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justhereforthemeta · 9 months

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Romantic expectations and the story we didn't see: A magic trick hiding in plain sight

Here's a hopeful meta for all my fellow celestial brainrot sufferers out there. Cheers! :)

This idea started as a dead end, trying to track the movements of Crowley’s sideburns/tattoo because I thought time travel shenanigans were afoot. I had to abandon that theory when it was pointed out that David was simultaneously filming as the sideburns-having Fourteenth Doctor, and in-universe Crowley can do whatever he wants with his facial hair whenever he feels like it. But hey - null findings are still findings!

On the bright side, pausing the show to make notations in a spreadsheet forced me to slow down and notice other changes I'd overlooked the first time around: acting choices, costuming choices, references to book lore. And possibly a few surreptitious flicks of the wrist, in places where we’re meant to be focused on the magician’s other hand.

@amuseoffyre and @ineffablefood had a great exchange recently about romance and “the significance of misdirection and three-in-one (magic) tricks” throughout the show. I suspect Neil has done something brilliant with the audience’s long-standing expectations (since the 1990s, really) for the love story between Crowley and Aziraphale to develop. And while it is a wonderful story indeed, playing to this expectation lets Neil distract his audience from the blink-and-you'll-miss-them seeds he's planting for the final chapter.

Continued below the cut...

Let’s start at the beginning of Episode 2. First, context: In the previous installment, Crowley stormed out of the bookshop, was whisked away to Hell by Beelzebub where he learns about the Book of Life threat to Aziraphale’s existence, then returned to the bookshop to dance a little apology dance and hide Gabriel with an unintentionally massive joint miracle. In S2E2, we and Shax catch up with Crowley as he's snoozing in the Bentley.

Shax: “You’re in trouble”

A. J. Crowley, cool as a cucumber: “Obviously. Former demon, hated by Heaven, loathed by Hell. How will our hero cope?”

Interesting! Sarcastic? Yes, absolutely; but that’s also a good 4500 years and an averted apocalypse away from “I’m a demon. I lie,” wouldn’t you say? Someone is sounding a whole lot less depressed and aimless and navel-gazey (do snakes have navels?), and a whole lot more like he’s got a project to focus on, since his "what's the point?" ruminations on the park bench in E1.

And of course we all noticed the costume change right away. Hello, black turtleneck. Feeling cute today, thought I’d cover up my graceful long neck? That sounds unlikely. Let’s put a pin in this one.

There’s also an interesting acting choice going on here. Crowley speaks to Shax in a funny, drawling, too-cool-for-you voice that we haven’t heard in a while. Specifically, not since 1967. If you go back and give the S1E3 scene in the Dirty Donkey a listen, you’ll hear it (and if you know of another instance of it that I've missed, please let me know!). In S2E2, he keeps up this odd voice (if anybody knows what kind of affect this is supposed to be, please do tell!) throughout this dialogue with Shax, except for the brief moment when she first surprises him about the joint miracle having been detected.

1967 was a fun year. Crowley masterminded a heist! And seemed like he was having a ball doing it, right up until his little caper was called off after Aziraphale brought him the thermos of holy water. Crowley spoke to his co-conspirators in that same funny, very 60’s-caper-film voice. He wore a hip 60’s turtleneck. He bought petrol for the only time ever, so he could get those sweet James Bond bullet hole decals for his car (per the book, seen on the Bentley in the show).

Those James Bond bullet hole decals would of course have been part of a promotion for this 1967 release, which you just know our film-enjoying demon went to see in the theater:

Starring this suave, be-turtlenecked guy:

And now - begging your forgiveness - a brief rant.

There are a number of posts out there that refer to Crowley’s S2E2 turtleneck as a flirtatious sartorial choice - actually, ‘slutty’ seems to be the favored accusation. There are even a few posts floating around commenting on how sweet it is that Crowley swaps out his slutty, kinky, throw-me-over-your-desk-and-take-me turtleneck for a more dressy and appropriate collared shirt specifically to attend Aziraphale’s Jane Austen ball.

Now this is all in good fun, and Crowley does indeed look fantastic here, and I do love a good fangirling sesh as much as the next person. However, fandom’s collective tendency to interpret what we are seeing on the screen through the lens of romantic expectation can, at times, give rise to a kind of blinkered enthusiasm that obscures the original text in a haze that is part Mandela Effect, part unrestrained horniness, and part in-group code talking and identity reinforcement.

Respectfully, Crowley’s black turtleneck does not appear at all in S2E5: The Ball. In fact, it never appears again after the end of S2E2.

For Someone’s sake, let’s collectively pull our heads out of the romantic fog/gutter for a moment and focus on what we are actually seeing in the book and on the screen. For Crowley, this is an uncharacteristic within-period costume change. There is a surreptitious flick of the wrist happening here, out in broad daylight, and we are all missing it.

So here’s a thing. Aziraphale appears to have settled comfortably into life on Earth, his neighborhood, his books, using Crowley as an outlet for sharing his good deeds that he would once have reported to Heaven. Meanwhile, at first glance, Crowley appears stuck in a rut. There he slouches on a park bench with Shax in S2E1: a guy who lives in his car, stagnantly clinging to old familiar habits, mulling over the pointlessness of it all.

Setting aside the bit about living in the Bentley (I’m going to attribute this to well-documented issues between him and Aziraphale, discussed in many other excellent metas, and move on), Crowley has at least two very good, proactive reasons for maintaining his contact with Hell through Shax. First and foremost, it’s a source of information he can use to keep ahead of potential threats to Aziraphale and himself.

But also, I would posit…he kinda likes it.

Recall that book GO was first conceived as a parody, with Aziraphale and Crowley as spy-against-spy (but not really) field operatives in an ages-old cold war between Heaven and Hell. Their entire book dynamic is rooted in the trope of two opposing agents who have been in the field for so long that they now have more in common with each other than with their respective head offices. Their St. James’s Park meetings among other spies and ministers trading secrets are a sendup of what was once a well-known Cold War-era cliché.

Our contemporary Crowley still likes slick outfits and hellaciously expensive watches and high-performing vintage cars and pens that write underwater while looking like they could break the speed limit. He coaches Shax on how to blend in as a demon on Earth, and he helpfully redirects the wayward contact looking for the Azerbaijani sector chief. He loves improvising and getting away with shenanigans under the institutional radar. And boy golly was he impressed with Jane Austen: master spy, brandy smuggler, and mastermind of the 1810 Clerkenwell Diamond Robbery.

And if you look at it a certain way, for as long as Crowley has considered himself to be on “[his] own side” - going at least as far back as Job - he could almost think of himself as a sort of double agent. It’s actually a very romantic sort of notion, befitting our hopeless romantic of a (professedly former) demon; but it’s romantic in a very different way than we, the audience, have been primed to watch for.

In other words, in a very “on my own side” kind of way, Crowley really gets a kick out of being a spy. Or at least, dressing up and accessorizing as one, and moonlighting as a good-doing double agent when he can get away with it. And also being a plotting criminal mastermind. Two sides of a coin, really. Just look at Jane Austen.

My point is: No, Crowley did not wait around for Shax to come find him in a turtleneck so that he could go flirt with Aziraphale later. He’ll flirt with Aziraphale no matter what. No, this:

is actually this:

Much like the one he wears to the Dirty Donkey in 1967:

whilst holy water heist-plotting. Here's a clearer shot with gratuitous Bentley, because I love them:

…and which he'll wear again, with appropriate camouflage, while infiltrating Heaven in S2E6:

That is the 1967 planning a HEIST turtleneck for committing ESPIONAGE and STEALING THINGS in. Because turtlenecks are what modern human master spies wear to get their hands dirty - after all, he saw it in a movie once.

Crowley dons his tactical turtleneck sometime during the first major break in the action (which doesn't happen until after the joint miracle to hide Gabriel) after he learns about the threat the Book of Life poses to Aziraphale. Loverboy started mentally preparing himself to go after that book immediately upon learning that it was in play as a genuine threat.

Now let’s pick up at the S2E2 Dirty Donkey scene, reading the story from this angle. Of course, Crowley enables Aziraphale’s delusions about Heaven by hiding information from him, and does not disclose the Book of Life threat when they meet again. They go into the pub, Aziraphale shamelessly paws Crowley’s chest like the seductive Bond Girl he is, and Crowley gets to act all smooth and suave and intimidating as he chases off the interloping Mr. Brown (or Mr. Collins for the Pride & Prejudice fans, take your pick).

Ergo, theory: beginning in S2E2, Crowley is already thinking of himself as a Jane Austen/James Bond action hero (“How will our hero cope?”), psyching himself up to rescue Aziraphale by getting his spy game on and stealing the Book of Life.

Now, watch closely...This is where Aziraphale and Crowley brainstorm their plans to solve the problem they both know about: getting Maggie and Nina to fall in love and thereby get Heaven off their backs. Crowley’s vavoom plan is drawn from yet another movie (“Get humans wet and staring into each other’s eyes - vavoom, sorted. I saw it in a Richard Curtis film.”). But Crowley also implicitly shares his solution to the problem he hasn’t told Aziraphale about. And true to form, Crowley’s Jane Austen solution isn’t the same as Aziraphale’s Jane Austen solution.

Two solutions that fail by the end of Season 2, and a secret third one that might still work...and there's our magic trick of three.

‘“I’m lost. Am I doing a rainstorm?” Yes, babe. And a heist, too - just not until season three. Can I get a wahoo!?

I won’t spend time on A Companion to Owls during this meta, except to note that in all three minisodes, we get to watch stories that involve Crowley acting as a double agent on “his/their own side” - successfully making Hell and Heaven think he’s fulfilling their will while saving Job’s goats and children; failing to fool Hell when he does a good deed in Edinburgh; and of course, collaborating with Aziraphale whilst evading detection as an infernal turncoat during the Blitz.

(Because this is getting long, I'll also skip over Crowley's interrogation of Jim in this episode - I'll probably come back to that in another meta. But interrogating is a rather spy-ish thing to do.)

When we catch up with Crowley again later, he’s already slipped out of the bookshop, having left Aziraphale to his biblical reverie about Job. He saunters snakily down Whickber Street as usual, but with a very pointed and swift glance over his shoulder (see pic above). This demon is up to something - possibly something we didn’t get to see, something that may have happened offscreen while he stepped out. In any case, knowing there’ve been unfriendly angels in the neighborhood that morning, he’s rightly concerned about being spied on.

From this point until the beginning of episode six, there isn’t a whole lot of opportunity for Crowley to make any next moves. He babysits the bookshop, during which time he manages to wring some crucial information out of Jim; he follows his Crowley’s Angel around like a puppy, and downs a bottle of red like a good old fashioned lovesick boy once that’s been pointed out to him. If any plotting or scheming is underway, this occult being is keeping stumm for now.

This has been a long one, so I’ll wrap up with Crowley’s infiltration of Heaven with Muriel. The turtleneck disguise works (Archer fans, be vindicated!) long enough to gather some information that will be crucial not just to the denouement of S2, but also to Crowley’s journey in S3 (previous post on Crowley's Fall, Saraqael, and memory wiping). And Aziraphale gets to enjoy that view exactly zero times. The point isn’t oh, a turtleneck! How flirty! So cunty! So cute! Y’all. Everything matters. The costume change was a deliberate choice. In-universe, Crowley’s decision to wear his special spy turtleneck for spying in is a signal that he is out doing spy things, even as we watch.

In sum: Beginning in S2E2 and continuing through the end of the season, Aziraphale and Crowley are actively living out the scripts of two parallel, concurrent, and completely different Jane Austen stories. But you and I, dear fellow audience member, we came here for a comedy with a hefty jigger of romance, and that’s what Neil gave us to focus on. And right up until the Final 15, that was the only story we saw.

Meanwhile, Special Agent A. J. Crowley doesn’t have time to mope around at the end of S2E6. He’s kicked down, but he’s not out. He's got a Book of Life to steal, a very serious bone to pick with a certain memory-wiping angel, and his Angel and the world to save.

“‘Heigh ho,’ said [romantic, optimist, former demon, hero, master spy] Anthony Crowley, and just drove anyway.”

#so honestly #I think the biggest mark against this conclusion is that Crowley sees his mirror Maggie taking a nap at the end of S2E6 #there is a strong chance of a depression nap before any further spying gets underway #but I am counting on Muriel to be a dorky ray of sunshine and snap him out of it with Clues #good omens #good omens meta #good omens 2 #crowley in a turtleneck #demon bookseller plantdad spy

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vidavalor · 2 months

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The romantic implications of improper use of apostrophes

A short, little meta on rings and apostrophes...

Ok, remember Mr. Arnold of Arnold's Music Shop and his thoroughly relatable reasons for never wanting to go to one of these annoying Whickber Street Thingamajigs again? The second of his reasons, in particular? Note who the camera cuts to when Mr. Arnold brings up "improper" use of apostrophes:

Crowley's little eyebrows and squirming, as he is thinking about how he is guilty of improper apostrophe use just the day before-- "technically", as they'd say. Mr. Arnold bringing up apostrophes is a wordplay clue to hidden language-- "improper" apostrophes in shop signs, which is to say in shop language and names. There's only one scene in the series where that's a thing. It is also the only one that would justify the Crowley reaction shot in the Mr. Arnold scene... and the implications are pretty romantic.

It's this scene:

When Crowley adjusted the name of the bookshop when Aziraphale called from Edinburgh, he changed it in such a way as to denote a sense of ownership through use of apostrophes. Crowley knows that the place is really called A.Z. Fell & Co. and he could have said that or just his usual way of referring to the place: "booK.shoP." The choice to answer in such a way as to reference to whom the bookshop belongs when he suspects that this is likely Aziraphale calling is a nod to the our car/our bookshop acknowledgement that they have going on.

Because Aziraphale has acknowledged that the bookshop is theirs, it belongs both to "Mr. Fell" and to Crowley, but the wordplay joke is that, when spoken aloud, you can't hear where the apostrophe falls. (That you refer to where an apostrophe goes as to where it "falls" also makes this an even more amusing word joke.)

Meaning: Fell's Bookshop sounds identical to Fells' Bookshop... the latter of which would, of course, denote that the bookshop belongs to more than one person who happen to share the surname of Fell.

Crowley gets squirmy when Mr. Arnold brings up apostrophes the next day because he's thinking about how he was subtly referring to himself as Aziraphale's spouse when Aziraphale-- wait for it, my fellow word nerds-- gave him a ring (on the phone) from Edinburgh.

Aziraphale apparently heard it as intended-- or, at least is on the same page-- because, as we looked at it in other metas that I'll link at the bottom of this one, Aziraphale's use of "la jardiniere" in the French he spoke to Crowley ties to the French cooking term "a la jardiniere," which has a specific definition that resulted in Aziraphale subtly referring to Crowley as his spouse.

Aziraphale also gave him a flirty little smile and that knowing "but you understood me" after saying so, knowing that Crowley heard more than what he had translated back:

Not to mention to ring a bell... Crowley ringing the bookshop bell on Aziraphale's desk when he came back in 2.01; Shadwell on exorcising demons by "bell, book and candle"; God's cheeky interest in Pavlov's experiments in S1... the sexual euphemism that is to "ring my/your bell"... Mr. Arnold mentioning signs in shop windows and Crowley was looking through the window into the bookshop when Aziraphale rang the bell to wrangle the angels and demons, furthering the ring-related wordplay. A sign doesn't have to be paper hung in a window relaying information-- it can be your partner saying he's "had quite enough" and trying to take control of a situation. A sign of things to come.

I'll leave you with the paralleling scene from 1.01 when they first talk after having their romantic evening ruined by the start of Armageddon. Crowley gives Aziraphale a ring on the phone while what is in focus on Aziraphale's side of the conversation is his angel ring. When they meet the next day off of this phone call, church bells are ringing in the scene. Wordplay inspired by the visuals, as well as the first use of ring (phone, communication)/ring (jewelry) in the series:

I doubt it will be the last. 💞

Metas about Aziraphale's French in S2:

#ineffable husbands #good omens #crowley #aziraphale #good omens meta #aziracrow #good omens 2 #ineffable husbands speak

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doonarose · 10 months

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The first one that’s right.

(Good Omens Crowley/Aziraphale kissing and romance fic)

Rating: PG/T

Rationale: I’m still processing Season 2 (loved it, no complaints), but we know Aziraphale and Crowley will come out of Season 3 talking to each other properly, and acknowledging, out loud, that they love each other, and actually planning for a future together. And that’s a delicious setting to play in while I figure out how the hell they get there. So, that future, begs the following fic…

Summary: Aziraphale would like to try the thing they did with their mouths that night it all blew up and no, he does not mean, speaking.

Count: 2500ish

“Crowley, you remember when I went to heaven to do The Second Coming?”

Crowley really cannot believe Aziraphale just casually asked him that.

Aziraphale continues quickly, “Right before I left, when we spoke…” he pauses.

When we spoke! Crowley’s mouth has fallen open, his brow furrowed incredulously, a reaction that seems entirely restrained in the face of such audacity. He wills Aziraphale to drop it, eyes flashing a warning as he steps a little closer, crowding into Aziraphale’s space.

Aziraphale manages to clasp his hands together in the gap between them, fidgeting as his gaze shifts to focus on the floor off to the side. It’s a drizzly Wednesday afternoon in the bookshop, completely innocuous, except Aziraphale has chosen today to trap Crowley in a doorway, stand squarely, infuriatingly, in front of him, and ask him if he remembers that day and that conversation.

“Yes, right, when we spoke, that day,” he continues as though Crowley actually had said he remembered. “Well, I think I would like to try that again.”

“Speaking?” Crowley manages to squeeze an extra syllable into the word. It’s absurd but the alternative is that Aziraphale wants to try the second coming again and that’s just not possible. “You’d like to try speaking again. We speak all the time now, Angel, I hardly think we need to do it more.” That’s true, they are much better at speaking now, at talking to each other and listening. They’re getting better, but that doesn’t mean Crowley wants to talk about that.

“No!” Realization dawns on Aziraphale’s face, “Oh, no!” his eyes going wide and his cheeks flushing pink, “Oh, goodness, no, not that. Of course not, I wouldn’t – I’m sorry – ” He grabs Crowley at the top of his arms and squeezes. He takes a deep breath, something Crowley thinks Nina might have taught him. “I love you.” It recenters both of them, lightens the air in the room, and Crowley feels his heartbeat slow and settle, his fight or flight response thwarted with those three simple words of assurance. He rolls his eyes and shrugs Aziraphale’s hands off his arms, the dismissiveness more out of muscle memory than anything else, but the corner of his lips also twitches up. He knows Aziraphale knows he doesn’t always say it back and that’s okay.

Aziraphale’s hands, now hanging unoccupied at his sides, flex sporadically. “Actually, I meant the other thing… with your mouth.”

Oh. Oh. After too long a beat, Crowley manages to say it out loud, “Oh.”

“Only if you wanted to,” Aziraphale rushes. “Obviously only if you wanted to. And we could stop if you didn’t like it and never talk about it again. I just thought we should try it since we’re kind of, well we’re together now and that’s what you do – it’s what lots of people, humans, do, anyway – and the other time was terrible but that wasn’t our fault and –”

“Terrible?!” Crowley squawks, cutting him off.

“Well, no, not terrible, sorry, oh gosh I’m making a mess of this. Humans make relationships look so easy.” Aziraphale whines, covering his face with both hands and blushing pink beneath them.

Crowley has, of course, thought about kissing Aziraphale, sometimes entirely by accident, but, more often than not, very much, quite on purpose. Somehow, it has never occurred to him that it is something Aziraphale might have thought about, too, and after that one, indeed quite doomed attempt, it is taking him quite a long time to process the proposition. What hadn’t Aziraphale just come and kissed him?

Aziraphale continues to blather: “Can we please just pretend I never said anything. We’re doing so nicely now, we’re both much happier, and I shouldn’t have brought all that up again.”

That sinking, bottomless pit feeling in Crowley’s stomach appears. The threat of losing something he never quite had, a feeling he’s unfairly intimate with but learning how to process and to shrug off as not automatically inevitable. And it’s not the world, or Aziraphale, or his freedom that is about to be snatched away. Just a kiss. Angels, certainly demons, aren’t even meant to kiss – definitely not the way he wants to kiss Aziraphale. That’s the domain of humans and all their weird humanity, smushing their wet food/talk/breath holes together as though it’s some sort of fun. What is that even about? Surely one of God’s more bizarre pranks.

Oh, but he really, really wants to. The pang of potential loss makes his stomach twist and his fingertips itch to grab and hold fast and try to kiss all the doubt out of Aziraphale.

But that didn’t go so well last time.

He’s learning, though. “Hang on a minute,” he says, sounding less calm than he’d intended.

Aziraphale fidgets and shakes his head, pouting and tutting because Crowley’s already been standing there, processing, for too long.

“Was it really that terrible?” What Crowley wanted to say was something like ‘Yes please, let’s try it, don’t worry, it’s going to be great!’

“No!” Aziraphale sighs, and tries it more gently, “No, it just wasn’t… I mean everything around it was terrible, wasn’t it?” Crowley’s eyes narrow and an eyebrow arches. “Well, no, I mean, what you said was… lovely… illuminating… It was everything I wanted to hear even if I didn’t know it. But it wasn’t the right time and I didn’t expect you – well, you, I didn’t expect… It was a surprise, when you kissed me, and it wasn’t terrible but I think we can both agree it wasn’t exactly… good.” Aziraphale goes still, bracing for the impact of more argument or indignation or having to backtrack again.

Crowley says nothing, just watches him, for another too-long moment. “So, you want to try again?”

Aziraphale can’t help but break into a proper smile at the infinitesimal, possible progress: ever the optimist. “Yes! That’s all, and as I said, if it’s awful or you don’t like it, of course, we never have to do it again. I just thought it made sense to ask, to try... well to ask to try. But if you don’t want to, that’s completely fine, just say the word and – ”

“I want to.”

“Oh. Okay…Good.”

Crowley keeps count as the seconds pass. He makes it to twelve before he absolutely has to say something. “Ready when you are, Angel.” He swallows because that felt brave in the face of how fast he can feel his heart thumping, how stupidly vulnerable and nervous this is making him feel.

But then he sees Aziraphale’s gaze snap up to meet his, eyes going comically wide, and Crowley realizes Aziraphale’s been staring at his mouth those whole twelve seconds. It makes him even braver, the nerves and the vulnerability still there, but something playful and teasing, their natural rhythm, working its way into the moment.

Aziraphale starts to nod, building resolve even as his eyes slip back to down to Crowley’s lips which Crowley licks and purses before he can stop himself. Aziraphale swallows heavily and checks, “Here? And… and now?”

“I can meet you somewhere else later, if you’d prefer,” Crowley teases some more.

Huffing, Aziraphale flexes his shoulders back once and then grasps Crowley by the upper arms. He hesitates a second longer and then he’s pulling Crowley into him, angling his face to meet Crowley’s lips in a firm, warm press.

It is not dissimilar to the one other time they did this, albeit without all the drama, trauma and world-destroying stakes. Instead, it’s just them, wilfully, openly in love, mouth to mouth in a doorway in the bookshop. Trying kissing.

Aziraphale smells good, better than expected this close, more earthy, more like skin, and his lips are unbelievably soft. Crowley thinks he can taste the remnants of an Earl Grey tea with two sugars and perhaps a scone. He wonders what Aziraphale is thinking and then he realizes he should really, probably shut his eyes, and so he does. He tries to relax into the tight grip around his biceps, leaning into the unconventional embrace instead of just being held there.

This is so weird.

They’re not moving. Crowley’s pretty sure they’re meant to be moving, not just pressing. He realizes with a start that Aziraphale isn’t breathing at all and opens his eyes to check he’s okay and again, it’s just blurry tanned skin splashed with pink, dark splayed eyelashes that he could count if he wanted to because at least Aziraphale got the memo about closing his eyes. The view is strangely captivating even as the static and uncertain press of their mouths is beginning to border on too weird. And Crowley’s not breathing either and then suddenly he’s breathless.

They break apart on seemingly mutual terms and both take a step back rendering a larger than expected distance between them. Crowley makes a conscious effort to breathe and Aziraphale’s eyes flutter open beautifully.

Crowley won’t say out loud what he’s thinking, he’s not sure he could articulate it very well and it would certainly feature the words ‘weird’ and ‘unexpected’ and ‘woops’. None of which he thinks will be conducive to ever getting to try that again.

But it’s written across Aziraphale’s face, the mirrored consternation that that wasn’t what it was meant to be, it wasn’t like in the books, or the movies, or even a little bit what they imagined. Crowley starts concocting a plan with multiple steps, subterfuge, and, in all likelihood, weather.

Aziraphale licks his lips, takes two determined steps forward and lifts both hands to Crowley’s face, gently holding him there with his palms spread across his cheeks, fingers dipping easily into his hair. He takes only a moment to run both thumbs from the centre of Crowley’s lips out, tracing the crease, tugging ever so gently on his bottom lip, and then across the arch of each cheek. He shifts one hand, sliding it around the back of Crowley’s neck, his thumb pressed to the corner of Crowley’s jaw, and then he pulls him down, rising onto his toes just a little to meet him, to press their lips together again.

Crowley’s eyes fall shut instinctively this time and a small sigh of relief escapes against Aziraphale’s lips. They’re still just pressing together, mouth to mouth, chest to chest, but he’s alive and responding – giving and taking – with him and against him. Aziraphale’s fingers dance across his cheek bone, his other palm warm and secure against the back of Crowley’s neck; Aziraphale’s mouth pressing and pursing against Crowley’s mouth like he plans to try every possible angle and sample each square millimetre. Shifting from bottom lip to top, then back again before drawing the lightest friction of lips on lips as he shifts to kiss at the corner of Crowley’s mouth. Back again and again and again.

Crowley’s hands move to Aziraphale’s sides, grasping the material of his jacket but it isn’t enough of an anchor. They slide to the small of his back, again grabbing fistfuls of the soft material, drawing him in, closer, warmer, dearer, safer, snug.

And this is what proper kissing is like.

Arms slipping further, tighter still, Crowley encompasses him as much as he can, an arm snaking up Aziraphale’s back to rest one hand heavy and petting between his shoulder blades, while the other arm wraps around his waist, fingers finding purchase in the material once more. His lips meet Aziraphale’s in each soft, exploratory press even as his breath comes quicker and not quite enough. He ignores the need to breathe and plan and hope, and instead focuses on everywhere they’re touching and the contented thrum of everything feeling right that settles deep within his chest.

When Aziraphale pulls back it’s only the necessary millimetres to switch their angle and feel the press of Crowley’s nose into his opposite cheek, but even that withdrawal, already over before its reacted to, pulls a tiny, forlorn whimper from Crowley that he’s not able to swallow. And that makes Aziraphale giggle. Right up against Crowley’s lips, a hot puff of air and laughter that Aziraphale immediately tries to stop.

Except Crowley knows, immediately, that he will do anything and everything in his power to make Aziraphale do that again, even if it involves making very undemonic, needy, whiney noises. The thought makes him smile, lips stretching against Aziraphale’s, and the kiss ends far more easily than it began.

They don’t pull apart; their eyes don’t open. Aziraphale’s hands drop and slip easily into Crowley’s blazer and back around his waist. His head tucks up against Crowley’s chest and cheek, finding a perfect spot there, just the right height, to nestle. Crowley entertains his instincts and nuzzles into the white curls at Aziraphale’s temple. He presses a firm kiss there because he can’t help himself.

Crowley wonders how long they’ll be able to hold this perfect moment, to stand here, barely breathing, in such bliss. He wonders why on Earth pressing their mouths together – kissing – feels like that. He wonders when they’ll do it again, how often, how many times, for how long. Will it ever be this good again? What if it gets even better? What else might Aziraphale deign to try of kisses and romance and human love? He wonders what Aziraphale is wondering.

Aziraphale takes a long, loud breath against his clavicle and then blows it out, Crowley can feel him smiling. “We,” Aziraphale says, “Are definitely doing that again.”

Crowley’s contented, happy sigh borders on a shudder but he manages a simple, casual, “Of course, Angel,” into Aziraphale’s hair.

Aziraphale hums his happiness and starts pulling back from the embrace far too soon for Crowley’s liking. When he steps back, though, it’s a thing to behold: his lips and cheeks flushed pink, blue eyes shining and his always mussed hair somehow still conveying that, yes, indeed, he’d just been kissed.

“Fancy a spot of tea?” Aziraphale asks more out of habit than expectation, as he smooths down his waistcoat and straightens his bowtie.

Surprising even himself, Crowley responds, “Yes, I rather do.”

***

Now with a follow up companion piece (and likely to become a short series of their early kisses): The second one that's quite rubbish And also on AO3!

A/N: I wrote a thing?! It’s an extremely sappy thing by my standards (kind of) but certainly what they deserved. I’m waiting on my AO3 account since that seems the way to do things these days. I haven’t written fic in over eight years and I am still finding character and voice with these two so feedback or discussions very welcome! This is just the first part of at least eight, each delving into a subsequent kiss because, clearly, I am a total sappy sap. And then also a potential (unlikely) opus to try to bridge Season 2 to this blissful future.

A/N2: So I posted this pretty much exactly a month ago and since then I've written... over 30K words that follows on from this beginning and you can go and read all of it here as well as two 8k stand alones that just jump to the good (explicit) bit.

#good omens 2 spoilers #good omens fic #good omens fanfic #aziraphale x crowley #doonas fic #ineffable husbands #ineffable idiots

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applepiewinchesters · 1 year

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Long Way Down (Crowley x Gender Neutral Angel!Reader)

A/N: This wasn't requested but I just wrote it up while waiting for any requests! Hope you like it!

Word Count: 1,625

Pining. The present tense of pine, meaning suffering from a mental and physical decline, most often due to the silly feelings the heart makes one feel. Pining however, means you miss or long for something. A lost pet, a family member long gone, or, in Crowley’s case, someone he's spent the better part of 6,000 years with.

The word put a bad taste in Crowley’s mouth, pining. He didn’t pine for you. He…admired you. Was fond of you. If Aziraphale had a word in the matter he’d like to say Crowley loved you. And he did, but he’d never admit it.

Not when you nearly discorporated trying to save the Library of Alexandria with Aziraphale. Not when he saw you for the first time in nearly two centuries. And most certainly not when he thought the world was ending and had begged yourself and Aziraphale to go with him to Alpha Centauri. He thought of saying it, maybe it would get you to go with him, to be safe, but he couldn’t.

You were the embodiment of love and light. Something Crowley hadn’t been since before he met you. You were kind, you were…bright to say the least. While Crowley was a rather confident being, he lost it all when it came to you.

It wasn’t until you were kidnapped along with himself, as Aziraphale of course, that those words were finally spoken. Well, almost.

You hadn’t been swapped with anyone, as neither demon nor angel believed you were in any real danger. It wasn’t your fault Gabriel had some weird hard on for torturing Aziraphale, and Hell never really took an interest in your activities, at least that’s what you believed.

You were taken to Heaven, strapped to a chair beside Aziraphale (Crowley), the angel Gabriel stood before you both, a smirk on his face. Sandalphon and Uriel close behind him.

“Azirphale. Y/N. So glad you could join us,” Gabriel spoke, stepping towards you both. “So, with one act of treason, you averted the war.”

“Well, I think the greater good…,” Aziraphale (Crowley) began, but he was cut off by Gabriel.

“Don’t talk to me about the greater good, sunshine. I’m the Archangel fucking Gabriel. The greater good was we were finally going to settle things with the opposition once and for all,” Gabriel spat.

You saw Crowley clench his jaw, his fists clenching as well. You wanted to reach out and take his hand but being tied up prevented that pretty well.

“Is our associate on the way?” Gabriel asked, turning to Sandalphon and Uriel.

“Here,” came another voice as a demon you’d never seen stepped off the escalator and into the room. His hair was styled to look like two horns atop his head and he dressed like he could be in some rock band.

Your eyes widened, a demon in heaven? You were sitting beside one right now but a demon just out in the open like that? In Heaven? You two were royally fucked.

Crowley could sense it too as he looked over at you, tugging at your restraints a bit. He met your gaze and gave you a quick, reassuring nod, at least one he felt was reassuring.

“Alright, get to it,” Gabriel said, stepping back.

The demon nodded and in seconds, released a tornado, quite literally, of hell fire. The heat coming from it felt like no other heat you’d felt before. It made your skin sting just being near it.

You looked to Crowley again, who was already looking at you with fear in his eyes. He and Aziraphale predicted something like this, that’s why they switched bodies, but you, you were vulnerable. You could actually die. Not just be discorporated. Destroyed. Gone. In seconds.

Gabriel walked towards you, holding out his hands and making your restraints disappear. He grabbed your arm, roughly yanking you up and away from Crowley, who began struggling in his chair.

“Wait, wait, they didn’t do anything wrong! You don’t have to hurt them!” Crowley shouted.

Gabriel let out a harsh laugh, “Oh Aziraphale, they aren’t going to burn, they’re going to fall, and it’s a long way down, or so I’m told.”

You felt your heart drop at his words and began struggling harder against his grip as a large hole opened up in floor, as Gabriel forced you towards it.

“No, no, no! Please! They don’t deserve this!” Crowley shouted again, struggling harder against the restraints. His Aziraphale façade was slipping away, he was angry, scared, you could see it.

You caught a glimpse of the bottom of the pit, flames burned brightly at the bottom, waiting to burn away your light. To turn your wings darker than the sky. You felt like throwing up as you were forced to your knees, facing Crowley and your fellow angels.

“We need to make an example of our traitors, don’t you think?” Gabriel asked, looking to the other angels. They both nodded, smiling in a way that would make milk curdle.

“Anything you’d like to say?” Gabriel all but mocked. You looked up, a few tears dripping down your cheeks, and turned your attention to Crowley.

“I love you, I always have,” you told him. Crowley’s, well, Aziraphale’s face, softened. Tears stung at the corner of his eyes.

“Please, don’t make me say it. I can’t say the words, not like this,” Crowley choked out.

“You don’t have to, I know,” you spoke softly, giving Crowley one last smile.

“Enough of this shit,” Gabriel said suddenly, and with a swift kick to your chest, you were falling.

The last thing you heard was a pained scream. Crowley.

As everything became hotter and hotter, you closed your eyes. It seemed like forever until you hit something solid, finally crashing down, and everything turned black.

Your body ached like no other, your head pounded when you finally came round. You were lying on something soft though. Maybe you’d landed somewhere grassy. Perhaps some sand.

When an angel falls, they aren’t sent straight to hell. They’re usually sent to some place in the middle of nowhere. No help. No nothing around for miles, its sort of a punishment in itself. And one is usually too weak at the time to miracle, or tempt themselves, anywhere.

But the voices you heard were not something you expected.

“They’re awake!”. The first voice was loud, abrupt.

The second was softer. “Yes, my dear I can see that, but hush, this is no doubt going to be hard for them.”

Your eyes finally opened, and you found yourself in a rather familiar setting, Aziraphale’s bookshop. You were lying on a couch, a blanket draped over you.

You scanned your surroundings before settling your gaze on two familiar, rather relieved, faces. Crowley and Aziraphale. You hoped for your sake they had switched back as right now you don’t know if you could handle the confusion.

Seeming to sense your worry, Aziraphale spoke up, “How are you feeling, my dear?”.

That was definitely him.

“Like shit,” you rasped. Your throat felt raw, like you’d inhaled smoke. Which you had technically. Hell fire would do that to you.

Everything came rushing back to you and you sat up rather quickly, making your muscles scream from the sudden movement and your head spin.

“Hey, hey, slow it down,” Crowley told you gently, a hand reaching out just in case. When you caught his eye, the last words you’d spoken to him flooded your mind.

I love you. I always have.

Aziraphale seemed to sense the sudden shift and stood from the chair he’d been sitting in.

“I’ll make some cocoa, I believe you two have something to discuss,” the angel spoke, quickly hurrying from the room.

You looked down at your hands and gasped. The tips of your fingers were black, almost like you’d dipped them in tar. You could only imagine how the rest of you looked now that you’d fallen.

“How bad is it?” you asked Crowley, not looking up from your hands.

It was silent until you finally looked up, meeting his gaze. Crowley only studied you for a moment, before his lips twitched up into a smile.

“Rather suits you,” he spoke, taking off his sunglasses, almost as if to see you better. “Especially the hair.”

You reached up, grabbing a strand of hair and bringing it around so you could see it better. Your hair was still the same but now with streaks of red throughout, almost brighter than Crowley’s.

You managed to laugh lightly, “Giving you a run for your money it seems.”

Crowley smiled fondly at you before looking down, clearing his throat.

“I should have told you,” he spoke, “we might have not seen each other again.”

“Like I said, I already knew,” you replied, smiling a bit.

“How long?” Crowley asked you.

“Since Alexandria, the look on your face when I made it out, I could tell” you told him.

Crowley scowled, “I wasn’t hiding it at all, was I?”.

You smiled and shook your head, “Not at all.”

It was silent between the two of you for a moment before you spoke again “You could always tell me now, that is, if you still feel the same after I’ve…fallen.”

“I’ll love you no matter your affiliation darling,” Crowley told you, making you smile again and roll your eyes.

“Come here you idiot,” you spoke, reaching out to him.

“Now that’s rude…,” Crowley began before you grabbed the front of his jacket and pulled him down to you, cutting him off with a kiss.

When you pulled away, he smiled, wider than you’d ever seen before.

“I love you,” he finally told you, after all this time.

“I love you too Crowley.”

A/N: Thank you so so much for reading it really does mean a lot!! Please let me know what you think! 😊💕

#good omens #good omens fanfic #Good Omens angst #aziraphale good omens #crowley good omens #anthony j crowley #Anthony janthony Crowley #crowley #Aziraphale #crowley x reader #crowley x gender neutral reader #David Tennant

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disaster-demon · 1 month

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What do you think their reconciliation looks like?

The words stuck in Aziraphale’s throat like a toffee swallowed too quickly, and he stuttered, before managing to eek out the thing he'd been meaning to say since his departure to heaven with The Metatron. “You know, Crowley… I have done nothing BUT think of you. I have done nothing else. Every spare, blasted moment, I've thought about you, and my heart has broken every single time!” He sighed and threw his hands up in exasperation, turning on the spot, eyes darting around like he was trying to seek a place to run away to.

There was nowhere to hide, though. Not inside the bandstand nor outside of it. Flat tarmac hardly made a good hiding place, after all.

Crowley pursed his lips. He was exhausted, more tired physically than he'd ever really been before. The weight of heartache wore heavy on him, and yet he had managed somehow to soldier on alone for the past who knows how long. He'd stopped counting the days, the hours, the minutes. Shoulders slumped forwards, Crowley blinked and pushed his sunglasses up his nose. A sniffle, and he was turning to leave, boots clicking on the concrete in a way which almost echoed around them, such was the heaviness of the silence.

In a small burst of speed, Aziraphale stepped after Crowley with purpose, extending his hand and grabbing at the Demon's sleeve, then moving his grip to Crowley's arm.

Crowley made no attempt to move away at first. He felt defeated by the entire fiasco. Maybe he should've arggreed to the whole Archduke of Hell thing after all. Maybe then he'd have had the strength to stop coming back. To the bookshop. To their bench. To the bandstand.

“It's okay. “ Crowley broke the silence, wanting his head to the left slightly as he tugged his arm away and out of Aziraphale’s grip. “I forgive you,” he sneered.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale could feel that burn behind his eyes. Such a human show of emotion, hardly befitting a Supreme Archangel of Heaven. “Why can't you see? Why won't you see?”

Trying to grab Crowley's arm again, Aziraphale felt the fabric slip through his fingers. The Demon began to walk away, and that was when Aziraphale started to walk, (it was more of a stomp in truth,) behind him; he kept pace and then sped up as Crowley neared the edge of the circle of tarmac where the bandstand sat.

This time, instead of gripping his arm or sleeve, Aziraphale lunged forwards and got a grip on Crowleys waist. The Angel stubbornly refused to let go, even when he was pushed away. They struggled silently for a moment, before Crowley spoke once more.

“You were- are, I mean, the most important person, angel, whatever. You left me behind for your precious heaven. They're welcome to you.”

Aziraphale felt his heart aching in his chest, a deep longing urging him forwards until he was close enough to spin Crowley round on the spot.

He lunged forwards again, this time intent on getting his lips against Crowley's, which he managed to do semi-successfully. His lips smudged down Crowley's cheek until he was kissing him properly. Aziraphale felt nauseous, his heart drumming angrily in his chest, and, finally, the tears that had threatened to spill from his eyes leaked down his cheeks in heavy rivulets.

Crowley froze. He swallowed thickly, the tear tracks on his own face becoming wet and shiny again as tears poured forth from his ophidian eyes. He stopped struggling and tried to savour the moment, but instead of the joy he should've felt, he felt a deep sense of pining… and deep, soul destroying loneliness, like someone had cut off his limbs and left him for dead.

Aziraphale pressed against the demon, wrapping his arms around Crowley's waist and shoulder alternately, fingers turning white with the effort of holding onto Crowley as his nails dug little crescents into the leather jacket he was wearing.

“Stay,” Crowley whispered into the kiss, finally allowing himself the kindness of kissing Aziraphale back. It was a slow, firm kiss, but slowly devolved into desperation and over 6000 years of pent up frustration. "Please..."

The Angel eventually pulled back from their kiss, but not before they were both tear streaked and breathless, panting and holding onto each other like the other might discorporate suddenly if either let go.

“I'm not leaving you. Not again. Not ever. I love you, Crowley. I love you so much. It feels like my heart is going to burst. ”

"I love you too, 'Ziraphale, I love you."

#this is soppy as fuck wxcuse me.getting sentimental #good omens #crowley #aziraphale #aziracrow

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fearandhatred · 3 months

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Bestie first of all good luck with your group project!!!!! Secondly im very curious about the unnamed bible fic👀 what is it about?

hello bestie thank you <3 the presentation is in 2 hours and i'm stressed the hell out so i'm answering this first to take my mind off it lol. also sorry in advance this will be quite long because i do love the concept of this fic

ask game

ok firstly idk why i said unnamed bible fic it DOES have a name i just forgot. it's called "that's the pain", taken from and inspired by the song the origin of love from hedwig and the angry inch (my favourite musical)! it's a retelling of plato's (soulmate) myth of how people used to have two faces, four arms, four legs etc. but because we were proud and disobedient, zeus split us in two and so now we spend our lives trying to find our other half.

so this fic was intended to be something like that but about angels instead: angels used to have multiple heads and limbs but because some of them decided to rebel, god split them apart as punishment and cast half of them down to be demons, then wiped all memory of how they used to be. the premise is that crowley and aziraphale used to be one being that was split apart, and when they're both in the garden of eden they feel this inexplicable pull towards each other which leads to them meeting on the wall. both of them attribute this feeling to them being on opposite sides and thus not being allowed to be near each other, and aziraphale takes it as a sign that they should not be talking which is like one of the conflict points of this fic. and thus begins the next 6000 years lol.

and i called it a bible fic because i was gonna write it bible style HAHA. i kind of ditched this whole fic because i wasn't sure how sustainable that was going to be and so i didn't know if i would have to change to prose at some point.

anyway i did share some snippets last time but i'll just put them here again. this is from near the beginning of the first book of said fic bible, called apochorismós, which roughly translates to separation in greek.

Apochorismós 1:7-16

⁷But on an indiscriminate day, the day to eclipse all days, an angel spoke out against the Lord, for he had pondered his position in heaven and deemed the rule of God to be insufficient. ⁸And he, Lucifer, angel of the highest order, with his two pairs of wings and eyes and arms and legs, said unto the other angels: "The Lord claims that He extends his grace to all beings, for He is mighty, and the one true God to rule over all others. But who has determined it to be so? ⁹He has endowed us with knowledge, and knowledge seeks change, and unto us what follows shall be the natural order of things. And so I will ascend to the throne, above God and the stars, and all of creation shall play by my hand." ¹⁰And God heard of the words of the angel Lucifer, and burned with righteous fury. ¹¹"I am displeased," God said unto all the angels, "for you have sinned. A sin come upon one who remains unquestioned is a sin upon all, and for this sin you shall be ripped apart, for cursed now is the sacred ground on which you walk. ¹²"This is your punishment: through strength and defiance you have separated yourselves, and only through strength and defiance shall you return." ¹³And from a mighty hand shot bolts of lightning that cut right through the angels and split them in parts. And all orders of angels split apart, until they had one pair of eyes, and one pair of arms and legs and wings. ¹⁴And the Lord cast out the angels who were with Lucifer to roam the salty ground of the earth. These were the fallen. And He made it so that the angels and demons alike did not remember they had once been joined together, in body and in spirit. ¹⁵Such was the natural order of things. ¹⁶Then came the first war.

Apochorismós 2:19-20

¹⁹The serpent felt injustice at his words, but did not speak against them. "Perhaps it was the plan to have you give away your sword," he said, in sarcasm. "And when His plan has finally been fulfilled, may that fill the unsettling emptiness and misery within my belly." ²⁰''You feel that as well, then?" The angel asked, surprised, as he had felt the same for all the days of heaven and also as guardian of the gate. "It is worse with you near."

ok that's all. sorry for the rant i went insane but also now i'm thinking about how i could incorporate hanahaki into this

#fearandhatred #fearandasks #fearandfics #thank u for the ask <333 #this is pretty much almost all i've written for this fic lol #i didn't have a solid direction of where i wanted to take this but... if i can make hanahaki work with this premise.............#the gears are turning #good omens #ineffable husbands #aziracrow #crowley #aziraphale #good omens fanfiction #good omens fanfic #good omens fic #writing

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invisibleicewands · 10 months

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First off, I love the new season and I've had the theme song stuck in my head all weekend.

David Tennant: It's catchy, isn't it?

With Season 2, there's no more anti-Christ to find. Armageddon is pretty much postponed for now. When we enter Season 2, what is the dynamic like between your characters, especially now that you don't really have heaven and hell breathing down your necks?

Michael Sheen: Well, they're supposedly free agents now. They've managed to cut their ties to their head offices, so in some ways, they've got everything they wanted. Aziraphale is loving it. He gets to be in his bookshop. He gets to have lovely meals, and go out to see shows, and hang out with his friend. He is a little bit disturbed by not being part of the company anymore. He was someone who enjoyed that structure, whereas Crowley seemed to be a bit more comfortable with being out on his own.

Tennant: Yes, although interestingly, when we first meet Crowley, he's on a park bench catching up with the person who's taken his job. He obviously can't quite let go. He still wants the updates, and he still wants to know what's going on. But yes, liberated, although at the same time, Crowley's circumstances have rather shrunk, because the nice apartment that he had that came with the job has been taken by Shax [Miranda Richardson], who's now hell's representative on Earth.

Sheen: The car is not a company car, then?

Tennant: I guess it's not a company car. Yeah, it's interesting. We haven't established that, have we? Not a company car, but clearly a company apartment. So he's living in his car.

Sheen: Then this unexpected visitor arrives and throws everything into disarray. Suddenly, the stakes are high again. There's a mystery to be solved. The clock is ticking, and they have to rely on each other and no one else to try and solve it.

Tennant: And again, against all their instincts and best intentions, they find themselves on the run from heaven and hell, even more so than they were before.

Through all of this, I feel like there are more mini-sodes, where we go back and really explore your friendship. What was it like filming those and learning more about your charcters?

Sheen: They're the most fun bits to do probably, to dress up and to see what David's going to look like when he walks out of his trailer.

Tennant: I like to keep you surprised.

Sheen: Yes.

Tennant: Yeah, it's great that, obviously, that was introduced in Series 1, catching glimpses of their life down the millennia and how that relationship has developed. There are specific looks back in time in this series, which explains something about where their relationship is now and how the story is unfolding. It's a very clever way of interweaving that. It's really fun to get to visit those different moments in time.

Sheen: Some of the mini-sodes — particularly, the biblical one has its own world to explore and its own lessons to learn aside from the main story, as well. Neil [Gaiman] and the other writers involved got to get into some quite difficult questions and issues in a really interesting way. There's some really extraordinary things going on in those stories.

I understand that you guys have a real life friendship and came out with "Staged" during the pandemic. How would you say your real-life friendship correlates to Crowley and Aziraphale? Are there any similarities? Differences?

Sheen: I like to think we're very different to the characters. We don't bicker at all. That's part of why I think things have gone so smoothly, because we don't argue about anything, do we?

Tennant: Not so far.

Sheen: Not so far.

Tennant: There's always a first time.

Sheen: Aziraphale and Crowley are very much, on paper, opposites, but we're quite similar. We have a similar sense of humor.

Tennant: Yes, that's probably true. Aziraphale and Crowley are much more similar than they would ever care to admit…

Sheen: That's true.

Tennant: …and they're both two sides of very much the same coin.

Sheen: Yes.

Tennant: I suppose, as it's us playing them, there will be bits of us in those characters, inevitably.

Sheen: We like a nice meal and a glass of wine.

Tennant: That's certainly true, yes.

Sheen: So there's that.

Tennant: There's definitely that. Yes, we certainly bicker less.

Sheen: Definitely, yeah. I like to think that we would be able to avert an apocalypse, if the need arose.

Tennant: In a heartbeat! Yeah. Very well-placed to do that.

Sheen: (laughing) We'd be so rubbish. We'd be so inept. If Aziraphale and Crowley are inept, we would be even worse.

Tennant: I'd call [my wife] Georgia.

#Michael Sheen #David Tennant #Interview #Good Omens #Good Omens 2

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x-rk-art · 6 months

Text

[Post S2; Idea for S3, might end comic]

【--> The Supreme Archangel ascended to earth in the desperate need of stopping the new 'end of the world' that is coming but he needs his demon companion first.】

-Crowley- Please, we-..the world will end, if we don't do anything-... People will die !

- EVERY HUMAN WILL DIE ANYWAY !- *the demon screamed as he walked to get away from the angel that was following him for a long time now*

- Kids will die ! *the angel screamed back*

-.........

*Crowley stopped his steps just as Aziraphale. Only the silence was remaining in the alley they've reached on their path, no one but them were present, as if the people knew no one should disturb them here*

-Please Crowley..

- I can't give you what you want Aziraphale. I could never.

-....

- Leave me alone now!- And go back to your..ngk- 'angelic' duties as the 'supreme archangel' tsk-!

-......

*Crowley turned his back from the angel, even if he wanted to go, his body wasn't moving anymore, deep down he wanted to know what his angel would say or do now. But none of the two celestial entities were talking nor moving the slilest, only a heavy silence was remaining.*

-*The angel muttered in his breath a few words the demon could barely hear:*

..I..want.. you.

- What?

*Crowley turned back to Aziraphale, listening and paying attention to every word, every move or breaths the angel was taking.*

- I want.. you Crowley. You're the only thing I want and the only thing I thought I could never have.. I shouldn't have let go so easily.. It is my fault, all of this.

*The demon, strangely calm and still, was listening attentively to his angel, his eyes hidden by his dark glasses following the mouvement of the angel's mouth as he spoke.*

- I-.. I love you. I love you so much and yes I would like to spend the rest of the eternity with you. I know it's late but i-

*Aziraphale voice got soon cut off by the dry lips of Crowley on his own lips. Instinctively, the angel closed his eyes, discovering all again the sensation he missed for all the time he was away from his destiny.*

*Slowly and carefully, he rested his hands on the back of the demon, Crowley's hand grabbing him by his stupid archangel tie he hates so much but still wear (he would surely burn it when he'll be done) and the other one on the back of his head.*

*Tears were falling through the embrace of the celestials and the birds never sang so loud, especially some Nightingales.*

*The grip on the tie eventually became weaker, the demon's hand slowly slidding on Aziraphale shoulder. After some final seconds, the mouths separated themself from the other unwillingly, still in miss of their contact. The angel opened his eyes again and looked at his celestial soulmate. He wanted to see his demon's eyes, he needed to see them. Slowly, Aziraphale took off Crowley's glasses to reveal his yellow serpents eyes looking into the blue of his own. Crowley didn't move anymore, his hand resting on Aziraphale's chest, he just wanted to stay there, freeze the moment and let it that way for a few thousand years, maybe another 6000 years.*

- There you are my dearest ♡

- I.. ngrr- I was always there for you.. if.. you'd come back.

*Aziraphale smiled sadly, looking down, guilty of his own naivete. Of course the angel did not finish his apology and yes, there was still some things to talk about. But, right now? He looked back at his soulmate eyes, landed in, putting his hands on Crowley's neck and kissed him again, feeling the demon's hands hugging his back as his lips and tongue responded the kiss, a smile forming on each others mouths.*

Good day/night ♡ ^w^

#i wrote that at 2 am #it's 5am now help #good omens #good omens fanfic #i might draw this #aziraphale #crowley #aziracrow #good omens s3

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evilasiangenius · 9 months

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The Supper

“Are you sure you don’t want any help?” Crowley asked, fretful and anxious. Was it because he could not be of good service for once? Or perhaps it was because there was already a lot of arms and a lot of hands doing a lot of work and it seemed that for one being, Aziraphale was doing quite a bit of toiling.

“Oh, of course not. Why don’t you have a seat and rest? This would be of course much easier if we were at one of my houses but I can make do with what I have,” Aziraphale said.

“One of your...” Crowley blinked. “Wait, how are you doing that? And how are you standing?” He pointed to the working hands.

One pair was busy roasting a large carp over a hot fire.

Another pair was busy cutting onions and garlic and wild greens that they had found miraculously growing along the banks of the river.

A third pair was kneading dough for bread with strong plump fingers.

And the hands of a fourth pair were overseeing all the details; one stretching forth to add some more wood to the fire, another sprinkling salt from a small pouch onto the chopped vegetables.

Aziraphale shrugged. “Oh, all my arms and hands have a mind of their own. I just let them take care of the work. It’s rather amusing to watch, isn’t it?”

“But that doesn’t answer the question, how are you sta- Oh no, please don’t!” Quick as can be, Crowley stepped in to part two hands that had gotten tangled together and were wrestling each other, fingers moving in strange and distressing angles as they grappled.

“It happens,” Aziraphale said with a shrug. “When I let them do their own thing. Shall I get them under control?” The two hands, one each gripped in Crowley’s hands, slipped out of his grip and entwined their fingers with Crowley’s fingers. With a gasp, Crowley stepped back, shaking off the Prince of Hell as if he had been burned.

“Sorry,” Aziraphale said, though he was absolutely not sorry.

One of the overseeing hands, the one that had been seasoning the food pulled away wriggling its fingers as though it had an idea. It angled around to the other overseeing hand and briefly meshed fingers together before dipping away to pull something out of thin air with a commanding gesture; it was a large ceramic pot, tapered at the bottom.

“Er, uh...so um...would you like some help?” Crowley asked, rubbing his hands together as if to shake off the memory of the touch, and Aziraphale grinned.

“Certainly you can help. Here, why don’t you hold the jar for me. Sit, so you can hold it properly.”

“Sure.” Crowley took the jar from Aziraphale, and noticed that a heady scent wafted up from the rounded lip.

“Smells like stale fruit.” Curious, Crowley sniffed.

“You mean, finely aged fruit,” Aziraphale corrected him. “Carefully aged grape juice to be precise. Try not to drink the dregs, it’s rather full of sediment.”

“You expect me? To drink this?”

“Why not?”

“It’s...” Crowley made a face. “Unnatural.”

“It’s made from fruit and the natural processes of time. How is that possibly unnatural?” As he spoke, Aziraphale drew his hands back, one after another, as the hands finished their jobs, until somehow he was again standing on two legs and had two arms.

Crowley felt a strange sense of relief, even as he puzzled over the problem. “I...uh.”

“Here. I’ll drink first to prove that it’s safe.” The Prince of Hell sat down beside him and took the jar from him, taking a long drink.

Crowley stared as Aziraphale licked a golden droplet of wine from his lips.

#good omens #crowley #aziraphale #ineffable husbands #reverse omens #angel crowley #demon crowley #aziraphale is a prince of hell and the lord of the octopuses #crowley is an ordinary demon #cw alcohol

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ineffable-bisexual · 10 months

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WIP Aziraphale's diary entry

I'm not even going to try to calculate which entry number and date this would be! But here's a snippet from my WIP of Aziraphale writing in his diary after many months of being gone. It's a happy/fluffy one, I promise! Clumsy kissing under the cut...Aziraphale talks about what happens after their first date as an actual couple...

After the film we went to the bookshop and shared a bottle of wine. We spoke more about my time Upstairs. I didn’t want to say much as it was all too painful still, but Crowley and I promised that we wouldn’t hold anything back anymore. No more beating about the bush or walking on eggshells. We shared more tears and felt better for it.

Then I did something I never thought would happen for a long time: I kissed him.

Before I knew what I was doing, and whether it was the wine making me do it, I found myself leaning closer to him, and I pressed my lips to his. I admit it was rather clumsy as I didn’t want to have the same force that Crowley had given me before I left. I think it took him aback just a bit as I kissed the corner of his mouth, and he kissed me back with ever so much care. He put his hand on my cheek and my heart raced as our mouths took in each other’s desire.

It was rather nice although I wasn’t sure if I was doing it right. I wonder if Crowley was wondering the same about himself, but I think he’s quite good so far. It’s something we never did together, so where’s the harm in practicing? I quite like how gentle his lips are against mine and how close he holds me. He’s so warm and safe, dear Diary; is this what I had been missing from my existence? Someone who was always there from the start that was willing to love me as I am.

The tip of Crowley’s tongue entered my mouth and I think I startled him when I pulled back. I didn’t hate it; it was just a surprise! I had never kissed like that much before (if so, I don’t remember it). We laughed and continued where we left off. We kissed all night until we fell asleep, waking up on the sofa only to start again.

#good omens #ineffable husbands #crowley #aziraphale #fan fiction #wip #good omens season 2 #good omens fan fiction

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reblogging4thewin · 2 years

Text

Prompt: (x)

Sir, This is a Wendy's

Rating: G | WC: 1077 |Destiel, Aziraphale x Crowley | Supernatural & Good Omens Crossover

Fluff and Crack; Crack treated Seriously; Kid!Jack; crossover; canon adjacent; fusion

Characters: Dean, Cas, Crowley, Aziraphale, Anathema, Jack, Sam, Rowena, Pepper

Summary: While on an extended European vacation, a spell has Cas temporarily discorporated. Jack, however, still needs to be fed lunch. So, while Dean is working with Anathema on the counter spell, Cas, in all his trueform glory, heads to Wendy's.

Read this insanity on AO3 or below

The lunch rush was ending, and the last customer had just walked out the door. Pepper breathed a sigh of relief. There may be some stragglers in the drive thru, but the dine-in area was usually pretty quiet for the next couple of hours.

As Pepper wiped down the counter, a glowing ball of blue light phased through the glass door of the restaurant and paused in front of the register.

Pepper looked up to see the light coalesce into a strange being with interlocking rings like a magic trick, with many eyes dispersed throughout its incorporeal mass, and three pairs of black feathery wings that shimmered a kaleidoscope of colors under the fluorescent lights.

"BE NOT AFRAID," Castiel said. Although, it was more of an intonation which Pepper felt in her bones rather than her ears.

Pepper huffed indignantly. Great; more angel shit. Just what I need.

"Sir, this is a Wendy's."

The many eyes blinked rather sheepishly. "Sorry, I've just been dispossessed, or um, discorporated for the moment. But my son still needs lunch so... I was hoping you could lend a hand."

Keep reading after the cut or on AO3

Since Cas had been the only one in his body for many years, 'dispossessed' was no longer accurate. He was grateful to his new friend Aziraphale for teaching him the term 'discorporated'. Cas and Dean had taken a trip to Europe and came across his lovely bookstore. The trip has been rather enlightening in many ways, one of which was meeting and having tea with the absolute legend whose name Fergus McLeod had adopted (Crowley didn't mind the name borrowing - it meant he got to keep up appearances without actually having to do the dirty work). They'd talked about so many things, including how both of the nephilim/anti-Christs they'd raised (or attempted to raise) had decided to be regular kids after stopping their respective apocalypses. The main reason they hadn't met before was that Crowley had been too busy living his life with Aziraphale and not giving a damn (literally and figuratively) for the past several decades, having staved off a different apocalypse long before Dean's first rodeo.

Now however, due to a spell backfiring, Cas was stuck outside of his body for at least the rest of the afternoon. While Dean was working with Anathema on a fix (and consulting with Sam and Rowena over the phone), Cas stayed behind in their little rental cottage with Jack. However, little nephilims who've assumed a body reflecting their actual age require food, and a discorporated angel doesn't exactly have the hands or skills to provide that. Sure, he could move incorporeal things while in this form (like carrying a soul out of hell, or wiggling some radio frequencies); but the fine motor skills needed to operate a stove and assemble ingredients require limbs.

Thus, Cas found himself at Wendy's. One of the few Wendy's in the UK, in fact. He'd flocked to it as something recognizable in all of the chaos. Cas had learned a thing or two since he first came back to earth over twelve years ago; so when he spoke, the glass windows and walls of the building didn't shatter. The lights above him, however, did flicker in time with his words.

"Your....son?". Pepper asked incredulously.

"Yes," Cas smiled, which in this form manifested as a soft rosy glow. "His name is Jack."

Pepper shook her head and rolled her eyes. I don't want to get involved, so I'm just gonna roll with it.

"Ok; what'll it be?"

"Hey Cas, I've got the counter spell!" Dean called out as he entered the little stone cottage later that afternoon.

He rounded the corner into the kitchen and saw the remains of Jack's kid's meal, and an intact Baconator meal of his own on the table.

"Cas, did you go to Wendy's?"

Cas entered the room, blushing again. "I made sure to lead with 'Be Not Afraid.'" Despite the lack of hands, Dean could hear and somehow visualize the air quotes.

Dean facepalmed. "Cas, I don't think they could help but be afraid. These people have never seen angels outside of human bodies before. You probably traumatized someone."

"The nice girl at the front didn't seem scared at all, Dean." Dean could see Cas' face scrunch up as he continued. "Actually, she sounded annoyed." The expression was endearing even in this incomprehensible form, because it was Cas.

Dean crossed his arms. "Yeah, well, come on; let's get you back in that gorgeous body."

Cas fixed his multitude of bright blue eyes on Dean, narrowing into a glare. "That can wait a bit; you should eat first."

Dean rolled his two green eyes right back. "I'm fine Cas. I can eat later. You're literally having an out of body experience and you're more concerned with my stomach waiting another five minutes."

Cas came up to Dean and ghosted a kiss on his cheek in a pulse of light. "I just want to take care of you, Dean."

Now it was Dean's turn to blush. "Yeah, and I just want to take care of you. That would be much easier for both of us if you'd get back in here." Dean gestured towards Cas' vessel, which was laid out on the living room couch.

Cas let Dean lead him over to the living room and watched as Dean drew the diagram, set up the bowl with the spell ingredients, and crouched down beside the couch. A quick incantation and flash of purple light later, and the invisible barrier around Cas' body dissipated, freeing it for him to enter again.

The glowing ball of celestial intent which is Castiel flowed forth like a stream into the mouth of his vessel. His skin glowed brighter and brighter with his grace, and Dean had to shield his eyes at the last moment as Cas fully took hold of his body again. They both blinked several times as the glow subsided and Cas got his bearings again.

"All good?" Dean asked as Cas sat up and stretched. He put a hand on Cas' knee and looked up to meet his eyes.

Cas smiled warmly and cupped Dean's cheek. He slid his hand down and took Dean's hand, helping him to his feet as he stood up. Then he reached up behind Dean's neck and gently guided him down into a soft sweet kiss, smiling against Dean's mouth as he pulled back to answer. "I am now."

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aethelflaedladyofmercia · 3 years

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Fever Dream

(Written for @sicktember prompt #1 - Fever! I finished it in time for the first but didn't have the energy to edit.)

Angels didn’t get sick, precisely

They didn’t have bodies that were, strictly speaking, physical, and therefore couldn’t harbor any of the illnesses that plagued mankind and other earthly creatures.

An angel could, however, burn through enough of his own grace that his corporation began to malfunction.

He would then, as it were, fall ill.

This happened to Aziraphale far more often than to other angels.

A weak constitution was the general explanation; too much time mucking about on the strange old planet, not enough time bathing in the glorious healing light of the celestial sphere.

When he was down on Earth, he was always prying, poking, trying new things, many of which had never been approved, could have any manner of ill effects. He knew he should show some proper restraint, withdraw a bit more from the world, but he couldn’t help himself.

And when he did return to huddle miserably in a recovery ward, waiting for the chills to pass and his temperature to stabilize, Gabriel would always visit, dropping broad hints about the pressures of fieldwork and the under appreciated glory of a solid administrative career. Offering all kinds of advice as to what, exactly, a proper angel would cut out of his life if he wished to better focus on his ordained duties.

And so, when the symptoms next came upon him—muscle aches, irritability, sweat and chills until he didn’t know if he was hot or cold—Aziraphale decided to wait it out on Earth. It would only take a few days to recover and, anyway, he had business to attend to. Important business that could not wait.

“Angel, are you sure you’re alright?” Crowley demanded, a glint of gold just visible between black lenses and furrowed brow.

“Yes, I’m perf—” he turned his head to cough lightly, but an odd spasm came over his throat, transforming it into something deep and hacking that left his ribs aching and his brow dripping with sweat. “…tickety-boo,” he muttered, turning back to his mug.

“Keep it down,” hissed the demon, glancing around the common room of the inn. Perhaps one or two people had glanced over, but nothing out of the ordinary. “People will think you have the plague.” The last two words he barely mouthed.

“My dear fellow, do be serious. I have hardly any symptoms of the plague.” Only the last part sounded more like sybtobs otha blayyyg.

He cleared his throat and tried to sniff, which started a complicated chain reaction that ended with a mouthful of what he hoped was spit.

As Aziraphale’s eyes went wide with alarm, Crowley quickly pulled out a deep red handkerchief, which the angel gratefully spat into. Unsure what to do next, Aziraphale folded it over and offered it back, but Crowley leaned away, face contorted in horror.

“Oh, ah… thank you, then?” He took a quick glance inside and immediately wished he hadn’t, grimacing at the color of what his body had produced.

“Just… just eat your soup,” Crowley muttered, waving a hand at the bowl he’d been toying with until it was hardly above room temperature.

Aziraphale had ordered it thinking a bit of warmth would be lovely, as he’d been shivering fit for midwinter morning. But after one mouthful, he’d found himself sweating, tugging at his collar to relieve some of the heat. Now he could feel the shivers coming on again, but he couldn’t warm it back up. Until the illness passed, any miracles would just make it worse.

“Right,” Crowley said as Aziraphale poked at something that might have been a parsnip. “I’m going to be out of town for the next few weeks. Temptations all up and down the continent. Might take the rest of the season. Unless…” Using that lilting voice that suggested a coin flip might be imminent.

“Mmmh.” Aziraphale looked mournfully into his beer, finally hazarding another sip. The taste of hops struck him at the back of the throat and he quickly expelled the rest back into the mug. “Sorry, m’dear. Not this time. I got…” he waved his hand, waiting for the rest of the words. They didn’t appear to be forthcoming. “Things,” he finally said. “In the city. Until at least…” He rubbed his forehead, but it was hard to think when it was so cold. He pulled his heavy coat back on, bundling up.

“Oh, well. Things. Obviously can’t take you away from things.” Aziraphale nodded miserably, trying to focus on his bowl. “Angel, look,” and as Crowley leaned close, there was something new in his voice, something that sounded rather like concern. “You sure you’re alright? I mean, there’s nothing… nobody…”

Aziraphale blinked, his eyes feeling… sticky. What was Crowley getting at? He should really be more direct, clever Serpent, it was hard enough to think in all this heat. He struggled out of his coat, dabbing uselessly at the sweat on his forehead.

“Oh for Satan’s—are you cursed?” He hissed the last word even softer than he’d said plague.

“No,” the angel said, resting his head on his hand until his neck recovered enough strength to hold it up again. “M’not. S’just… things!”

In his attempt to gesture with both hands, Aziraphale forgot one was already occupied and very nearly wound up face-first in the soup.

“Azir—!” Crowley rounded the table in an instant, tugging him upright again. “What has come over you?”

“S’rry. People staring? S’not… not… proper.”

“Angel, you’re—you’re burning up!”

“Not. S’cold.” Then an icy hand touched his forehead and cheek, and Aziraphale groaned, trying to pull away.

“What the Heaven is going on?”

“Toldya. Things. Illness. From… from…” he tried to gesture with one arm, but it weighed too much to lift. “Being a… bad angel…”

A heavy sigh. “C’mere, you.” Crowley hauled him to his feet.

Aziraphale was pleased to find he could stand, just that his spinning head and aching limbs made it unpleasant. He couldn’t remember where he was supposed to go, but there was something solid nearby to lean on and a hand on his waist, guiding him forward.

It wasn’t until they reached the stairs that he realized something wasn’t right. “Crowley! This is—we—we can’t—where—what are you—”

“I’ve got a room upstairs.”

Aziraphale squinted dimly towards the upper floor. “Yes…?”

“Yes. And you, Angel, are in need of a bed.”

But.

But it was improper! Scandalous, even, talking of rooms, and beds, or rooms andbeds, or any combination thereof, particularly in the singular form. What if someone saw? An angel and a demon, bad enough, but two allegedly respectable gentlemen?

Or, wait, was one of them currently presenting as a woman? Likely not Aziraphale, though he sometimes lost track, but Crowley, well, that could also be hard to tell, but he seemed to have a good amount of jewelry and no facial hair, so there was a chance.

Still, male or female, angel or human, there would be rumor, gossip, talk about the town! It would get back to Heaven! This was worse than being thought weak and improper, Gabriel would think him some sort of reprobate!

Crowley paused, one hand on a door. “This is me. Um. I’ll go back down if it makes you feel better.”

What? And have all the rumor with none of the satisfaction? The shame of spending a night in a demon’s bed without the pleasures—oh, he knew what Crowley got up to. One of the Seven Sins that was, and Aziraphale would not be tempted into joining. No, not he!

“Right. Nh. Going to help you out of some of these layers, then I’ll go.”

Go? Go?After Aziraphale had come all this way, come so very close? No, he’d spent centuries imagining how it would be, and he’d never be truly satisfied until he had a reality to compare it to. Aziraphale very much wanted to know what Crowley looked like while he slept.

Yes, Crowley, Sloth is one of the Seven Sins, a demon should know these things.

And while Aziraphale had the general idea clear enough, he still had questions. Did Crowley snore, or did he breathe softly? He certainly would sleep on his side, curled up, but how heavy would his head be, pillowed on Aziraphale’s chest? If they talked, would his words become slurred as he drifted off, or would he listen quietly while Aziraphale spoke, running his fingers through bright red hair?

Come to that, how did his hair feel, or his cheek, or his lips? Aziraphale hadn’t thought much about lips, generally, but now that Crowley was always hiding his eyes, well, they had become the focus of his face, and that presented fascinating possibilities, ones that Gabriel certainly wouldn’t approve of, but he’d always been too curious for his own good. And really, what was a harmless little experiment between—

Oh, good Lord, was Aziraphale talking out loud?

He clapped his hand over his mouth, eyes wide with horror.

But Crowley chuckled, resting a hand on his shoulder; in only his undershirt, he could feel it so clearly—ice cold, but not unpleasantly so. “Your secrets are safe, Angel. Lay down.”

Too embarrassed to object, Aziraphale crawled into the bed and let Crowley pull a blanket over him. “Keep that on, yeah?”

“S’hot,” the angel whined. His voice sounded very odd, slurred, weak. Perhaps that meant Crowley hadn’t understood his rambling before.

“I know. Just try.” Something cool and damp wiped his face and Aziraphale sighed with relief. “Has this happened before?”

“Mmmh. Over an’over an’over.” In Heaven, they would assign him a recovery room, to sit alone and reflect on what he’d done to earn himself the illness, on what he could do to better serve in the future. Gabriel always had good suggestions.

The being alone. That was the worst part. Hated that.

Crowley was talking. Something would be right there, beside the bed. That was probably important, but the angel was already asleep.

In Aziraphale’s dream, Gabriel told him over and over that he’d failed again, that this was his own fault, that he was a terrible angel who didn’t deserve… something.

Possibly anything.Again and again, the Archangel took everything he valued—his books, his sweets, his day at the theater, the beauty of the sunrise, the way humans smiled at each other after many days apart, and something else, something far more important, but the name was forbidden—

Again, something cool pressed to his forehead, his chest. Fingers raked through his hair, helping the sweat to evaporate. “See?” A voice murmured. “Better already.” But everything was getting grey and distant again.

Now Aziraphale was in a room, an enormous room, empty but somehow still cluttered. All the things he loved were here, hidden, and Gabriel ordered him to find them all or they’d be destroyed. He searched frantically, among endless piles of brown packages, and found most of them—books and smiles and sunrises—mixed in with kettles, mittens and (for some reason) cat whiskers. But the last thing, the final thing, the important thing was still missing, and the room grew hotter and hotter—

“Try this now.” Something supported Aziraphale’s back as he sat up, leaning against… a thing… a thing that meant warmth and safety. A mug pressed to his lips. He wasn’t sure what he drank, but it felt good. “Now let’s get you settled again.”

He didn’t go down easily, though, reaching and writhing, somehow grasping the safe thing, pulling it close. If he let it get away, Gabriel would destroy it.

“I see. Alright. You stay there.” Fingers through his hair again, more resting lightly on his shoulder. “I got you. Nothing’s going to—”

Reality tumbled away and he was falling, possibly Falling, the voices of Gabriel and Michael and Uriel all around him, insulting him, taunting him, asking him why he hadn’t filed form HX-3 in triplicate. He clung desperately to the thing he needed as the temperature rose, more voices joining in, every voice. The Hellfire licked at him, even as he trembled and shook uncontrollably. This was the end, he would die here, he’d never said—

“Crowley!” He called, desperate. “Crowley don’t—don’t leave me!”

The thing he held shifted, and now there were arms wrapped around him, protecting him. “There we are. Not going to leave.”

It was too hot to bear, but still he burrowed closer. “Crowley, please. I can’t—I—I need you!”

“Not going anywhere, Angel. Not ever.”

“Crowley!” The Hellfire burst within him, a flash of heat up and down his body, his limbs, his soul—

And then he was… exhausted.

The shaking faded, the heat and cold gone, though he still found himself covered in sweat. Nothing remained but a strange sense of calm.

Still clinging to his lifeline, Aziraphale drifted off into a proper restful sleep.

He opened his eyes to find the late evening sun slanting through an open window. The blanket was largely twisted around his legs and the bed below him was oddly hard and lumpy, even if it was nice—

“You’re looking better.”

Aziraphale scrambled up in horror to find that the thing he’d been laying on—clinging to for dear life—was six feet of rumpled, uncomfortable-looking demon. A demon he vaguely recalled saying some very revealing things to…

“Oh, good Lord.” Aziraphale’s face burned again, but not from fever. He covered, his eyes turning away. “Crowley—you—you—how—”

“Gah! M’sorry!” He heard Crowley push himself upright, sliding away. “I—I—I shouldn’t have—didn’t mean—”

No of course not. It wasn’t as though Crowley shared his strange desires, his secret obsessions, his awful curiosity. Crowley was a—a perfectly normal demon who would have no interest in prolonged contact, particularly with a most clingy, damaged angel…

“What must you think of me?” he moaned.

“Stupid, stupid demon,” Crowley grumbled. “I saw you panicking but I didn’t know—shouldn’t have assumed—”

“What is wrong with me?”

“Crossed a line, and—and now look—”

“I’m a terrible, foolish, needy…”

“Didn’t want to take advantage—I’m sorry!”

“I’m sorry! Wait…” That wasn’t right. Aziraphale cautiously lowered his hands to see Crowley sitting frozen with the glasses halfway to his face. “You’re sorry?”

“Mnh. Yeah. Cuz… cuz I’m the one who…” his eyes dropped. “You seemed upset. Scared. I just… I made it worse, didn’t I? Shoulda known you wouldn’t want…”

“But…” Aziraphale swallowed, trying to recall anything clearly. “I… I seem to remember… propositioning you. Repeatedly.”

Crowley’s face turned red, but he smiled. Not his confident swaggering smirk, but something awkward and genuine that Aziraphale hadn’t seen since Eden. “Not… repeatedly. N’I’d hardly call it… besides it was… you know. But!” His fingers twisted on the metal frames of his glasses. “But, look—I don’t—you aren’t responsible for—for the things you say when you’re sick, ‘specially things you don’t mean—and I—s’my responsibility not to—” He ducked his head even further. “Just wanted to help. Shouldn’t have assumed… that you meant… what I wanted…”

“What…” Aziraphale reached out but couldn’t quite touch him. “What you want?”

“Um.” Golden eyes flicked up. “You’re… not the only one who wondered about… the sleeping stuff. Who doesn’t like to be… alone.” He cleared his throat. “Or, at least, I thought—”

“I believe I told you I needed you.” His hand hovered over Crowley’s shoulder. “I meant that. Precisely the way you took it. I—I meant most of it.”

Crowley’s eyes blinked, very slowly.

And the next moment, they were swept into each other’s arms, Aziraphale once again clinging to his friend like a lifeline. “I don’t think you’re stupid,” he managed.

“I don’t think there’s anything wrong with you.”

“Thank you,” Aziraphale pressed closer. “Thank you for staying.”

When they broke apart, Crowley was as bright red as Aziraphale had felt at the height of his fever, glasses back in place, staring fixedly at his own legs. “So. Mmmmh. Now what?”

Aziraphale considered that question more carefully than he’d ever considered anything.

“I think… I’m recovering…”

“S’good.” Crowley shifted as if to stand.

“…but still very tired. I should probably rest another night?”

“Yeah. Um. Yeah. Do you—I can go?”

“Do you have somewhere to be?” His heart started to fall, until Crowley shrugged.

“I do, but… not urgently.”

“If you have the time there’s… there’s something I’m curious about.”

“Well. Big fan of knowledge, me.”

Aziraphale carefully lay down again, keeping his arms wide. A moment later, Crowley took a deep breath, set aside his glasses and joined him.

It turned out that Crowley’s head on his chest was the perfect weight. That he did indeed curl up, though in the most convoluted ways. That in his sleep, Crowley’s breaths were gentle and soft, much like his hair, and he tried very much to keep talking on the edge of consciousness even when he didn’t have much to say.

As for the kissing, well—certain observations did not need to be made public.

(AO3 link later today...)

#good omens #good omens fanfic #sicktember #ineffable husbands #hurt comfort #sick aziraphale #cuddles #fever #protective crowley #soft crowley #there was only one bed #aziraphale #crowley #aziraphale and crowley #my writing #prompt challenge

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holycatsandrabbits · 3 years

Text

Love’s Endless Light: A Good Omens serial romance

READ FROM THE BEGINNING

Chapter 5: Shadows Fall

1143, Florentine Republic

Aziraphale stared at Crowley, his mouth falling open with surprise. “Excuse me?”

Crowley fidgeted and frowned. “I said we have to fight. Hell wants me to confront you about the whole Constantinople thing—”

Aziraphale gave an affronted gasp. “You told them Constantinople was my fault?”

“Well, I had to put something in my report, didn’t I?”

“Yes, but Crowley, I wasn’t even there!” Aziraphale’s voice dropped to a whisper. “The Arrangement—”

“Well, I’m not going to bloody tell them about that, am I? It’s not like I can say, Hey, forces of Hell, sorry the temptation went badly, but the miracle I performed for my angelic best friend went fine, so really, I’m not as bad a screw-up as it looks.”

Aziraphale blinked at Crowley, fighting down an unhelpful blush. Best friend was an awfully lovely phrase, especially coming from someone like Crowley, who was altogether lovely himself. They were standing in a clearing amid a grove of trees, and the leaves cast dappled shadows over Crowley’s beautiful scarlet hair. He was dressed in black, as usual, with a dagger at his hip, looking rakish and as inconveniently handsome as ever.

“Wait,” Aziraphale said. “So now we’re supposed to fight?”

“Yeah. Like physically.” Crowley put on a rather tempting smile, but it didn’t have his usual finesse. “Look, angel, it won’t be so bad. You can give me a cut on my arm—”

“Out of the question!” Aziraphale exclaimed.

Crowley looked exasperated. “Come on, you’re an angel, I’m a demon, it’s not that complicated. We have a nice little skirmish, I’ll tell Hell we nearly discorporated each other, and they’ll be satisfied. I mean, it might actually work in our favor, making it clear to our sides that we don’t get along, that we’d never dream of doing each other’s assignments—”

“I can’t,” Aziraphale said.

Crowley sighed, looking at Aziraphale with concern. “It’s no big deal. Not like I asked you for holy water or something.”

Aziraphale felt faint. “Crowley, I’m a guard. I wasn’t made to be able to— to hurt people.”

“You fought in the War in Heaven,” Crowley said slowly, as if Aziraphale might not remember, as if Aziraphale could stop thinking about the War for even one day. When Aziraphale did not answer, Crowley’s tone gentled. “Okay, angel. I’m sorry. I tell you what, I can wound myself—”

Aziraphale had caught Crowley by the wrist before he’d even consciously realized that Crowley had grasped his dagger. Crowley looked shocked, but Aziraphale did not let go. “Drop it,” Aziraphale instructed, and Crowley opened his hand to let the dagger fall.

“It’s, um,” Crowley said in a strangled voice, “it’s just as well we don’t fight, I guess. Since you’d obviously win.”

Aziraphale should have let go of him, but he couldn’t bring himself to. Crowley’s skin beneath his fingers was softer than the smoothest parchment, and Aziraphale found himself helplessly wondering what Crowley’s wrist would feel like beneath his lips if he dared inscribe a message there with a kiss. “Tell them I lost,” Aziraphale breathed. “I’ll wear a wound, and—”

A flash of fire and a clap of thunder suddenly shook the clearing, and two demons pushed up through the ground. “Just in time!” one of them exclaimed, seeing Crowley disarmed, and before Aziraphale could say or do anything, they rushed at him.

Aziraphale was also wearing a dagger, but he didn’t reach for it. Instead, he backed up, released his wings, and summoned his angelic glow. Though the demons held swords, they halted their advance, looking at him nervously. Aziraphale suddenly felt like a cat making himself look big in the face of a threat, and it did not help that when he glanced at Crowley, he could see the demon being delighted by exactly that thought.

Crowley retrieved his dagger and held it in what was probably supposed to be a menacing manner, and spoke in what was probably supposed to be a casual tone. “What are you guys doing here?”

“We came to help you!” one of the demons called back, not taking his eyes off of Aziraphale. He appeared to be some sort of bumble bee hybrid with a fuzzy body. “Hell wants this angel punished for what happened in Constantinople.”

Crowley made a growling noise. “I don’t need help.”

The other demon grinned. “Is that why he disarmed you?” This demon was rather monstrous, short and muscular, with a long worm-like tail that lashed about on the grass. He looked at Aziraphale with pure hate.

Aziraphale didn’t pray, not about something like this. But he did make a very fervent wish.

The demons lunged at him, and Aziraphale brought up his dagger, blocking their swords. The bumble bee one was a good fighter, watching carefully, trying to learn Aziraphale’s timing. The beastly one appeared to be more show than skill, doing a lot of useless lunging. Behind them, Crowley looked pale and worried. He held his dagger up, but hadn’t made a move to join the fight, which was wise, because of course, he’d surely enter it on Aziraphale’s side.

When the bumble bee got in a good thrust that cut through Aziraphale’s shirt, Aziraphale could hold out no longer. He let the dagger in his hand burst into holy flame. The bee demon was surprised enough that Aziraphale disarmed him and sent him sprawling.

The beast demon, predictably, rushed Aziraphale, undaunted by the flaming dagger. Aziraphale twisted out of his way and stomped on a faint discolored spot on his tail as he went past. The demon gave a cry of anguish and fell to the ground, curled up in pain. He looked up at Aziraphale with confusion and outrage in his eyes. “How did you know where to kick—”

It was at that point that Aziraphale found that his desperate wishing had not helped anything. The hate in the demon’s eyes faded into surprised recognition. “You,” he said quietly.

“Go,” Aziraphale instructed, with enough angelic might that the ground shook. The two demons scrambled up and fled into the forest.

Aziraphale let the flaming dagger flare out. He could not bring himself to look at Crowley, but he noticed him approaching gingerly.

“Are you okay?” Crowley asked.

“Of course.”

It was an obvious lie, and Aziraphale regretted it immediately, as he realized Crowley was going to try to solve the situation with humor.

“Gosh, angel, good thing we didn’t run into each other in the War in Heaven. I’d have been no match for you. You must have really made an impression on the one with the tail if he remembers you after all this time. Well, looks like you made an actual impression on his tail. Was it with your flaming sword?”

“Crowley, you don’t understand about the War,” Aziraphale whispered.

“It’s no shame to have fought,” Crowley said reassuringly. “That was your job.”

“My job is to guard.”

“But you were created a fighter, Aziraphale, obviously.”

Aziraphale still hadn’t looked at him, and he couldn’t now, because his eyes were wet. He turned the dagger around and held it out to Crowley, handle-first. “Say you disarmed me. Hell won’t punish you then.”

“Angel,” Crowley protested. He did not take the dagger, so Aziraphale dropped it on the ground and snapped his fingers, miracling himself somewhere far away.

READ FROM THE BEGINNING

Read on Ao3

Updates Fridays on Ao3 and Tumblr.

Want to create fic, art, or other works based on this series? Please do! Just dm or tag me.

My previous Good Omens serial: Mr. Fell’s Bookshop

My Carrd

*********

Image text: Love’s Endless Light by Dannye Chase (HolyCatsAndRabbits) Chapter 5

As Aziraphale and Crowley slowly fall in love over the millennia, Crowley discovers that Aziraphale is keeping a very dangerous secret.

#Dannye writes #good omens #Love's Endless Light #good omens fan fiction

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ourownsideimagines · 3 years

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Hide My Wings Tonight: Not Another Gloomy Play (Chapter 5)

Surprise! Not dead! I suddenly got the oomph today to finish not one but TWO chapters. Chaoter Six will be posted later, but I figured after two years of waiting I would go ahead and put up Chapter 5 right now.

Read it here on AO3!

Or read it below the cut

Based on the one-shot request by @jinxthequeergirl

---

Aziraphale had not seen his sister filled with such joy in centuries as he did in the years following the beginning of her and Crowley’s arrangement. Not that he knew of said arrangement of course, but he didn’t question what his sister did as long as she was happy. He worried about her, that much was for sure, but after she’d blown off his question the first twenty times he’d stopped asking, and started to enjoy the smile she once again gave so freely.

And (name) enjoyed learning to dance. Her demonic partner was not the best at the task, but they were learning together by watching others, and interacting. No one would question their presence at parties and masquerades. And though (name) would never admit it, she enjoyed spending time with Crowley. There was something about him that drew her in. Perhaps that was just how demons were. Enticing to even the purest of minds. Or maybe just to her.

She didn’t like Crowley, Heaven’s no - how could she, he’s a demon - but his company was a nice change from her doting brother and the snobs up in Heaven.

And of course, with their first arrangement, came another one. One that would change the world forever

You see, arrangements can be a tricky thing.

The one that (name) had with Crowley was simple enough - Crowley would help (name) learn any new dance she desired, as long as she was willing to help him with small things. She had been a bit reluctant to these terms at first, but found that there was some joy in her disobeying Heaven. It was like a huge fuck you to Gabriel behind his back.

Did his coat need mending? Simple enough - it might not look beautiful, but it was presentable. Did Crowley need a name? Most certainly, (name) could get that. Did he need help getting into somewhere he couldn’t get into otherwise? Not a problem, (name) was good at talking her way into places. Did he need Aziraphale distracted for a while while he did some misdeeds? (Name) could turn a blind eye and take her brother out to lunch. Whatever he asked for, (name) was willing to do it.

Aziraphale had caught onto them rather quickly, much to (name)’s dismay. He’d been upset. He didn’t know about the dancing, but he knew that she’d been sneaking off to see Crowley and to help him with his hellish intentions. It had taken hours for (name) to get him to calm down and listen.

And that was how the second arrangement began. This one was just a bit trickier to get away with. After all, hiding something from Aziraphale was one thing. But hiding something from heaven was another - they had eyes everywhere. Even if it didn’t seem like it, someone was bound to be watching. And if not now, then later.

Aziraphale had been against the idea for so many years, helping Crowley, or God forbid, getting Crowley’s help. But with the way (name) and Crowley insisted it could do us some good, how was he to resist?

So that was how it had been, for many years. The angels helped the demon, and the demon helped the angels. Heaven hadn’t noticed, and as far as (name) knew Hell hadn’t either. That didn’t mean any less sneaking around - Aziraphale refused to meet with Crowley privately. It always had to be in a crowd, somewhere inconspicuous.

And the Globe Theater during the preview of Shakespeare's new play, Hamlet, was anything but.

Aziraphale had promised a crowd, but (name) could count no more than fifteen heads among the crowd - that included the Bard himself, and the woman carrying snacks, Juliet. As they waited for Crowley, Aziraphale purchased himself a bunch of grapes, miracaling a coin out of nowhere.

“If you were going to do that,” (Name) said as Juliet walked away. “You could have just miracled yourself some grapes.”

“Now where would be the fun in that.” Aziraphale said, smiling down at the fruit before popping one of them into his mouth. He glanced around quickly. “He’s late.”

“Really, I hadn’t noticed.” She teased. “Stop looking so nervous. You’re the one who wanted to meet with him here.”

“Yes, well, I assumed there would be a much bigger crowd.”

“There’s never a crowd for a show like this.” (Name) argued. “People are depressed enough as is, they don’t want to be going to a show that will just make them feel worse.”

“I don’t feel any worse.” Aziaraphale argued.

“Yeah, well, you’re also not like everybody else.” The two were silent for a moment. Then, almost as if she could sense him, (name) turned her head and watched as Crowley sauntered into the arena. He saw them, and took no time at coming to stand beside (name).

“I thought you said we’d be inconspicuous here. Blend in with the crowd.” (Name) wanted to smile at this. Aziraphale, on the other hand, huffed, and ate another grape before he spoke.

“That was the idea.” He grumbled, glancing over at the demon. Remembering his manners, he offered the fruits to him. Crowley, however, ignored them.

“Ah, hang on.” The demon grimaced. “This isn’t one of Shakespeare’s gloomy ones, is it?” He scrunched up his nose. “No wonder nobody’s here.” (Name) smiled at this.

“Shh, it’s him.” Aziraphale grasped his sister's arm, catching her attention.

“Prithee, gentles, madam.” He said. “Might I request a small favor? Could you, in your role as the audience, give us more to work with?” (name) tried not to frown at this, but she had never been very good at controlling her mouth - both what came out of it, and what shapes it decided to make. Shakespeare didn’t seem much interested in her tho, his eyes focused more on Aziaphale who asked;

“You mean, like when the ghost of his father came on, and I shouted ‘He’s behind you!’?”

“Just so!” Shakespeare said. “That was jolly helpful. Made everyone on the stage feel appreciated. A bit more of that.” (name) wanted to argue. She wanted to say that it made no sense, but she didn’t have the chance. “Good Master Burbage, please! Speak the lines trippingly.” The actor on stage didn’t take the advice too well, and (name) was sure he was ready to explode on the bard at any moment.

“I am wasting my time up here.” He hissed.

“No, you’re very good!” Aziraphale insisted. “Isn’t that right, my dear sister?”

“I-” She bit her tongue. Aziraphale has a bad habit of putting her on the spot like this. That, plus a loose tongue, was never a good pairing. “Yes. I just love all the… talking.” She said.

“And what does your friend think?” The actor asked, clearly looking towards Crowley.

“He’s not our friend. We’ve never met before, we don’t know each other-”

“I think you should get on with the play.” Crowley interrupted Aziraphale, and (name) had to raise a hand to cover her mouth. If Aziraphale heard her laugh, he would surely lecture her later.

“Yes, Burbage. Please.” Shakespeare said. The actor continued.

“To be or not to be - that is the question-”

“To be!” Aziraphale exclaimed. “I mean, not to be! Come on, Hamlet. Buck up!” He turned to (name) with excitement, but it quickly died when he saw the bored look on not only her face, but on Crowley’s as well. Still, the actor gave him a grateful thumbs up and continued on. (name) had to keep from laughing when she noticed Shakespeare mouthing along to the soliloquy, looking very proud of himself.

“He’s very good, isn’t he?” Aziraphale gushed.

“Age does not wither nor custom stale his infinite variety.” Crowley dramatized. (name) watched as Shakespeare reached for his pocket, stating how he ‘liked that’ and wandered away while scratching it down on a scrap of paper.

They stood there a few moments longer, listening to the soliloquy.

“What do you want?” Aziraphale finally spoke, popping another grape into his mouth. (Name) took this opportunity to snag a few, cradling them in her hand as she trained her eyes on the man standing on stage.

“Why might you be insinuating that I might possibly want some?” He was behind them now, coming to stand on Aziraphale’s side.

“You’re up to no good.”

“And the two of you are up to good, I take it? Lots of good deeds?” (Name) spared him a glance. He wasn’t even trying to pretend that he was watching the play. Even behind his glasses she could see him glancing at her, then back to Aziraphale.

“Well there is no rest for the…” Aziraphale paused, causing (name) to snicker. The actor on stage threw her a look, which she chose to ignore. “Good.”

“We’re meant to be heading up to Edinburgh at the end of the week. Aziraphale has a couple of blessings to do and I have a minor miracle to perform.” (Name) popped a couple of the grapes into her mouth - they were the perfect mixture of sweet and sour, causing her to hum with joy.

“Oh? Is that right?” Crowley looked at her again and (Name) fought to keep a smile off her face. “Well, I’m meant to be heading to Edinburgh end of the week as well - tempting a clan leader to steal some caddle.”

“Doesn’t sound like hard work.” Aziraphale piped in, too focused on the play and his food to realize what was coming next.

“Well, that’s why I thought…” this caught Aziraphale’s attention, and he all but snapped his head in Crowley’s direction. “Well, it’s be a bit of a waste.” Crowley was starting to smile again. He knew exactly what he was doing. “All of us going all the way to Scotland.”

“You cannot possibly be insinuating,” Azirapahe was beginning to raise his voice, and (Name) hushed him before the actor could throw another tantrum. “What I infer you are implying.” He said in a hushed tone.

“It’s not like we haven’t done it before.” Crowley was turned to watch the play now, but (name) never looked away from him. “The arrangement-“

“Don’t say that.” Aziraphale demanded.

“Our respective head offices don’t actually care how things get done, they just want to know they can cross it off the list.

“Yes, but if hell found out they wouldn’t just be mad,” Aziraphale reminded him. “They would destroy you.” The joy of seeing the demon had finally worn off as (name) let Aziraphale’s words sink in.

They would destroy you.

“Nobody ever needs to know.” Crowley said, lifting a hand to show them a rusted coin. “I’ll toss you for Edinburgh.”

There was a pregnant pause. (Name) could feel the words forming on the tip of her tongue. We shouldn’t do this, she wanted to say. It’s way too dangerous. But she couldn’t. Because a life without seeing Crowley every now and again would be… well, she’s not sure it would be worth living.

“Fine,” Aziraphale sighed. “Heads.” Crowley smiled. Then, he held the coin out to her.

“Would you do us the honor?” He asked. As (name) took the coin, her fingers brushed gently against his own, and despite how well dressed he was and how warm it was, his fingers were cold. Aziraphale’s eyes were trained on the coin so he didn’t see when Crowley gave her a sly wink.

The other arrangement.

(Name) held onto a sigh as she flipped the coin, fingers snapping gently as she did. When the coin landed, she knew it would be tails, but she played her part and gave a small groan of annoyance.

“Well, brother of mine, it looks like we will be the ones going to Scotland.” She displayed the coin. “Guess I’m just a bit unlucky.” She lied.

Before either of them could speak, they heard the bard moaning from the other side of the pit.

“It’s been like this every performance Juliet, a complete dud. It would take a miracle to get anyone to come and see Hamlet.” (Name) didn’t miss the look Aziraphale gave Crowley. The same face he gave her when he wanted something sweet, or was begging her to help him get a new book.

Crowley scrunched up his nose, but let out a defeated sigh.

“Fine, I’ll do that one.” He said. “My treat.”

“Oh, really?” (Name) shuffled a bit, annoyed words threatening to spill from her lips. But Crowley spoke up quickly.

“I still prefer the funny ones.” He gave (name) one last glance before making his way toward the exit of the theater, probably on his way to start on his demonic miracle. It was at that moment that (name) realized she was still holding Crowley’s coin.

“Oh, bugger.” She muttered. “Could you hold on a moment, brother. I will return in just a moment.”

“Is everything alright?”

“Quite. Just need a breather, is all.” He didn’t seem to like that answer, but didn’t argue as (name) tore away from him and walked towards the theater exit. As she popped out onto the empty streets, she could feel eyes on her. To her left, Crowley was leaning up against a wall, waiting for her.

“Sneaky bastard.” She said, “You forgot something.” She said, holding out the coin to him. He stared at it for a moment, but didn’t hold out a hand to take it. So she pulled back, slipping the coin into a pocket she had secretly sewn into her dress. “Is everything okay, Crowley?”

“How are you?” (name) was taken aback by the question, but Crowley seemed genuine in his curiosity.

“I am… fine.”

“You seem happy.” He said. “Even if you weren’t enjoying the show, you just seem… happier.”

“Well,” (name) started. “I am. Times are changing. I haven’t had to visit upstairs in quite a while. And Aziaraphale is happy. So I am happy.”

“Good. That’s… good.” There was silence between them. “I still owe you from last time, too.” He said. (name) hummed in agreement - she hadn’t gotten her promised dance lesson for the last temptation she had assisted him with.

“I guess this next one will just have to be a bit longer, then, no?”

“It would seem.” Crowley was smiling. “Have fun in Edinburgh, Angel.”

“Have fun with Hamlet, Demon.” She shot back, trying not to laugh as he grimaced. Crowley pushed off the wall and began to saunter off, leaving (name) to return to her brother. When she reached into her pocket, she couldn’t help but laugh to herself.

The coin was gone.

#hide my wings tonight #HMWT chapter 5 #chapter 5 #crowley x reader #crowley x angel!reader #crowley x fem!reader #crowley x reader good omens #crowley x angel!reader good omens #crowley x fem!reader good omens #x reader #x angel!reader #x fem!reader #reader insert #good omens reader insert #Aziraphale’s sister!reader #my writing #reese writes

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pendragyn · 3 years

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Darkness and Light

This is an excerpt of my WIP Ineffable Bastards (the entirety of chapter 3 lol) that I felt really fits with the 'Dark' and 'Light' themes of this year's Good Omens Celebration.

(sorry for the formatting errors, tumblr being tumblr. adding a readmore since it's 4k words, also the real angst is below the cut. Hopefully it works! if not you can read it all at AO3)

Chapter 3: Tuesday ∞ Unbinding

A brief stab of pain jolted Crowley awake, and they froze for a moment to get their bearings. The shop was wreathed in deep shadows, lit only by the lamp by Aziraphale’s desk, and the only sounds were of Aziraphale working on the manuscript and a clock ticking faintly in the dimness. The back of their neck tingled with uneasiness.

Ignoring the sensation, Crowley eased upright and bit back a curse, too distracted by the ache in their back to notice the pale tartan blanket they’d been tucked under. Ugh, is this couch made of rocks? They prodded at the cushion, but it was as lofty as the day they had miracled it into being some thirty years earlier. At least, they assumed it was still only thirty year ago. Just how long did I sleep for?

As they could both go days without shifting a muscle, only knowing it was night wasn’t a particularly useful metric. Crowley had slept for the better part of a century after all, though that had been on purpose, while this... They checked their watch, but couldn’t seem to focus on the face so checked their phone’s time instead, and still had to squint and rub at their eyes before the time and date finally swam into focus. Midnight. Just hours, not days.

They stood and stretched to try to relieve the ache in their back, but if anything that only made it feel worse. While demons might not be able to instantly heal themselves the way angels could, they did heal at a far faster rate than humans did, and weren’t exactly prone to chronic back pain, or any pain at all, if injury wasn’t involved. It was becoming obvious that something was very wrong, but Crowley still hesitated to bring it up.

Haven’t I dragged them through enough? They turned to watch Aziraphale, highlighted in the darkness by the glow from the lamp. They were wearing their favourite old cardigan instead of their coat, which was as informally dressed as Crowley ever saw them in recent memory, and looked like nothing more than the contented bookshop keeper they played at being. They looked serene, happy even, and utterly enthralled by their project.

Just tell them about the spells and go,Crowley decided. “Aziraphale?”

“Hmm?”

“How long ‘til you’re done?”

“Just… there, finished. Perhaps we could go get dinner at the café while things dry?” Aziraphale suggested hopefully, looking up from the manuscript and blinking a few times when they saw how dark it was. “Oh, I was at that a while, wasn’t I? Dreadfully sorry.”

Crowley shook their head at the apology. “It’s after midnight.”

“Oh, they’re long closed then. Well. Perhaps another time.” There was something in Crowley’s expression that made a lump of dread form in the bottom of Aziraphale’s stomach. They dragged their eyes away to focus on putting things away, not wanting to waste any of the precious materials through carelessness, while a million things clamoured in their mind to be said. It felt like everything was going wrong again and they hurried to fill the silence. “I do hope I did right in not waking you earlier? You seemed quite exhausted and…” I didn’t want you to go. Aziraphale swallowed the words down and gave Crowley a smile. “I do have to concede that you were right about today, well yesterday now, I suppose. It did turn out to be a rather good day after all.”

Crowley blinked, taken a little off guard by the admission, and tried to figure out how to broach the subject of the alarms. “Oh, er, yeah? I mean, yeah, it was good. But I, er-”

Aziraphale ploughed on, almost afraid to know what Crowley was going to say. “Having my hands occupied helps ground me, I’ve found, helps me sort through things that otherwise seem too big a mess. Not that we’re out of this mess, I know, but taking the time to let things settle really helps me put things into perspective. I just need a little breathing room sometimes and-”

“And alarms.”

Aziraphale looked up in confusion. “Alarms?”

“I mean, I, uh, I set up some alarms around the shop while you were working, to warn you, us, of intruders. Passive alarms,” Crowley hastened to assure the angel when they frowned, “nothing dangerous. Just… You know, in case.”

Aziraphale was momentarily at a loss for words. They felt it would be inexcusably rude to ask what had motivated Crowley to do such a thing, though that was the second thought that came to mind. First was just how nice kind an act it was. “I… that is, well, that, that was very kind of you. I hadn’t even considered, but I suppose it is best to be prepared for retaliation of some sort. But you… you’ll have to at least let me treat you to dinner to repay-”

“No.” Aziraphale’s face fell at the blunt denial but Crowley explained, “I mean it’s too late. Now. Tonight. But…” Crowley hesitated. Although things hadn’t gone the way they hadn’t even let themself admit to hoping for, they knew Aziraphale would want to help them if they needed it. Another sharp stab of pain decided them. Whatever they were dealing with, they had to deal with it soon, and the shop was not secure enough in it’s current state. “How would you feel about going to the flat? I’ve got plenty to tide us over and, I, uh, I’ve got something I need your opinion on.”

“Certainly.” Aziraphale quickly stood up and grabbed their coat, but made a token protest, wanting to give Crowley an out of their clearly impulsive offer. “But I wouldn’t want to impose-”

“’Snever an imposition, Aziraphale, to share a meal with you,” Crowley murmured, moving towards the door when Aziraphale looked up in surprise at their serious tone. “’Sides, you’ve been slouched at that desk too long.”

Aziraphale trailed along behind them and tried to puzzle out what was really going on. “As long as you’re quite sure, Crowley.”

“Always.” Crowley could see Aziraphale’s confusion but ignored it, slipping into the driver’s seat and clasping very tightly to the wheel while the angel got in the passenger’s side. The ache was getting worse and a headache was beginning to pound behind their eyes. Unsure what else to do, Crowley sped off towards the safety of the flat.

Aziraphale watched Crowley with a small frown of concern, but could tell from their expression that they weren’t in the mood to answer questions. As it was, the strange foreboding itchy ache in their back was distraction enough, and when a surreptitious healing failed to alleviate the sensation, a worrying thought popped up. If this isn’t a physical injury, then it must be metaphysical in nature. Could this be from what we did? From what happened? Did I… could I have absorbed some of Crowley’s… demon-ness while borrowing their corporeal form? Or been poisoned by some remnant of the hellfire? Or from just being in Hell at all? But that means-

Aziraphale risked a glance at Crowley. The demon pressed back against the cushion and shifted uncomfortably in their seat, like there was an itch along their spine that couldn’t be reached. -Heaven or the holy water or my angel-ness contaminated,poisoned, Crowley in the same way. Oh, oh no. I didn’t even think to do more than a cursory cleansing before we switched back! What to do, what to do? They whirled through a dozen ideas but just as quickly discarded them all as unless, a knot of grief forming over their heart.

There must be something! But nothing came to mind. They wiped at their stinging eyes, refusing to let the tears fall and returned to twisting the golden ring on their pinky, before they were struck by an idea. Maybe I can fix this.

“Hey.”

Aziraphale jumped when Crowley spoke, quickly shoving their balled up fists into their coat pockets, and tried to smile reassuringly when Crowley frowned. “Sorry, what did you say?”

“Just wondering where you were. We’ve been parked for like five minutes.” Crowley tried to tease, to keep up appearances should anyone be observing, but the aching itch was making it almost impossible to think. Another stab of pain had Crowley pressing a hand to their throbbing tattoo with a hiss. When they pulled their hand away, there was a smear of blood on their fingers. Shit. Outta time.

Aziraphale’s heart dropped at the sight and they instantly reached out, but Crowley shook their head and shoved out of the car before they could attempt a healing. Aziraphale hurried after them, up to the flat, jumping a little when Crowley slammed the door shut behind them and set all the locks with a snap. “Crowley-”

Another jolt of pain sent Crowley reeling back against the door but they shook their head again when Aziraphale reached out to heal them, their bleak expression showing they also knew it wouldn’t be enough. They were out of options and the little voice said, Last chance to fix it. Now or never. Crowley pulled off their glasses and spoke the words they never thought they’d say again, to the only being they’d ever trusted enough to say them to. “I desire a boon, Aziraphale.” The Celestial words crackled with power in spite of the pain in Crowley’s voice.

Aziraphale couldn’t help the shocked gasp that escaped but didn’t hesitate to reply in kind. “Ask and be heard, Crowley, I attend you.”

There was so much that needed to be said, that Crowley desperately wanted to say but the ceremony didn’t allow for deviation and the pain was worsening. They stared into their best friend’s wide golden-green eyes and hoped they would understand. “I seek to mend all rifts and reforge our bond.”

After everything, they still… Aziraphale nodded, eyes stinging with tears, and it took a second to swallow down everything they couldn’t say to be able to say the proper response, “Such forged has lain quiescent but was never sundered. By our efforts combined shall these rifts be mended.”

It was never unspoken. They never broke it, even after... Crowley’s eyes burned with tears they’d been cursed to never let fall and they offered their hand in agreement. “Shoulder to shoulder?”

Mind brimming with words there was clearly no time left for, Aziraphale clasped Crowley’s hand and spoke the final phrase. “My wings to yours.”

Occult power swept through them, renewing the bond and knocking the breath from both of them. Unable to wait a second longer, Crowley bolted through the flat, stumbling into the spacious marble bathroom mortared with every type of magic against scrying and magical attacks and filled to the brim with all manner of tropical plants. Their own little replica of the Garden.

With a ragged gasp Crowley activated the spells and let their wings flash into being. The ink-dark feathers repelled the warm light shining down from the false sky-lights, and they flapped, once, twice, but neither the spells nor the movement did anything to ease the sensation that was going from searing itch to freezing ache. Desperate, feeling as though they were suffocating inside an icebox, they flung off their clothes and slapped on the water, wings spread wide as droplets began to pour from the ceiling.

Aziraphale paused only long enough to set a very unpleasant surprise by the door for anyone who tried to break in before following the sound of running water through the sparse bedroom to the gleaming bathroom. “Crowley?” They were horrified to find Crowley shivering under the downpour, hair and feathers drenched, blood seeping from the mark on their temple. They dashed to catch Crowley before they could collapse to the floor, unfurling their own wings to shelter them from the downpour. “Hold on! Talk to me!” Knowing it was futile Aziraphale tried another healing anyway, swearing when all that changed was the rapidly worsening ache in their own back and wings.

The sound Crowley made was both bitter laugh and heartbroken sob. “Sorry, angel. Guesss they found a way after all. Sssshould’ve known… they wouldn’t… let us get away.”

Aziraphale cradled Crowley close, shaking their head in denial, mind full of recriminations. Do something you stupid angel! Anything! But they couldn’t think past the pain of their heart breaking. “Crowley, please-”

“Never meant… t’hurt… you.” The burning frost was pervasive and growing, seeking the soul embedded within the living vessel that trembled from the freezing cold searing pain. It seeped through muscles and around bones, piercing eyes and lungs and heart, which failed under the onslaught.

“NO!” Aziraphale’s wail turned into a roar of rage and anguish when Crowley’s lovely eyes went dull and sightless. For the first time in six thousand years, Aziraphale didn’t hold back, didn’t toe the line, didn’t do what was expected of them, and power the colour of a bronze sword sharpened with noonlight coruscated around them and their rapidly greying wings. “You can’t take Crowley from me again! I won’t allow it!” Those quick clever hands darted towards the now obvious source of Crowley’s torment, into inky feathers gone heavy and grey with icy embers of sanctified hellfire. “Fuck. You. All.”

If either side had seen Aziraphale at that moment, they might have understood why they were the Guardian of the Eastern Gate.

Crowley was wreathed in pain and loneliness and despair, on the verge of losing themself to the agonizing emptiness, when a brilliant ray of golden-bronze light slashed through the void from a glimmering horizon that hadn’t existed until that moment. They wasted no time hurling themself towards the familiar shining beacon until it overwhelmed their senses with light, and eventually the light resolved itself into the fixture in the ceiling of their bathroom. They soon became aware of the feeling of Aziraphale’s hands raking urgently through their feathers and swamped with the terrible understanding that it was already too late, slurred, “Azsheraph, no...”

But Aziraphale was implacable and continued to extinguish the freezing embers clinging to Crowley’s feathers. “I must.” They ignored the pain of handling the sanctified hellfire and the building cold fire of Heaven’s unholy judgment, only giving in when they sensed the last of the embers vanish in a pathetic puff of smoke.

Crowley marshalled enough energy to move just in time to break Aziraphale’s fall. “Wha-, Aziraphale, did they-” The angel nodded, eyes pressed shut as a shudder passed through their failing body. “No no nononono.” Thoughts still muddled Crowley had sense enough to do one thing.

snap

Water, stopped, midair, crystalline and gleaming in the odd light of out-time.

Aziraphale reached up to press a shaking hand to Crowley’s right cheek, the tips of their fingers resting over the still bleeding hellish brand on Crowley’s temple. Too much left to say, to do, to make up for. Time enough for just one last thing...They stared into Crowley’s lovely eyes, irises blown wide with shock, and as their last desperate heartbeat passed, breathed out, “I’m sorry.”

Aziraphale was gone before Crowley could respond, having used the last of their power to remove the binding mark on Crowley’s temple, and Crowley’s face crumpled and contorted with fury and despair, eyes burning like a star gone nova. “You can’t leave me, you bassstard, not now, not after all thisss!” They called up power from the core of their being, power they didn’t even know they had, and dragged lightning-edged talons through Aziraphale’s ice-rimed feathers, shredding the unholy acidic coating while leaving the feathers untouched. “I won’t let you go! Not like this! Aziraphale! Don’t go! Stay, bless you, stay!” The words devolved into snarled half-spoken curses and pleas as their assault against the Heavenly whatever-the-hell-it-was escalated into a frenzy.

“Ha!” Crowley yelled with sense of triumph when the last of the shreds fell away and dissolved with a ‘pft’, but triumph vanished when Aziraphale’s eyes remained closed, and the fragile corporeal heart remained still, persisting only because of the timelessness of the moment. No no no no no, spiralled in Crowley’s mind as they kissed those blued lips, pushing breath and life back into the dying vessel, reaching with the entirety of their being into the accursed void that Aziraphale had just pulled them from, ready to follow them back into oblivion if need be. Aziraphale!

The crushing emptiness of the void that held Aziraphale was suddenly filled by welcoming darkness, lifting the hopeless despair that they were lost within. Crowley! A shimmering auroral veil unfurled and a hundred million distant lights glimmered into view, warm and gloriously alive, and they flew towards where they sensed Crowley until the darkness resolved into just the familiar dimness held beneath closed eyelids.

Time slammed back into place, no longer held at bay by Crowley’s exhausted power, and the former demon cursed and sputtered as the suddenly far-too-hot-for-comfort water poured over them. It took a bit of flailing around to turn off the taps and afterward Crowley sat slouched against the wall, wings half unfurled and quivering as they tried to catch their breath.

Aziraphale laid utterly still as they regained their senses, drained beyond anything they could ever recall. They finally found the energy to suck in a slow shuddering breath and croak, “Crowley?” A shuddering sob of relief escaped when Crowley took their hand.

“I’m here, Aziraphale.” The reformed angel’s eyes opened, revealing they had shifted to blue-green, and Crowley realized that drowning in them wasn’t half bad really, all things considered. The itch and that building sense of doom were finally gone. ”I’m still here.”

Aziraphale blinked to clear their vision, and took in the sight of poor bedraggled Crowley wilting listlessly against the tile wall. They looked about as bad as Aziraphale felt, but they were there, wonderfully, blessedly alive. “Glad to hear it. You had me quite worried my dear.”

Crowley couldn’t help but snort out a laugh and helped Aziraphale sit up when they struggled against clothes and wings saturated with water and the glutinous but inert ashy grey residue. “Yeah, same. I’ll be very cross with you if you ever do that again, angel.”

“Yes.” Aziraphale gave them an exhausted but triumphant smile. “But you started it.”

“Me?! I-! Wot-! You-!”

The fondly exasperated sputtering of a Celestial Serpent at a loss for words warmed Aziraphale’s heart as nothing else could, and laughter, joyous in a way the former angel realized they hadn’t felt in a very long time, bubbled up, silencing the former demon’s protests. “What would I ever do without you?”

“Don’t you even think about trying to find out!” Crowley scolded, voice breaking, and caught Aziraphale in a nearly-crushing hug. Aziraphale tiredly hugged them back and Crowley rested their forehead against Aziraphale’s for a moment before pulling away to glare. “You barmy bastard, what were you thinking!?”

“Couldn’t let you go, my dear. Very selfish of me, I’m afraid,” Aziraphale murmured, stunned to see tears running down Crowley’s face. “Had to try.”

“You feather-brained do-gooder, you died! You died and I couldn’t save you!” Crowley crushed them in another hug, only easing up when Aziraphale squeaked. “Sorry, sorry-”

“But you did save me,” Aziraphale whispered, needing to tell Crowley what had happened, feeling the memory already beginning to fade. “It was so painful and dark and cold. It was beyond darkness, beyond… I was so afraid, so alone.”

Crowley held them tight, heart breaking. My fault. “Aziraphale...”

Tears welled, offset by a fond smile. “But a million stars exploded into being and I was in the Garden, and I sensed you and I wasn’t afraid any more.” Aziraphale stroked a finger over Crowley’s nearest wing-edge, considering as bits of sodden ash flaked away and disintegrated into nothingness. “I heard you call my name.” Another gentle touch, more ash dropping away from inky feathers that seemed to have gained an odd sheen. “My wings to yours. Always.”

Crowley frowned, pulling away from Aziraphale’s touch, unable to deal with the feelings those words and gentle caresses were stirring up. “C’mon, let’s get you warmed up.” Crowley banished their wings back into the astral plane with a spatter of displaced ash and water and the slight frown on Aziraphale’s face melted into a surprised gasp when Crowley lifted them up.

“I can walk.” Aziraphale held on tightly to Crowley’s shoulders and banished their own wings, though it took far more effort than usual. “...Probably.”

“You’re exhausted. And you just died to save me. Let me do this for you,” said Crowley gruffly, only moving towards the bedroom when Aziraphale nodded.

Crowley gently set Aziraphale down by the bed. “Let me tend your feathers, eh?” they urged, shrugging into a certain plush robe under Aziraphale’s heavy-lidded stare before carefully helping them from their ruined clothes. “Made rather a mess of them, I’m afraid.”

Aziraphale didn’t have much will to resist temptation. What had happened on Sunday felt like a dream, a lifetime ago, and it had been so very long since Crowley had helped care for their wings... It had only ever been Crowley. They nodded as Crowley helped them into the nightshirt they’d used just a few nights earlier, and bundled them under the covers and clicked on the electric blanket. “T’would be lovely, thank you.”

Crowley clicked off the lights, grabbed a towel and once they had unfurled their wings, started gently grooming the grimy feathers, smirking as Aziraphale went boneless with a heavy sigh. “Relax any more and you might just fall asleep for once,” Crowley teased, but there was an ache over their heart. It had been a very long time since they had allowed themself to tend Aziraphale, and after the all too brief interlude before they’d gone to play with fire, Crowley had feared they’d never have the chance to do it again.

“Mmm,” Aziraphale hummed in agreement, too tired to even bother with full sentences any more. Apparently dying took a lot out of a being, once the adrenaline wore off. “Feels lovely. Hadn’t had them out... since forty-one.”

Since the church, since they’d gotten utterly drunk on cursed cider and each other in the shop’s back room and — Crowley’s gentle grooming faltered for a moment, but Aziraphale didn’t notice. “Why not? Thought it was a big deal upstairs, grooming each other?”

“Dangerous.” Aziraphale rubbed a knuckle against Crowley’s leg, wanting to soothe away the bitterness in their voice, thinking about the communal grooming gatherings that were the most boring but also ridiculously fraught office parties in creation. Out of self preservation Aziraphale had created a ‘show up, make nice, make excuse, vanish’ routine that had kept them from ever having to reveal their wings. Being dismissed as inconsequential occasionally had its uses. “You know. Awful. Nosy buggers. Better with you, even without...”

“Aziraphale.” There was a world of meaning in that one word, and they lapsed into silence in the dimness. Crowley gently tended Aziraphale’s wings from top to bottom, confounded by the strange residue that sublimated from cold sandy grit to smoke in their hands. The wings felt normal, well, as normal as the corporeal manifestation of a Celestial being’s power could feel, but every once in a while the oblique light from the doorway would strike them just right to make them seem gold instead of white, with a faint sheen of what might be iridescence. But it was dark and Crowley didn’t want to look too closely, nor think about any more surprises.

By the time Aziraphale’s feathers were back in order Crowley felt as though they were buzzing with energy yet at the same time exhausted. “All done,” they murmured, and Aziraphale furled their wings away into the ether and curled sleepily onto their side towards Crowley with a few mumbled words of gratitude.

Crowley sat in the dark for a long while, doing their best to not think as they listened to Aziraphale’s quiet even breathing that spoke of true sleep. Eventually they slipped from the bed and dressed and retreated to the office. With a snap they miracled up a couch and turned on the TV, letting themself be lulled into a thoughtful stupor that eventually slipped into sleep.

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