#and also how much crowley loves to indulge him.... h

[butch-hanscom]

SO glad they canonised must-commit-acts-of-service-or-he'll-die!crowley... like yes Aziraphale, rescuing you DOES make him happy. i'll never feel hunger again

#the englightened among us didn't need a confirmation so blatant... #also the fact they showed is the start of our lovely angel's self-indulgece? im seeing thinhs #and also how much crowley loves to indulge him.... h #good omens #good omens spoilers

[vidavalor]

Hi! I loooove your blog. What's an underrated GO moment that you like?

Hi! Thank you. :) Nice to meet you. I have green tea and raspberry scones for snacks today as I just got back from the bakery. *sets up plates*

You know what little scene I love? I love the bit where Shax comes to the bookshop when Aziraphale is in Edinburgh and, in the middle of threatening Crowley, asks him how to fix the hot water boiler in the apartment. It's a little moment and funny in your first pass watching it but it plays even better on rewatch and once you think about it a little beyond just the initial laugh.

In the attack on the bookshop, we see that Shax is one of those demons that is like the angels in that she thinks of food as human and beneath her. She makes fun of Aziraphale for his human hungers-- for food, for Crowley (who isn't in the bookshop when she's saying this stuff.) So, she's not exactly teaching herself to become a gourmet chef in that apartment now that she's on Earth. She doesn't cook and she doesn't do dishes, really, but... she needs the hot water working badly enough that she's willing to swallow her pride and ask Crowley for help in fixing it, which means her human indulgences are hot showers and honestly? If I'd spent millennia in Hell and got to escape to Crowley's place in Mayfair, you couldn't drag me for a hundred years from whatever tropical rainforest paradise shower Crowley had in that place lol so I can't really blame her. Not to mention that there's not exactly a lot of privacy in Hell, if ya feel me? A lady demon who has finally escaped topside of the fiery pits of Hell might be reluctant to admit it but she might have found one or two things about having a human corporation are not completely horrible... maybe so not completely horrible enough that she's desperate enough to go to the being who has not taught her what Google is for his own amusement for assistance with getting that hot water boiler operational again as soon as is demonically possible lol. (Crowley's canonically excellent taste in showerheads is absolutely the most top of mind meta you're going to find today, I know lol.)

Anyway, this means that Shax interrupted Crowley's afternoon of Operation Lovebirds: Shop Lesbian Vavoom to ask him to make it rain for her in the apartment.

He really hasn't done this much weather in ages.

It's also funny to me that the hot water boiler has rebelled against Shax by giving her two yellow lights (Crowley's eyes) and the solution for it, according to black-clad, silver necklace Crowley, is to turn a black tab on a silver loop. Whether Crowley's apartment is just in revolt against Shax or whether we're poking fun at the fact that Shax appears to have a little thing for Crowley or both, it's amusing.

Not to mention that Crowley's little lesson in locating the "hot water boiler tab" involves finger movements the likes of which have never been used to fix a hot water boiler in all our days lol. Crowley's a free-thinking Cupid. You gotta vavoom with your own damn self sometimes-- he gets it, girl. He's all the flavors of Baskin Robbins, Shax, and he's been on Earth for ages. He knows what he's doing. Take notes lol. If you find the black tab on the silver loop, it'll turn the hot water back on and then if you follow his non-verbal instructions here...

Besides the humor, though, this little moment is also happening in the segment of the story in which Crowley and Gabriel have been puzzling out the origins of gravity together. The heaviness of watching Crowley unable to remember building the universe is balanced a bit here, when they remind us through this scene in which he appears to be explaining something he built to fix his problematic hot water boiler that his curiosity and his need to take things apart to see how they work are not things that can be taken from him and that he rebuilds by literally rebuilding things.

(Aziraphale, we all know you've been breaking things around the bookshop for the last two hundred years and then calling Crowley and telling him that you couldn't possibly use another frivolous miracle to fix it or Gabriel will send you another strongly-worded note and would he please come over... and yes, it is a pipe under the sink again, how did he know? lol)

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

[paperclipninja]

1941 thoughts

Just finished re-watching ep 4, after getting side-tracked by the opening sequence last night that led me to this post about the significance of the music Bentley plays for Aziraphale, and I tell you, nothing can convince me that we're not going to get a third part to the 1941 story in season 3. NOTHING.

The 1941 sequence in season 1 gave us the beautiful moment with the books being saved, Crowley walking on actual fire (pretty much) for Aziraphale and was part of a series of flashbacks showing that Crowley shows up for Aziraphale time and time again. Lovely, heart feeling many things here (as is a certain angel it seems).

The 1941 minisode in season 2 is an immediate continuation of the scene from season 1, with grateful Aziraphale insisting there must be something he can do to repay Crowley *fans self*, we discover that hell caught on to Aziraphale and Crowley's alliance at this time and Aziraphale steps in to help Crowley out of a pickle with angry Mrs. H. But that's not all.

We hear Aziraphale call Crowley his friend, twice. First, when trying to placate Mrs. H by offering to fill in for the magic show 'on behalf of my...good friend here' and then back at the bookshop, after Crowley thanks Aziraphale for getting him off the hook, 'no need to thank me, that's what...friends are for'. This is a significant insight imo, Aziraphale almost catches himself on both occasions but rather than stopping himself, he allows the follow through without correction.

We also get the unwavering indulgence and support of Crowley for Aziraphale's magic show; from the practice and Crowley pre-game inspo speech in the bookshop, suggesting a bigger act, 'isn't there somewhere we can buy tricks?', to the amazing bullet catch. I know the bullet catch scene has been discussed a lot and I'm not going add any new insight there, so as has been confirmed and observed, this is the ultimate display of trust between the angel and demon (I mean, as we find out, if Aziraphale tells Crowley to 'trust me', he does!), showing us yet another aspect of their deepening relationship.

Cue the dressing room with the coupliest couple who ever didn't couple, a radiant Aziraphale interrupted by Furfur, whose attempt at a gotcha moment is thwarted by banana-fish-gorilla-shoelace-with-a-dash-of-nutmeg (Aziraphale getting Crowley out of a pickle yet again) and we find ourselves watching the two drinking wine over candlelight and toasting to shades of grey. Ok ok ok.

Both the bullet catch and the photo swap-out happened while the miracle blocker was on. Which means that both Crowley and Aziraphale were put in positions to protect the other using only themselves, their own skill and thinking. The throw back to season 1 paintball and knowing Crowley is not a fan of guns, and repeatedly seeing that Aziraphale isn't great at magic, simply emphasises how big a deal both those instances of stepping up for each other actually are. But they also show something else I think.

They demonstrate that Aziraphale and Crowley's ability to perform 'miracles' is attributed to more than them being an angel and demon with special powers. There is a role that will plays for each when required, perhaps the influence of their time with humanity, but also the power of connection. I was going to say love, and perhaps it is love too, but the connection Aziraphale and Crowley have to one another means that they want to ensure the other is safe, will take a risk and bet on themselves in a time of need because they trust each other and don't want to let the other down. Also something to consider when thinking about why their 'tiny half miracle' to hide Gabriel was so powerful (that's a whole different post though). So what's my point here?

The minisode ends with our two faves very relaxed and enjoying one another's company, but also knowing that the trust there is absolute and reciprocated when it matters. There was a bit of a revelation for Aziraphale at the end of the season 1 sequence, they're now very in sync and on the same page it seems at the end of the season 2 scene, but it still feels like there's another piece. There are so many references to 1941 and when you view the season 1 and season 2 1941 parts right after one another, they read as a self contained developing story.

But you know what stories have? A beginning, middle and end. Right now, it feels like we've only seen two of those. And I will remain on this hill until proven otherwise, because as the lyrics of 'Moonlight Serenade' (the tune playing in the Bentley at the opening of ep 4) say:

Let us stray till break of day in love's valley of dreams. Just you and I, a summer sky, a heavenly breeze kissin' the trees.

And there's still a whole night before daybreak, just saying.

#good omens #good omens meta #crowley #aziraphale #aziracrow #when I say I'm obsessed with the 1941 stuff I cannot emphasise just HOW obsessed #good omens spoilers #it's a whole story within a story with its own arc and I am dying because it's so good

[bustyasianbeautiespod]

you’ve ruined my day I can’t stop thinking abt aziraphale going to a discrete gentlemen’s to protect the gays and they’re a community that allows him to be himself. o h ough the solidarity im sobbing im gonna lose it he’s so repressed and lonely and all he wants is to protect people Im kissing him forever and ever baby please cut off your abusive family 😭

i have ruined MANY days thinking about this it's sooooooo fucking much like ig he can't be fully himself around them due to the secret angel identity but they Understand being surveilled and having to hide and love dancing with him and he revels in the way he can indulge in being his humansona there and how everyone sees him as a gay old queen and the knowing looks he gets whenever he alludes to crowley and sometimes he thinks that the person they think he is is a truer rendition of Him than what anyone else thinks and he casts a warm golden net of love and protection over the club and over each of these people as they sneak their ways back home in the hours of the morning... he came there first bc he thought they needed him and they do but he also needs them back!!!!

he may still be heaven's but he IS the only angel who can dance and that's breaking away somewhat innit. he'll get there one day i believe in him

- Crystal :)

#also maybe i'm just talking out of my ass rn and like soooo drunk on love for aziraphale that i've become a heaven centrist #but i don't think it's like entirely out of the question given the way this show is written #for him to actually be able to effect change in heaven???? am i being delulu here. probably #asks #grey don't look

[earsofducks]

Day 5 - Arranged Marriage

C H A O S

Fem!Gabriel. Crowley doesn’t show up for a good long while. Beelzebub’s role in the castle/relation to the monarchy is very very hazy. Weddings and food and impermanent unhappiness, oh my!

@ineffablehusbandsweek

Prince Aziraphale has been slated to marry the Princess Gabrielle for nearly three years now. It’s a brilliant match for both kingdoms for a plethora of reasons. 

Aziraphale is not excited.

Gabrielle is the definition of a proper princess. He realizes this. She’s strong and clever and dashing.

She is also absolutely ravenous for power, and he has no interest in partaking. If he is to be king after his father’s death, he’d much prefer to rule with a gentle hand than look into conquesting and expanding, and this is exactly what Gabrielle would ask him to do. He knows it. She knows it. Their parents know it.

(He suspects that this is part of why she’s been selected. His parents have always thought him too soft.)

At first, Aziraphale was all but resigned to his fate. He’d accepted the fact that he was going to marry Gabrielle, spend a lifetime disagreeing with her and being exhausted, and then die, leaving behind a kingdom that would hopefully be exactly the same size as when he inherited it. He didn’t like that, but it was the way it was.

Now, he’s not so sure it has to be that way.

It’s been a long time since he’s started noticing the way Gabrielle looks at Beelzebub. There’s something in her eyes when she looks at them that he doesn’t see anywhere else - which is saying a lot, because since their engagement Aziraphale and Gabrielle have been spending the vast majority of their time together.

It’s never glaringly obvious. (Aziraphale suspects that Gabrielle has spent a long time figuring out how to keep the things she’s feeling off of her face.) It’s little things - the way she all but beams at Beelzebub when they’re in a meeting. The way she brings up their name in conversation when she and Aziraphale are alone and she’s not carefully monitoring her own words. The way Aziraphale stumbled upon them kissing the living daylights out of each other one time.

The little things.

He’s not sure how to bring it up, though. He certainly won’t tell anyone - it’s Gabrielle’s and Beelzebub’s secret. He won’t breathe a word. If she wants to go through with the wedding, despite her obvious affections for someone that is not him, he won’t stop her. 

Oh, but the thought of freedom is intoxicating. The idea of being able to walk away from this marriage that he never wanted. Aziraphale has resolved that if he does get out of it, he’s going to start fighting back. He’s had lots of time to think about it, and he doesn’t want to spend the rest of his life with someone his parents picked out for him. He wants to look for his own partner, and, if he can’t find one, spend the rest of his life on his own. 

But, of course, if Gabrielle chooses to take the path of least resistance, he won’t stop her. 

*

She shows every sign of doing so. The date of the wedding is set. She spends hours in consultations with his mother, talking about lace and seating plans and cake. Aziraphale tries not to feel disappointed.

His father talks to him about being a good husband and a good king. He hates every second of the conversation.

The date of the wedding draws nearer. Aziraphale finds himself rebelling more and more at the idea of letting this major decision be made for him. He decides to discuss it with Gabrielle. Surely her love for another means that she’ll understand, that she’ll wish to dissolve the union that hasn’t quite been made yet - for both their sakes. 

Yes, she’ll understand.

He knocks on her door, well-rehearsed speech on the tip of his tongue. And then her door opens, and her face has tearstains on it.

“Get in here,” she says, and he follows her into her chambers. 

“Gabrielle - ” he tries to begin, but words leave his mind when he sees Beelzebub sitting on the bed, eyes swollen and puffy. 

“We’ve been talking,” says Gabrielle, and her voice is scratchy, like she’s done a lot of crying, “and we have to do it. For our parents, the kingdoms, everybody - we have to.”

Beelzebub sniffles and leans their head against Gabrielle’s shoulder. Gabrielle presses a kiss to the top of it. 

“You understand, don’t you, Aziraphale?” asks Gabrielle. “That this is the way it has to be? Me and Bee behind closed doors, and you and I in front of them?”

Aziraphale’s heart sinks.

“Yes, of course,” he says. 

And he does. He understands. He just wishes that it weren’t this way.

*

Aziraphale’s wedding day dawns bright and early. He feels wretched.

“Oh, I remember how nervous I was on my wedding day!” blusters his father. Aziraphale wants to laugh but doesn’t and instead wistfully imagines what it’d be like if it was just nerves. 

The hours before the ceremony pass quickly. Aziraphale hates all of them. He feels like his skin doesn’t feel quite right. He feels like he’s trapped in a nightmare. He feels guilty for feeling like he feels.

It’s awful.

And then he’s getting manhandled over to his post next to the altar, and there are so many people in the room, all staring at him, that his palms get sweaty, and he thinks absently that poor Gabrielle is going to have to hold onto clammy palms while she makes vows that are going to quietly ruin both their lives.

And then she’s marching down the aisle, resplendent in her ludicrously expensive dress. She’s smiling, but Aziraphale can see how empty it is. 

How is this happening? he wonders wildly. (Funny how three years of resignation have evaporated so quickly and thoroughly.)

The priest starts talking. He’s a droner. Aziraphale looks at the flowers in Gabrielle’s hair and thinks how ill they suit her, how much better some pearls would have been. Or perhaps some gems. 

And then the priest says ‘does anyone object to this union?’ and a small voice says ‘I do’ and all hell breaks loose.

*

Hours later, after a lot of shouting and quite a few tears and an absolutely exhausting meeting with some lawyers, Bee and Gabrielle are on their honeymoon and Aziraphale is in his room, feeling thoroughly wrung out.

What a day.

There’s a tap on the door and he wants to shout at whomever it is but the knock was so timid and he finds himself saying, “Come in.”

A caterer with bright red hair sticks his head in the door.

“Hope I’m not, ah, interrupting,” he says, and the poor dear sounds incredibly nervous and Aziraphale is still drained but he has the wherewithal to soothe someone’s nerves. 

“Not in the slightest,” he says. “Come in, come in.”

“Well,” says the person, backing into the room, and pulling a trolley behind him, “I thought you might want something to nibble on.”

Aziraphale stares.

There’s a feast laid out on the trays - all his favourite dishes, and several perfect desserts, and a bottle of Château Pétrus, and he finds himself tearing up a little.

“Oh, nonono!” says the server, clearly panicked, already starting to wheel it away. “Never mind! I’m sorry! I just thought - it’s been a long day for you and, y’know, sustenance - ”

“It’s perfect,” says Aziraphale, not bothering to hide how shaky his voice is. “Thank you, my dear.”

“Oh,” says the caterer, sounding relieved. “Oh, thank goodness.”

And he wheels it back up beside Aziraphale’s bed. 

“How did you know all of my favourites?” asks Aziraphale, slightly awed. It really - everything on that tray is something he wants to eat. 

“Just, uh, asked,” says the caterer. “In the kitchens. Y’know.”

Aziraphale is starting to, judging by the bright redness of the person’s cheeks and the nearly palpable anxiousness radiating off of him. 

“May I ask your name?” he asks, sitting up and reaching for a biscuit.

“Anthony J. Crowley,” says the person automatically, “but I mostly go by Crowley.”

“Well, Crowley,” says Azirpahale, not missing the way the blush deepens when he says Crowley’s name, “this is absolutely delightful. Thank you.”

“No worries,” says Crowley, starting to back away. “Thanks. To you. For, er, appreciating it.”

“Anyone around here can tell you that I always appreciate a good meal,” says Aziraphale, “and might I persuade you to join me, Crowley? There’s more than enough for two, and some company sounds delightful.”

Your company sounds delightful, he adds in his head, but they just met and he won’t be rushing things, thank you very much.

“Oh,” says Crowley, surprised. “I don’t - uh - maybe - ”

“If you’re busy, I understand,” says Aziraphale quickly, trying not to dwell on how disappointed the thought makes him. “You’ve already indulged me more than enough for one evening.”

“Oh, well,” says Crowley, and he’s stopped moving towards the door, at least. “I don’t - I’m not on duty anymore. Got nothing else on. If you really wanted - ”

“I do!” says Aziraphale, because he really does.

“Not sure it’s exactly proper protocol, inviting the help to eat with you,” says Crowley, scanning Aziraphale’s face for signs that he really means what he’s saying. Aziraphale feels a rush of fondness.

“I’m not sure either,” says Aziraphale, “but it hasn’t exactly been a day for protocol, has it?”

“It hasn’t, has it?” says Crowley, and draws up a chair.

Aziraphale watches him pick at a salad and listens to his account of the panic in the kitchens when it seemed that no one would be attending the feast and feels excited by the possibilities and grateful for what he already has.

It’s been a long time since he’s felt this way.

It’s a good feeling.

#it was adam #adam objected #he's the son of a governor or something #and he objected #ineffable husbands au week #royalty #royalty au #aziraphale #crowley #gabriel #beelzebub #tagging is hard #i'm already ready for the semester to be over #*screaming* #oh arranged marriage #this one wasn't royalty #this one was arranged marriage #but they're royals #so #idk

[new-endings]

The Nice and Accurate Guide to Courting

Ch. 1; ao3 

Chapter summary: in which Crowley learns and yearns. 

“And in reality, it was probably here where Crowley fully and undeniably faced the ill-tuned music that he fell treacherously and helplessly in love with the Principality Aziraphale— who wanted nothing more than peace and was willing to marry off the prince to one unlucky and unhappy Archangel to achieve it.” 

Step 2: Gather Intel:  

The castle wing generously bestowed to Crowley and the rest of his Legion was lavish in its towering ceilings and ornate tapestries; pristine in its Heavenly whites and creams and the dutiful servants keeping offending grime away; and above all—it was spacious­. Wide and echoing. Fit for royalty, one might say. So, it was quite understandable how it really chafed away at Crowley’s (remaining) patience (and sanity) to find Hastur and Ligur squirreled away in his quarters.

Again.

Yes, he understood that they may be his footmen, but this was also precisely why Crowley tended to “disappear” for hours (even days at a time) in his own abode in Hell’s Kingdom.

Crowley paid little heed to Ligur’s scrutinizing gaze as he approached the attached study; to do so would show weakness before his subordinates and that was a decidedly unwise thing to do given his current position.

The position being smuggling another one of Hell’s scarce literary publications for his Guide’s reading pleasure.

But it was Hastur that broke the silence with a sly grin and a meaningful look as he eyed what was in Crowley’s hands. “Another tome, Prince Crawly?”

Well. Some greeting to your Prince. Crowley shot him a scowl. “Another remark out of you and you’ll crawling back to Hell.” Nevertheless, Hastur looked nonplussed as always so Crowley shrugged; he’ll get back at him later for that. “Besides, this is payment,” he protested. More so for the Angel’s delightful company than any real progress in his princely responsibilities, but they needn’t know that bit.

“Payment to the Guide assigned to you by the Queen herself?” Ligur added with a derisive snort. “Ah yes, what a great boon to have this queer Bird in our midst.”

“A Bird in hand is worth two in a bush,” Crowley assured. Not that he would even entertain the absurd notion of replacing Aziraphale as his Guide. “Nothing wrong with a little encouragement.”

Ligur was decidedly unconvinced. “You two spent the last week traipsing about every fine eatery in this God-be-damned Kingdom. I think he’s plenty encouraged.”

“Ah, but perhaps not in the manner the Prince would like?” Hastur said with gleaming eyes.

Crowley didn’t outwardly flinch. Of course he didn’t. “He’s—” lovely to be around. “More than entertaining—”

“But not quite like the rest of your toy soldiers, eh Your Highness?” Ligur remarked with a sneering curl of his lips.

“Certainly treats him better than his own lot!” Hastur supplied with a chortle, sneaking a conspiratory smirk at the other. “Looking to nest with this particular Bird before gettin’ shackled to the old ball and chain?”

And that’s when Crowley decided he’d had enough. “Bah. No need to be so crass.” He waved the insinuation off, wishing he could do the same to the twin annoyances holding in snickers and rude gestures at his expense.

It really wouldn’t do to have them meddling in his personal affairs.

And yes, his blooming—whatever it was he had with Aziraphale—was most definitely personal.

Crowley cleared his throat. “His company aids in getting accustomed to being flocked by other Birds.” A bit of a lie, but what’s the harm in that?

Aziraphale was hardly like the others. He was an oddity, certainly, but a rarity with his unabashed enthusiasm towards his indulgences, his general love for his comforts and all matter of life around, the soft glow about him, such a stark contrast from the lurid light and air of sterility the others exuded.

But that was why Crowley liked him so much. He gave a brief hum. “Though I suppose I am curious.” And a grain of truth to really throw them off— “Why, indeed, send such a queer Bird to sort me through this whole mess.” He’d meant the question to come out—detached. Perhaps just a bit pensive. But it didn’t. “Out of literally anyone else.” It came off rather hopeful, wishful.

Apprehensive. It’s not so often that my luck happens to turn out all right. Makes a Demon all sorts of anxious, Crowley thought.

Thankfully, it seemed neither of the two picked up on it. “If he can put up with the likes of your company, why not? Besides…” Ligur eyed the tome in Crowley’s hands. “He’s certainly got you on your best behavior.”

There were several responses Crowley could have chosen. He could have denied it of course, playing deeper into the Demons’ hands at his own expense. He could prove them wrong—which in all intents and purposes would have been the more entertaining option, especially if he could pin the ensuing trouble he’d been itching to cause on to them. Or he could have played the Royal Card—remind them of exactly who they were serving: rotten branch of the Royal tree or not, Crowley was their Prince—at the cost of letting them know deep down, that perhaps yes, maybe Crowley did care a bit more for his Guide than what was probably, Demonly, comfortable.

Instead, he opted for a scoff, a one-worded rebuttal, and a suave saunter as he exited the room. “Nonsense.”

He had no remark, however, for why he took the tome with him as he headed off.

He was already late in meeting Aziraphale as it was.

.

Why was it that whenever one was late, it couldn’t be for a few seconds—or even a few minutes?

Some impassable obstacle just has to miraculously (or cursedly, really) manifest to snowball a small hindrance to an entire ordeal.

And that entire ordeal came in the form of a balding Bird with an insincere smile, just outside his quarters. “Prince Crowley, if I could have a moment of your time?” Crowley frowned all the while and didn’t relent his pace. “I couldn’t help but overhear, Your Grace—”

Right. The halls echoed, after all.

Crowley did his best to pay it no mind, already picking up his pace, legs widening their stride. A scan to his side and—yep. It*** was following him. Fuck. After a tick or two of silence, Crowley sighed. “Our people have long lost Her Grace—no need to address me as such.”

“Right. Of course,” it replied easily. “Sandalphon, Prince Crowley,” it greeted, though it did not offer its hand as customary for other Birds. “You have questions, I’m to understand? About the Principality Aziraphale.”

That gave Crowley pause. “Principality, you say?” His Guide? The book-hoarding, sweets-loving, sunshine-smile Aziraphale— a warrior?

Birds often didn’t give Crowley a good feeling—save Aziraphale, of course—but this one was particularly unpleasant. “Indeed, but by title alone.” Crowley didn’t like the way it seemed far too excited to share whatever it had to say: “His ranking—is…In a dubious state.”

And there it was.  

Crowley gave it an unimpressed look. “Is it now.”

Unfortunately, the Bird was simply undeterred. “Oh, yes.” It nodded, almost somber. “He was an absolutely adequate warrior. Lead his own platoons during the wars past—”

“Aziraphale?”

Crowley knew he made a fatal error from the wide grin spreading across its face. It leaned in, whispering low. “He even served as Archangel Gabriel’s subordinate.”

It all suddenly clicked into place. So that’s why he’s so familiar with the Archangels.

This was…indeed quite valuable information. But even then—Crowley couldn’t see it. Aziraphale obviously didn’t want war—seemed to be wholly devoted to the cause of keeping peace between their kingdoms—at least, when Crowley wasn’t purposefully distracting him with little gifts payments and banter. He had thought that perhaps the Angel had been too soft for war; he never considered the possibility that perhaps he was softened by it instead. Still, it wouldn’t do well to have a little chinwag with someone so eager to defame his Guide. Especially with a being that knew full well his relationship with Aziraphale.

The professional one, anyways.

And Crowley had to remember to keep playing that part. “Well, it seems they brought the right person for the job, then,” Crowley responded, almost testily. He knew what the Bird was baiting him for, but Crowley wouldn’t comment on the status of Aziraphale’s title. To do so felt like a betrayal to his Guide—and to do such an incredibly thoughtless sort of thing that would no doubt place Crowley far from Aziraphale’s good graces.

Not that Sandalphon needed encouragement in the first place. “Oh agreed, Prince Crowley. It’s certainly a mutually beneficial little arrangement. Well of course, Aziraphale has everything to gain from it anyways.” This Bird was more than content to sing like a canary. It gave a wheezy chuckle. “Probably begged the Queen herself to allow him some task to prove his worth to her again.”

Crowley made a show of rolling his eyes and heaving an exasperated breath. “Are you content to prattle on about another Angel’s business to anyone who pays you mind?”

It backed off, raising its palms in an inoffensive manner. “I’m merely giving you some insight!” It gave another slimy grin. “You asked a question, after all.”

And damnit all questions were always Crowley’s favorite weakness. He gave one, hard look at the Bird before relenting, carefully keeping the uninterested façade. “All right. I’m listening.”

“Rumor has it—” It gave a cruel smile. “—that he was dishonored and stripped of his flaming sword. And no one knows why—save for the Queen and Aziraphale himself.”

There was a beat of silence before Crowley’s resolve further buckled. “A flaming sword, you say?” he asked evenly.

And how Crowley detested that wicked sheen in its eyes. “Yes. It flamed like anything.”

Again—quite a bit to take in. There were several methods and modalities available at Crowley’s disposal to respond to this influx of information. He could very well give a curt nod and leave it as is—allow the Bird to believe he ruminated the information for a moment—just a moment—before tossing it away as just a fanciful fact. He could very well thank the Bird for the interesting intel, perhaps even bait the being into telling him more—but honestly, even the offhanded thought made Crowley’s stomach churn in a way that wasn’t even remotely pleasant, so that was obviously off the table.

So, wisely, Crowley settled for a derisive snort. “Ah. Must have been impressive, especially to give such a dangerous weapon to a pacifist,” tone disbelieving, uncaring. “But if he no longer has it, then this information really serves no purpose to me. I’d be more concerned were it the case that he possessed such a weapon and used it in an untoward way against myself or my Legion.”

“Err…I suppose…” It responded cautiously, perhaps unknowing of whether or not to be affronted by the utter disregard for what it had known to be reality-shattering knowledge.

And perhaps—in a way, this information was.

But it would take a lot more than hearsay to change how Crowley felt about Aziraphale. “And you say these are—” He gave it a scrutinizing look. “Rumors, is that right?”

Sandalphon startled. “Well, they may be rumors, but—”  

“All baseless drivel when it comes down to it.” Crowley huffed.

It must have known Aziraphale cared more for peace than winning an expensive, horrendous disagreement for power. It didn’t matter that in times past that the Angel was out there in the bastions and fortresses, armed and ready to lay down his life for this useless struggle.

To add a bit of insult to injury, for his Guide’s honor, Crowley added, “Is that everything you wanted to say?”

Who he is now is all that matters.

The Prince made a show of rolling his eyes when he was met with a beat of silence. “And to think I believed you to have something useful to tell me.”

And right now his Angel—his Guide—is waiting for him, waiting for Crowley. And damn it all, Crowley was really late!

“I—” it stammered.

Crowley turned, continuing his way as he gave the Bird a wave of dismissal. “That is all.”

.

It was quite easy to turn tail and head away from that blathering Bird and its rather rude insinuations towards Aziraphale—

But it was quite different to get away from what he’d learned. Rather, it was impossible to unlearn and unlisten to the implications. Not particularly aimed at Aziraphale, and not even the insinuation aimed at their…well.

Work relations, as it were.

Besides, it normally wouldn’t bother Crowley to hear that he was just an assignment—a woefully accepted obligation—he’s been used to that all his life. But what did bother him was that this didn’t seem like Aziraphale at all.

Granted, he’d only known his Guide for a little over a week—but Crowley prides himself in being an excellent judge of character.

Which was precisely why it seemed like this Angel was the only being he’d ever truly felt drawn to.

He didn’t know everything about the Angel, but he felt like he had one of the most important basics down: the Angel loved his comforts. He loved his fine wines and lazy afternoons, cozy reading nooks and buttery pastries. He hardly seems like the type who’d thirst for blood for his scorching, battle-ready blade. It was quite like a adding a tomato to a fruit salad: you know it’s a bloody fruit, but it doesn’t quite fit the description, nor fill the role.

The thing about these niggling thoughts, however, is that the harder one concentrates on not thinking about it, the harder it becomes to ignore. And it’s hardly Crowley’s fault—that stupid Bird brought it up—and even now, with Aziraphale regaling to him of the Archangel Gabriel’s penchant for fine clothes—the question burned at the back of his tongue. So, Crowley did the only thing a Demon could do in a conundrum such as this:

Yield to temptation.

“Say,” Crowley interjected. “Didn’t you have a flaming sword?”

Aziraphale sputtered to a pause, a fragment of Fraisier slipping off his fork. “I—I’m sorry?”

“Yeah,” Crowley ventured, carefully casually. “Heard it flamed like anything.”

Aziraphale blinked, absorbing the words but not quite extrapolating its meaning quite yet. It’s fine. Crowley can wait.

He was prepared for the awkward silence and unrelenting tension that would no doubt follow. He was prepared for the Angel to deny it, lie with a flushed face and a nervous titter, and attempt to redirect the conversation. He was prepared for the Angel to sigh, soulful and deep, and ask who told Crowley. But Crowley, in his careless preparation to the consequences of opening this particular can of worms, forgot one, vital thing:

This was Aziraphale he was talking to. “I—I, well—uhm!” Prone to flustering. “That is…” And prone to being thrown into a prickly, nervous frenzy. “It’s—it’s hardly any of your business now!”

And prone to vehemently reprimanding Crowley about what should and should not be said in a public restaurant.

Crowley took a wary glance about them; most of the patrons and staff scurried from the Prince’s glare. He really ought to have chosen a better place to spring a question like this. “Angel—”

But it looked like Aziraphale was getting ready to leave—to flee.

And that was not something Crowley was prepared for at all.

“Angel—Angel, wait!”

But in a heartbeat or two, he’d vanished— strawberries and cream left unfinished.

.

Crowley supposed Aziraphale couldn’t be that mad. He didn’t fly off into the sunset leaving Crowley as just a sulking mote of dust behind him, after all. No, instead he simply chose to ignore Crowley as the prince helplessly, and hopelessly, trailed after him like an offending lover, ready to swallow his pride after a tiff gone awry while the Angel stomped all the way back to the castle.

“Slow down, you bloody Bird,” Crowley groaned and miraculously—

He did. He stopped right in his tracks and sat down on the stone bench overlooking the pond.

Crowley sagged against the garden bench, finding that while he was content to call out after the Guide, he wasn’t quite ready to lay out everything he felt like he should say just yet.

The prince cast his gaze to the scenery instead. The pond before them mirrored the vibrant pinks and indigos painting across the sky; the bustle of the castle and its inhabitants sounded so far away from behind the towering walls, encasing the sliver of paradise with silence and solitude.

Aziraphale had led them there, Crowley realized with a start, with the intention of talking without interruption and witnesses.

Beside him Aziraphale scoffed. “Really, Prince Crowley, to approach someone with such a personal inquiry in such a public area—”

“For the last time, Angel. Just call me Crowley.” He looked over to Aziraphale, seeing the mounting trepidation on his face and stiffness on his shoulders. But he was trying to keep the conversation open and he wasn’t running—that was better than what Crowley could hope for. “And better my asking than the other Birds,” Crowley countered. “Squawking behind your back, telling tall tales and spreading rumors—”

A pause. There went that nervous habit again. “Oh. So, you’ve heard from—one of them.” Soft, plump hands, tugging and straightening the whites and creams of his robes; delicate fingers and manicured nails, not meant to brandish swords and spill blood.

Hands Crowley wanted to take in his own, hold them still and feel those fingers curl and intertwine with his instead. “Not by my choice, mind you.” But Crowley didn’t. “The balding one—bit of a slimy fellow—”

“Sandalphon.”

“Yes, that one.” Aziraphale was avoiding his gaze, resolutely staring off into the still waters before them. Crowley swallowed and thought that at the very least—the Angel deserved to hear the truth. “Started raving about your title, or well lack thereof, and—” Quietly, gently, though it was easy enough for Crowley to say. “I didn’t believe it.” Because it was true. “Not the important bits anyways.”

There was a quick, darting look towards him and Crowley uneasily shuffled closer, facing the Angel fully.

“I know you’re a Principality—that seems to be common knowledge amongst the other Birds. But I don’t think you were stripped of your honor like that.” That response garnered him a questioning look. “At least—not for the reasons anyone else could think of.”

“What…what makes you so say that?” Aziraphale asked, and Crowley hated them all for making is Guide sound so unsure.

He gave a chagrined smile. “Do I really have to say it?” He blew a noisy sigh, hoping to ease the ascending tension with petulant humor. “You’re an Angel.” No, not like them. You’re better than the others. “I don’t think it’s actually possible for you to do the wrong thing.”

Whatever reaction Crowley was hoping for with a response like that, he certainly wasn’t prepared for the heartbreaking disbelief and awe in those Angel eyes.

“Crowley…” Neither was he prepared for that something in the quiet, tender way Aziraphale gasped his name—

—that made Crowley want to dive straight into the lake to douse the turbulent flood of warmth that sank its fangs straight into his chest, squeezing the bleeding organ with its lovely thorns.

Crowley coughed, suddenly finding his throat dry and chest pounding. “Well, my theory was that you probably didn’t even want a war in the first place—and there’s really nothing wrong with that.” Shit. Shitshitshitshitshit oh FUCK THIS CAN’T BE HAPPENING— “After all this war business is utter rubbish, I tell you. About damn time we made actual efforts in forming a proper treaty. Not that I completely agree with the modality they’ve chosen to enact in the name of armistice, but—”

“I GAVE IT AWAY!”

The thorns squeezed tighter. Crowley could barely let out a wheezing, “You…what?”

Aziraphale looked absolutely wretched.

And Crowley wanted to kiss that expression right off his beautiful face.

“The sword. The one given to me by the Queen.” The Angel raised his arm to gesticulate something before giving up halfway, letting his hand fall to his lap. “Oh, what was I supposed to do? Our platoon did our best to minimize the damage, but even then, that battle absolutely decimated that village! There could have been all sorts of terrifying beasts out there, not to mention marauders and the like with their defenses gone!”

“…What?” was Crowley’s ever-intelligent reply.

Aziraphale fortunately took that as a Please, do go on, I’m ever-so-intrigued by this turn of conversation and not at all finding myself at the brink of despair at the horrific realization of my own stupid emotions.

“So I thought, ‘Well, they need it a lot more than I do right now’ and I told the village leader Take it, don’t bother to thank me!” He rubbed his hands distractedly, frantic anxiety bleeding into his voice. “And—and, the magic on it should only protect them, it shouldn’t be used to start any—”

“You…gave your sword away. The sword given to you by Her.” Crowley’s heart was hammering now, driving the pinprick points deeper, yet it did little to calm the stone-drop of cold dread at the pit of his stomach. “To protect some vulnerable people? Angel…” That’s wonderful. You’re wonderful, you foolish, lovely git. “Well, where is it now?”

“In…” The Angel floundered, gaze darting to his lap again. “In a quaint village. Hopefully nicely repaired and thriving by now.”

“Well, go get it then!” Yes, please, let’s go—run, run far, far away— “Put an end to the rumors—stick it to Sandalphon’s grubby little face—”

 --far enough that maybe then these feelings won’t reach you.

“It’s…not so easy,” Aziraphale answered apprehensively.

“Come now, Angel. I’ll even come with you—like one of our day trips!” Crowley himself was already warming to the idea. It was like a little adventure. Like seeking a lost treasure—a real one! Clearing the Angel’s name, off to conquer the Nosy Gossips of Heaven’s domains, to slay the evils of shit-talking— Prince Crowley and Principality Aziraphale—

Crowley and Aziraphale--

And maybe Crowley did want that. Maybe he did want to go off with Aziraphale, forget this Prince and Guide rubbish for just a while, escape to a small pocket in time where titles and responsibilities didn’t exist. Just them two, and a grand, old adventure laid out for them both. There were surely lots of places to see. It’s a great big world out there, just out or reach from the two borders of their respective kingdoms. The Other Side, where the maps ended but the skies continued on.

And where other lines blurred completely.

But. Baby steps. Crowley reigned himself in again, despite the frenzied beating in his chest. “I mean, you’ve been wanting to show off Heaven’s charming little towns—”

“Erm…” Aziraphale was starting to look panicked again. “That’s the thing.” He gave an anxious little smile. “It’s…not in Heaven.”

Normally, Crowley possessed a fine and rich vocabulary borne of years under strict tutelage all because his mum shacked up with the King of Hell and spawned him in the process. “What?” Today, all those lessons flew out his brain—

“It’s…a bit farther than that.” Aziraphale held his gaze to Crowley’s. “A bit further South, rather.”

—missed the pond completely and smacked straight into the white stones of the garden walls. “Angel…”

“Yes, okay?” Somehow, Aziraphale managed to look even more miserable—and dramatic, by far. “The village—my sword—It’s in Hell’s domain.” He gave an imploring and helpless look to the stone-frozen Crowley. “But shhh please, promise you’ll keep this a secret?” And just like that, he took Crowley’s hands in his own, asking, beseeching, “Just between us?”

Crowley would have confessed to all the Divines in the High Heavens that this was the moment Crowley fell—horrifically, dreadfully, disastrously, and absolutely— in love with Aziraphale. There, underneath the peaking moon and glitter of stars. In a garden, after Aziraphale shared with him his greatest burden—that this Angel had sacrificed his loyalty for love and protection for a people he did not know or understand, for a belief he didn’t know he had in himself.

“Yeah…” Crowley squea—no, no, that was not a squeak damn you. He hastily cleared his throat, covering those soft hands with his own. “Yeah, no worries there.” He met Aziraphale worried eyes evenly and vowed: “I promise. You have my word, Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale slipped his hand out of from Crowley’s and Crowley’s stupid brain had the fucking audacity to think the appropriate response to that was to instinctively whine at the loss of contact.

Aziraphale, luckily, did not take heed of this offense. “Thank you…” he breathed, shoulders sagging, as he held his hand to his chest. Crowley wondered if the Angel’s heart was beating just as obnoxiously as his. “And…thank you, for. Well...” If the Angel’s heart mirrored his own. “It’s nice to finally get that off my conscience, really.” The Angel gave a tired laugh, one that didn’t really meet his eyes, one that sank and fell flat on itself. “I always did worry if that was the best course.”

“Like I said, Angel.” His hand came forward, floundering before finding its way to the slope of Aziraphale’s shoulder. “I’m not sure if it’s actually possible for you to the wrong thing.” You’re too good for that.

Too good for me, a dark, traitorous thought echoed back.

Crowley would decree that it was here, beneath starlight and Aziraphale’s sunbeam smile that Crowley would embark on the path of rewriting his own stars for a change. He knew that he was endangering his entire Kingdom and the Kingdom of Heaven by choosing Aziraphale, despite his royal obligations— but he’s a risk-taker with a lot of imagination. He doesn’t know how to persuade two kingdoms to accepting his choice—if that could even become a possibility at all.

And if not…

Maybe running off wouldn’t be such a bad option.

Running off—together.

But—baby steps. Firstly, he must start with getting Aziraphale to accept his courtship.

Speaking of which… “Oh! This is for—you.” He reached into his pocket, wriggling the tome out from where it had been jabbing him while he ran after the flighty Bird. “I brought you a little something.”

There was that smile again. “Crowley, this is—oh my…” The one that likely damned him from the start. “It’s lovely—”

Crowley attempted a scoff, though it likely sounded like a sputter. “It’s a rather sad and dreary one, written over a millennium ago by a rather sad and dreary fellow. I thought it’d be right up your alley.” He watched carefully from the corner of his eye, seeking any discomfort from Aziraphale, any sign that the gift was not to his liking, not to his standards, not up to par with what he deserved. “Always preferred the funny ones myself.”

“I’m honored.” But he could find none. Only an excited smile and eyes of far-off skies poring over the text; just the look of an Angel utterly enamored at the prospect of reading a new tale, exploring another world within the confines of word and mind.  

And in reality, it was probably here where Crowley fully and undeniably faced the ill-tuned music that he fell treacherously and helplessly in love—this moment where the evidence stared back at him so boldly in his face, that he realized the extent of these rather inconvenient feelings he had towards the Principality Aziraphale—the Principality who wanted nothing more than peace and was willing to marry off the prince to one unlucky and unhappy Archangel to achieve it.

Because damn it he wanted Aziraphale to look at him like that.

And upon accepting that foolish thought as truth, it all came crashing down in that very instant.

Fuck. I love him.

 ------------------

Fun fact: Sandalphon’s pronouns in the book and script are “it/its.”

Thank you for reading~ 

#good omens #ineffable husbands #crowley x aziraphale #top crowley #bottom aziraphale

[goodomensenthusiast]

Pleasant Surprises

After the Apocalypse-that-wasn’t, Aziraphale and Crowley found themselves adjusting to a new kind of normal. Left alone by their former sides after the body switch, both angel and demon were feeling a little aimless with no one to report to after 6000 years. If they were another angel and demon, they would be mourning the loss of their fellow associates, but Aziraphale and Crowley were not other angels and demons. Currently, they were doing something both Heaven and Hell would deem inappropriate.

They were celebrating.

In Aziraphale’s backroom, the two celestial beings looked quite like a picture of two drunk men high on life. Aziraphale was trying-and failing-to sit properly in his chair, while Crowley sprawled on the couch, one foot hung off the arm rest, the other off the back, and his head off the seat. Crowley’s hands cupped a glass of wine on top of his chest.

“So, Aziraphale, now that we’ve been let go, what’ve you been up to? Fallen into any temptationsss?” Crowley teased as he shifted his head to sip from the wine glass, not expecting an answer.

Crowley noted how Aziraphale’s face pinches up in an expression much like a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar, “Well, er…” Aziraphale stammered.

Crowley flung himself upright, and his sunglasses flew off his head, “No, angel, you couldn’t have!”

Keep reading, or it’s also on Ao3

Aziraphale frowned and said, “Don’t interrupt, my dear,” with the petulance of a much more sober person, “Now, as I was saying, I have indulged in a cup of cocoa everyday since we,” his voice dropped into a whisper, “switched bodies.”

Crowley deflated and set his wine glass on the table, “Angel, you did that normally before the end of the world didn’t happen!”

Aziraphale flushed, “Well, it's not like I have to thwart your terrible wiles anymore! You’re always gone during the day, but you never do anything evil!”

“And exactly how would you know that?!” Crowley accused.

“I feel a decrease in joy and well-being,” Aziraphale countered, “In fact, whenever you go out, happiness in London increases. It is almost as if you were doing good…” the angel trailed off.

Crowley mumbled something that Aziraphale couldn’t quite hear, but sounded an awful lot like, “So what if I am?”

Aziraphale froze, and the alcohol left his blood stream, “What did you say, dear boy?”

Crowley stood and shouted, “So what if I am!” He swayed, still drunk.

Aziraphale, ever the curious one, especially when it came to Crowley, decided to bait the not-so-demonic demon, “ What did you do? You couldn’t have fed the homeless or given them money to help them get back on their feet. That would just be so kind of you.”

Crowley stepped towards Aziraphale, but then looked indecisive.

Aziraphale urged him on, “My dear, do you have something to tell me?”

Crowley took another step, standing right in front of Aziraphale, and slumped his shoulders, “I was hoping you wouldn’t figure it out,” Crowley chuckled weakly, “But how can I keep it a secret from you?”

“Keep what a secret?” Aziraphale looked up as Crowley dropped to his knees, his head coming to rest in between Aziraphale’s knees, shocking the angel, “Crowley?”

Crowley inhaled, but said nothing. Aziraphale let them sit in silence, waiting until the demon decided to say something.

“Humans are kind, angel. And I wanted to show the ones down on their luck that it will all be okay again. So I did a couple of things. Y’know, the giving things, to the ones who needed it. The ones who have tried everything in their limited human power to give themselves a decent life, and they’ve failed due to reasons outside of their control. It’s just so unfair. I can’t help myself, Aziraphale. I go to the grocery store and the person in front of my has their card declined and I just have to pay for it,” Crowley shifted, and removed his weight from his knees when he sat firmly on the floor.

His voice cracked, “I have to pay for it, because they need those batteries for their baby monitor, or they need that chicken for dinner tonight, because their parents are coming over and they don’t want to appear like they need money, because they’re trying. They’re holding down three jobs and they still have barely enough to pay for rent, and they were so nice to the cashier when he dropped the strawberries, which was really so kind, because the cashier was just tired from taking care of his sister, since their parents died and he needs the money because he doesn’t have enough gas to get home, yet, even with all of the stress in their lives, they’re all so kind to each other.”

Aziraphale placed his hand in Crowley’s hair, practically petting him, but he doesn’t seem to notice.

“I don’t want to be that guy who makes their lives just that much more difficult anymore. Not when I don’t have to report back Down Below. Not when they’re really quite fascinating creatures, and they’ve all been so kind to me. I gave them the M25, and their children give me flowers to put in my hair.”

Crowley smiled and looked up at Aziraphale for the first time in his speech, and Aziraphale was shocked to find tears streaming themselves down Crowley’s cheeks.

“Do you remember that one time in St. James’ when a little girl gave me a hug, almost hitting her head on my belt buckle?”

Aziraphale did remember, although it had been many years ago. A little girl, a toddler really, ran up to them as they stood along the edge of the pond and fed the ducks. Typically, whenever a child, or an adult for that matter, spotted the pair, they usually found the angel’s lighter clothing and all around happy demeanor more welcoming than the demon’s frown and model walk. So when this child came up to them and hugged Crowley as fiercely as she could and refused to let go, it left the two dumbfounded. Then a man with a large camera jogged over and started to explain how sorry he was for the intrusion and how she normally doesn’t do this . I’m really quite sorry about this , the man, presumably her father, continues, it’s just that we’re new in town and she’s gotten used to hugging new (to her) family members, so she figures that any strangers are family. Crowley calmed the man down with, Oh, it’s alright, she’s just really friendly. You can’t fault her for that. Good thing she picked me, and not my friend here! Who knows what could have happened. Then Crowley winked as Aziraphale found his words again and started to talk to the father, who was a kind man, if not a bit frazzled.

Crowley made the child release her hands, What’s your name? The girl replied with, Victoria Rose Sullivan. I’m three! Or at least, that’s what Crowley thought she said. He was great with children, but his three-year old speak was rusty. He laughed and picked her up, handing her back to Mr. Sullivan, Here she is, all hugged out. As if on cue, Victoria yawned. Mr. Sullivan grinned, Thank you! Oh, am I glad I ran into you guys. Mr. Fell was just telling me of some nearby stores for baby clothes. And you’ve kept her happy, Mister, er… Crowley pulled out a card, Crowley. Here’s my number if you ever need help in London. Then Mr. Sullivan had a novel idea to have their picture taken. He handed his camera to a passerby and asked them to take a photo of the four of them. The passerby did so, they all had cordial goodbyes, and then the Sullivans walked out of their lives, or so Aziraphale thought.

“What about the little girl?” Inquired Aziraphale, speaking for the first time since Crowley started to talk.

“Well, I saw her the other day, all grown up. She’s twenty now, and a student at university.” Crowley started crying in earnest now, and hugged Aziraphale’s calves, “She said she recognised me from the photo. She said Thank you for all of those wonderful things you did, Mr. Crowley. I never saw you, but I knew it was you who paid for my father’s hospital bills, funeral, and my tuition. She said, My dad left me that photo and your card and a note he had written to you. Here it is. Now goodbye, Mr. Crowley, you’ve helped us in so many ways. Thank you. And off she went to her class. Do you know what that note said?”

Aziraphale shook his head, and Crowley released his calves to reach into his pocket, removing a note.

“It said:

March 17, 2016

To Mr. Crowley,

I am not sure when you will ever get this note, but I know that I won’t be the one to deliver it. Currently, I am in hospital, waiting for a heart transplant, but none are available and I fear that my time is up. But I feel at peace. Mr. Crowley, to this day I still have no clue why you would be so kind to Rose and I as you have been. I can’t say thank you enough for helping with our rent those first few months, or finding a babysitter for Rose whenever I had to work odd hours. (She had a funny name. Nanny Ashtorch? Nanny...something or another.) I don’t know what we’ve done to deserve your kindness, but we appreciate it so much. Rose, oh funny, funny Rose, she claims that it was the power of her hug, but a hug can’t warrant this kind of kindness to a couple of strangers, can it? Maybe you do this to everyone you meet, or maybe you took pity on us. But whatever the reason, Mr. Crowley, I thank you. You’ve done so much for us, and we only wish that we could do the same for you.

I wish you and Mr. Fell the best,

H. Sullivan

By the time Crowley finished reading the note, Aziraphale had joined him sobbing his heart out, “You’re so kind my dear, it’s one of the reasons why I love you.”

Crowley stiffened and tried to push him away, “You can’t mean that.”

Aziraphale embraced him into a hug, and practically pulled him into his lap, “No, Crowley, let me say my piece, then you can decide whether or not to leave.”

Crowley relented and laid his head on Aziraphale’s chest.

“I’ve noticed that you’ve done things like this before, dear boy. You make people feel seen. You support them, even without saying a word. Oh, I’m sure that you explained it to your bosses as ruining the natural flow of the economy, but you help made them feel like people cared about them.” A breath, “That you cared about them.”

Aziraphale lifted Crowley’s chin to look him in the eyes, “And I want to make you feel as special as you made them feel. As you’ve made countless others feel. As you’ve made me feel every time I have the pleasure of your company. I want you to stay with me. I want to make you breakfast every morning. I want to take you to the Ritz every week. I want you to lounge around the bookshop, soaking in the sun. I want you to feel accepted in my arms, every part of you. And I would do anything to ensure that.”

Crowley’s serpentine eyes filled with more tears, “But I was, am, a demon! I don’t deserve-”

Aziraphale cupped his face as matching tears rolled down his face, “You’ve done so much for others. You deserve so much more than I can give you. But let my try? Let me take care of you for once.”

Crowley nodded, “Could I… Could I have a kiss?”

Aziraphale laughed, relieved, “You can have as many kisses as you want.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“One more thing, dear?”

“Yes, angel?”

“Nanny Ashtorch?”

“Oh come off it, Aziraphale, I had to test out names!”

#good omens #crowley #Anthony Crowley #anthony j crowley #Just Crowley being Crowley #Aziraphale #otp: ineffable #Ineffable Husbands #ineffable partners #good omens fanfiction #i write

[aziraphalesrarebooks]

@eunyisadoran​ tagged me to do this writing themed questionnaire and they’re super swell and why not?

The Fandoms: My very first fanfic was Doctor who, I have one Sherlock crossover, I think I did maybe 2 Harry Potter fics and the rest are all Good Omens. 

Tropes: I really like soulmate stuff and human au’s. Found family seems to be my biggie though. 

Number of Fics: 32 

Fic I spent the most time on: A Beautiful Fiction I think I worked on it a little over 6 months in total? 

Fic I spent the least time on: Hope is the thing With Feathers I spent such little time on it I truly couldn’t recall what it was about. 

Longest Fic: A Beautiful Fiction I started writing the sequel to this yesterday and I’m pretty excited about it. 

Shortest Fic: Pumpkin Spice and Everything Nice This is one of my favorites, it’s fluffy and warm and I really love it. 

Most hits/kudos/comments/bookmarks:  

Hits- Connecting the Stars which I’m in the process of moving into a series format instead of one big fic. (10,832)

Kudos- Connecting the Stars (1126)

Comments-  A Beautiful Fiction (78)

Bookmarks-  Connecting the Stars (255)

Favorite fic I wrote: Oh gosh, I really have loved writing  Connecting the Stars but I think my favorite has actually been my series A Life in Colors. It’s been so fun to write and while there hasn’t been much feedback on it, I have truly enjoyed creating a universe that I don’t think i’ve really seen done in Good Omens. The other is a series I hope to get back to called Through These Pages of Life, I am Bound to You which is basically smut. The idea being that Crowley writes romance novels as a way to explore his sexual fantasies with Aziraphale, and Aziraphale; who has no idea the author is his favorite demon, devours them. 

Fic I want to rewrite/expand: Well, haha all of these? I have a full sequel planned for  A Beautiful Fiction that’s going to focus on once Crowley is returned. The relationship between Crowley and Aziraphale and how they will deal with their separation. Also Warlock and Adam trying to navigate through repairing their broken friendship and hopeful love. I also have an Ineffable Bureaucracy spin to add. I’d also like to potentially rewrite my first ever smut fic Jealousy Consumes Him because one I’m positive it needs the work and two I have learned more about sexual mechanics since then? 

Share a bit of a WIP or story I’m planning: Eeee! Ok so I have been writing this fic for about 2 months? it’s a Human Au where Crowley and Ezra were childhood best friends and also lovers. Fast forward 19 years, they are thrown back together and attempt to navigate their rekindled friendship along with a love that never faded. 

A preview below. 

Ezra dug around under his sink before pulling out an old vase and smiled. “Adam, fetch a few aspirin from the medicine cabinet while I get these unwrapped.”

He nodded, returning a moment later with a small handful of yellow pills.

“Now, crush them up and we’ll add them to the water. It helps them live a bit longer.” 

Adam did as he was told, adding the powder to the vase. He then watched as Ezra arranged the flowers in the vase, glad his gift seemed to brighten up his uncle. Even though he seemed pleased, there was still a sadness hidden in his gaze. For a twelve-year-old, it seemed unlikely anyone could stay so unhappy like his uncle seemed to. It wasn’t fair.

It seemed he would only think of Crowley today. Flowers were his passion after all. Ezra could recall with perfect clarity the day he discovered the language of flowers. It had seemed so romantic, to receive messages encoded in blooms and foliage. There had been a time in his life he was rarely without some type of bloom sitting in water on his desk.

“Out of all the blooms in my garden, I think you’re the most beautiful.”

Ezra ducked his head, his cheeks colored at the praise. “Crowley, stop that.” 

“I can’t and I won’t. I actually have you something. I was looking for a book and saw this.” Wrapped in a brown lunch sack was a book. Thin and worn. Ezra treasured it from the moment his fingers touched the pages.

“Did you know, Adam, in Victorian times people would communicate through flowers?” He took pride in teach Adam these tidbits of knowledge, Ezra loved the way his eyes would light up curiously. “For example, this Lavender is for luck and devotion.”

“What about the others?”

Ezra smiled indulgently, “Well, rosemary for remembrance and thyme is for courage.”

“But why would you need to use flowers? Why not just say it yourself?”

What was Ezra to say? That the world was cruel? That things were different then? “Well… everyone loves a bit of romance and sometimes you couldn’t just say things outright.”

“Oh. Well, that’s alright then.”

“What do you say we go see a film before we head to dinner?” Asked Ezra, changing the subject. They were getting into dangerous territory. His mind was turning towards Crowley, there were ways to find people now. He’d been tempted for many years to look him up on the internet but had found himself unwilling to do so. Touching the sprig of rosemary, he couldn’t help but wonder if he would ever forget Crowley? Would the memories he kept so close to his heart ever fade completely? He’d forgotten his scent and the timbre of his voice. What he couldn’t know, dear reader, was that the very same sprig of rosemary he was admiring had been in Crowley’s hands not some three hours earlier.

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I’m tagging anyone who would like to complete this. 

#Good Omens #Fic thing #Fanfiction