”

“Leave you behind?! Sweetheart, you have no idea what is going on out there! You have no idea the kind of danger you’re in!” He yelled back, clearly triggered by her.

“Then why won’t you tell me!? Why do you keep sneaking off early in the morning to god knows where?!”

“It’s not something you’ll understand! You’re just human! And right now, I’d really appreciate it if you could stop your human needs, and let me do my job!”

Y/N didn’t realise just how close he had gotten to her. Crowley was a demon from hell. A fact that she sometimes forgot considering how wonderfully nice he was to her. But right now, he took his glasses off and his snake eyes bore into hers, anger evident in them. He never looked so intimidating than at that moment. For the first time since they met, he scared her.

What he said went through her like a shock. He basically just reduced her to just some human being. No longer his Y/N, which he so often claimed. She teared up at that.

“Leave.” She whispered.

“Gladly.” He replied with a snarl.

Crowley was a demon, and once a demon was angry, it was hard for them to let go. He didn’t think about what he had said to her and simply turned around and left, slamming the door.

Y/N had never felt so heartbroken before in her life. Because no one else held her heart like he did. She wiped her tears and went to finish her dinner. She wasn’t going to let Crowley get to her. It was her decision for him to leave and he happily went with it. There was nothing left to say or do about it.

She finished eating and went to the living room to watch some telly. She needed a distraction but she wasn’t really paying attention, her mind constantly going back to the fight. She was starting to regret asking him to leave. She should’ve talked it out with him. But then again his temper didn’t allow for reasonable conversation.

She closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the head rest. She didn’t realise she stopped at a music channel, until suddenly a song began playing. She quickly recognised it as Queen, Crowley’s favourite band.

Love of my life, you've hurt me

You've broken my heart and now you leave me

Love of my life, can't you see?

Bring it back, bring it back

Don't take it away from me, because you don't know

What it means to me

“Fuck” Y/N whispered. Of all the songs to play, this just had to be the one. The universe really was out to get her, wasn’t it?

She got up from the couch and walked behind it, placing her hands on the headrest. She watched the video on the screen, letting the words wash over her. Where had it all gone wrong? Maybe this was doomed to fail since day one.

Love of my life, don't leave me

You've taken my love, you now desert me

Love of my life, can't you see?

Bring it back, bring it back

Don't take it away from me

Because you don't know

What it means to me

Y/N didn’t hear her door open and close. It took her by surprise when she felt arms wrap around her from behind. She knew then who it was and she felt relief and pain all at once, overwhelming her to the brink.

Crowley turned her around and cupped her cheek with one hand as the other remained wrapped around her waist. He pecked her lips and looked into her eyes. She noticed that his glasses were missing as she looked into his beautiful yellow eyes and she fell in love all over again even if it hurt to do so.

He pulled her away from the couch and began swaying with her to the music, singing softly with it.

You will remember

When this is blown over

Everything's all by the way

When I grow older

I will be there at your side to remind you

How I still love you

“I still love you” Y/N whispered to him, as he tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. He rested his forehead against hers still dancing to the music. All she wanted was him at her side. That’s all she ever asked for and maybe that was asking too much.

As if Crowley could hear her thoughts, he said, “I’m so sorry, my love. I was such an arse to you.”

Y/N was sniffling. She didn’t know what to say but at the same time she had so much she wanted him to know. She rested her head on his shoulder crying softly at his apology. The music washed over them, conveying more than they ever could.

Oh, hurry back, hurry back

Don't take it away from me

You don't know what it means to me

Love of my life

As the song ended, they pulled away looking into each other’s eyes. Crowley was the first to break the silence, “I love you so much, it scares me, Y/N. I can’t lose you.”

“You being away for so long doesn’t prove that you don’t want to lose me.” She said, voice breaking.

“I know”, He whispered with shame. “Heaven and hell, they’re angry, Y/N. If they find out about you, they’ll hurt you just to make me suffer.”

“Is that why you’ve been disappearing so much?”

“Yes, Aziraphale and I have been trying to think of a way to keep you safe. I never wanted to hurt you, honey.”

“I should stop being so human, huh?” Y/N chuckled as a tear slipped from her eye. Crowley wiped it away with his thumb.

“I didn’t mean that. I’m so so sorry I said that. I was pissed that you weren’t listening to me. And I just took it out on you.”

“It’s ok” Y/N whispered looking down.

Crowley lifted her chin up making her look at him, “It’s not okay I said that. Your humanity is one of the things that made me fall in love with you so deeply.”

“Why’d you come back?”

“I regretting leaving the second I walked out the door. I went over to Aziraphale’s and he made me realise that I would lose you either way if I didn’t show you how much I cared about you.”

“He’s a smart guy.” Y/N said with a small smile, making him chuckle.

“Don’t let him hear you say that. He’ll be unbearable.”

Y/N giggled at that. “I’m glad you came back. I regretted asking you to leave.”

Crowley hugged her tightly, resting her head on his chest. Protecting her from unseen danger that he suspected was right around the corner.

“What now?” Y/N asked.

“We find a way to keep you safe and we never let anything like this happen again.”

“I like the sound of that.”

#good omens #crowley x reader #good omens x reader #reader insert #female reader #angst #fluff #good omens crowley #good omens crowley x reader

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thisvictoriangirl · 5 years

Note

56 for the ineffable husbands :)

Thanks for the ask! I had a blast writing this one. :)

56. Someone accepting the bad parts of you without judging

What one has to realize before one goes on to pass judgment on Anthony J. Crowley is that six thousand plus years as a demon on Earth is a long time. A loooong long time. Long enough to have given Crowley a repertoire of bad habits, some of which he’d picked up from the nastier sort of humans, others still which he’d invented and made a trend of, himself.

But his first crime, his Original Sin, had been asking.

Asking too many questions, voicing out too many doubts, always always asking for too much.

(even when he’d been Falling, Crowley had asked Her. asked for forgiveness. begged desperately for mercy. for a second chance. that had been too much, too, and he’d only Burned all the more as he plummeted down.)

So when he and Aziraphale had gotten together (it was about bloody time, though, wasn’t it? Christ, he’d been pining since fucking EDEN--), when Aziraphale finally took his hand and held his face in his soft-warm palm and kissed him in that clever way that made Crowley gasp and shudder, Crowley bit back his tongue.

Shut his eyes and held on, choking back all the questions building up on the back of his throat.

(since when? how long? why now, angel? angel, why me? angel, aziraphale, are you sure? are you absolutely sure it’s me you want?)

When Aziraphale had finally smiled at him, radiant and ever-bright, Crowley had swallowed back all the things he wanted to asked for since the Beginning. Stopped himself from asking can you do that again? for me, angel? Stopped himself short of begging, please kiss me again. please never stop kissing me. Stopped his stupid mouth from ruining the one good thing given to him again, even though Crowley knew it was only a matter of time before he fucked it all up.

And fuck up Crowley did, one quiet night in, and it had been too cold no matter how many layers he wore and Aziraphale had looked so warm and comfortable on the couch with his blanket and his cocoa and his book--

--and Crowley is left sulking miserably in all his fucking layers, glaring holes at the hard bound cover of Aziraphale’s book in hopes that it’ll catch fire and shrivel up. The only reason he’d given Aziraphale that obscenely fluffy blanket, even made him cocoa, was in hopes that it would convince Aziraphale to put down his book, peer up at him, and say, “Do you want to share the blanket and cuddle with me, Crowley?”

(but that’s too much, isn’t it? Crowley’s asking for too much again, he can’t stop this greed, this disgusting desperation for more more more, he can’t ever be satisfied with one good thing, can he, always has to push until something breaks--)

Aziraphale sighs.

It breaks Crowley’s reverie, and he blinks into focus, looking up to meet Aziraphale’s patient blue gaze. Aziraphale quirks his lips in the tiniest of fond smiles, and Crowley relaxes somewhat. “Did you want something, dear?” Aziraphale asks him.

Crowley parts his lips to speak, hesitates. His mouth runs dry. (too much, his mind screams at him, too much, don’t fucking ask for too much.)

“S’nothing, angel.” Crowley waves a dismissive hand. “Just looking.”

“Are you sure?”

“Course. Always, that’s--that’s me. Always sure.”

“Alright.” Aziraphale remains unconvinced despite what he says, so Crowley grins at him until Aziraphale softens, huffs out a small laugh, and goes back to his book.

And Crowley is still cold. The grin on his face falls apart.

He looks longingly back at Aziraphale cocooned in the blanket, eyes drinking in the words from the pages, and allows himself this sight, at least. Imagines Aziraphale’s arms around him, imagines them pressed flush and gentle against one another. (too much, his mind never fails to remind him, don’t beg for too much, Crowley, or he’ll get sick of you, too.)

With one last longing look at Aziraphale, Crowley stands and begins to shuffle to the kitchen. Maybe a cup of cocoa would warm him up, even just a little--

The snap of a book closing shut makes him stop. There’s a throat clearing, and then Aziraphale prompts, entirely out of the blue, “Crowley, come here.”

Flabbergasted, Crowley turns. “What?”

Aziraphale only stares at him like a parent would at a particularly dull child. “I said, come here.”

“What for?” Even as he’s putting up a token protest, Crowley goes to him, drawn like a moth to a flame. “What did I do? I didn’t even do anything, angel, I was going to the kitchen--”

“Come here and cuddle with me.”

That makes Crowley stop for the second time around--only this time, his breath is knocked out of him and Crowley can’t hear his thoughts over the roaring beat of his heart. It leaves him to stare dumbly down at Aziraphale, wide-eyed and a little terrified.

Aziraphale must see it (because of course he does. Aziraphale always sees him, all of him, all of Crowley’s edges and mistakes and too-much-ness, and he never looks away) because he softens then, smiles a touch too sadly as he offers a hand for Crowley to take. "Come here, love.”

Crowley goes.

(Crowley always goes where Aziraphale asks him to follow.)

He’s pulled down gently on the couch and within seconds, Crowley’s surrounded by warm warm warm everywhere, the blankets and the smell of cocoa and Aziraphale’s body pressed up against him so closely, Crowley could feel the planes of his torso fitting perfectly into the softness of Aziraphale’s side even with all the clothing between them.

Aziraphale tangles their arms together, laces their fingers tenderly. He leans impossibly closer to Crowley until he can press his lips on a sharp cheekbone, once, twice. The ghost of his kiss sears itself like a brand on Crowley’s skin. “Is this what you wanted, Crowley?”

“I--yeah, yes, yes,” Crowley stumbles over his words ungracefully, his face aflame, his eyes burning hotter and hotter with every blink until all he can see is a blur and there are tears racing down to his chin. He feels too much, too tender, too soft, too loved and it hurts.

It aches but in the gentlest sort of way only Aziraphale can make him ache, and Crowley is trembling despite all the warmth in his body now. He hides his face against a plush shoulder, and croaks out, broken, “You knew.”

It’s not a question.

Aziraphale answers anyway. “I knew. I thought you’d never ask, and I found it a shame.” Aziraphale reaches up, brushes away the tear tracks and buries another kiss on Crowley’s hair. “Why don’t you ever ask, darling?”

“Because,” Crowley swallows heavily. (don’t, his mind tells him, don’t say too much. but Crowley is tired of holding back. can’t he have this? hasn’t he Fallen enough for his Sin?) “s’too much, angel. I ask for too much.”

“Oh, Crowley.” A sigh, another kiss on his head. “Crowley, look at me, won’t you?”

Crowley looks up, helpless at the face of Aziraphale’s open adoration. When Aziraphale kisses him, Crowley can only hold on and take as much as Aziraphale is willing to give, and when they break apart, Crowley can only offer a ragged breath to Aziraphale’s small smile.

“Ask me for more, Crowley,” Aziraphale tells him, hushed and certain. He brushes away the last of Crowley’s tears and kisses him vulnerable again. “Always ask me for more.”

“More?” Crowley echoes.

Aziraphale smiles. “More.”

“Alright,” Crowley whispers, and asks, “More.”

Aziraphale gives him more.

Feel free to send me prompts!

#good omens #good omens fic #my fic #ineffable husbands #writing prompts #aziraphale #anthony j crowley

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29-pieces · 4 years

Text

Whumptober day 27 - Good Omens

Day 27: Extreme Weather Fandom/setting: Good Omens, Pompeii ca 79 AD Read on AO3 Read on FF.net

~*~

Crowley hacked and coughed, face covered with his arm in a pointless attempt to protect himself from the ash. Stones rained down all around him; it was the only sound now that most of the screams had gone silent. Tears dripped down Crowley's face, carving lines through the ash that had already settled on him. What was he even doing here? It was useless... any human still in Pompeii was dead by now, or long past his ability to heal. And he wasn't supposed to be healing anyone, anyway. In fact, Crowley didn't know what his assignment here even was, but the crippling horror he felt at the scene around him wouldn't have allowed for him to function anyway.

"Anybody!" Crowley croaked out, desperation driving his sandaled feet a little further into the city. "Hello! Is- is anyone left...?"

One person. One wretched person to save, that was all he asked, but he couldn't stay here much longer himself, not without succumbing to the volcano and discorporating. At this point, it didn't seem like a terrible idea. A huge rock glanced off his shoulder, knocking Crowley off balance so that he tripped into the rapidly growing layer of hot ash coating the streets. Even if fire wasn't likely to do much damage to a demon (did lava count? He'd never tested this and wasn't eager to) it still hurt. Another stone crashed down beside him, so Crowley growled and drew his wings out into the physical plane, hoping to shield his head.

It wasn't the best idea he'd ever had, the hot, cloying ash immediately starting to stick to his feathers. It weighed him down, cumbersome and unwieldy. Crowley tried to stand back up but this time a falling rock did knock him over the head. The demon toppled the rest of the way to the ground, almost totally immersing himself in a hot casing of the volcanic brume.

With a strangled cry, Crowley forced himself up onto one trembling arm and called again,

"H-hello! Anyone, is anyone left alive?"

Shouting made him cough and choke and there was no reply. It was time to go; he was doing no good- er, well, he never did good, but he wasn't any use here. Shuffling around in the ash, Crowley staggered to his feet and tried to point himself out of the city, away from the cruel fires of Vesuvius. He blinked, shielding his eyes, and glanced around. His heart pounded faster; which way was out? Everything was covered in a thick, dark cloud and he had no idea which direction he was pointed now...

Maybe he should just lay down and discorporate there after all, but it was a terrifying prospect to die there alone in the volcano's wrath.

Panic overcame him, making the demon start to hyperventilate, which—given the debris in the air—only made things worse. Crowley sat heavily back down, about to go into a full-blown panic attack when a sudden light permeated the gaseous cloud around him.

"Hello!" a voice shouted. "Is someone there?"

"Over here!" Crowley immediately choked back, forgetting for a second the point had been for him to find someone else to save, not to require rescuing himself. At the moment, he didn't even care, nor did it occur to him that his wings—which he couldn't put away now even if he wanted, thanks to the layer of ash and dust bogging them down—might be a bit of a shock to whoever it was.

But when the light got closer, Crowley nearly sagged with relief to see the someone was the angel Aziraphale. They hadn't crossed paths since that day at Golgotha, but so far all of their meetings had been more or less on friendly terms, or at least neutral ones. So even though now would be the ideal time for Aziraphale to finish him off if he wanted, Crowley didn't think twice before reaching out desperately for the angel.

He saw Aziraphale's eyes widen before he hurried forward to take Crowley's hand and haul him back up to his feet.

"Can you fly?" Aziraphale asked urgently.

Crowley, who could barely move his wings now, shook his head.

Without another word, Aziraphale turned them both in the direction he'd come from, starting to run, still gripping Crowley's hand tightly. As bogged down as Crowley was, he couldn't go quite as fast, gasping raggedly for breath.

"Hurry!" Aziraphale urged over his shoulder. "The flow is about to hit the city!"

Crowley didn't answer, saving his breath for running. He didn't know how long or far they ran, but finally they broke free of the heavy cloud. Ash still drifted down like snowflakes, but Aziraphale didn't stop or let go of his hand until they had outrun even that. Not until they had splashed across a stream and Pompeii was far behind them did the angel slow to a stop, leaning over and panting hard.

Crowley fell to his knees at the stream to greedily gulp the cool water. It mixed with the ash coating his mouth, making him hack and spit out gobs of gunk. Crowley had never felt so miserable.

"Took too long gloating, did you?" Aziraphale wheezed, shooting a glower at the demon.

The implication froze Crowley in his tracks. He stared at Aziraphale, the accusation burning into his heart. "You think- that wasn't me," he gasped. Crowley's frame shuddered as he slowly shook his head and looked back towards the volcano—hidden in the cloud of its own eruption—with pain filled eyes. "There- there were kids in there," he whispered, voice breaking. "I thought I could get them out, but... They're all dead. All of 'em. I- Just get out of here and leave me then, if that's what you think! Stupid angel! I didn't do this!" He crumpled again. "There were kids..."

Aziraphale didn't leave, kneeling down next to him with an expression of sorrow. "I'm sorry, Crowley," he said contritely. "That was foolish of me to assume- I'm sorry, dear boy, please forgive me."

Crowley hung his head and nodded wordlessly. The angel had saved his life, after all, even while assuming the whole thing had been Crowley's doing.

"Oh, your wings are in such a state," Aziraphale fussed then, looking over the normally black feathers that were now streaked grey and white from the ash. "Let me get you cleaned up a bit, alright? Penance for my ugly assumption. And because I don't believe you'd have much luck on your own."

Well, he was right about that. Too exhausted to refuse and wanting nothing more than to be clean, Crowley nodded again.

Permission given, Aziraphale miracled a clean cloth out of nowhere and wet it in the stream. Then he sat behind Crowley and started to gently wipe away the layer of grime. While he did that, Crowley tiredly splashed water over his face and neck, rinsing so much ash away between the two of them that the stream ran cloudy where they were sitting. He finished before Aziraphale did; Crowley closed his eyes and sank into the comfort of having his feathers carefully cleaned, all the way from the tip of his primaries to the joint where the wings met his back and then back down over the other one.

His hurt at Aziraphale's accusation melted away along with the debris on his wings. To Crowley's surprise, the angel didn't stop even once he'd gone through several rags and the feathers were pristine again.

"Close your eyes," Aziraphale warned him, miracling a bucket now and trickling the water over Crowley's head to rinse out his long hair. Somehow the water was soapy and warm as the angel massaged it diligently into Crowley's scalp. It nearly put the demon to sleep, his throat closing up a bit at the gentle touch. He couldn't remember the last time someone had washed his hair. Had anyone ever? He didn't say a word, not trusting himself to speak, as the angel continued his careful ministrations.

"There we are," Aziraphale murmured, tipping one last bucket of warm water through his hair to wash everything away. "Now one last miracle—I doubt anyone on my side will notice, after all there's plenty that needs doing here—and you should feel like a new demon."

With a snap of his fingers, Crowley's ashy, dirty tunic was suddenly clean and shining white. Apparently the angel forgot that Crowley wore black, but it had been nearly white from the ash so he could be forgiven the mistake. Crowley would fix it later. Maybe. At any rate, it left him fully clean and fresh at last. Aziraphale crouched down beside him, a warm hand on Crowley's shoulder and a worried light in his eyes.

"Are you alright?" the angel asked softly. "I imagine this has... not been a good day."

"To say the least," Crowley replied, trying for flippant but sounding more downtrodden than anything. He cleared his throat. "But, uh, I guess I should thank you."

"Nonsense, you would have done the same-" Aziraphale cut off, turning an interesting shade of pink as though he'd said something he shouldn't have and wanted to have not said it.

Crowley wanted to tease him for it, but honestly he was too tired, so he nodded instead with all seriousness. "Yeah. Still," he said, shrugging. "Thanks." It was true, of course, he would have saved the angel if necessary. Crowley hated to be in anyone's debt, so maybe they should just make some sort of standing Arrangement, when the other needed help, they'd give it. Then it wasn't a favor, it was just... what they did. He'd mention it to Aziraphale sometime, see what the angel made of it. An Arrangement could come in really handy, the more he thought about it.

But that, he decided, soaking in the feeling of being clean and safe at last, was a thought for another day.

#whumptober2020 #no.27 #extreme weather #good omens #crowley whump #fanfiction #volcano #pompeii #pre-arrangement #wing grooming #hair washing #basically i'm a sucker for soft boys ^_^#Aziraphale to the rescue

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lady-divine-writes · 4 years

Text

“Touch” (Rated NC17)

Summary: An angel's touch can make a demon remember Heaven, which is why demons avoid them at all costs.

But Crowley craves Aziraphale's touch more than anything in the world. (1444 words)

Notes: This is a small fic with many inspirations. The first is @ineffable-valentines prompt 'touch'. The second is @whiteleyfoster Prince of Omens secondary fic 'Down'. I was going to wait till 'Down' was finished, to see if my ideas intertwined, but I didn't want to sit on this too long. I have a bunch of stuff piling up and I need to move along XD The third inspiration was @gemennair's DTIYS where Crowley shows Aziraphale how he created the stars.

Read on AO3.

“Mmm …”

“Shh … There, there …”

“A-angel?”

“It’s all right, my dear. Go back to sleep.”

“Aziraphale?” Crowley’s head lifts from his pillow, but a hand to his head, combing through his hair, gently pushes it back down. “Wh-what are you doing?”

“I’m preening you.”

“Preening me?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“But it’s …” A single amber eye opens, peering through the darkness to locate the nearest clock. When Crowley spots it, his eyelid pops open in disbelief “… two in the bloody morning!”

“So it is,” Aziraphale replies, smoothing down a small patch of feathers before moving on to the next.

“Why are you preening me at two in the morning?”

“Because I don’t sleep, my dear.” Aziraphale sighs, his rolling eyes audible between his words. “Aside from reading, what else would I be doing? By the by, has anyone ever told you your down is lovely?”

“Once or twice,” Crowley yawns, crossing his arms beneath his head and resting his cheek on them as he relaxes beneath his angel’s firm but careful caress.

“It is.” Aziraphale hums appreciatively. “Very lovely. So glossy and black and …”

“So why does it need preening?” Crowley interrupts, slightly uncomfortable listening to Aziraphale compliment his demon wings. Crowley happens to be prouder than punch of them.

But as memory serves (and it doesn’t always) they’re nothing compared to his angel wings.

“It’s just a little ruffled. From … you know … you sleeping on them.”

Crowley grins at the shudder in Aziraphale’s voice, the way it modulates, skips tones like pebbles across a pond …

… the shy pride it betrays.

Crowley doesn’t often sleep with his wings unfurled. He tosses and turns during the night and his wings get caught up underneath him. If he manages to spend longer than an hour sleeping in one position, they go numb.

But he unfurls his wings when he and Aziraphale make love. Afterwards, he’s often too worn out to tuck them back in. So he lays them flat over the bed, and over Aziraphale’s lap while he sits up and reads, and falls asleep that way. He’s a far less restless sleeper with Aziraphale in bed beside him.

He knows he’s being looked after by his own personal guardian angel.

That makes him a fortunate demon.

“It bothered you that much?” Crowley teases, the sleepy smirk that lifts the corners of his lazy mouth everything to Aziraphale.

“No.” Aziraphale leans over and kisses Crowley’s forehead, the smile he presses to his skin fond, full of love … and sadness. “I wanted an excuse to touch you.”

“You don’t need an excuse to touch me. You can touch me whenever you like.”

“I didn’t mean to wake you. Should I let you get back to sleep?”

“I’m good.” Crowley shifts on the bed so Aziraphale can reach the farthest edges of his wing more easily, so he can rest his head on his angel’s knee. “Do you remember the first time you did this for me?”

Aziraphale’s fingers stall, tangled between wing and words, but they don’t stay that way for long. “Yes, I do. I remember every time I’ve touched you … and every time you’ve touched me. Touches had been so few and far between for so long. But I didn’t think that first time was something you liked to think about.”

“It’s not. I mean, not the things that lead up to the moment. Not my trial … and not falling … not adjusting to life as a demon. But you? I like remembering you. Even fuzzy memories of you are good memories.”

Aziraphale gives Crowley another wistful kiss followed by another sad smile. Fuzzy. That’s how Crowley describes his memories of Heaven. Aziraphale isn’t entirely certain that excuse is as true as Crowley makes it out to be. Are those memories fuzzy? Or does he say that so he doesn’t feel obligated to drudge them up for Aziraphale?

Doesn’t feel too guilty when he doesn’t feel like talking about it?

Aziraphale’s memories of Crowley before his Fall are muddy, too. That was Heaven’s doing - wiping the minds of any angel they’d come in contact with, any angel who’d heard their angelic name the second they left Heaven’s ranks. Sadly, several angels have been erased from Aziraphale’s reckoning. He couldn’t recall them even if someone held Hellfire to his head. On the rare occasion he does sleep, he thinks he sees their faces.

Their eyes in particular.

The look of devastation when their sentences were carried out, their frightened acceptance when they were tossed from the clouds.

Aziraphale and Crowley weren’t friends in Heaven. Being a Principality, Aziraphale didn’t spend time with Starmakers, which is what Crowley had been. He wishes they had, wishes there was a whole history of the two of them before the one they wrote on Earth. Before today, before I love you, before The Ark and Egypt and Calvary and Soho and Mayfair and the Apoca-didn’t and all the other places and times that fingerprint their relationship, six-thousand years seemed like a long time.

Now it doesn’t seem long at all.

“What do you remember about Heaven?” Aziraphale asks. He’s asked dozens of times, and every time the answer is the same.

A sorrowful sigh, and the words, “Not much … thankfully.”

“Do you think you’d miss it if you remembered?”

Crowley shrugs one shoulder. “I’d miss some things,” he says, rolling onto his back, exposing the underside of his wings for his angel’s attention.

Aziraphale moves when Crowley does, crawling over him, straddling his hips.

Hovering above him so he can look in Crowley’s eyes.

“Such as?”

“I’d miss the crisp, cool air on my face if I could remember it.”

“If you fly high enough up into the atmosphere, where moisture turns into ice crystals on your skin, you can still have that. Or something close to it.”

“True. But it’s not the same. I don’t remember what the air in Heaven feels like, but I know … it’s not the same. Plus, you run the risk of ending up on some pilot’s radar and becoming labeled a UFO.”

“Yes.” Aziraphale chuckles. “I do recall a few grainy videos circulating a decade or two ago that bore a striking resemblance to your handsome figure.”

“I can neither confirm nor deny.”

“Anything else?”

Crowley sighs. “I miss the stars. I miss creating them, pulling them from the fabric of the Universe and setting them loose in the sky. If I concentrate hard, I can still conjure up a few …” He reaches up a hand, palm flat and facing up, and rotates his fingers. Lights dance from the tips, sparks of blue and orange like tiny fireworks. They bring a smile to Crowley’s lips, one that Aziraphale only sees when they’re alone together. The lights hop through the air, spinning round and round like a dog chasing its tail, looking for a place to settle. But before they get the chance, they sputter to a halt and fall, blinking out before they reach the mattress. Crowley watches them, his smile fading as they extinguish into dust. “But they die too quickly.”

“That’s heartbreaking.” Aziraphale takes Crowley’s hand, holds it to his heart. He’s never attempted making stars himself. All angelic power can be used to create so, theoretically, he should be able. But he doesn’t think he has the artistic vision to pull it off. If he could turn them into words then maybe, but he doesn’t think the Almighty would appreciate Her night sky resembling a bowl of cosmic alphabet soup.

“Some demons say that the touch of an angel can make you remember Heaven,” Crowley adds with a dark chuckle, “which is why demons avoid angels at all costs.”

“Why? Why would they not want to remember?”

“Because remembering Heaven and not being able to go back to it …” Crowley shakes his head “… it can drive you insane. After a few thousand years, many demons will tell you they wouldn’t return to Heaven if you gave them the world as an appetizer. But you can’t really trust demons, can you?”

Crowley winks. It’s playful, honest.

But it nearly brings Aziraphale to tears.

“Does my touch take you back to Heaven?” Aziraphale asks earnestly, but he doesn’t know which answer he’d prefer. A yes would be as crushing to him as a no, all things considered. He doesn’t want to hurt Crowley, but without intending to, he can’t seem to stop.

“Aziraphale ...” Crowley wraps his arms and his wings around him, pulls him down onto his body and holds him close “… your touch is Heaven.”

#good omens #good omens fanfiction #ineffable husbands #prince of omens #anthony j crowley #aziraphale #crowley x aziraphale #aziraphale x crowley

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megastarstriker · 4 years

Text

~{Unfortunate Events}~ 𝑨𝒛𝒊𝒓𝒂𝒑𝒉𝒂𝒍𝒆 𝒙 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝒙 𝑪𝒓𝒐𝒘𝒍𝒆𝒚 ---------------------------------------------- 𝓟𝓡𝓞𝓛𝓞𝓖𝓤𝓔 •·················•·················• ===============

“Faithful Encounters”

Part One

=================================

𝙋𝙖𝙞𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜: Aziraphale x reader x Crowley

𝙁𝙖𝙣𝙙𝙤𝙢: Good Omens

𝙒𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝘾𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩: 1,298

𝙎𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮: She was just the new angel that day, only to be casted out on the spot, like a baby bird being thrown out of its nest to learn how to fly on its own against its will. She was an outcast and had no place or purpose there or even in the pits of fire. Now she finds herself reliving her traumatizing nightmare when she was child, as she counts the final days of the world’s demise as she plans ruining ‘The Lady Above’s Great Plan’.( I do not own Good Omens or its characters only the ones I create.)

𝑲𝒆𝒚𝒔 :

(Y/N) = Your Name

(S/C) = Skin Color

(B/T) = Body Type

(H/C) = Hair Color

(H/L) = Hair Length

(H/S) = Hair Style

(Y/A) = Your Accent

(C/N) = Country Name

(P/N) = Pet’s Name

(F/C) = Favorite Clothing

=============================================================

Falling..........

Falling...........

I was Falling..........

At least that’s how it felt. The strong pressure of the fall and whistling of the wind as my eyes were closed not daring to look at what was happening and not being able to almost as if it was forbidden to me. I screamed but my voice was silent and only pitch ringing of church bells stroking were only heard through my ears. As my wings carried me downwards as I tried to flap my way up, I felt a burning sensation at the tips of my wings feathers. A haze of smoke traveling through my nose causing me to panic. The pain of the burns wasn’t excruciating but it was indeed painful. Moving downwards I could picture the pure white clouds in the sky; feeling their delicate and soft touch grazing barely against my skin through my outstretched arms, small beads of sweats hanging at the tips of my (S/C) toes. My eyes releasing a cold liquid substance onto my (S/C) rosy cheeks, sticking to my skin as my (H/C),(H/L) hair flew gracefully in the wind surrounding me.

Was it the rain in the sky falling or was it my tears silently leaking down my face?

I would never find out..

Because as soon as I opened my eyes...

I saw a group of shadows above....

a choir of laughs and whispers reaching my ears.......

Although blurry, my sight was focused on them...

I begged them, screamed, and shouted for help as I tried to fly my way out of harm’s way and towards them.

But they then disappeared...

Vanished.....

I was angry at them for being so selfish and insensitive that they couldn’t help...

I tried my best to steady my wings and force them to go up as I hissed in pain.....

But as I looked down to see the state of my hurting wings.....

I realized that my wings were missing and there was nothing residing on my back at all only glimpses of what looked like to be solid ground a couple a feet or miles away from me.......

I screamed at the top of my longs as soon as the solid ground were only mere inches away from my falling, (B/T) form.

__________________________________________

I bolted upright on my bed, as beads of sweat rolled down and dripped my freezing forehead, as I gasped for air. Propping myself on my elbows, I turned the lamp on my bedside table, and looked at the clock on the wall. As it was making a bell chiming noise, that alerted me it read.

𝟕:𝟎𝟎 𝐩.𝐦.

Then the chiming from the Victorian clock dissipated as soon as it hit ‘7:01′ A few moments later.

❝Stupid Clock❞, I muttered angrily in my American/(Y/A) accent.

Grabbing and throwing my pillow that was resting on my bed, at the wall a few feet below were the clock was pinned up, but purposely trying to hit the clock.

I groaned tiredly rubbing the dirt of my sleepy eyes and stretching my eyes as a small yawn came out of my lips. I then stood up, causing a slight creak as my weight left the warm, cozy covers and comforts of my bed. I approached the curtains and tugged them to the side to reveal the bright world and beaming sun from the other side of my window. It was quite sunny without a doubt, a great day for outside activities, like picnics, and walks on the park. I smiled a bit as I thought of going for a walk, as I looked down at the people who were walking across my apartment on the streets of London. That’s Right.

I live in Soho, London.

Not the grandest thing like I would’ve liked back in Sweet America/(C/N), but well enough to enjoy, I guess. Besides, I could switch countries whenever I want, its really one of the perks and miracles of well you know an angel.....or a demon....I really don’t have a clue right know, but I really couldn’t care less right know as much as I wanted to. My mood quickly changing its sour and angry demeanor to a sweet and giddy one as I watched the world doing its wonders and works.

❛Speaking of works❜, I thought as I remembered my ‘human’ friend,❛Gotta get ready, wouldn’t want her to scream her head off because of me.❜

I laughed softly to myself wondering the look on her face, the color of a cute tomato in fury as she yelled at me for being late to meet her at the Ritz for some ‘sweet news’ and ‘gossip girl talk’ on her job as she liked to call it.

❝Well, better not keep her waiting❞, I muttered softly as I looked ahead at the window’s view from outside.

❝Right, Socrates❞, I said while not turning my head and still keeping my gaze fixated on the view.

I then heard a slight hiss from the glass box near the table next to me, keeping the beady and slit-pupiled eyed creature secured who was looking at me in a sassy manner.

I laughed lightly at its response. I had many names for Socrates, because well I didn’t know a name good enough for it to be official, so usually I would call him Socrates or (P/N) just to be respectful.

As I brushed my silky and soft (H/C),(H/L) hair, I thought about that horrible dream much said nightmare last night. It felt real, thinking about it gave me chills and goosebumps. Never even want to mention it or talk about it much.

I shook my head in thought and looked myself in the mirror after I finished brushing my hair and did it nicely into a (H/S) style. I then made my way over to the closet and picked what I thought would look nice and was great for days like these. I picked out a gallant looking suit it was grey and looked very sketchy but cute overall and it hugged my perfect figure nicely. It almost made me look like a business woman of sorts. I was still debating whether to wear this or something else from the other clothes I had, but I guess I’ll go ahead and try this for today and if the weather gets a bit hot for me I can always bring my personal (F/C) to wear later.

I then went down stairs and went to my bookshelf of my old collection of editions and went and grabbed one entitled ❛The Divine Comedy by Dante Alighieri❜

I hummed satisfied as I looked at the polished cover and took it with me in case I was bored and wanted to read. I put it in my bag and as I finished putting on any needed accessories on myself. I was off the doors of my household and walked down the pavement of the streets of Fancy Soho, London. Happily humming a sweet tune of ❛Crazy Little Thing Called Love by Queen❜ as I walked with each step of my feet as a sort of dance.

Halfway at my destination I swore I spotted a familiar vehicle parked a few feet away from...a very classy Bentley and a beautiful one too. A very similar now that you can remember. I then heard a horn going off as I walked halfway past it abruptly stopping as I did. I then stopped and looked at it closer.

❛Hmm....❜, I squinted a bit at it but then kept whistling and humming Queen songs as I did and occasionally a few classics like Beethoven,❛ It couldn’t be ....I’m just imagining things ,huh.❜

Then as I kept walking through a crowd of people, I could catch a glimpse medium and wavy flaming red and ginger hair walking between the crowd of people. Then while I was distracted, I bumped into someone causing me to stumble slightly. I then looked up and saw something that made my eyes widen slightly and my heart beat faster. The person had ginger flaming medium length hair that swayed freely with each step and wore Jet black glasses, a very nice combination of outerwear consisting a leather jacket and greyish black shirt and pants with very classy dark shining shoes. What made him stand out the most was unnoticeable hidden tattoo of a snake below his sideburn.

❛ Crowley !!❜ , I thought.

But before I could confirm my suspicions he was gone in a flash and I lost sight of him.

❛ That could’ve been any ginger head man.... Right?❜, I thought as I made my way to the restaurant.

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

This part one of the Prologue of my Good Omens Series on the next part we will maybe have an encounter with a lovely angel friend

I hope you enjoy~

#GoodOmens #michaelsheen #davidtennant #aziraphale #aziraphale x reader #crowley x reader #aziraphalexreaderxcrowley #crowleyxreaderxaziraphale #good omens #neil gaiman #amazingshow #imsoft #SoftBastard #ineffable idiots #ineffable #angel #demon #archangel fucking gabriel #Comedy

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holycatsandrabbits · 4 years

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“It’s okay, angel,” Mr. Crowley said softly.

Rylee was standing among the bookshelves in Mr. Fell’s bookshop, looking for something to give her administrative assistant for his birthday, when she heard what sounded like someone softly crying. She peeked around a shelf to find that it was Mr. Fell.

“I’m sorry, my dear,” Mr. Fell was saying to his husband, wiping a tear off of his cheek. “I just had a bit of a feeling that something would happen today, something bad, and I—”

Mr. Crowley pulled him close. “You had a panic attack. It’s all right, angel.”

Rylee decided that the best thing to do would be to give them their privacy, so she started to leave. Toward the exit, she caught up with Audrey and Lloyd, a couple of high schoolers who were bookshop regulars.

“They came for me here once—” Mr. Fell’s voice came from the back.

“They won’t be back, we made sure of that. Remember? Us and Adam. Took us a while, but it’s all worked out now. Come on, now, you need to rest. Curl up with me, grab a book. That’ssss it. Maybe you’ll even fall assssleep,” Mr. Crowley said, in a strange sort of hissing voice.

“I don’t sleep,” Mr. Fell protested.

“You can sleep, angel, you just don’t like to. Don’t worry about it. I’m here, and I’ll keep you sssafe.”

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t—”

Mr. Crowley’s voice grew darker. “Azzzzziraphale, I don’t want you to ever apologize for what they did to you.”

There was silence for a few minutes, and then Audrey said, “We should probably just go.” Her friend nodded. But rather than leave, they grinned at each other and sneaked back into the stacks.

“I don’t think—” Rylee started, following them as well, until she nearly ran into the back of Lloyd’s legs as he stopped. “What in the name of all creation is that?” Rylee gasped.

*YOU GUYS the amazing @pidgydraws gave me permission to write this Mr. Fell’s Bookshop ficlet based on this glorious artwork of theirs, and was also kind enough to allow me to repost it here.*

*Art by pidgydraws -- used with permission*

“Uh—pet snake,” offered Lloyd, in a whisper.

“Pet snake, yeah,” Audrey confirmed, just as quiet. The two of them had delighted looks on their faces.

Rylee didn’t quite feel that way. “No,” she said, attempting to keep her voice down as well, as neither Mr. Fell or that thing appeared to be awake. “That’s not a pet. That’s like an escaped zoo animal. That’s the biggest snake I’ve ever seen.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “That can’t be legal, owning an animal like that.”

“Oh I don’t know that he owns him,” Audrey whispered. “They’re probably just...friends?”

“It’s going to eat him!” Rylee exclaimed.

Both teens shushed her.

“No, of course it won’t,” Audrey said. “See, look at Mr. Fell. He’s so happy. Let’s just go.”

Whatever it was, it wasn’t actually her problem, Rylee decided. Mr. Fell did look awfully peaceful even while wrapped securely in the coils of a huge black snake, and given he’d had a panic attack (something with which Rylee was unfortunately familiar herself), she hesitated to disrupt his sleep.

It wasn’t like Mr. Fell’s Bookshop was not a weird place to begin with.

“Fine,” Rylee whispered, and they all moved back toward the entrance.

But just around the corner, a man in a ski mask was blocking their way. “You work here?” he demanded.

All three of them immediately shushed him.

The man pulled a knife out of a pocket. “There’s nothing in the register. Where does he keep the money?”

The first thing that Rylee did was to step in front of the teenagers. Because she was the adult. Not because she had any idea of what to do. It immediately became apparent that none of the four of them seemed to have any idea of what to do. For a moment, they all stared at each other, and then Audrey spoke up from behind Rylee. “Let’s just go ask Mr. Fell.”

Not wanting to turn their backs on the knife, the three of them took a few awkward steps backwards and the man took a few steps forward, until he caught a glimpse of the scene on the couch.

He gave a little cry and they all shushed him again.

“I wouldn’t wake him up,” Rylee warned.

“Yeah, that thing will eat you,” Lloyd whispered. “Like, it will totally eat you.”

“I heard it ate a guy last week,” Audrey said.

“I heard it was two guys.”

Rylee caught the thief’s attention. “Look, just get out of here, man.” When he hesitated, she said, “If you don’t, I’ll scream.”

With one last look at the snake, the man turned and dashed out the front door.

The other three were about to follow him, when Mr. Fell stirred. Immediately, the snake slithered along the couch, curling its black body around Mr. Fell’s feet and lifting them off of the floor, settling him carefully in its coils. Mr. Fell’s book slipped from his grasp and somehow landed neatly on the floor with a bookmark inside of it. One of the massive serpent’s yellow eyes opened for a second, but Rylee wasn’t sure if it really saw them or not before it closed again.

What she was sure of was that the snake said, “Back to ssssleep, angel,” before resting its head on Mr. Fell’s stomach.

The three of them were sure to lock the bookshop door behind them as they left. As they stood on the street, Rylee said, “That snake just said something.”

“It’s...well trained,” Audrey offered.

Rylee crossed her arms over her chest. “That’s Mr. Crowley.”

“Ah, poss—prob—ah, I imagine so, yes,” Lloyd said.

Rylee gave the shop a look. “You don’t think he really eats people, do you?”

“Well,” Audrey answered, “I mean, I wouldn’t try to rob the place.”

********

Thank you so much to @pidgydraws for letting me use this glorious artwork!! <3

This ficlet was going to be completely different but the more I looked at this picture the more I realized I couldn't bear to wake Aziraphale up, so here we are.

The time that Heaven came for Aziraphale at the bookshop is shown in Ficlet #1 (Are you an angel, too?). It’s been a few years since then.

Mr. Fell’s Bookshop Ficlets master post

New ficlet every Friday! There will be 12 in the series. This is # 8

Subscribe to the series on Ao3

#Dannye writes #Good omens #Mr. Fell's bookshop ficlets #fanart #snake Crowley #protective Crowley #sleepy Aziraphale

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roseskiesandbutterflies · 4 years

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My Melancholy Blues (Good Omens One-Shot)

Summary: 1923. When Aziraphale bumps into a rather drunk Crowley for the first time after their fight at St James's Park, he's hellbent on helping the poor dear. Pun not intended. But maybe it isn't just Crowley who needs help. After all, what is it we say about coincidences?

Warning(s): alcohol, swearing, cigarettes, angst

Word Count: 2.1k+

A/N: I’m back! I’ll be quick because this is for the DTIYS from @whiteleyfoster and it needs to be up by the end of September to be considered and September in the UK ends in 2.5 hours. Classic me leaving this until the last minute. Anyway I hope you enjoy, sorry about the angst but it just kind of happened. Whoops. Also the title comes from My Melancholy Blues by Queen! The song isn't a perfect match to this fic but the vibe is similar enough for me to like it.

"Hey, 'ziraphale," Crowley slurred from the rooftop he was perched precariously on, waving like a lunatic, "Cooee!"

He watched as the small white blob that was hopefully the angel in question stopped dead in his tracks. Something not all that dissimilar to astonishment washed over his face, before looking up warily, almost scared of what he would find. Shock soon turned to concern when he saw that Crowley was, in fact, sitting on the roof of the Ritz with a ridiculously lopsided grin on his face. Honestly, he thought to himself, a little over sixty years and not a single word, and then I find him drunk in the middle of London. Typical. He shook off the thought with a hardly noticeable eye-roll before calling back, "Crowley? What on Earth are you doing up there?"

Crowley made a face at him, "What does it look like I'm doing?" He waved the bottle of wine he was holding in Aziraphale's vague direction before taking a swig of it.

"I can see that," he said, speaking a little more slowly when he started to realise just how drunk Crowley was, "What I meant was why are you drinking on the roof of the Ritz?"

"The view up here's great! You can see Buckingham Palace from up here!" he said, quite keen at defending his choice of location.

"Surely there's a nicer place to drink in, though? Perhaps somewhere warmer?" he suggested, really quite worried now that he could see how little Crowley was wearing.

"Nah, I was in this club in the East End but the music was a bit shit so I left," he shrugged.

"Right," he nodded unsurely, "And it never occurred to you to go to another bar?"

Crowley suddenly looked very offended, pouting like an extraordinarily petulant child, "Why are you so worried about where I drink? I thought you didn't care about me or something. 'S a bit suspicious if you ask me."

"No, no. Curious is all," Aziraphale said, blatantly avoiding the issue they hadn't got round to resolving yet. No matter how annoyed he was at Crowley, and how the latter must feel towards him, he didn't think he could bear to fight with him again. He'd much rather dance around the truth for a little while longer.

Crowley, even in his not quite sober state of mind, seemed to understand, though the tension was so thick it wasn't exactly difficult. He quickly changed the subject, "You should come up here, angel, you'd like it. Promise."

He looked so hopeful and even vulnerable, as if his whole world was about to come crashing down and Aziraphale sitting with him was the only thing that could stop it. If he'd refused then that would have made him very heartless indeed, and that simply wouldn't do. Though luckily for him, he didn't have the time to even briefly consider the proposal before he found himself sitting by Crowley's side, staring down at where he'd just been standing. He shifted himself so he opposite him, with his back leaning against the chimney post, feeling considerably steadier than he was before.

"Well," Crowley looked at him expectantly, "What do you think?"

Aziraphale blinked before murmuring, "I think you look lovely, my dear. The blue of your dress really compliments the colour of your hair-"

He was cut off by Crowley's undignified snort, "Well, thanks, angel, but I meant the view. Not my dress. Though I'm glad you like it," he reassured him quickly when he noticed his mortified expression.

Aziraphale's tense expression softened like melted butter when he finally looked at the breath-taking landscape surrounding the two of them, encompassing them in the odd security that comes with strangely empty cities. Crowley was right, you could see Buckingham Palace from the rooftop, as well as St James's Park and Berkeley Square and the rest of Piccadilly. Incandescent lights shone from the streets below, but they were nothing compared to the forget-me-not blue of midnight skies above them, dusted with millions of stars like icing sugar on a cake. "Oh," he sighed softly, wholly content and at peace with the world, "Oh, Crowley, it's beautiful. It's, well, I never realised London could be so..." he trailed off, left speechless from awe.

Crowley grinned up at him, "Just wait until the sun comes up. Won't be long now."

Aziraphale's smile faded ever so slightly, "You say that like you've been up here before," he said gently, trying hard not to come off as accusatory.

Crowley's face morphed into one a child might wear when caught with their hand in the cookie jar, but he quickly shrugged it off, leaving it for Aziraphale to mull over by himself. "Drink?" he offered, holding out the bottle of wine.

"Oh, a drink would be lovely, thank you," he smiled, taking it cautiously and sipping at it, letting the alcohol seep in and ease his aching mind.

"What are you doing out this time of night, anyway?" Crowley asked innocently as he took the bottle back from him.

"I-I fancied a walk. Been spending far too much time indoors recently. Needed some fresh air," Aziraphale stammered out, passing the bottle back even though he could have easily finished it off right there and then.

Crowley hummed in response, deciding not to question it even though his gut was screaming at him, screaming that he was lying, he needs help, he needs someone, anyone.

He needs you. Just as much as you need him.

He decided to ignore his intuition because ignorance was far easier than the truth. It slid down like honey and soothed your soul, however temporarily.

"So, the nineteen-twenties," Crowley mused, letting his eyes dance over his surroundings, "'S been an interesting decade so far, hasn't it? Great nightlife. And the fashion, ooh. I've really been enjoying this whole flapper thing. What d'you make of it all, angel?"

It took Aziraphale a moment to respond, "I-I can't say I'd noticed much," he murmured, eyes hellbent on avoiding Crowley's.

Don't look into my eyes. Don't look into them, my love, because if you do, you'll know everything. I'll have no more secrets left, none at all. And I don’t think I can handle that.

The alarm bells in Crowley's head were deafening by that point, even he couldn't ignore them any longer. "Noticed what?" he asked, cautiously placing the wine bottle behind him, deathly terrified of the answer.

"Any of it," he said, voice no louder than a whisper, "I haven't noticed any of it."

Crowley's eyes widened as he tried his best to push down this rising tide of dread inside of him, "Angel-"

"Don't, Crowley," he pleaded, voice breaking but desperately trying to hide it. It was when he finally dared to glance at him that Crowley could finally see the vulnerability and the fear and the anxiety and just about every other emotion that humans had a name for. "Please, don't make me explain, I can't-" he stopped midsentence, inhaling deeply, desperately attempting to pull himself together, "I don't want to talk about it."

Crowley momentarily looked like he was about to object, and Aziraphale’s heart would have skipped a beat if he had one, but he didn’t, opening and closing his mouth like a goldfish. He let himself wonder, for a fleeting second, if perhaps he hadn’t been alone in his weird and confusing feelings. For he had felt this strange sense of loneliness for decades after their fight back in 1867. He’d spent much longer than a few decades without his angel before, but that time had been different, had stung in a way that struck him to his very core. Maybe there was a chance that Aziraphale had felt much the same way. Maybe they were more alike than he thought. He brushed off these thoughts as quickly as they’d arrived; it was unwise to ponder these things while in the presence of others. Instead of making a comment that wasn’t likely to be welcomed with open arms per se, he nodded deeply, oozing with understanding.

Crowley would be a hypocrite if he said that he wouldn’t mind being interrogated like that if he was in Aziraphale’s position, and he was sure he’d already worked most of it out.

Aziraphale softened in relief, the unshed tears in his eyes glistening like gemstones in the glow of the sun that was just starting to rise, creeping slowly up his face as it peered over the London skyline. Crowley couldn’t help it if his eyes lingered on the angel’s face. The logical side of him knew that angels were ethereal by nature, but only now was he starting to understand why. He seemed to literally glow gold with the dawn, outshining the sun and putting it to shame. His ivory suit had been dyed champagne by the sun’s rays, champagne, the colour of the drinks people downed with ease, the colour of the streetlights below them. His eyes were sapphires buried behind a veil of melancholy, framed with the wrinkles that came with centuries upon centuries of things to find joy in.

Oh, the irony, Crowley thought sadly to himself. He forced himself to cast his eyes away, feeling Aziraphale starting to squirm under his stare, instead looking at the Marlboro Red which had materialised in his hand miraculously, or not, depending on how you looked at it. He lit it with a click of his fingers, taking a drag and offering it to Aziraphale. No words had to be said; they’d known each other for long enough, they could say anything with no more than a look.

He eyed it nervously but only for a second, vulnerability taking over and impulses kicking in, and it was in his hand and he was breathing it in before he could even register what he was doing. The smoke waltzed circles around them before leaping away in the early morning breeze. Sparks flew off the cigarette as Aziraphale passed it back, glowing crimson in the sunrise, dying embers of a phoenix blowing away in the lapis blue of the sky.

They sat in the strangely comforting silence for a few moments, the dawn bringing with it its own eery peace. It wasn’t until the cigarette had nearly burnt away completely did Aziraphale finally murmured something, “Will we be okay, Crowley? You and me? Will we be alright?”

Crowley blinked back at him in surprise for a second before mumbling, “I don’t think I understand.”

“I think you do,” he said, voice filled with the spirit of the clouds above them, sweet and gentle and oh-so-soft, “Will we be alright?”

Crowley took advantage of the now burnt out cigarette to think of a response, leaving it to fall out of his hand and onto the pavement below, watching the ashes scatter over the London streets as if he was mourning them, “Yeah. I think we’ll be okay. Do you?”

“I hope so,” he said, voice no louder than a whisper but speaking volumes all the same. A single tear escaped, a drip of molten gold running down his face.

There was a lump in Crowley’s own throat just at the sight of his angel, and at the overwhelming meaning of those three simple words. He couldn’t stop himself from reaching out and brushing the tear away and my, hadn’t they gotten rather close. Aziraphale melted like butter under his touch and Crowley’s heart could burst just looking at him. Suddenly he was pressed up to the demon’s chest, arms hesitantly snaking around him, leaving Crowley speechless in shock for no more than a second. He quickly wrapped his arms around Aziraphale, resting his chin on the top of his head as the angel buried his face in his chest. They fit like two pieces of a puzzle that had remained unsolved for far too long, both of them internally sighing in relief and shouting for joy because they knew that this was where they needed to be. Neither let go, for neither wanted to, and they held each other as the dawn sun watched over them, casting its protective glow over a moment that deserved to be shielded from prying eyes.

And in the years to come, they would both act like that fateful night in nineteen twenty three had never happened, tucking the memory away in a far-flung corner of their minds and putting the whole thing down to alcohol’s wicked influence. But, no matter how much denial they would put themselves through in the next century or so, they both remembered in the depths of their hearts the words that had been said and the words that had been buried deep between the lines.

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