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sendmetosanfran · 5 months

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Let Me Try Again pt. 2

Muriel guarded the front desk while Crowley and Aziraphale spoke in the back. Despite him knowing what the other angels had said, Aziraphale was still the archangel. Besides, Heaven thought that he had just come back down because he missed his bookshop. They had yet to learn that a new plan was being made. Muriel had been told to follow Aziraphale’s orders. So, there was no chance of them telling on the pair.

“Oh, what are we supposed to do about this?” Aziraphale questioned. He had taken to searching old Bibles as if that would do him any good. Obviously, it wouldn’t have instructions on how to stop the second coming. Crowley was seated next to him with his arms overlapping on the table. He had his chin propped on his arms.

“Not sure, Angel,” he replied with a drowsy tone. Despite not needing sleep, Crowley was rather fond of it. He shifted slightly to get more comfortable.

“Crowley, I can’t do this alone,” Aziraphale stated. The demon sat up and looked over at him. There was a distinct look of worry etched across the angel’s face.

“What’s the first step of this plan? The second coming?” Crowley questioned as he got more comfortable but kept his gaze on Aziraphale.

“They intend to find a woman to carry the child. I heard them say something about finding a woman as pure as Mary,” he replied. Crowley scoffed at that.

“Well, that isn’t going to happen. The way Heaven looks at things now, being born is its own sin,” Crowley stated. Aziraphale looked displeased with the comment. That couldn’t be true.

“Don’t you think you’re exaggerating a bit?” He asked, closing the bible. Crowley shrugged. The demon knew what he was saying wasn’t exactly true, but that’s what it felt like some days.

“You get a say in the woman, don’t you?” he questioned. Aziraphale nodded and watched Crowley lean back in his seat, arms crossed over his chest. “Point out what the women have done wrong. Can’t have a woman as pure as Mary if the archangel points out her sins.”

“I suppose that might work. Although, it does feel a bit rude. Should I really be judging people so harshly? Faults are what make humans… Well, human,” Aziraphale answered. Crowley did appreciate how considerate Aziraphale could be, but that didn’t fit into their plan. He needed his angel to be a bit ruthless.

“Angel, you’re the only one in Heaven that cares for humanity. The rest of them are up there waiting for the end. If you ask me, it’s better to be a bit rude now. So, you can be nice later.”

Aziraphale stopped to think about what Crowley had said. Was it in good faith to postpone the world's end to spread goodness later? He desperately wanted to believe so. All he had to do was ensure that Heaven never found the perfect woman, and they could go about their life here on Earth. He swallowed thickly before nodding.

“I think you’re right,” he said softly before fiddling with his fingers. He looked downwards, a feeling of hesitation rising in his chest. “But what if I can’t convince them?”

“Then, we’ll think of a new plan. We can think of as many plans as you want, Angel,” Crowley replied. He blinked some of the sleepiness away as he shifted in his seat again. They’d been going back and forth with ideas for hours. He was mildly surprised that Aziraphale hadn’t tried to change the subject. He was used to the angel backing away when he started to get uncomfortable.

Aziraphale glanced up at the demon before looking back down. The feeling in his chest was still there, but he needed to say what he wanted. This couldn’t be put off. If he did, he feared it would be too late. “I think we can put off making any more plans. At least until tomorrow,” Aziraphale stated as he braced himself. “But there’s something that I need to know for sure.”

“What’s that, Angel?” Crowley asked. He stretched and sat up in his seat. He could tell that Aziraphale had something that was truly bothering him, and he wanted to be at full attention.

“Whatever happens between Heaven and hell or even Heaven and Earth… I want to know that we’ll stick together,” Aziraphale stated. He could feel a heat rise to his face as he saw Crowley clenching his jaw. Had he made him angry? It would be perfectly understandable if he had. Aziraphale had run away without him. He was sure that Crowley saw this as a betrayal.

“You know, I’ve been thinking about this,” Crowley stated, a bit of annoyance creeping up in his voice. Aziraphale frowned at the tone. Perhaps Crowley had decided that their alliance didn’t serve him. “Have you?” The angel asked, his nerves rising.

“I have. I thought a lot while you were back in Heaven,” he responded. Would this take a bad turn? “I wondered why you pushed me away, why you ran. You know me better than any being alive and have been my best friend for thousands of years. But you distance yourself from me when things get tough.”

“Crowley, I-,” Aziraphale started but was cut off.

“Hold on, Angel.” Crowley lifted a hand. “I won’t lie. It hurt me. I felt like what I feel for you was completely one-sided, and you only wanted to have some company. Hell is too much for you, and the angels aren’t exactly the friendliest lot. So, you stuck with me as a nice little in-between.”

“And you figured out that wasn’t the truth?” Aziraphale asked. He felt terrible that that was what he had made Crowley believe. At least, that’s not what he thought now.

“I did. I know you want to be good. That’s why you keep coming back to Heaven. They’re supposed to be the good guys,” Crowley stated. He looked away as a lump formed in his throat. The demon couldn’t bear to look at Aziraphale when he said this. “And that’s why I won’t ever be enough. Even if I had gone back to Heaven as an angel, you’d know what I’ve been.”

“W-what?” Aziraphale felt a hollowness in his chest as he saw the sadness in Crowley’s eyes through the side of his sunshades. Crowley swallowed thickly.

“It’s okay, Angel. You’ve never fallen. You’re still good and pure. I’ve been by your side since before the beginning. I’ll be there until the very end, but I won’t force you to do the same,” he said. Aziraphale felt his tears starting to fill his eyes and slipping down the sides. “I don’t expect you to give up your goodness for a demon.”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale choked out. His heart ached at the other man’s words. He needed to make this right. Crowley’s attention snapped to him as Aziraphale slipped from his chair to kneel before him. The angel took his hand in both of his and rubbed his thumbs over the knuckles softly. “I’ve taken you for granted, my dear,” Aziraphale stated. Crowley attempted to pull his hand away but wasn’t allowed to. “Please, let me say what I need to.”

“…Alright,” Crowley replied. His voice was strained.

“It’s true that I’ve been afraid of falling from grace. Being an angel is all I’ve ever known, and I’ve pushed my luck so many times by going against Heaven’s plans. But, never for a second think that I’ve thought less of you for being a demon. You’ve been a loyal friend for centuries. That’s more than I can say for anyone in the world, Crowley. You hate when I say that you’re nice.”

“Bollocks,” Crowley muttered as he turned his head away. Still, he let his hand rest in Aziraphale’s.

“Please, dear. Just listen. I know that you’re kind and nice because I can see it. I can feel it. I’ve been the recipient of your goodwill so many times. And I’ve watched you perform little acts of kindness you think no one notices. Well, I notice. I know the wonderful being that you are, and I swear to never take you for granted again.” Crowley looked back at him with wide eyes.

“You know angels aren’t supposed to swear,” Crowley stated with a half-smirk. Still, a wet trail formed on his cheek as his eyes welled over.

“I don’t care anymore. I swear to show you my appreciation. And I swear to be just as loyal of a friend to you as you have to me until the very end. It’s what you deserve, my dear. Give me a chance. Let me try again.” Crowley felt like he would break as Aziraphale pressed his lips against his knuckles. He could feel the softness of his lips.

“T-that’s enough of that, Angel,” Crowley said, tugging Aziraphale’s hand. The angel rose enough to be at eye level with Crowley. Their eyes flickered over the other’s face, unsure of what they were searching for. Aziraphale leaned in and pressed his lips against the tear trail. The salty taste slipped over his tongue as he raised a hand to caress the cheek after he pulled away. His thumb ran over Crowley’s cheekbone, wiping away the rest of the moisture. Crowley swallowed thickly, realizing he had a white knuckle grip on Aziraphale’s hand. He never thought he would have the angel here so close. Now that he was here, he didn’t want to let him go. But was he hurting him?

“I’m sorry that I ever made you feel that way,” Aziraphale stated as Crowley loosened his grip. He could finally breathe again as the angel moved back to his seat. However, their hands stayed intertwined.

“S’alright. You didn’t know, Angel.” He cleared his throat, his heart beginning to calm down. “Besides, you’ve made some pretty big promises. I think that makes up for it.”

“They may be big promises, but I meant every word, my dear,” Aziraphale stated as he pressed one last kiss to Crowley’s knuckles. “I’ll never make you feel badly about yourself ever again.”

#good omens #Crowley #Aziraphale #angst #kiss #emotions #ineffable husbands #fanfic

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dyns33 · 1 year

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Good uncles prequel

Last Sandman and Good Omens crossover.

When Y/N came to visit Aziraphale in his bookshop, he was a little surprised. Of course, he was always happy to see his dear niece, little Antichrist who had chosen not to destroy the world, but most of the time it was him or Crowley who went to see her, and if the reverse happened, that meant that something was going on.

"I need advice." she said, looking desperate.

"And you come to see me... Me ? Just me ?"

"Yes. I think the divine and good side is most appropriate in this situation."

"Oh, sweet heaven, this is the best day of my long life. Sit down my child, I'm bringing tea and biscuits !"

Aziraphale's joy faded a bit when Y/N explained to him that she was here because of a man. A man she liked to spend time with, whose discussions were very pleasant, and with whom she hoped there would be more.

"... When you say 'more'... You're talking about becoming his best friend ?" "No. I love him."

"And that's very good ! Love is a noble feeling, which God encourages. We must love all the beings who populate the earth. But there are also the dangers of sins, and lust..."

"Uncle Aziraphale, I'm an adult, I don't need that kind of explanation. To be honest, I don't have those kind of thoughts. Well, I won't be against it, but what I really want is to always be with him, and to let everyone know that we are together, faithful to each other."

"Ah, the sacred bonds of marriage, good !"

"I don't know about the wedding yet. His niece told me he was married before and..."

"He is divorced !" cried the angel, putting a hand to his mouth. "That's not... Wait. His niece ? How old is he ?!"

"I'll tell you again, I'm an adult, so it's none of your business. Anyway, I don't even know if he's even interested in me that way. He didn't do anything to show me that we were more than just friends. And that worries me. Should I tell him how I feel ? But if he doesn't love me back ? If he doesn't want to see me anymore ? I don't want to lose him. But if I say nothing, and he meets someone else ? Oh, uncle, help me, please !"

The best advice he could give her was to be patient. It was nice that they were already friends, it was a good start, and at some point Y/N could clearly see if she had a chance with this man.

"What about... my situation ? Do you think I should tell him ?"

“Probably not right away, but after a while... Yes, by finding the right words. A relationship cannot go well with secrets and lies. You have to be appreciated for who you really are."

"Thank you Uncle Aziraphale."

"Thank you for coming to seek guidance from an angel."

He would probably have been much less pleased to learn that a few days later, Y/N knocked on Uncle Crowley's door, to ask him exactly the same questions, considering that it was good to have several opinions, but not telling the demon that she was to see Aziraphale first.

"You made the right decision coming to see me, little mouse. Tell me everything." purred Crowley, offering her a glass of wine.

"Well. There is this man."

"Ah. I wish you had started with a simpler sin, but if we're going to have this conversation..."

"It's really not necessary ! Anyway. There is this man, who is not really a man, I think."

"You think ?"

"Well, he's one of my friends' uncle."

"A sugar daddy, very good."

"Uncle Crowley !" Y/N growled, grimacing in shame. "It's not like that at all. He's young. Anyway, he looks young. I thought so until yesterday. I met a friend of his, we talked and he was surprised that I don't like Shakespeare. Without doing it on purpose, I said that my uncles had met him, that he was a complete idiot, and that they often had to help him with his plays, and you know what he said ? 'I have a friend who did that too !' Hob is over six hundred years old, Uncle Crowley ! And his friend is the man I love. Maybe... Maybe that's a good sign ? It's better for me to love a supernatural being, right ? You know, with my... heritage ?"

"It depends. Many people are afraid of Lucifer, so the Antichrist ? There would only be someone very nice, or a satanic not to run away, but a satanic could be bad. I'm not talking about real satanics, but about the fools who do what the demons ask them to do, they're the worst. That's my advice."

Crowley's advice was of course the exact opposite of what Aziraphale had told Y/N. For him, she had to act quickly, do everything to seduce the man she wanted, but she shouldn't tell him what she was. Either way, she had no intention of destroying the world, so it didn't really matter who found out who her real parent was, her adoptive parents were more than enough.

It didn't take long for the two uncles to discover that their adorable niece had consulted them both, and her conclusion was that it was necessary to do a little what they had said, but not completely.

Y/N therefore made the decision to be patient with the being who had stolen her heart, flirting so and so innocently to let him guess that she was not indifferent to him. She implied that she was not a normal human, but never mentioned hell. It seemed like a good decision, which they approved.

Then she invited them to meet her dear friend.

The meeting did not happen, because as they arrived near the pub, the angel and the demon saw someone who should not have been there.

"What is Dream of the Endless doing in a place like this ?" whispered Aziraphale.

"He's walking around, and it's a coincidence ? Right ?"

"I don't know. He... He's talking with people. Mortals."

"Probably servants, helping him out in the waking world."

"One of the human servants is talking with our Y/N."

"I know, he calls himself Hob, and she's in love with his friend who doesn't like Shakespeare ! She's not… No. No." Crowley sighed in despair when his niece went to sit next to Morpheus, looking at him with sparkling eyes and a huge smile.

It was a real disaster.

Of all the beings existing in this universe, and the others, Y/N had to meet and fall in love with Dream of the Endless. He hadn't had as many conquests as his sibling Desire, but he could still be considered a womanizer, whose stories didn't have very nice endings.

A bad ending could lead to the end of the world, if Y/N was not at the origin of the break up. Or if she was, and he tried to send her to hell.

"We have to tell her." growled the snake.

"I don't know. Maybe we shouldn't get involved. She's smart, and he may have already told her about his past."

"Please. He's ashamed of this past, and he's a proud man. She doesn't know anything. I know ! I saw Nada ! I saw his son. I talked to a witch who wanted to offer me a deal to get revenge on him !"

"It is true that Calliope was very unhappy after their separation. Oh, the divorce, of course ! The fairy queen is also still furious with him. And there are all the others."

"We must tell her who he is, and especially how he is with women. I refuse that she suffers because of an Endless !"

"I don't want her to suffer in general. But she really loves him, and love can make you blind. We have to find the right approach, so that she considers it would be a good thing if they were only friends."

It then seemed judicious to them to go to the essential, preparing a long speech on what was an Endless, and especially Dream. A cold, distant being, who focused on his work above all else, therefore not being available to anyone. And to avoid scattering, they chose to tell her that all his former relationships had been tragic, but to really only talk about Nada, who was trapped in Hell.

It was quite appropriate, and close to home. Y/N would certainly not want to end up here, where she would have to meet her parent.

And as always, whenever they had a great plan, things didn't go their way at all.

#sandman #good omens #morpheus #morpheus x reader #dream of the endless #dream of the endless x reader #dream of the endless imagine #dream of the endless fanfiction #crowley #aziraphale

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aziraphales-library · 1 year

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Hello! Do you have any recs for fics that feel place-bound, instead weirdly flat and generic anywhere-USA? I tried to find a good example of what I was looking for, instead of what I wasn't looking for but there isn't really a good succinct tag. The kind of fic you probably a tab open to google slang for if you don't live in the UK. I have the feeling the last good one I read was a human!au, which means I probably didn't save it as they are not my favorite. Thank you!

Hi! These are fics that I personally felt were very location-based and incorporated the setting into the story...

human nature by attheborder (T)

When you’re talking about bodies locked in orbit, forever circling each other, it takes two to tango. Forces opposed; action and reaction. One, and the other.

But the blank-slate version of Aziraphale sleeping beside Crowley in this cold little bed had no fear of Heaven, no fear of Falling. Not even a fear of snakes. He only had, as all humans did, the knowledge of good and bad, and the ability to make a choice.

***

Crowley must turn Aziraphale human in order to hide him from Heaven.

A House in the Country by TheOldAquarian (T)

“Really Crowley, I can’t very well go and live with a demon until I get the next assignment from Upstairs-”

“It’s not living together! Look, there’s 36 bloody rooms in the place. You can take one wing and I’ll take the other. We’ll be no more living together than you’re living with those idiots on the fourth floor who don’t tune their piano.”

Aziraphale gave a shudder at the mention of these unmusical neighbors, then considered. “I have rather wanted to see the Lake District in summertime.”

He was going to say “This is an obviously silly idea,” or “We both know the Arrangement doesn’t cover holidays at the lake,” or even “I don’t want you to get in trouble.”

What he actually said was, “I think that would be delightful. When should we make the trip?”

It's Not The Journey by cosmya (T)

It had been going so well. They’d averted the apocalypse, averted their punishments, averted further investigation or attention by their respective organizations. They were left with little to do but bask in the happy ending. Therein had been the problem. Another champagne, sir?” interrupted the flight attendant. Aziraphale’s eyes snapped open. Oh, I shouldn’t, he thought. “Yes, please,” he said. “Thank you.”

Anathema and Newt are getting married, and two of their wedding guests are in a bit of an awkward place. An all-inclusive resort with unlimited alcohol is precisely what they need to re-break the ice.

Not a Human AU by maniacalmole (G)

Aziraphale knows Crowley has a crush and doesn't know what to do about it.

Aziraphale wasn’t sure if he considered himself ‘alive’ or not. What would he do if he had to live a life?

We may not be people, Crowley thought. But I do—I do want.

My Favorite Ghost by cassieoh_draws & DiminishingReturns (T)

Decades after the world didn’t end, Heaven and Hell got their war — and nearly destroyed everything in the process.

When Aziraphale finally manages to reacquire a corporation and return to Earth, he discovers he was gone longer than he thought and the planet has become unrecognizable. As he searches for Crowley and tries to figure out how he fits in a world that Heaven, Hell, and God have all wiped their hands of, nature works around him to reclaim the bones of an old civilization as the scraps of humanity build a new one.

A lush and optimistic post-apocalypse story, told from the POV of an immortal who can't let go of the past.

Though Heaven Bar the Way by everybody_lives (T)

Nearly five decades after the Holy Water argument, Aziraphale is sent to a world-famous sanatorium in the Swiss Alps on an assignment that Heaven appears to care about rather more than usual—only to find out that Crowley, of all creatures, has already established himself there.

Clearly, this cannot be good for anyone's constitution.

None of these are human AUs, as you said they're not your favourite. However, if you do want human AUs and a lot of British slang and terms, I'd recommended any and all fics by FeralTuxedo who often includes a glossary of terms in the end notes! Here's one to start you off...

Served Cold by FeralTuxedo (M)

On a quiet Wednesday morning, a man with flaming red hair and a face tattoo saunters into a London café. But it appears that he’s there for rather more than just espresso.

This was exactly the type of customer Divinitea wanted to attract, Aziraphale thought. Modern, fashionable, rich. Too casually dressed to be a banker. No, this was someone with an undefinable job that was done at posh brunch places with free wi-fi. He probably had the word entrepreneur on his business card. He was clearly a bellend. But a very attractive one. Shame Anathema wasn’t here to admire him. Aziraphale would have to do that all by himself.

- Mod D

#good omens #ineffable husbands #travel #mod d

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katmiscellanious · 11 months

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No, because you guys don’t understand. The amount of people I’ve seen saying things like “Imagine your @ssh0le bosses getting their happy ending after 4 years while your still struggling with your relationship after 6000 years!!”

THATS THE POINT GUYS!!! THATS THE POINT!!! YOU DONT GET IT CAUSE THATS THE POINT!!!

(I’m so not okay about this, I’m fine)

The point of Gabriel and Beezlebub’s relationship is that it ALWAYS could have been that easy. I’m convinced it was Neil’s way of showing us that Aziraphale and Crowley aren’t together, not because of heaven and hell, but because of their own psyche’s. Nina and Maggie told us this! They said, “you guys have talked sure, but you’ve never really talked.”

I’m also thinking of a post I saw but probs won’t be able to find, but Crowley and Aziraphale never talked, because they thought they were on the same page. They thought they knew each other after 6000 years. But no matter how long you’ve known someone, you never really know someone until you’ve talked to them. Hell, I have a friend like this. I’ve known her my entire life, and it took me til our 20s to realize that I didn’t know her, that i didn’t know what was going on in her life or in her mind. Beezlebub and Gabriel did what Crowley and Aziraphale NEVER did, which was talk!!!!

And also, they got what Crowley wanted. CROWLEY wants to run away with Aziraphale. And he always thought it was the system stopping them. That once they were out from underneath heaven and hells thumb, that they’d be free. But as we found out, Aziraphale is never going to leave behind a broken system. Especially if he thinks he can fix it.

There’s also something to be said that Gabriel. The supreme archangel who has never had to answer to anyone or prove anything to anyone found it easy to leave behind the bad system. It’s so easy for those in power and with privilege to move and traverse a system that caters to them. Because the real privilege isn’t money or respect, it’s wiggle room. It’s the ability choose and to be chosen and to go anywhere or believe you can do anything you want. Rich kids choose to study their passions in college. Rich people have the option to donate and be vegan and healthy and make better decisions because they can afford it.

Gabriel and Beezelbub don’t have an authority to answer too. Gabriel isn’t even scared by the idea of being demoted or sent to hell. He doesn’t know to be scared of those things. If they want to run away together, all they need to do is fill their former positions and then fuck off to whatever star system they like best. They don’t have any attachment to earth either.

Aziraphale and Crowley don’t have that background. Crowley is a message of outcasts. Of those who would opt out of the system given the choice, but can’t because of the threat to those he loves. The earth and Aziraphale. And as much as he hates the system, he won’t leave either one behind. Meanwhile Aziraphale is about those dissolution by the system, but still believe in them. Those who believe that you can fix it if ONLY you could just get inside. Aziraphale loves the earth and loves Crowley, and he wants them to be safe and happy.

See the thing is, both are willing to give up the earth for the other. Crowley would run away and leave the earth to be destroyed if it meant keeping them both out of the impending war. And Aziraphale would leave his bookshop and go back to heaven if it means crowley will be there with him. And the thing is, neither is asking the other to do this. I think as soon as they realize they don’t have to do either to be together. That they could be together on earth and still be happy, they’ll realize they could have just been happy this whole time.

Anyways this was my rant. Is a build up of all the stuff I’ve read about good omens 2. I have a lot of feelings about it, though I feel like I’m a lot less devastated by the end than some. I think it’s just cause I know that this isn’t the end of their story. And when season 3 rolls around they’ll be stronger than every (also, I’ve been through this before with Wayward Son (Simon snow book 2) and with Out Flag Means Death (I can’t believe we got OFMD’d again. Neil watched that show and went “huh, good idea”)

#good omens spoilers #good omens #good omens season two #I’m an Aziraphale apologist #cause I feel like #even though I disagree with him #he has a reasoning behind what he’s doing #I feel like most are just seeing the break up from crowleys perspective #Aziraphale was only interested in it when Crowley got to be an Angel again #and I still think he thinks that #that he can make heaven a place Crowley will want to live #also #im an Aziraphale kin #it hurts so bad to see him make bad decisions #and the thing is I get it too #sometimes I think I could fix the system if I had the power too #but I can’t can I?

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nice-and-accurate-ramblings · 11 months

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⚠️WARNING: GOOD OMENS 2 EPISODE 1&2 SPOILERS UNDER THE CUT!!⚠️

I need to get my live reactions out because I am LOSING IT. Do not read beyond this point if you don’t want spoilers for the first two episodes!!!

I am going insane after the prime premiere so here are my insane ramblings externalized:

THE COLD OPEN IN EPISODE 1 KILLED ME IN MY SEAT INSTANTLY

THE NEBULA. ANGEL CROWLEY (whose name we don’t get, ofc, that made me laugh). HE WAS SO EXCITED AND AZIRAPHALE’S “I WOULD HATE TO SEE YOU GET INTO TROUBLE” AND THE W I N G.

The fjuckin. WING. I AM UNWELL. I AM GOING INSANE JUST THINKING ABOUT IT

AAAAAAAAAA

And then the title music played and I apologized to my friend that I dragged to the premiere for being Extremely Not Normal. And then told her it Would Get Worse.

GOOD OLD FASHIONED LOVER BOY, IM-

Maggie: Oh nooooo, we’re locked in the coffee shop together,,, what will we doooooo (every fanfic author in the room just got so many ideas.)

Hm. Lindsey, huh? Hmmmmm.

That’s uh. Not a normal amount of texts. That seems a bit Not Great. I’m watching you Lindsey. I haven’t seen you yet but I am watching

THE APOLOGY DANCE AHSHDJFJF!!! Stan Pines and Crowley have something in common apparently. Also. Aziraphale what do you mean you had to do it in 1941. what were those other times. Where did this come from. I need EXPLANATIONS.

There’s no way their two-halves-make-a-whole miracle is what set off alarms in heaven. Gabriel Absolutely Did Something.

There are too many flies in the book shop for this to NOT come back to Beelzebub somehow

Re: Beelzebub- why ask Crowley to keep them in the loop if Shax already asked him that? Are they just not communicating, or is this somehow connected to Beelzebub???

My heart fuckin stopped when Gabriel started singing Everyday.

Crowley. Crowley I need you to repeat that bit about Jane Austen. CROWLEY YOU CAN’T JUST DROP THAT, I-

Good to know that scene overlooking the ocean was in fact as emotionally intense as expected. aaaAAAAAA

Re: Job minisode- “I’m a demon. I lied.” Gives a whole new fuckin context to the “Would I lie to you” “You’re a demon” from season 1. AaaAAAA

Another one from that minisode: Aziraphale thinking that heaven could be convinced to not destroy the earth if they just understood properly in season 1… aziraphale being disgusted by human food and drinks until he was tempted to try it and understood… Mr Gaiman I am in your walls for this

Anthony J “You can’t kill kids” Crowley strikes again. And we still don’t get clarification on what kind of kids he meant, which is incredible honestly. Plus, the goats were adorable :)

How is the jukebox doing the same thing as the Bentley. Is this a “every record eventually turns into Everyday in the same way music left in a car too long turns into Best of Queen” or is this a Pointed Thing

Have I mentioned that I would die for Muriel? I would die for Muriel. It has been two episodes and I simply adore the low ranking sunshine angel.

They are so fucking married

“OUR CAR” “OUR BOOKSHOP” they are so fucking married. Crowley why are you sleeping in your car, pls it’s OUR bookshop 😭😭😭

Aziraphale took drivers tests before they were cool (aka mandatory) 🙄 come on Crowley keep up

Aziraphale driving the Bentley is something I didn’t know I needed and yET-

First the “naked man friend” comment and then a random guy stealing the seat across from Aziraphale in the pub… rip crowley

Gabriel with the Terry Pratchett paperback… Gabriel reading off the first line of Good Omens… wait the book exists in the world of the show- Aziraphale owns the book in the world of the show- what

Never thought “Archangels don’t know where babies come from” would be a plot point and yet. Here we are.

Pausing one more time to go absolutely feral over the ending of the Job minisode because that played my heartstrings like a FIDDLE. “I’m like you now” “I’m a fallen Angel” and “I’m not here to take you to hell, don’t think you’d like it”; “I’m on my own side” “Sounds lonely” and “I’m a demon. I lied.”; how heckin PRETTY THE WHOLE SCENE WAS

someone please send help because idk how I’m going to be normal after this.

Okay, scheduling this for a little after the episodes drop and spoiler tagging like crazy! SOON, THE REST!!!

#good omens #good omens s2 #good omens s2 spoilers #goodomenss2spoilers #gos2 spoilers #gos2 #good omens liveblog

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lickthecowhappy · 5 months

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Playlist Analysis: #10 - Let Me Drown

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#10. Let Me Drown – Orville Peck

This is an Aziraphale song.

Overview:

This song involves the singer convincing someone to let them go, even if it’s painful. Saying it’s ok to let go and the singer is accepting their fate, even welcoming it, ready to go to the other side - whatever that might be. This song represents Aziraphale’s decision to literally leave the mortal realm and silently asking Crowley to let him go since it’s clear Crowley won’t be coming along.

The water and drowning metaphors also call images of baptism. The symbolic drowning to one’s sinful ways and rebirth into righteousness. A symbolic cleansing of the body and spirit. I don't think of it in the sense of Aziraphale needing to be cleansed to go to Heaven, but in the metaphor of his new commitment to doing what is right instead of what is Good™.

Placement here is post-kiss. We have a moment of doubt followed by a firm decision to fight for Them and for the world. Aziraphale has made his choice, it’s too late to talk any more about it, and this song represents that last look before boarding the elevator.

Lyrics:

Been finding it hard to be kind Since I've been lost out there, losing my mind And I still keep on searching for what I can't find Let me drown

Aziraphale has been on Earth since the beginning. In season 1, the angels postulate that he’s been down there too long. He’s too human. He’s spent too much time among humans and now he acts like one. Humans have free will, and he’s had free will for the last few years. But after Jim’s mystery was uncovered and the emotional disaster after that, Aziraphale is left still looking for a way to safely love his demon. He must sacrifice this life.

Don't wanna wash you away I swear there's good things that are coming your way And I can't be the one left here dragging you down Let me drown

Just because you have to leave someone, doesn’t mean you want to cleanse yourself of them. Aziraphale certainly isn’t going to be washing those lips any time soon. (I bet he doesn’t consume a thing until he and Crowley make up.) Aziraphale is fully planning to go to Heaven and dismantle the system and stop the second coming from destroying the world; all good things. He can only hope that Crowley knows him well enough to understand and to not interfere, or to see when interference is necessary.

Only one knew my name Nothing left but the summer rain Drag me 'round 'til I never complain Let me drown

Crowley isn’t literally the only one who knows Aziraphale’s name, but he’s the only one who truly knows who Aziraphale is deep down and intimately. Summer rain here representing the sadness interrupting a bright, vibrant period of emotions. All together, these lyrics evoke the sadness of the end of a time spent with someone who knew you better than anyone else. Someone with whom you spent all your happy, sad, and quiet moments.

And then suddenly we're writing out the same old lie When water is all around

They both tried to confess their love. It didn’t take. The danger is present; the water is rising and these two can’t swim. They are back to their same lie they’ve told themselves and each other over and over. “I don’t need you!” “And the feeling is mutual!”

Baby, I can be the one you drown tonight Well, I had sun in my eyes and I'd confide We're no worse off than the worst of 'em, it's fine

They can’t swim but if Aziraphale can take this burden, make that self-sacrifice, he’s going to drown for both of them. There’s a chance this metaphorical death could result in a permanent end to their relationship, or even Aziraphale’s existence, but he’ll fight uphill into the blinding sunlight to try and save everything, and he’ll consider himself no worse off for having done so.

I know with pleasure comes pain I figured we were the same But as I get older I get more afraid Let me drown

Aziraphale knows they won’t be free and safe without a painful fight. Through more and more experience he’s seen it repeatedly proven true. He’s been afraid for Crowley’s safety for hundreds of years and after they both faced trial in season 1, he knows that they had bought some time then, but that reprieve has ended. The Metatron made his veiled threats and Aziraphale heard them. He is now much more aware of their level of danger and must allow himself to be separated from Crowley.

So, no I can't be kind since I lost my mind And this town just ain't big enough for the both of us now Let me drown No, I can't be kind since I lost my mind And this town just ain't big enough for the both of us now Let me drown

Aziraphale is kind, nice, and he loves forgiveness and doing the right thing. But now that he’s going to Heaven to run things, he’s going to have to adapt very quickly to the way things operate upstairs. Kindness might not be an option. And his last interactions with Crowley certainly weren't kind either (whether intentionally or habitually). He’s going to have to learn to wield his authority fully, and there’s no room for him to be hanging around Whickber street while he’s doing so. In his mind, he is begging for Crowley’s blessing to make this sacrifice.

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#good omens #aziraphale #crowley #brain rot #music analysis #i spent a normal amount of time on this #therapy for good omens 2 #good omens meta #ineffable husbands #ineffable divorce

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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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space-pot8o · 3 years

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Inspired by a post by @toedenandbackagain

The advertisements were how they found each other, every once in a while, when the world changed too quickly. The newspaper was the only form of media to remain consistent. There was just too many ways to communicate now, Crowley thought. He’d had a hand in creating the internet, and now the humans were so invested even he could barely keep up with it.

Of course, he had a cell phone, but Aziraphale didn’t. He’d already tried the bookshop’s landline to no avail. It was like the angel was allergic to any technology made after the mid-nineteenth century.

He paid the man at the newspaper stand, scooping up a paper and opening it to the personal adverts as he wound through the crowd. He barely needed to pay attention to where he was going; people just seemed to veer out of his way.

Halfway down the page, he found what he was looking for.

Angel will be feeding ducks at St. James’ Park on Monday at 10am. Company would be appreciated.

“Found you,” Crowley muttered. Or at least, he hoped. The last time he’d been wrong, it had been the most awkward of situations. It was… well, let’s just say there was a reason Crowley didn’t respond to adverts that fit his physical description anymore. Or those looking for an ‘evening companion’, as much as that sounded like a term Aziraphale would use. No, he only responded to ones that specifically said ‘Angel’ now. Less chancy.

Crowley glanced at his watch, the shimmery dark face reading quarter to ten.

“Perfect,” he murmured, snapping the newspaper shut and tucking it under his arm. Aziraphale might like to read it, he supposed. He also supposed that perhaps he should stop talking aloud to himself so much.

Thirteen minutes later, Crowley arrived at St. James’ Park. In the distance, on the bench where they usually met, sat a prim figure with a shock of light hair and a cream colored jacket. One side of his mouth drew back in a grin as he sauntered over, keeping his eyes on the ducks in the pond as he came up beside the bench.

“That one was a bit obvious, don’t you think, angel?”

“It’s Angela, actually.”

Crowley froze, turning to look at the person sitting on the bench, who was not in fact Aziraphale but instead an old lady with pinned up white curls and a glimmer of mischief in her eyes.

“Oh, I suppose I must have mistyped it when I was sending it into the newspaper. I just can’t get the hang of these computers.”

Crowley blinked, glancing around uncomfortably as the shock began to pass.

“I think I’ve answered the wrong advert,” he said, taking a step backwards.

“Oh,” the lady said, her face falling a bit. “Well you’re here, would you like to feed the ducks with me, anyway?”

Crowley hesitated. As disappointed as he was that it wasn’t his angel, there was something compelling about her.

“Well alright, I suppose,” he heard himself say as he sank down onto the bench beside her.

“Here you go, dear,” she said, handing him a chunk of bread from the bag beside her. He accepted it as she threw a handful of crumbs into the water.

“My best friend Peggy just passed away, you see, and feeding the ducks used to be a regular outing for us, especially as we got older. I only put the ad in the paper because I don’t have too many friends left and I’m just at such a loss without Peggy.”

She gave Crowley a sideways glance.

“It seems to me you feel the same way without whoever you meant to meet here, your angel, considering how disappointed you were to find me instead.”

Crowley gave a noncommittal shrug, shifting uncomfortably. She was right, of course, but he wasn’t going to admit that.

“The ducks seem to like you though, don’t they?” Angela continued. “Do you come here often dear? I swear they remember faces. They would certainly remember Peggy every time, though I think she was coming here to feed them long before we started coming together.”

She threw a bit more bread in the water.

“Oh, that reminds me.” She reached for her bag. “Would you like a sandwich, dear?” I brought an extra, it was always for Peggy, she was always running around and I swear she would never stop to eat unless I made her.”

She pulled out a paper-wrapped square, which Crowley accepted reluctantly. He would have refused, but there was something in the woman’s eyes that warned him against fighting too hard.

He unwrapped the paper, revealing a ham and cheese sandwich on good homemade bread. He took a bite to be polite, and Angela smiled.

“There’s a good boy. You’re quite a skinny one, aren’t you? You remind me of Peggy’s husband when he was young, only you’re much taller. Of course, that was before the war.” She trailed off, tossing another handful of bread to the eager ducks.

Crowley took another bite of the sandwich, surprising himself. Usually Aziraphale was the only one who could get him to eat.

“I just realized I never got your name, dear,” Angela said, turning back to look at him.

“Anthony,” he replied after a moment, deciding Crowley would be too hard to explain. “Though not many people call me that.”

“Oh yes,” Angela replied. “I know how that is. My given name is Angela, but I’ve never met someone who didn’t call me Angie instead.”

Crowley nodded. Nicknames were such a human thing, he thought. You have one name but everyone just calls you something else.

“Some people have called me Tony,” he said slowly, trying not to show his distaste. “You could call me that instead.”

Angie glanced over, her eyes shrewd.

“You don’t strike me as a Tony,” she replied. “Anthony suits you just fine, I think.”

Crowley relaxed a bit at her words.

“One of Peggy’s friends had a son named Anthony,” Angie continued. “Now he was someone better suited as a Tony. I always felt the name Tony was meant for a troublemaker, but that doesn’t seem like you at all. But young Tony, he can’t seem to stay out of trouble. I think he does it on purpose. No, you’re much too polite to be a Tony.”

Crowley’s eyes narrowed behind his glasses. Where had this woman been for the last six thousand years? Under a rock? Crowley, polite. What a concept. Though, he supposed, Aziraphale would likely agree with her.

“My angel keeps telling me I’m a good person,” he said, tossing some bread into the pond. “I’m not inclined to believe it, though.”

“Why ever not?” Angie replied. “You seem perfectly nice to me.”

Crowley did his best to ignore the uncomfortable prickle her words sent over his skin.

“My job… it requires me to do some things, that most people would agree, do not make me a nice person.”

Angie was silent for a moment.

“And it’s not like I hurt anyone, of course not,” Crowley continued. “I just… inconvenience them.”

“Does it bother you?”

“What?” He jerked his head up.

“Does it bother you,” Angie repeated, “That you do these things? That some people might think you’re bad?”

Crowley blinked, truly stumped for the first time in four hundred years.

“I mean, it’s my job,” he replied. “It’s who I am.”

“Oh, psh,” Angie replied, waving her hand. “I can’t even count anymore the number of times I’ve had this very conversation with Peggy. Her job always had her doing these questionable, dangerous things. I’m not sure her employers cared about the means as long as she got to their end. It wore on her, too. But you are not defined by your job, you are defined by what you care about. Now I’ll ask you again, does it bother you?”

“I suppose it bothers me that I don’t feel like I live up to my angel’s view of me,” he admitted. And it was true. He never felt as good on the inside as Aziraphale seemed to think he was.

“Well then, there you are. Bad people, truly bad people, don’t care about being better. So from what you’ve just told me, that proves you’re not a bad person.

Crowley froze again as her words washed over him. Never, in all his time on earth or in hell, had he ever considered that. He still wasn’t inclined to believe her, but she said it with such conviction that he couldn’t help but wonder if it was true.

Angie glanced at him again, her gaze shrewd but soft.

“Surely if that’s what I see, your angel sees it too.”

It was all Crowley could do to nod.

They sat together a while longer, Angie telling stories about the trouble she and Peggy got into after the war. Crowley nodded and made the appropriate remarks required for polite conversation, and he found himself actually enjoying her stories.

All these years, he’d never bothered to connect with a human. They seemed so dull, and their lives were over so quickly. He hadn’t thought it was worth it. Besides, he had Aziraphale and that friendship was plenty for him.

About an hour later, their stock of bread was finally depleted. The ducks, of whom a great number had congregated on the water before them, began to disperse once they realized the supply of treats had run dry.

Angie dusted off her coat, watching the ducks swim away with a sigh. Crowley glanced at her, but her gaze was fixed across the pond somewhere in her memories.

“I know I wasn’t who you were hoping to meet,” she told him. “But I am glad to have met you. You’ve made me feel a bit less lonely just when the world was starting to seem big and empty. Thank you, Anthony, truly.”

He shifted in his seat.

“Well I suppose… well, I could meet you here again. If you’d like.”

“I would,” Angie said, her blue eyes misty as she gave him an enormous smile. “Same time next Monday?”

Crowley gave her a nod, stretching out his legs as she stood.

“Goodbye, Anthony. See you then.”

He watched her totter off down the path until she was out of sight, then turned back towards the water. What an odd turn of events, he thought. What she’d said to him ran through his mind as he sat there, waiting to see if perhaps his angel would still show.

For the next seven Mondays, without fail, Crowley would meet Angie at the park to feed the ducks and listen to stories about her life. She enjoyed talking about her adventures with her friend Peggy more than anything, which Crowley was surprised to find sounded a lot like some of his adventures with Aziraphale; In particular, one dicey evening involving a church, some German spies, and a few rare books.

One morning, on the eighth Monday in fact, Crowley was early. He sat on their usual bench, waiting for Angie to appear around the corner, when he felt a presence beside him. He turned his head slightly to the right, just enough to see a flash of cream coat, and his mouth tugged into a grin.

“Hello, Angie,” he said, turning his eyes back to the pond.

“Hello, my dear Crowley.”

Crowley froze. He knew that voice, and it certainly wasn’t Angie.

“Trying out a new nickname, are we?”

He whipped his head around to see Aziraphale standing there, looking ethereal in the morning light.

“Er, no,” he replied. “What are you doing here?”

“I was walking by and I saw you sitting alone. Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, angel,” he replied, the words coming out a bit harsher than he intended. He wasn’t sure why, but he didn’t really want to tell Aziraphale about Angie.

“Alright,” Aziraphale replied, his face falling the tiniest bit. “I’ll leave you be. I’ll be at the bookshop later, if you feel like catching up. Perhaps we can get a bite to eat.”

“No wait, I’m sorry, you don’t have to go,” Crowley straightened abruptly, catching Aziraphale’s sleeve.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to disturb you.”

“Sit down, angel.”

Aziraphale took a seat beside him, settling in as he always did.

“Are you quite sure you’re alright?” He asked again, glancing at Crowley worriedly.

“I’m fine, I told you. I just come here sometimes to¬—”

“Anthony! There you are.

Crowley’s adrenaline spiked again as he turned to see Angie making her way up the path towards them.

“I see you’ve brought a friend today. I wish you would have warned me so I could have made an extra sandwich. Here’s yours, by the way— honestly, do you live on air, Anthony? You’re still so skinny.”

She paused for breath and handed him the paper wrapped sandwich.

“It’s nice to meet you, I’m Angie,” she said as she took her seat on his left, reaching out her hand to Aziraphale.

He shook it, his expression still dumbfounded as he glanced back and forth between the two of them.

“Angie, this is my friend, Aziraphale,” Crowley told her.

“A.Z. Fell? Oh, you own that lovely little bookshop in Soho, don’t you? I’ve been meaning to stop in there for ages, but it never seems to be open when I drop by.”

Crowley could sense Aziraphale relaxing at the mention of the bookshop, and he let out a quiet breath of relief.

“Here you go, Anthony dear, I daresay these ducks have waited long enough,” she said, handing him a chunk of bread.

He threw some in the water, handing a piece to Aziraphale as well.

“Oh, here comes that swan again,” she told him, throwing bread in the opposite direction from where the white monstrosity was silently gliding towards them.

Aziraphale tossed his crust of bread towards it, and the giant bird slowly began to sink. He jabbed Crowley in the side with his elbow, and the swan resumed bobbing on the surface.

“You know, two weeks ago that naughty bird came right up and stole my bread bag right out of my hand. Anthony jumped right up and tried to get it back, and the poor dear almost fell in the pond! It was quite a sight, though, to see him fighting a swan in the middle of St. James’ park.” She let out a laugh. “But he’s always doing such nice things like that, he chased my hat when it flew away and he’s always helping me around puddles and such.”

Crowley sank a bit lower in his seat, his ears reddening as he saw a small smile of amusement on Aziraphale’s face.

“Cr—Anthony is such a nice person, I tell him all the time but he doesn’t believe me,” Aziraphale replied, casting a kind look at Crowley, who was presently trying to sink through the bench and the ground and down to somewhere he could escape this embarrassment.

He shot an irritated look at Aziraphale, who simply smiled back.

“Oh that reminds me, Anthony, I brought this for you,” Angie said, reaching into her bag to pull out a long, cream colored scarf. “It’s getting colder every day and you’re all skin and bones, you must get dreadfully cold and I don’t want you getting sick.”

Crowley took the scarf, reluctantly looping it around his neck. Aziraphale’s amused smile returned as Crowley shot him a look— one he knew the angel would understand even if he couldn’t see his eyes, that dared him to say anything about it.

Of course he wouldn’t get sick, but he wasn’t going to tell Angie that, nor was he going to hurt her feelings. She continued telling stories and Crowley began to relax as Aziraphale joined in the conversation. He smiled, thankful that the worst of the awkwardness had passed. He threw a handful of bread to the ducks, only half paying attention to the conversation for a few minutes until Angie leaned forwards a bit towards Aziraphale, reaching over to pat his perfectly manicured hand.

“I’m so glad he finally brought you to meet me, my dear. Of course, he’s told me so much about his angel I feel as though I know you already.”

Crowley’s eyes widened behind his glasses. He didn’t dare look at Aziraphale, though he was sure the angel’s smile mirrored Angie’s.

“Ngh,” he said, crossing his arms and shifting uncomfortably, wishing very much in that moment that he was elsewhere.

“Oh, you’re just like Peggy,” Angie chastised. “She was always so easy to rile. Very well, I’ll leave it alone if only so you stop looking like you’re trying to hide inside yourself. Here, feed the ducks some more.” She handed him another piece of bread, which he accepted.

“But really, Mr. Fell, you’ll have to tell me more about this knitting club. I could always use more good friends like Anthony.”

Aziraphale obliged as Crowley sat and listened, nodding and replying every once in a while as would be polite in a conversation between friends. The three of them sat happily on that sunny Monday morning and fed the ducks, as they did on every Monday that came after.

#good omens #good omens x marvel #fanfiction #feeding the ducks #I added a link to my wattpad on the off chance you’d like to see more of my writing

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superwho-am-i-kidding · 3 years

Text

Too Late (PART TWO)

Once again, I'm sorry for how long this took! Life has been rather busy lately, and I couldn't find the time to write. But now I have. And oh boy, is it angsty. It's also quite long! PART ONE IS HERE.

I pride myself with ending stories happily, though it doesn't always happen… yet, anything is possible.

Thanks to @theregoesstevie for letting me word vomit based on this haunting image. Hope it lives up to expectations!

The end came with less fanfare than Aziraphale had expected. There was a world one moment, and nothing the next. The antichrist, Adam, had made un-existing as painless as possible, it seemed. There was no doubt in the angel’s mind that Satan was celebrating his triumphing victory over Heaven.

Aziraphale had been standing in the apartment of a dead demon, until he suddenly wasn’t. He found himself completely alone on an empty Earth. He had felt alone before, but it was nothing compared to now.

There were no nightingales singing in Berkley Square, no soft piano emanating from the Ritz, no ducks in the ponds of Saint James’ Park. Aziraphale decided he was tired. His gaze passed jadedly around him until it came to a stop on the only building remaining around him. A corporate tower that was as blank on the outside as it was on the inside. A tugging sensation pulled Aziraphale towards the building. He let it drag him to the escalators that lay in wait for both ethereal and occult forces.

Aziraphale’s eyes looked up towards the escalator that led to Heaven, the unwelcoming home he had known for the past six thousand years. But his instinct led him to the other escalator. He stepped onto the moving staircase for the second time in his long life (well, he wasn’t sure one could call it a “life” anymore) and stared blankly ahead as his corporation was taken lower and lower into Hell.

When he stepped into the dirty and musty hallway, he was surprised to once again find himself alone. He followed the sound of cheers and yelling down the hall until he entered a large room. Dagon was standing on a table in the center of thousands of demons, encouraging them in preparation of the coming war. Aziraphale wasn’t sure how, with plenty of other eyes to choose from, but Dagon locked gazes with him. “You,” she said, the room falling silent as the demons all turned towards Aziraphale. “What are you doing here? Come to spy on us, have you?” She laughed heartily, “Well, it seems they haven’t taught you the art of stealth!” She nodded towards a pair of large demons to grab Aziraphale’s arms and hold him in place. It was hardly necessary, as he wasn’t sure he could move, even if they wanted him to.

“You’re so clever. How can somebody as clever as you be so stupid?”

Beelzebub worked her way through the crowd, shoving demons apart to reach Aziraphale. She stopped in front of him, flies buzzing around the corporation that held no warmth. Her eyes flit across every inch of him, narrowing in thought as she sniffed the air a couple of times. “He’s… fallen,” she declared slowly. Shocked murmurs spread throughout the demonic hoard.

“May you be forgiven.”

“I won’t be forgiven. Not ever. That’s part of a demon’s job description. Unforgivable. That’s what I am.”

“This must be a trick,” Dagon said.

Beelzebub stared into the grief-stricken eyes that held no spark. She shook her head, “No, it’s no trick.”

“I forgive you.”

“In fact, this is exactly what we need. He knows how Heaven fights. We will win the war with his help.” Beelzebub waved for Aziraphale to be released. Aziraphale just stood, not bothering to fix the rumples on his jacket sleeves. “You’re going to be in charge of training the troops,” she said.

Aziraphale spared a blank glance around the room. “I’m not fighting.”

“What?” the flies stopped buzzing for a moment to hear Aziraphale repeat himself.

“I said, I’m not fighting,” he said. Beelzebub laughed and Aziraphale was ushered into a new room that had line after line of demons ready to fight. His head slowly raised to meet the eyes of the battalion waiting for his orders. One of the demons handed him a weapon he was all too familiar with, though he never bothered to wonder how Hell had gotten ahold of it. The sword roared to life, the divine flames burning at Aziraphale’s unholy hands.

He wasn’t sure how long he stared at the flames as they danced across the pointed blade. “Aren’t you going to teach us something?” a demon shattered the trance the fire had created.

“No,” he said. Simple and to the point; Crowley would have been proud.

“No?” the demon scoffed. “Do you expect us to just know this stuff? Sorry to break it to you, Halo, but we don’t have all the fancy things down here that you bastards have upstairs. Just the broken, sloppy seconds.” He pursed his lips and circled Aziraphale in an achingly haunting way. “But I suppose it’s no surprise that you’ve become one of us. You are broken and sloppy, after all. Just like Crawly was.”

Aziraphale didn’t know there was more in him that could break. But there was, and it shattered. Without thinking, his grip tightened on the hilt of the blade and he swung. Screams and sizzles told him that he had hit his mark. The rest of the battalion watched in shock as Aziraphale coldly watched the demon die. Aziraphale looked up, his dark eyes challenging anyone brave enough to a duel.

Some of the larger demons charged him, but Aziraphale dodged easily. It hadn’t been angelic that he had learned how to dance, though it seemed to come in handy now. He side-stepped and spun around his attackers, landing jabs and slashes on their corporations with his sword. One by one, they all fell, screaming in pain. Aziraphale looked up, his skin glistening with sweat, but with no flush. He was a dampened corpse walking around and swinging to kill.

The remaining demons turned and fled, leaving Aziraphale to glance at the bodies surrounding him. He wasn’t sure why they didn’t disappear, as he would have expected with utter extinction, but he didn’t really care. He stepped across them, ignoring the cracking and squishing of the bodies beneath his heels. Aziraphale walked down the corridor back towards the escalator that lead to an empty Earth.

He trailed the sword along the wall, igniting the posters and mold with holy flame. He caught sight of Beelzebub and Dagon surrounded by the surviving demons of his battalion. Beelzebub moved to intercept Aziraphale before he could get to the stairway. Their eyes locked, and she stepped back after a moment of contemplation.

“I should like to be left alone,” Aziraphale said quietly. He knew they had heard him, based on the nervous nods that were sent his way. He began the climb towards the surface and emerged into the blank canvas that the world had become. He took the opportunity to mold this new Earth into a tall hill that buried him within the clouds. A small patch of grass erupted from the top of the mound, yellow flowers popping out of the soil as well.

Aziraphale picked up a long stone that had not been there a moment before and drove it into the ground. It just so happened to have a lovely flat surface, perfect for carving. Aziraphale only wrote one word, one name. He wasn’t sure which one Anthony J. Crowley would have preferred, so he chose the name that Aziraphale always wanted to call him: Love.

“Aziraphale, former principality and guardian of the eastern gate of Eden, fallen angel of Heaven,” a voice appeared behind him. “I had always hoped it would come to this.”

Aziraphale turned from the headstone to stare down Sandalphon as he stood at the edge of the newly-formed hill. The angel smiled, gold shining through his teeth. “You will lose,” Aziraphale said, his grip tightening imperceptibly upon the hilt of his sword.

“I’m not worried,” Sandalphon smiled. “I’ve brought help.”

Aziraphale closed his eyes and felt for the ethereal forces that were surrounding him. There were dozens of them. All waiting to land a blow upon the single demon, standing alone on a hilltop with a sword in one hand and flowers in the other. “This was your choice,” Aziraphale said. He stared at Sandalphon for a moment longer before he lunged.

His first swing against Sandalphon missed, and several angels flew in to retaliate. Aziraphale tore each of them down. He almost wished there was literal blood to be spilled, the angels were falling back to Earth too much intact for his liking. Crowley would be horrified at what he had become in such a short time. Aziraphale would have been horrified himself if he stopped to think about what he was actually doing.

But the angels kept coming, and Aziraphale never put more thought into the actions that were defending the grave of the only being he had ever loved. Soon enough, demons had appeared as well, hungry for revenge against those Aziraphale had slaughtered. Aziraphale had always thought about how lovely it would be if Heaven and Hell would put their differences aside and get along for a change. It didn’t even register in his mind that they were doing exactly that; putting aside their own agendas in order to kill Aziraphale.

They didn’t know it, but there was no killing this particular demon. Aziraphale tore through each wave, the bodies piling higher and higher around his once solitary hill. He wasn’t sure how long it took for them to get the message, but it eventually arrived. Fewer and fewer angels and demons approached the hill to challenge Aziraphale. Then, there were no more. Aziraphale felt something stir deep within him. Satisfaction, he supposed, and pride.

He looked over the new hills that surrounded his own, wings of both black and white broken together. Aziraphale looked to the sword in his hand, willing the flame to die. The blade slowly cooled and Aziraphale briefly contemplated joining Crowley in whatever was beyond their infinite lives. His ultimate decision was to toss the sword over the side of the hill, into the pile of bodies that encircled him.

Aziraphale willed a pair of Crowley’s sunglasses and a vase into existence at the base of the headstone. He filled the vase with a fresh gathering of the yellow flowers, ones that he didn’t know the name of, but was certain Crowley would have. That’s where he remained for the rest of the war. The decades passed within the blink of an eye, though the flowers adorning Crowley’s grave were as fresh as the day they were cut.

When it happened, Aziraphale felt the war end with every fiber of his being. He knew the fighting was done, but he didn’t bother to find out which side triumphed over the other. It was of little importance to him now. His gaze swept across the piles of angels and demons, a spark of something flashing in his heart. Tears began to fall from his eyes, blurring the image of a figure appearing before him.

“Angel?” a horrified voice whispered.

Aziraphale blinked to clear the tears from his vision. A black-clad figure with flaming hair came into focus, one that he never thought he would see again. “Crow…” his voice failed him after all the years of silence. “The empty flask…” Aziraphale saw Crowley’s eyes flash with dismay as he put together what Aziraphale was implying. “You weren’t dead?”

Crowley looked around the two of them, eyes never lingering too long on the bodies around them. He turned his gaze back to the tear-stricken face of his best friend. “I went to Alpha Centauri.”

“I’m going home, angel. I’m getting my stuff and I’m leaving. And when I’m off in the stars, I won’t even think about you.”

“What have you done, angel?” he whispered. Aziraphale looked down at the grave as he unfurled his black wings into the emptiness behind him.

#too late #part two!#finally!#good omens #aziraphale #crowley #good omens fic #good omens angst #probably some trigger warnings #my writing #fallen!aziraphale

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idanit · 3 years

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possibly underappreciated Good Omens fics I enjoyed once upon a time

Indirectly inspired by a video series about fanfiction I watched, I decided to pull together a list of Good Omens fics I have bookmarked as stories I enjoyed, but which have less than 250-300 kudos at the time I’m writing this. No particular order. They’re accompanied by short excerpts from my private fic reading notes (not originally intended to be read by anyone but me, mind), sometimes slightly edited for clarity—and, sometimes, the comments I left on the fics.

This list sat in my drafts for a long time and the recent S2 announcement reminded me of it. I’d love it if it inspired you to do something similar! Spread the love.

And mind the tags, please.

△ = general and teen ▲ = mature and explicit

thermodynamic equilibrium ▲ 7K the author has such an ear for dialogue and is unapologetic about what they want to write the characters like. They think of the characters as a mix of TV and book canon, but they feel like a homemade blend to me. (...) It’s very funny.

such dear follies ▲ 6K I can really picture this Aziraphale—Crowley as well, but her especially. She’s rather distinct. (...) Nice writing.

The Words Were With - △ 1.2K post-Blitz vignette, Aziraphale realizes what he feels and wonders if they're human enough for this. I liked it, and I liked the tag "transhumanism, but in reverse?", too—what an interesting idea. I'd say it's a vignette in a dire need of a follow-up, but, well, there's the show. The show is the follow-up. It fits very nicely within the canon and I totally believe it could have happened, like a deleted scene.

Gossip and Good Counsel △ 19K/? I love their companionship and how they're set up to be opposites by the management even though they get on pretty well. It feels very in keeping with the canon, but I feel like the fact that it's an F/F set in this particular time period adds a meaningful layer to the situation. It's women supporting each other in the world of men, working with the personas that are created for them, but, privately, being normal, well-rounded people. (...) and of course your writing is always a pleasure to read. (...) SDHDGDHDHDG Maisie is truly an Aziraphale.

Crowley Went Down to Georgia (he was looking for a soul to steal) △ 6K This was nice. Based on a song I didn’t know. Crowley goes to a funeral in the USA, one of a fiddler he knew and lost a bet to once. (...) The fic has not one but two songs composed for it and embedded inside it and that makes it even better. I really enjoyed the experience.

The Thing With Feathers △ 18K WARLOCK you'rE HORRIBLE AND I LOVE IT I would read an entire novel-length fic just of Crowley fighting his battles with Warlock. Written like this? It would be a blast. (...) The OCs are believably characterized and well-loved by the story. (...) Everyone seems to need a friend in this house. (...) This was so fun, and at the same time, their mission has weight here (...) We wonder about what the future holds even though we know it.

Here Quiet Find △ 11K This fic aimed for my head and the aim was sure precise. It was a story of Crowley sensing Aziraphale's distress and finding him in a self-quarantined English village in the seventeenth century, tired and anxious. It's hurt/comfort, so there was washing and bedsharing and I had to love it, so I did.

outside of time △ 2K Post-Almostgeddon, (...) nicely-written, short, but strung with a soft kind of tension and unspoken words. There's no drama, just "can we really", and "do you really" of sudden freedom. They fall into being inseparable. Book canon, which I like for this story (sitting on a tarmac). I liked the footnotes. There's a mention of Eliot. All in all, very much yes.

She'asani Yisrael △ 2K It’s Crowley going through a two-hour service and drinking blessed wine. He also keeps an eye on a boy he was asked to. It’s 1946. It was pretty good, so far the best Jewish GO fic, I think, from the ones I’ve read.

To Guard The Eastern Gate △ 11K I loved it. You really made Sodom feel lived-in; the description of Keret, Hurriya and Yassib's house and relationship were great. I got attached to both them and the city (...) Aziraphale and Crawley’s interactions were generally very entertaining. I laughed (...) Your rendering of their voices just lands so well (...) But then oh, the entire ending (...) hurt, hurt a lot, and your descriptions are so vivid.

If you’ve been waiting (for falling in love) △ 14K AAAAA a good ending line. The whole paragraph, in fact. I love a good smattering of philosophy in my fics, and this was really nice. I can get behind Thomas Aequinus's and Crowley's view on eternity. It's (...) a pretty simple fic (...) - the courage to express yourself and take a risk is awarded with winning what was at stake by the virtue of reciprocity - but the way it was intertwined with a study of how they would experience a forever was done well.

Holy unnecessary ▲ 2.2K It's well-written. (...) this is my type of sexual humour if I have any. So subtle. Blink and you'll miss it. Lovely.

The Parting Glass △ 17K Through the ages, they're dancing around their relationship until after the Armageddoff. (...) Wow, this was really, really nice. Very simple in its concept and nothing I haven't read before, but very well-executed. (...) AAAAH I LOVED the first chapter. I always like abbeys as settings, that's a given, but the banter, the good writing, the moral ambiguity!

Name The Sky △ 33K This Crowley is different, but very intriguing. Without his sarcastic talk, and much more animalistic. (...) I love how expressive Crowley is. (...) This fic has a very nice balance of drama and levity. I don't love Crowley-before-the-Fall stories very much, but with this execution I can read about it. (...) Okay I've read Crowley offering fruits, and even Aziraphale biting fruits, but the two of them sharing the apple? Outstanding. Ingenious. What a take.

A Flame in Your Heart △ 5K post-Blitz (why are so many dance fics post-Blitz?), they go to the bookshop and have an actually believable conversation. Then they dance the gavotte. It was really nice! Believable writing, emotions, the dancing! (...) Of course it's too early for them, (...) but the author's note? yeah.

Put down the apple, Adam, and come away with me ▲ 32K At this point it's just reading original stories with characters with names and some personality traits that I recognize. (...) I really enjoy this, the careful dance, the opposition between their views. (...) This is well-written, wow. (...) it's not an easy read (...) this story feels very believably 50s, but also reaches out to the present time.

Liebestraum ▲ 10K/? It really is like music. I'm enjoying the writing a lot. (...) oh my actual god. This, this? Wow, uh. This came for my throat. (...) THE MUSICAL COMPOSITION, THE MOTIF RETURNING, THE AUTHOR KNOWS WHERE IT'S AT (...) Excellent. This hits the right beats so precisely, (...) and with feeling, too.

Down Comforter △ 2.4K and they lay down in angeldown, a soft rug ‘neath their heads– alright. Well, Crowley lies under Aziraphale's wing on a Persian rug after the Apocalypse, and they talk (...). It was sweet.

The Corsair of Carcosa △ 5K Crowley wakes up from a nap, visits Aziraphale for some drinking, and they read The King in Yellow that he happens to own. Good writing, so I'm bought. Aziraphale mentions Beardsley, so I'm bought twice over. My god, a discussion of etheral/occult madness? Caused by some wrong/true reading? Yes.

Very Good, Omens! △ 6K It's rather well-written, well-pastiched. People don't do that too often, nowadays - try to write in the style of a particular writer. (...) I love wordplay like this.

Reviving Robin Hood: The Complicated Process of Crème Brûlée △ 30K it's well-written (...), has a rhythm to it, and quiet humour. (...) Finally some nice, good, light writing. The attention to detail! (...) I'm still reading most of it aloud, the rhythm of it compels me to. (...) okay this does sound like Pratchett&Gaiman, the Good Omens itself (...) The fic is meandering, hilarious, sensitive in all the right places, and overall lovely.

my dear acquaintance △ 1K Oh. Oh. Yes, yes! Aziraphale in Russia, Russia I've never been in, but I can feel the snow and the evening of. Very real, and the bar, too. Attention to detail - vodka flavoured with dill, what on earth? Yes. He would totally have a distinct taste in operas and he would totally complain about a subpar one. I'm glad Tchaikovsky's there.

there is a crack in everything △ 1.8K This was good! Ah. Inspired by a comment (...), I went looking for Mr. Harrison and Mr. Cortese fics—really, what a big brain moment someone had and why have I never thought to look for them? This is Crowley getting suddenly anxious and Aziraphale going out of his way, through all his layers of not-thinking and denial, to console him. I also really liked how the Arrangement is a carefully unacknowledged partnership-marriage.

Scales And Gold And Wings And Scars △ 6K No conflict, no plot, one tiny arc like a ripple on the surface of water on a calm sunny day - of Aziraphale discovering Crowley’s scars. It's the South Downs and it's early summer. They bask and swim in a spring. Non-sexual nudity, love in the air like a scent. Nice.

Nineteen Footnotes In Search Of A Story △ 0.4K This is a Good Omens story told only through footnotes. Your mind can fill in the gaps. Fascinating (...). Also, it’s an experiment so apt for this particular fandom.

Hell on Earth △ 6.5K Oh, I loved it! How could I not love it: it's Beelzebub-centric, it's historical, it has classical painting, and even a hilarious scene with a cuneiform phrase, as if I didn't enjoy this story enough already. There are so few Beelzebub fics out there and I find searching for them very difficult (I accept recs if anyone has any), and it's such a shame, so this was really like a gift to the fandom. I absolutely adore the way you portrayed them, small, frightening, powerful, and confident. Also, it was super fun to see how different Crowley seems when we're not in his POV or in a story about him and Aziraphale. (...)

Go Up to Ramoth-Gilead and Triumph △ 24K Daegaer is... pure class. (...) hdhdhdh what pfttt why you so funny (...) I love this Crowley. (...) This got unexpectedly intense. (...) I love the little nods to the fact that Israelites, especially the poorer ones, still believe in other gods. I also really like that they sleep on roofs. It's just the kind of detail that grounds the story and shows that the author is, in fact, a historian.

#good omens #good omens fic rec #fanfiction #fic rec #idanit reads #i also have a multifannish F/F rec list in the works #all my bookmarks are private but i feel the need to share the love

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sparkkeyper · 3 years

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A Matter of Trust

My take on the “night at Crowley’s flat” fic.

Swapping faces requires complete trust. Unfortunately, Aziraphale has not been particularly honest leading up to Armageddon and it's hard to overcome that doubt.

Words: 2295

Warnings: None

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"You really think she meant switching our actual faces?"

"I've been over it a dozen times and I'm quite sure. I've had the last 72 hours to become familiar with Agnes' peculiar brand of predictions."

Crowley blew out a long breath and took another sip of his coffee. It was the deepest hour of the night. Darkness pressed around the outside of his flat, threatening at the edges of the LED lighting. "Put a lot of stock in this prophecy, do you?"

Aziraphale nodded from where he sat nearby on the couch, the torn slip of prophecy on the cushion between them. "Absolutely. Every prediction in her book came to pass exactly as she saw it. If this is the scenario we're up against, then 'choosing our faces wisely' is our best shot at surviving it."

"Suppose that's settled, then. Once Above and Below start after us, they won't stop unless we really give them a good reason."

"I agree. Now, this will require complete trust and extraordinary focus in order to work. It isn't like lending someone a scarf."

"That's the point, I thought. Something neither side will see coming."

"Exactly. All right then." Aziraphale wriggled a bit on the couch, bracing himself. "Are you ready?"

Crowley set down his coffee and flexed his fingers. "Ready."

Aziraphale held out his hand and the demon took it. Swap with him.

Nothing happened.

"Er..."

"Ngk. Hang on." Crowley gave himself a shake. "Been a long day and all that. Lemme just refocus. Right, let's do it." He took the angel's hand again. Swap. With. Him.

Again, nothing happened.

There were several long, awkward seconds.

Get it together, you stupid snake. This is important. This could be the most important thing you've ever done. This is Aziraphale. Best friend for centuries. You know what to expect from him.

He did know what to expect. That was the problem.

The moment was stretching on far too long. He dropped the angel's hand like it had burned him and scrubbed his palms over his soot-stained face.

"Crowley?"

"It's fine! I'll make it work, give me a blessed break."

He stood and paced the room for a moment while Aziraphale sat stiffly on the couch, watching him. "Is there anything I can do to...to facilitate things? I'm not sure what the problem is."

"There's no problem, it's fine," Crowley snapped. "I've got this. Just worry about your end of it and I'll worry about mine. Right!" He spun on his heel with his hand out and Aziraphale stood to match him. "Swap, then!"

He clasped the angel's hand and tried. He could feel the miracle simmering somewhere in the ether, attempted but not complete. He reached for it, he reached with all his might.

"Crowley-"

"I can do this," he insisted, a pit forming in his stomach. He'd just held his car together for 40 miles, he could believe one little idea for 5 seconds.

"Crowley-"

"I can do this!"

"Oh for goodness' sake-"

The angel was frustrated. He had every right to be but that was beside the point. A frustrated Aziraphale got indignant. A frustrated Aziraphale stormed off.

A frustrated Aziraphale pulled away when they needed most to stick together.

Crowley blessed savagely and spun, stomping for the balcony.

"Where are-"

"I just...I need to get some air." He slammed the door behind him before Aziraphale could respond.

The night breeze from so many stories up was like a slap in the face. Crowley welcomed it, leaning heavily on the balcony railing and burying his face in his hands. He couldn't do the miracle. Not that he didn't want to - he'd rarely wanted anything so much in his life. But he couldn't get his heart into it the way it needed to be.

We're not friends!

It wasn't true, of course. But it was something Aziraphale had wanted to be true. Because it would make the angel's life so much less complicated. Crowley was a friend...until he wasn't. Crowley occupied a place of esteem...until he didn't. Aziraphale worked so very hard to view a messy world in a manageable way and sometimes cuts had to be made.

His coffee sat suddenly on the railing because it knew what was good for it, and when he raised it to his lips it obligingly added a considerable amount of whiskey.

If they couldn't do the swap, they had no future. The Earth had a new lease on life tonight, but if they couldn't swap it would be at the price of their own. He knew Hell would show no mercy and he couldn't fool himself into thinking Heaven would. But Aziraphale... When it came to Heaven, Aziraphale could fool himself into thinking a lot of things.

I don't even like you!

Even if I did I wouldn't tell you! We're on opposite sides!

Aziraphale, who always had excuses to fall back on.

Aziraphale, who had a book with the Antichrist's address and hadn't told him.

Aziraphale who, when the world was on the brink of destruction, had kept calling out to Heaven.

If it came down to their partnership or Heaven, Heaven was the first to be appeased, no contest. Crowley understood his reasons. Aziraphale was, at his core, an angel. He treasured that identity even if he disagreed with his superiors and assignments. He held out hope in goodness, in Her, in a way Crowley never could. He wanted so badly for everything to turn out nice and good in the end, and Crowley could not take that from him.

When Heaven couldn't provide, Crowley was there to be his safety net. But Heaven was always, always first.

The balcony door clicked behind him and hesitant footsteps stepped out into the night. "If there's anything I can do to help you focus, you need only ask."

Crowley couldn't bring himself to look at him. "Focus isn't the problem."

Aziraphale was quiet for a very long moment. "Oh," he said softly.

There was no shock in his voice. No condemnation either. Crowley wondered if it would take some time to sink it, given everything that had already happened to them tonight, but as Aziraphale joined him at the balcony railing he knew that the angel understood what this meant.

Dull blue eyes followed Crowley's gaze out over London and Aziraphale took a slow sip of his tea. "This is my fault, isn't it?"

"Don't," Crowley told him tiredly. "What's done is done."

"But the consequences are ongoing. And will be for a long time, I expect." Aziraphale sighed heavily. "I am responsible, I won't pretend otherwise."

"I tried," Crowley confessed, the words barely audible over the background hum of the city. "I truly did."

"I don't doubt it."

A breeze wandered in. Tousled through red and blonde hair. Wandered somewhere else.

"I suppose I ought to at least ask...was it slow over time or was it because of this past week?"

Crowley didn't answer for a moment, taking another sip of his coffee. "Bit of both."

"Mmm." Aziraphale nodded, not particularly surprised by this. "I should have seen this coming, really. I should have seen a good many things coming."

"Stop it," the demon muttered. "You can't see everything coming. Something something ineffability."

"Is just one of the excuses I've been hiding behind for a very long time. And now it's caught up with me. With us." He sighed. "I suppose it's not just evil that contains the seeds of its own destruction."

Crowley didn't have the energy to come up with a biting response. He just looked exhausted. "I don't regret a minute of it, you know," he murmured. "The Arrangement. You and I. Wouldn't trade it for anything." There were dark circles under his eyes. "But I can't trust you the way I'd need to for this to work. I wish I could. I've tried. I just can't do it."

Aziraphale grimaced to hear the words out loud, but did not dispute it. How could he? "I don't blame you. You're right - it's not fair to ask you to trust me when I've squandered your trust so thoroughly."

We're not friends, hung thick in the air between them.

"Not that I think you don't care," Crowley clarified. "I know you do. You're terrible at hiding it, really. And you came to find me today before it all ended. That's not nothing." He took another sip of coffee. "But you also lied to my face. Repeatedly."

"I did," the angel acknowledged quietly.

"While the world was ending."

"Yes."

"That hurt, Aziraphale."

Aziraphale bit his lip hard. "I know. I'd take it back if I could. But I suppose it's too late to make a difference now."

They stood in silence for a time. Then Crowley sighed and turned back to the flat. "Come on. It's been a long day. There's wine in the kitchen, we may as well enjoy it while we can before they come for us."

The angel followed him inside and watched as he pulled glasses from a cabinet. "Thank you again for allowing me to stay the night. You didn't have to, after everything."

"Stay as long as you like," the demon uncorked the wine bottle. "Your shop's gone. Fuck's sake, I'm not a monster."

"No." Aziraphale's expression was very, very soft. "You're not."

Crowley took off his sunglasses and looked up at him at last: this demon whose heart had been broken too many times. "I want you to be all right, Aziraphale. I need you safe. I need you alive. I want to see you happy. But I don't know how far I can meet you."

"I can't say I'm surprised, after all I've put you through," the angel admitted ruefully. "Denying we were ever friends, or insinuating that you were somehow less than I. I've been a rather dreadful friend to you over the centuries."

Crowley hung his head, wine forgotten. "I know why you keep us at a distance and I know why you lied about the boy. You were doing what you thought was best at the time. I can't blame you for that. But to do what that prophecy wants, when push comes to shove I need to believe with all my heart that you won't leave me hanging. And I...I can't bring myself to believe that." He scrubbed his hands across his face. "Given time I might, but we don't have time. I can't do it. And I hate it. Because that's going to get you killed. I need you alive but once they come for us, I won't be able to save you. Not this time."

"You talk as though you're not in danger yourself," Aziraphale's face crumpled. "Crowley, if Below gets their hands on you they will destroy you utterly. I will not let that happen. I can't take back what I've said but you are the dearest thing in this world to me and I'm not going to stand back and let them take you."

Crowley looked like he was trying so very hard to hope but just couldn't get there. "I want to believe that, I really do. But I can't do blind faith like you can. I don't have it in me anymore."

Aziraphale closed his eyes and pressed his forehead to the demon's. "I'm not asking you to forgive what I've done. And I'm not asking for blind faith. Goodness knows how much trouble that's caused." His voice cracked at that but he plunged onward. "I'm only asking you to believe me when I say that I will not let Hell have you. If we cannot switch our faces, we will find another way."

"But your prophecy. Agnes-"

"Agnes be damned." That shut Crowley up. Tears glistened on the angel's cheeks. "If I have to march Down There after you. If I have to take up a sword. If I have to stand between you and God Herself. I swear to you on everything that I am, I will not let Hell have you."

And in that brief moment, for just that one promise in a sea of other broken ones, Crowley believed he was telling the truth.

His hand scrabbled for Aziraphale's and he pushed for all he was worth before he could lose this moment, he pushed every atom of his soul into the heart of his best friend, gave him everything that he was and ever could be, and in that instant he trusted Aziraphale to keep him safe.

And then Aziraphale was pouring into him and Crowley opened himself up and let it happen, let him seep into every muscle, every bone, every molecule of his being -

-and suddenly there was no difference between them, there was no angel, no demon, just a tumult of soul and hope and pain and fear and resolve and-

Crowley tumbled out the other side like falling out of bed. He gasped in a strangled breath, stumbling backwards into the kitchen counter and staring suddenly into his own face. He stared down at his clothes - beige - and his hands - manicured - and back up, feeling the warmth of his best friend's corporation surrounding him like a blanket. Aziraphale, in Crowley's, did much the same.

There was stunned silence in the flat as they let this sink in. Then one of them snapped, or maybe both, and suddenly Crowley's face was buried in the collar of a stinking, burnt leather jacket and Aziraphale was crushing him close, and both were squeezing so hard the other could scarcely breathe.

"Thank you," Aziraphale managed at last. "For trusting me enough to let me save you."

"Not if I save you first," Crowley choked out, and broken giggles filled the flat.

(Also on AO3!)

#good omens #good omens fic #the night at crowley's flat #aziraphale #crowley #aziraphale having to take responsibility for lying #the body swap #can these two idiots just SIT DOWN AND TALK #trauma is never your fault #being gaslight and coerced is never your fault #but we still have to be aware of those we hurt when we're not at our best #not that Crowley's 100% innocent #they'll figure it out they just need time

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cuips-not-cute · 3 years

Text

Told myself I’d do at least one of @kedreeva’s lovely flash fiction prompts before the month was over. Here I am at the last possible moment posting it :D

Prompt: Trapped Together

"Hush!"

"You're the one who got us into this!" Crowley seethed, venom dripping from his words.

"I did not! How was I supposed to know he was Hastur’s infernal puppet? And you insisted we go in the back way."

"Yeah, 'cause it's bloody faster, angel. And less people go through this way. 'S safer. You should know when your favourite sushi chef is possessed, dove."

“Yes, but Hastur was in his head! He acted the same, dear. Asking about us was completely in character. And would you blame such a lovestruck angel for wanting to talk about his wonderful, loving demon?” Crowley rolled his eyes at this, but the small quirk upward of his mouth told Aziraphale he didn’t mean it. He continued, “Only thing out of the ordinary was the demonic presence—”

“You sensed him?” hissed Crowley.

“I thought I was sensing you! Maybe a bit wilier than normal, but I’m not normally near any other demons, you see. I thought you were perhaps being romantic and waiting for me outside, with a bouquet of roses, maybe.”

“I told you I was going to Glasgow! How would I have been outside a SoHo sushi shop if I was in bloody Glasgow?”

“I thought you were going to surprise me.” Aziraphale pouted.

“Ngk. Maybe I will next time. You’d like roses? I’ll get you roses.”

“Well, now it won’t be a surprise since you’ve gone and told me. I’ll be expecting you.”

“You were expecting me this morning, and I was in fucking Glasgow, angel.”

They glared at each other for a moment before Crowley leaned in to kiss his frown away, smooth those eyebrows back to their normal, unfurrowed position.

“Hmm,” Aziraphale murmured, licking a little into Crowley’s mouth before pulling away.

“That was lovely, dear, but we really need to get moving. If Hastur gets to those blasted ‘Earth observation files’ before us…”

“Yeah, I know. I don’t want him to be able to prove anything either. Let’s get unstuck and just do single file, ‘kay”

Aziraphale sighed heavily, and Crowley felt it along his entire torso. They were most definitely trapped in that narrow passage into Hell. Aziraphale's sharp inhale pushed Crowley a little deeper into the wall. He gulped, swallowing down the surge of tingling adrenaline that came with that gentle press of bodies. They needed to focus now. There would be time enough later for adrenaline and touching bodies.

"Here, what if I..." Aziraphale mumbled, placing his hands on Crowley's hips and pushing them back and to one side. It didn't help anything, but a quick demonic miracle was needed to stop the sudden rush of blood to Crowley's nether regions.

"Christ, Aziraphale! Are you trying to imprint my arse on this wall? Because I think you just did."

"No, of course not. I thought it might work."

"Well it bloody didn't. Let me try something. Go as flat as you can against the wall."

A bit of pressure left his toro as Aziraphale pressed himself back. Crowley slid down, hands flat against the wall, until he was able to crouch.

Then he realized he was perfectly at eye level with Aziraphale's crotch, and practically straddling his legs with his knees.

"Fuck," he hissed, pressing his head as far back as he can to avoid bumping his face into Aziraphale's groin. All they needed now was for Aziraphale to get a stiffy. Later, he told himself

"Everything alright down there? Can you move?" called Aziraphale from above.

"Shit." Crowley muttered, closing his eyes against the vivid images of himself on his knees in different circumstances. "Yeah everything's fine, just a tight squeeze. Sorry if I, ah, bump you. Gonna try to shimmy out now."

"Okay, sweetheart."

Crowley turned his head to the side, careful to avoid brushing his nose against Aziraphale’s groin. If he were human, there’d be no way his joints would have cooperated with the slithering he did to free himself from between Aziraphale and the wall, bending one leg almost backwards and extending the other straight out with a sort of kicking motion that offset his balance and sent him sprawling on the floor.

“Crowley! Are you alright?” Aziraphale offered him an arm. Crowley took it, muttering that he was fine, thank you in the least-annoyed voice he could possibly manage. Aziraphale pulled him to a more dignified position where they stood facing each other in the damp, tight hallway.

“Right.” said Crowley, “Let’s go destroy those files.”

#good omens #my writing #my fic #good omens fanfiction #ineffable husbands #flash fiction #march flash fiction #there are probably...so many typos in here #it's 1 am i apologize

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commander-diomika · 3 years

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Fear and Faith

WOULD YOU LOOK AT THAT MY FIRST FIC IN FIVE (???) YEARS! Fandom: Good Omens Pairing: Crowley/Aziraphale Rating: Explicit Word Count: ~6000 Additional Tags: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Trans Male Character, Trans Crowley, Spanking, Restraints, Service Top Aziraphale (Good Omens), Bottom Crowley, Established Relationship, Pining .

(YES it’s true, they’re established, yes they’re banging, but also somehow still pining at the same time! Read on to find out how I managed that mess.) Summary: Aziraphale gives Crowley a little payback for his outburst at the convent. This is a “deleted scene” fic where we pretend that Aziraphale doesn’t spot the book in the backseat, and instead they flow nicely from business to pleasure that evening. "Aziraphale looked into Crowley’s eyes. The posture was still full of attitude but the eyes… the eyes told a different story. This was the beginning of a change in mood, stepping from one role to another.

They played a different game in private. Aziraphale liked it that way. He liked people thinking he was a perfect gentleman, liked being on the arm of his tall demon in public. It was only Crowley who he allowed to see the bastard in him. Probably because it was Crowley who encouraged the bastard in him, through near-constant needling and teasing. It was, after all, something only a friend and lover of thousands of years could do." Read on Ao3

“Not one single person would say bebop.” Crowley draped himself over the Bentley in what he thought of as an enticing manner. He dangled the topic change like bait.

Aziraphale took it, though in an unexpected direction. “I don’t think that’s really what we ought to be discussing, you know.” Crowley’s eyebrows arched up over the frames of his glasses as Aziraphale came round the car, heading for the door to the bookshop and opening it. With a tiny motion of his head he indicated after you. “Do come in.” There was flat fall at the end of the cadence, almost like an order.

“What ought we be discussing then?” Crowley asked, heading inside, hearing the order and unable to resist biting back. “We can’t contact anyone til the morning, angel, I don’t think there’s anything else we can do about it tonight.”

“No, I completely agree on that front.” They both automatically headed to the back room, treading a well-worn path with both their feet and their words. Crowley took off his jacket and tossed it over the back of a chair, before finding a perch on the edge of the couch. There was something expectant in his posture, as though he wasn’t planning on getting comfortable there.

“I think what we ought to be discussing,” Aziraphale said as he hung up his jacket, smoothing creases out of it, “is your little… outburst at the convent today.” He turned and fixed Crowley with a pointed stare.

“Oh,” Crowley said, and despite his lanky frame, he suddenly looked a little smaller under the heat of Aziraphale’s stare. He was in trouble… which meant things were going exactly to plan. He felt a smug throb of self satisfaction.

It was not that angels and demons didn’t have genitalia, as such. It was more than, unless they were thinking of it, the bodies beneath the clothes simply didn’t exist. In the same way that their wings waited, just off this plane, so too did anything not immediately needed to give the appearance of a human. The clothes were the body, for Crowley, willed into existence so that other beings could perceive him.

So until a stimuli brought what was under the clothes into this reality, it usually didn’t exist.

Usually.

That day, Crowley had been painfully, achingly aware of the juncture between his thighs, and the way Aziraphale now looked at him with a dangerous, thrilling intent only intensified that feeling. Perhaps the looming end of the world was playing its part in the heat that Crowley felt dripping from his heart, to stomach, to crotch.

“You seemed so upset for me to have called you nice, my dear boy, and the way you behaved was simply atrocious.”

“Yeah?” Crowley asked, tilting his head back to reveal the line of his throat, almost daring his angel to go for it.

Aziraphale still hadn’t sat down, and he took a single step closer to the couch, chin drawn slightly down, gaze dark and indulging. He understood perfectly what Crowley was playing at.

“Stand up,” he said, breath popping slightly on the end of the word. This had not so much the air of a command as the earth, fire and water of one.

A taut moment passed, where Crowley deliberated. He could continue being generally insufferable, or he could lean into the energy building in the room, and obey the command given by his oldest friend.

Crowley decided he’d been bratty enough for one day. He swallowed. Unfolding a seemingly endless amount of leg from his perch on the couch, he stood.

“Forward a few steps, there’s a dear,” and Aziraphale’s voice never lost that buttery sweet quality, even though Crowley could hear the knife’s edge of desire underneath.

Aziraphale, unlike Crowley, had brought his body, and the ability to feel sexual desire, fully into this reality centuries ago. It had happened in Rome, when he had sat across from Crowley and watched him eat oysters for the first time. Since then, he had inhabited his earthly body to the fullest, draping it with cloth the same way as humans did, hiding his sexuality as Adam and Eve had once learnt to do.

Crowley’s heeled boots gave a series of dull clicks on the wooden floor of the shop, and he stood for Aziraphale’s inspection. He had the air of a naughty schoolboy awaiting a telling off, one hand in a pocket, the other hanging loosely, weight on one foot and hip slightly popped. He licked his lips with a tongue that was looking slightly more split than usual.

Aziraphale took deliberate steps forward, and asking permission with his eyes, reached for Crowley’s glasses. He folded them with care and placed them aside. He might as well have stripped Crowley naked. Well, plenty of time for that later.

Aziraphale looked into Crowley’s eyes. The posture was still full of attitude but the eyes… the eyes told a different story. This was the beginning of a change in mood, stepping from one role to another. They played a different game in private.

Aziraphale liked it that way. He liked people thinking he was a perfect gentleman, liked being on the arm of his tall demon in public. It was only Crowley who he allowed to see the bastard in him. Probably because it was Crowley who encouraged the bastard in him, through near-constant needling and teasing. It was, after all, something only a friend and lover of thousands of years could do.

Aziraphale nodded, a wordless acknowledgement of the shift in the air. He began a scrutinizing walk around Crowley, a mockery of the what the demon usually subjected him to in public

“Yes. Very… nice.” Now Aziraphale was the one dangling bait. Crowley made a noise like he’d be punched but didn’t move an inch.

“What, no protestations? No manhandling me against a wall in a most undignified fashion?” Aziraphale teased. Crowley shook his head. “It’s almost like you were trying to get a rise out of me in the convent today.” Aziraphale watched, delighted, fascinated, as Crowley ducked his head, mouth twitching one way and then the other, as though the sly smile was trying to fight its way to the surface.

“You truly are an awful man, aren’t you, accosting me in public when you know I’m far too nice to do anything in retribution.” He wasn’t too nice by half, but he did have an image to upkeep.

Crowley glared down his nose at Aziraphale. “Pfft, don’t you try that with me, angel.” Aziraphale simply stared back with mild reproach, then continued to pace around him slowly.

“What have we here?” Aziraphale said, as he reached the empty space behind Crowley. Though he had his back to him, Crowley could still see Aziraphale, every atom of the angel clear and singing in Crowley’s perception of the world, as it always was.

Aziraphale pressed in, front suddenly flush to Crowley’s back, threading his arms around Crowley’s waist in a possessive gesture. The sudden physical contact was agonisingly intimate. Outside of moments like this, they rarely touched. Crowley’s little stunt at the convent had flouted an unspoken part of the Agreement.

They lived with the fear of being watched from all sides. But the shop was specially warded against such prying eyes. Customers and angels alike could enter the open shop, but once that sign flicked to “Closed”, they were safe. Safe to close that gap, for Aziraphale to hug Crowley to his chest, to turn his cheek and press his face into one lean shoulder.

One hand slid up to curl into the satin of Crowley’s shirt over where his human heart sat, brought into this reality by his aching need to feel the pulse of his own blood.

Aziraphale’s blunt nails scraped Crowley’s chest through the deliciously thin black satin shirt. The other hand moved in a firm slide from Crowley’s navel and down, stuttering slightly over the belt buckle on the too-tight jeans and stopping over Crowley’s fly. Where one might expect to find a bulge.

“Oh.” Aziraphale’s single syllable was all feigned surprise and dark delight. “My dear boy,” he began, emphasizing by sliding the hand a little lower, to dip into the vee of Crowley’s thighs. “Does this mean you’re in the mood to be had?”

Crowley made a noise in the back of his throat, somewhere between a gulp and grunt, that if it had to be given form sounded like “Urnghk.” To Aziraphale’s ears, well-practised in translating such noises, it sounded like a cavalcade of words, like yes and please and fuck me, Angel.

“Take off your boots, please.” Aziraphale said as he let go.

Crowley obeyed. This was part of it, the orders, the undressing, the vulnerability of standing in front of his angel, eyes bare and feet resting on the warm wooden floor. “And your shirt and trousers, too.” Aziraphale felt his cheeks redden at this request, but his gaze remained steady.

Crowley raised one hand to click away the offending items of clothing, a hurried, twitchy energy burning off him, but before he could complete the action Aziraphale caught the hand, firmly.

“The old fashioned way, if you please.”

“Oh come on,” Later, Crowley would deny that this was, undeniably, whiny.

“Plenty of time for that later,” Aziraphale was warming up to it now, something wicked in his eyes. “You know I like to watch this part.”

Crowley, denied instant gratification, undressed speedily, clothes flung in all directions.

Aziraphale folded his hands, perfectly composed as he watched Crowley’s little display, expression indulgent as a sock hit him square in the face. With a gesture from Aziraphale, all the scattered clothes, the black shirt, the inside-out jeans, socks and tie appeared draped over the back of the couch. Something in their folds seemed apologetic for the mess.

“So you’re allowed to do that and I’m not, is that it?” Crowley challenged, bold despite the fact he was wearing nothing but a pair of black briefs. His belligerent tone was betrayed by his naked eyes. His longing was clear in the warm lighting of the bookshop.

Seemingly without taking a single step, suddenly Aziraphale was standing very close to Crowley, almost nose to nose. The small height difference between them was eaten up by the fact that the demon was barefoot, semi naked, and Aziraphale was still dressed, standing tall in his soft leather boots. “That, my dear, is exactly it.” They stared at each other, breath mingling for half a second.

Aziraphale took half a step back and his face softened, something so tender writ clear in the lines between his eyes. “Before we go any further, do you remember the safe word?” he asked.

“It has been awhile, hasn’t it.” Crowley murmured. It had been almost five years. Crowley remembered every second of their last tryst, back when he was still fond of playing the role of Nanny Ashtoreth, even in her off hours. He had worn her, but she wasn’t a costume. The only thing Aziraphale had said on Crowley’s presentation was an uncharacteristic enjoyment of the easy access allowed by skirts with no panties.

Time had a way of slipping by when you were 6000 years old.

“Crowley.” There was a soft reprimand in the way he said it. A pleading, a need for them both to be safe

Crowley sighed, acquiescing. There was nothing in the world he wanted more than for Aziraphale to feel safe. “Eden.”

Aziraphale didn’t reply, simply reaching out to run his hand gently through Crowley’s hair, letting his hand come to rest on the back of his neck. The skin there felt cool to touch, and unbearably soft. The provocative energy the demon had been radiating moments ago shifted to something slow and fervent. He blinked, eyes closed for a whole second as if rocked by the intensity of Aziraphale’s gaze.

“Now, my dear, what is it that you want?”

The question was asked so that Aziraphale could be certain he did not misstep, but he already knew what Crowley wanted. He just liked to hear him say it.

“Want you topunifhshd.” Crowley trailed off to something unintelligible.

“What was that?” Aziraphale asked cheerfully.

“Want you to punish me.” Crowley’s eyes were anywhere but on the angel’s face.

“Why?” Aziraphale lifted a hand, and with a firmness belied by his soft fingers, caught Crowley’s chin. With gentle but inexorable pressure, he turned Crowley’s head until their eyes met.

“Because I’m bad,” he admitted hoarsely.

“Now… we both know that’s not true.” Aziraphale released his grip to slide his hands firmly down Crowley’s arms, and without thinking about it too much, took both of Crowley’s hands in his. “But I will give you want you want, because I am the giving sort.” And because I love you, he thought. It was yet unsaid between them. One didn’t simply go around saying these things to their hereditary enemy. Besides, Aziraphale thought, as he drew Crowley over to the leather ottoman at the foot of the couch… surely he already knew.

“Kneel, please.”

Crowley knelt, quiet and obedient for the moment. Aziraphale knew it wouldn’t last.

Aziraphale settled on the couch as Crowley draped himself over the lavish footstool, acquired sometime around 1855 for this exact purpose. A plush rug, previously elsewhere in the shop, had understood where it was needed without being asked and appeared beneath their feet, giving Crowley’s knees some protection against the wooden floor.

As Crowley settled, he turned his head to face the other way, but Aziraphale had other ideas. With a tug at the hair on the nape of Crowley’s neck, he guided the demon to turn and face Aziraphale. Without breaking eye contact, he pulled the legs of Crowley’s briefs up a little, bunching fabric into the demon’s crotch and revealing the sweet spots of curved buttocks.

Crowley shifted, wiggling a little at the sudden pressure of fabric against his cunt. “You really are a bastard, you know,” he said, half-mumbled into the leather of the ottoman.

“What was that?” Aziraphale asked innocently. “Didn’t hear you, my dear.”

“I said, you’re a basta-AHrd!” He yelped into the latter half of the word as Aziraphale planted a firm smack on Crowley’s behind.

“Well, yes.” Aziraphale admitted, a little breathlessly. “I suppose I am.”

One hand resting firmly in the dip of Crowley’s lower back, Aziraphale set about spanking him with the other, relaxed and rhythmic. Crowley turned his head to press his damp forehead directly into the firm leather, breathing deeply. He relished each impact, stinging at first then settling into something deeper. A beautiful, slow-growing ache.

Aziraphale savoured it. Each muttered pant, each slight whine, he responded. They barely needed words after all this time, but they still used them, because what was the point of having these amusing human forms if not to wring every possible pleasure out of them?

“You look so perfect, my dear,” he murmured, massaging warm buttocks in his hands. Crowley whined and pressed his head against the leather, each sound saying need and want as clearly as if he were shouting it.

“Not nice,” was all he managed to choke out, arching his back up, begging for the blows to continue. He felt sweaty, and annoyed, and deeply in love.

Aziraphale smiled fondly, and resumed.

Angels and demons don’t get tired. They don’t get interrupted by hunger or full bladders or cramped knees, so when they are properly engaged, they can sink into that activity. Time becomes secondary.

Their bodies might not get tired, or interrupted with mere mortal concerns, but they can bruise, especially when their human bodies feel so present and raw. They can feel red welts begin to raise on sensitive skin, or they can see and marvel at the slow rise of blood, deep mottled purple under fair skin.

Aziraphale was murmuring steady praise now, my beautiful demon, my dear, you horrible, wonderful creature. He felt warm from exertion, so lost in the flow that he barely noticed his own arousal, his erection pressed into his trousers. He paused to run gentle hands up Crowley’s spine (which was still blessedly cool to the touch), and was overcome with his own desire.

“My dear,” He spoke more clearly, breaking the spell.

Crowley acknowledged with a wordless mewl, sounding dazed and a little pissed off.

“Would you mind if we took these off?” Aziraphale tapped a finger on the waistband of the black briefs. Crowley gave another muffled grunt and turned to stare up at Aziraphale. His eyes were glassy, the dusky yellow leaking outwards, pupils huge and dark.

Sudden worry seized Aziraphale. Perhaps he’d gone too far. “What is the safe word?”

No reply but for a long, slow groan, and more alarmingly, Crowley’s eyes fluttered shut as though to hide from Aziraphale’s concerned gaze.

“Crowley.” Aziraphale spoke sternly.

As if dragged up from a great depth, he opened his eyes and finally replied. “Eden. C’mon angel, I can handle it.”

“Be that as it may, I asked you a question.”

Crowley lifted his head slightly and stared, surprised. He looked flushed, not dissimilar to how he would look after an evening of wine and whiskey. “Eh?”

“Your pants.” Aziraphale repeated, shifting. His worry assuaged, the distraction of taking care of Crowley briefly paused, he shifted part of his awareness back to how hard he was. “May I take them off?”

Crowley gave a lopsided grin, showing all his teeth. If they looked a little more pointed than they might in public, it was not a worry. If his eyes were blown fully wide, now golden right into the corners, it meant only that he felt safe. “I thought you’d never ask.”

“Is that a yes?” Aziraphale knew the answer, knew the dance well enough by now, but he still had moments like this, where he felt uncertain that it was right to take what Crowley so wantonly gave.

“Yes angel, please, you can do whatever you want with me right now.”

Aziraphale felt his breath catch in his throat. It was right, and it was hot, and it was sacred. His friend and lover knelt at his feet and offered himself up, this time the same as ever and somehow different.

Aziraphale found his way to the floor, kneeling to one side, running hands delicately down Crowley’s flanks, curling his fingers beneath the waistband and tugging them down over narrow hips. Aziraphale’s hands felt sensitive and tender; even the soft fabric sang against his skin. He deliberately dragged the bunched briefs across the raw flesh of Crowley’s behind, his mouth twitching with the edge of a wicked smile as Crowley gave a soft yelp.

It was awkward to pull the underwear down thighs, helping his demon lift one knee then the other to remove them completely. Ungraceful, but Crowley’s body was so painfully real now, brought so fully into this world by desire and impact. In this moment, to miracle clothes away would have felt sinful.

Crowley settled his naked form heavily back onto the ottoman, sighing. In the soft light of the bookshop, Aziraphale admired the lines and angles of the demon, the hollow dip of his spine leading tantalisingly down to tenderised buttocks, to the wet slit between. The sun would yet rise on one of the last days on this blessed earth, and they would have to deal with what that meant in the light of that penultimate sunrise, but for now, there was this. There was them.

Aziraphale started on his own buttons; Crowley in this state would wait for a time, the impatience literally spanked out of him. So Aziraphale savoured the undressing like he savoured everything, wanting this moment to last forever. It felt like it would, and that time would continue the way it always had. If not for the unpleasant knowledge, looming in the distance, that the clock was ticking for all of them.

Aziraphale swallowed, brushing away the tickle in the back of his mind that this may well be the last time. They would find a way through this. They would.

He let his movements be slow and considered, pausing between each item of clothing to run warm hands over Crowley reverently, across shoulders, down his neck, fanning out over angled shoulder blades to the places where Aziraphale could feel the wings sprouting into the plane just next to them, unreal but ever-present.

Once he was naked, he carefully moved Crowley’s ankles apart, kneeling between them but keeping a polite distance. Massaging the tender, bruise-flecked skin of Crowley’s backside with one hand, he touched himself properly for the first time that evening, relishing the feeling of the hot skin of his cock on a tenderised palm. “My dear, you are beautiful.” Aziraphale sighed, taking a hold of himself and stroking.

Crowley’s response was to exhale through his teeth argumentatively. The rippling arc of his back muscles and slight press back of his hips, cunt needily pressing toward Aziraphale, spoke his true feelings.

Aziraphale smiled with that same fondness. He let his massaging hand stray, thumb slipping between wet lips. “Was this what you wanted, dearest?”

Crowley’s response could only be described as a hiss

Flipping his hand to let four fingers dip between Crowley’s legs, cupping his whole sex, Aziraphale let the full length of his thumb slip inside.

Crowley keened, jamming his hips back hard. If there was a flash of dark wings, spread wide to fill the room, or a ripple of scales down his back, no human eyes could have perceived it.

Aziraphale felt winded for a moment, to feel the wet heat on his hand, to feel the way Crowley consumed the single digit and pressed back for more, looking so perfect, divinely his. Normally never an issue, he felt lost for words and uttered a simple, breathless, “Oh.”

But as much as he enjoyed giving Crowley what he wanted, somehow a little denial first made it all the sweeter. Aziraphale squeezed his hand gently, momentarily, pressing down into the sweet spot and rubbing teasing fingers across Crowley’s clit, before drawing the hand back.

“Oh no you bloody don’t-” Crowley lifted one hand from its resting place on the floor and planted it on the ottoman, lifting and twisting his body as if to reach back, movements desperate and unrefined.

Before he could achieve anything with this quick movement, Aziraphale responded. He surged forward and flattened Crowley back down against the leather, strong enough to knock the wind out of the demon. The same amount of measured force Crowley had used to slam Aziraphale into the wall that very afternoon.

There was a puff and a wheezing sound as the air in the cushioned footstool was pressed out. There was also a slight puff and wheezing sound from Crowley, but he was undoubtedly playing it up for dramatic effect.

Aziraphale knew exactly what Crowley could take. Knew exactly what Crowley would like. And he liked this very much, to be flattened down by Aziraphale’s solid weight, squashed from thighs to neck against the sticky leather. This was the closest they’d been physically in years, and Aziraphale felt all the tension and attitude melt away from the body beneath him.

“Now then,” Aziraphale panted into an ear. “I can’t have you writhing around like that, Crowley. Wouldn’t be proper.”

There was a breath, and two anchor points came into existence. Without taking his weight off Crowley, Aziraphale slid sure hands down Crowley’s arms and guided each wrist to the loops, cream silk ties appearing then binding wrists to the side of the footstool. Crowley was safely secured in this position, kneeling with his arms wrapped and bound to each side of the ottoman. Aziraphale straightened up.

“You absolute cocktease. Give me that right now or I’ll call the whole thing off.” The epithet, despite not being applicable right this very second, still made sense. Crowley did have a cock sometimes, after all. Aziraphale made him beg for it even then.

“Safe word?”

“EDEN!” he yelled, hammering hands on the side of the footstool with as much momentum as the slack would allow him

“Are you using it?”

“No! You- arrghbfr.”

“So, what you’re saying,” Aziraphale leant forward and laid the line of his chest against Crowley’s back again, cock pressed between his stomach and the crack of Crowley’s buttocks, “is that you like me teasing you.”

“For sata- for FUCK sake I- you,” Crowley started about three different sentences before giving up, though he still wiggled between the angel’s weight and the ottoman.

“Say it,” Aziraphale said. He felt dizzy with it, the joy of feeling Crowley’s skin pressed so close to him, their bodies salt-sticky and warm.

“You’re a TEASE.”

“No, say that you like it!” Aziraphale was lost in it now, “Say you like me teasing you.” He wound a hand into Crowley’s hair, pressing him with just enough firmness down into the cushioned leather.

Crowley resisted upwards into the grip. If he wanted to be free, he could be back in his own apartment in the blink of an eye. Or maybe… he couldn’t. They had never tested their powers against each other in this realm. They had never needed nor wanted to. There was a thought, momentary but bright, that maybe Crowley actually couldn’t escape. And that if he tried, he would find himself blocked not just by the heavy body across his back but by the full might of Aziraphale’s heavenly power. Such a concept sent a wave of arousal coursing through him. He was hot, achingly wet, and he couldn’t even rub his thighs together, so firm was he being held, neck down to his knees against the ottoman.

One moment passed in which Crowley pushed his body back up against Aziraphale, but with no way to gain purchase or momentum, he collapsed down in submission.

“Angel… I love you teasing me.”

“Good boy,” he murmured in Crowley’s ear, before moving his hips back just enough for the head of his cock, wet with precum, to skim deliciously first against Crowley’s asshole then finding its way to the entrance of his slick cunt, sliding in to the hilt in one fluid motion.

Aziraphale sighed, and without moving, pressed a kiss to the back of Crowley’s neck.

Crowley froze at the tender gesture. His breath, which had felt so present up until that moment, disappeared completely. The love he felt, unspoken and bright, seemed to replace the air in his lungs. If he didn’t say something right now the next words out of his mouth were going to be I love you. And that simply wouldn’t do.

“Angel, if you don’t start fucking, I’m going to discorporate,” he said instead. “I’m serious.”

The only response was a low chuckle. Without taking his weight from Crowley’s back, Aziraphale ground his hips down, eliciting a wet choke from Crowley. “Like that?”

“Sure, if that’s the best you’ve g-“ Crowley stopped at the sensation of another sensual grind, Aziraphale making sure that as much of his fleshy hips were pressed into where Crowley’s skin was most tender. The witty riposte died in his mouth, and he moaned instead, breath returned but that same dazzling feeling in his chest. If not now, when?

The issue of the end of the world and when would be the right time dissipated as Aziraphale straightened back up, to curl assured hands into Crowley’s hips, and start moving.

The pace he set was steady, eyes shut and lips parted. It was Crowley who forced the pace, rutting back. The enthusiasm with which he rocked back, wordlessly begging for more, harder, would have been strong enough to drag the footstool along the floor. But Aziraphale wanted it to remain immovable… so it stayed put like a good footstool would.

Crowley was desperate, little grunts of exertion escaping his lips as he pulled back on his bonds, trying to drive Aziraphale deeper. It was rough and urgent but he felt undeniably gleeful. If Aziraphale just gave him what he wanted, if he didn’t have to wrestle for it, it wouldn’t be nearly as fun.

Aziraphale was in control. Until he wasn’t.

Without being conscious of the moment he lost the tease, he started to meet Crowley’s needs. He plunged forward as Crowley pushed back, meeting in the middle with a growing urgency. To give Crowley what he wanted was the agreement, after all. When Crowley’s frantic motions slowed just enough to declare his satisfaction with the pace, Aziraphale leant forward to grip Crowley’s shoulder. His hand wrapped all the way round, fingertips brushing a clavicle, pulling Crowley back into each thrust, to give him more.

This was what it was, for an unknowable amount of time. When the moment was right, as was his decision to make, Aziraphale slowed, then paused, untying and guiding a sweaty, mussed demon to the couch. Aziraphale knelt between Crowley’s legs. They looked at each other for what felt like the first time in a long time. Sweat and exertion had ruined Crowley’s careful quiff. Aziraphale brushed a strand off his forehead.

“My dear,” Aziraphale’s voice was rough and low. “you look divine.”

Crowley gave a manic half-laugh, half-sob. Without Aziraphale’s cock to distract him, the fear that this was ending, that everything was ending, was about to overwhelm him. He took a shuddering breath to steady himself and came back to the moment. “More?”

Aziraphale huffed out a disbelieving laugh, and without speaking leaned forward and kissed him.

This was divine, thought Crowley, as he turned his face up into the kiss, not allowing Aziraphale to take his mouth away once it was given. Aziraphale navigated by feel and experience to slip his cock into Crowley again.

The energy had shifted. Crowley had taken his punishment, and now it was simply time for mutual reward. Aziraphale could have continued to tease and deny, but he didn’t even break the kiss as Crowley snaked a hand between their bodies to touch himself.

Aziraphale fucked Crowley steadily, body an anchor for Crowley to writhe and squirm against. The angel kept his body forward, letting his weight rest, firm but gentle, on Crowley’s chest.

Aziraphale buried his head in Crowley’s neck, and automatically long legs and arms came up to wrap around and pull Azirphale close, both panting with each stroke.

This is what Crowley had wanted all day, had been begging for it. The need had been spoken by twitchy energy and a violent shove and Aziraphale had heard it, had read Crowley like he always did and given it to him. Gave him everything he wanted, except for the words I love you.

For some reason, the sex and the games they played felt safe in a way the words didn’t. Both still held a fear in their otherworldly hearts. The fear that perhaps those words, like a prayer, would be heard above and below, and that the power in them would shatter the wards they had built to keep this space safe. Fucking and love weren’t the same thing after all; it has been clear for hundreds of years now, that this particular activity was no more visible or condemnable than all the eating, drinking, and doing each other’s damned or blessed chores had been.

Aziraphale paused and took a deep breath. They could truly stay in this rhythm forever, but all things had to have an end, didn’t they? Wasn’t that divine will?

Cupping one hand behind Crowley’s neck and winding the other around his waist, Aziraphale lifted and drew Crowley’s body forward on the couch, moving him so his hips practically hung off the edge. All this Aziraphale without separating their connection. This position curled Crowley’s head into the back of the couch, but he was a bendy creature, and quite pliable in his current state.

“Crowley, my dear?”

“Mmrf?”

“Would you like to come for me?” Technically, it should have been impossible for a demon to look so wrecked, but Crowley was unique in that. His only response to the question was to bring his hand back to his clit and let his eyes flutter shut. He ran fingers up and down his wet slit, dipping down to explore around the shaft of Aziraphale’s cock where it entered him, thick and full, stilled for the moment.

This time, Crowley’s wordless response was enough of an answer for Aziraphale. With Crowley more forward on the couch, Aziraphale was able to bring Crowley’s legs up. Delightfully flexible was his demon. From this position he could stroke into Crowley with the full length of his member, deeply, thoroughly. Aziraphale lost himself in giving, enraptured as he watched Crowley circle his fingers over his clit, eyes half closed, incoherent with it all. Together they brought him to an orgasm.

The sound he made was choked back, as it always was, some part of him still scared that somehow, someone would overhear them. Some part of him needed to hold that shining love safe, and protect it. At least in that moment, he was blissfully free of the fear that the world that they so dearly loved, the world that gave them these moments of hedonism and pleasure, was about to end.

Aziraphale ground his hips in Crowley, as deep as he could go. Aziraphale was breathless, delighted as ever to be the one to reduce Crowley, debonair, quiffed and elegant Crowley, to such a state. Aziraphale shuddered as Crowley came around his cock, but the angel was not yet spent. Crowley was floppy, fuck-drunk, pliable and warm on the other side of his orgasm. Aziraphale slid his hands up long thighs to hold the backs of Crowley’s knees, knowing exactly how much weight he could lean there as he finally allowed himself to get lost in the sensations of Crowley’s warmth around him. In his own blissful moment after he came, Aziraphale couldn’t escape the thought that truly, this felt sacred. Perhaps the thought was profane, but he had learned long ago that even the Almighty could not see inside his mind. Or if she did, she did not disapprove.

As they untangled themselves, unfolding Crowley’s long body, the sweat and ejaculate simply disappeared, without thought or action from either of them. The pleasure they shared was indescribable, and it was the marvel of the sweaty, sticky human bodies that made it all possible. But why worry about a clean-up if you didn’t have to? A cosy blanket knew it was needed nearby, and the two of them settled on the couch and pulled the tartan fabric over them, Aziraphale tucking his back against the seatback, and drawing Crowley close to his chest.

Crowley had regained just enough of his faculties to start to feel something akin to nausea as he settled his back to Aziraphale’s chest, firm arms drawing him close. If not now, then when? If he didn’t speak the words that gave shape to the luminescent glow inside him now, would he get another chance?

He knew what Aziraphale would say if he asked something like that. Hold fast, my dear, we’ll sort it out, there won’t be a war, you worry too much, I have faith in the Almighty, pip pip

Crowley felt ill with fear even as he felt all the tension melt out of his body, warm in Aziraphale’s arms. Their bodies somehow fit so perfectly together. Almost as though they had made these forms for each other. He was afraid that perhaps, despite everything, he hadn’t gone fast enough, and that they were both about to run out of time. Overwhelmed from the spanking, the sex, and the safety of the space the two of them created inside of the shop, he closed his eyes, feeling tears squeeze out.

Navigating by touch, Crowley lifted Aziraphale’s wrist to his mouth. He wished that he could draw a little of that faith into himself through the pulse there, so he kissed the inside of the wrist. Feeling the gentle throb of Aziraphale’s blood on his lips, he sent out a prayer he feared fell on uncaring, callous ears.

Please Lord… just give us a little more time.

Notes:

*arrives two years late with starbucks* "Why are so many people determined to see Crowley as the top in this dynamic?" I ask my partner. They reply "It's because some people confuse brat energy with top energy. I can see where the mix up comes from."

Hope you enjoyed this piece, the first I've written in about five years. I may write a follow up where they actually DO get their love confessions out, but I couldn't resist the angst of it all.

#good omens #ineffable husbands #ineffable partners #crowley #anthony crowley #aziraphale #good omens fanfiction #good omens fan fic #trans crowley #reblogs>likes #hank talks #hank writes #aziraphale good omens #crowley IS gender #good omens smut

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lady-divine-writes · 3 years

Text

Good Omens one-shot “At the End” (Rated PG)

Summary: When the angels and demons finally succeed in having their war, there's only one thing that Aziraphale and Crowley can do with the time Earth has left...

Say goodbye to their home. (1408 words)

Notes: I wrote this hoping I would be accepted into a zine that ended up being canceled. The theme was basically what happens after Armageddon.

Read on AO3.

"Wot do you think you'll miss most about Earth?"

"Really, my dear?" Aziraphale clicks his tongue in disgust, but he can't bring himself to look away from the chaos ensuing below them to berate his companion properly. "What a question to ask at a time like this!"

"I think this is the perfect time to ask that question," Crowley says, but without his teasing edge. He offers it sympathetically. They both have a similar connection to this planet, had an investment in it thriving, but Crowley feels Aziraphale's heart breaking more than his. "When you lose something, you mourn it."

"It's not entirely lost! N-not yet." Aziraphale chokes around the words. Even though they leave his mouth passionately, he knows he has sinned by saying them.

Not lost yet may be the biggest lie he's ever told.

The first few hours had been soul-crushing.

The moment Holy rays broke through the clouds and shone down from above, ethereal voices announcing the arrival of God's angelic army, a flock of the faithful came out in droves to greet them. They prayed, sang joyously, raised their voices to the Heavens, invoked every one of God's Holy monickers. It should have been a huge stroke to Her ego... if She had been paying attention.

From Aziraphale and Crowley's perch atop St. Paul's Cathedral, that doesn't appear to be the case.

Those God-fearing mortals were the first to get trodden underfoot as angels barreled over them to confront their enemy - an extremely vulgar and unnecessary display when one considers that angelic footsoldiers can fly.

Hordes of evil-doers emerged from hiding as well, in lesser, but equally exuberant, numbers. They seemed suspiciously more eager for the fight, proving that those who call themselves 'Christian' might outnumber worshippers of Lucifer, but demons had their zealots better prepared for what the end of times would actually entail.

Either way, it didn't matter.

Those humans willing to spill blood at the drop of a hat, even their own, were used as cannon fodder against a foe they couldn't possibly hope to defeat. Within seconds, thousands lay dead on the streets of London and, Aziraphale suspected, all over the world.

For their part, Aziraphale and Crowley refused to join the battle, but no one paid them a lick of attention. An angel cavorting with a demon was no longer an issue. They could finally do as they pleased without fear of retribution, albeit on a planet whose hours were numbered.

"I would have to say I'm going to miss my car," Crowley continues, provoking conversation in an effort to allay his angel's anxiety. "And my flat. And alcohol. Hell's bells am I going to miss alcohol."

"Pity we don't have some now. I think a hull full would find itself useful," Aziraphale adds in a weak attempt at humor.

"Wot about you? Will you miss the food? Your bookshop?"

Aziraphale sighs. "Humanity."

Crowley raises a brow. "Humanity?"

"Yes. Without humanity, the rest of it wouldn't have been possible." Aziraphale scans the carnage below, trying not to focus for too long on any one thing... or any one person. He's already seen too many faces he recognizes, twisted from agony. "Without humanity, it wouldn't have meant anything."

"I suppose."

A tortured voice rings out, but it's snuffed out quickly. Aziraphale doesn't know which side does it, but he shakes his head in shame all the same. “I thought She’d show them mercy. I thought that, in the end, She’d come through. Spare them. That She wouldn't allow them to suffer as bystanders in all of this.”

“I hate to be the one to say I told you so, but… ”

“Then don’t, my dear.” Aziraphale reaches out and takes Crowley's hand, pleading wordlessly for him to stop, but also needing him for comfort. “Where is She? Where has She gone? Why has She abandoned them?”

"You've been asking that question for generations. I would think, by now, you'd know the answer."

"But I don't. Perhaps I should... " Aziraphale swallows heavily, his attention pulled to the skies by a streak of gold, then one of violet, passing overhead. "They know," he spits bitterly. Crowley follows his angel's gaze to the trails above them, one which he assumes must be Gabriel's. "She's obviously told them."

"Perhaps not," Crowley says, not in an attempt to defend Her, but to soothe his angel. "Just like last time, they're doing wot they think is right. Following wot they believe."

"And what do they believe? I don't know! They've never told me!"

"You'd think you'd all be on the same page. I mean, there's a book about it and all."

Aziraphale scoffs at that. "I think you and I both know that the archangels, Gabriel in particular, have never held any stock in books. Books are primitive, human things. They have nothing to do with angels. Not even the Bible... " A host more gold streaks zip by, and Aziraphale's words trail off into nothingness. Of all the books in Aziraphale's collection, his Bibles have always been his favorites. And not just the misprinted ones. The words inside gave him comfort, especially during those long stretches when he didn't hear from God at all. Though written by man, they were imparted by Her (if he overlooked the dodgy editing).

But they're gone. Not a single one remains, not even in the church where they stand, its insides crackling, burning beneath their feet.

Earth had become Aziraphale's Eden. Now, so many things he held dear are disappearing before his eyes.

Crowley squeezes the hand holding his. "Come, my love. It’s time to leave the garden.”

Aziraphale's eyes snap his way. They linger on his face for a moment, then drop to their clasped hands. “6000 years on this planet and you choose today of all days to call me your love?”

“I'm sorry." Crowley inches closer, lifts Aziraphale's hand to his mouth and kisses it. "I really am. I should have said it sooner. But I’m going to take you to a place where I’ll say it every day. I promise.” He wraps an arm around his angel's shoulders, gently urging Aziraphale to leave before the battle brewing, showing no sign of slowing down until it has consumed every last brick, every last breath of air, swallows them, too.

But Aziraphale hesitates. "C-can't we take them with us?" He gestures down to a tattered group of frightened survivors - a shivering young woman, no older than twenty-five if she's a day, and three children, all under the age of ten - huddled in a narrow crevice created by a metal door off its hinges, sheltering them among the rubble of the church's ruined stairs.

They've found themselves a decent hideaway, Aziraphale thinks. But he knows they're simply delaying the inevitable. They'll be found out before too long, become collateral damage.

Like everyone else.

"We can't just leave them to die, Crowley."

"We have no other choice." Crowley's need to escape intensifies as he watches the poor humans, tastes their fear rise with the heat of the flames. "Besides, perhaps they'll pull through. You never know. Humans have always been resourceful. They might find a way."

"Do you honestly think so?"

"Yes," Crowley lies. He would give his angel anything in the universe, anything within his power. He's trying to give him faith.

Because he can't give him this.

They can't save anyone but themselves.

Crowley turns Aziraphale away, blocks his view by unfurling his dark wings, ready to lift his angel into the air on his own if Aziraphale refuses. "I'm sorry, my love. We must leave them behind."

Aziraphale relents, unfurling his own white wings and heading for the upper atmosphere, watery eyes focused on the where in front of him and not the destruction behind him, with Crowley's shard of hope keeping his heart pinned in place.

Crowley should do the same. Ignorance is bliss, after all. But like Lot's wife, Crowley peeks behind him one last time to say goodbye to this place that has been his home for most of his existence.

It was a wonderful existence, but mostly because he had Aziraphale there to muddle through with him.

At least Crowley will still have him when all is said and done.

The last thing Crowley sees before they breach the clouds is St. Paul's Cathedral crumble in on itself, leaving behind a mound of ash.

And nothing more.

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