#and why do neither of them ever properly ask Aziraphale and Crowley who they are?

[goodluckdetective]

Here’s the thing they will realize later, after hurts have been mended, apologies have been given and things have been properly said: neither of their plans would have worked.

In one world, Crowley says yes when Aziraphale begs him to stay, unable to leave his angel knowing he will soon walk into a pit of vipers more venomous than he ever was. He grits his teeth and accepts his halo back with shaking fingers, and tries to focus on the grin on Aziraphale’s face. He does not stop wearing black, nor does he stop going by Crowley: Aziraphale doesn’t want him to do either regardless. And when Aziraphale hands him a crank and a chart of stars, he actually manages to smile within white empty walls.

It works, for a time. Aziraphale, to his surprise, does not expect him to change other than his occult classification. The other angels are resistant, of course they are, but changes are made, actual good ones. Less people starve. The clause about the humility of the poor is thrown out and replaced with a doubling down against the rich. Unicorns make a comeback, though in small numbers. And after long days when work is done, Aziraphale asks Crowley to show him work on the stars, and they map out new galaxies that will last far behind 6000 years.

Crowley isn’t happy there: it is too clean, too sterile, too full of backhanded comments and belittling taunts. But he is not miserable either. And that’s perhaps the biggest surprise.

Maybe that’s why he doesn’t notice the other angels planning the second coming after Aziraphale and him are both positive the plans have been scrapped for good. He notices before Azirpahale but not before Metatron has stripped him of heaven’s light once more and locked him in a cage with a bucket of holy water at the ready. For Metatron and the others know that Aziraphale can be tempted into what they want by or in this case, for, the original tempter himself.

Unlike Aziraphale, Heaven’s love has always been fickle. Crowley has always known this, has wanted Aziraphale to understand it too. But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt to see Aziraphale find him in the cage and realize that Heaven invited Crowley back to cage Aziraphale in return.

In another world, Aziraphale leaves the bookshop after a kiss that gives him enough second thoughts to leave the elevator behind. Crowley does not take off his sunglasses until Aziraphale is seated in the Bentley and Aziraphale hates himself when he sees the tears the shades hid. They embrace for a long time before Crowley pulls out one of the few books he actually keeps: a map of the stars.

They don’t go to Alpha Centuri because both have had more than enough of Gabriel. Instead, they go to other planets, other stars, some of which were born by the very star factory Crowley started. They spend time on Earth too, keeping an eye out for the second apocalypse Crowley warned Aziraphale they are planning. Aziraphale does as much good as he can on those visits, often wearing himself out to exhaustion. Every time they have to leave, when Heaven or Hell catch up to them: unlike their former bosses, they are enough of a threat to never leave alone. Crowley often has to carry Azirapahle away from the planet they long called home after these trips, the angel barely awake after doing as much as he can. Aziraphale knows he doesn’t like leaving either, he hates suffering as much as Aziraphale does, but unlike the angel, he’s able to separate himself from it instead of it eating him alive.

Aziraphale isn’t happy, away from Earth, from his dedication to doing good. But he is not miserable either. And perhaps that’s the biggest surprise.

Aziraphale plans to surprise Crowley with a proper dance in a lovely garden in France when they arrive to find the Earth is not the Earth anymore. Instead it is either one of the following: a burnt out husk of sulfur, or a glass dish like a macabre snow globe.

In the former scenario, there is no outrunning the demons, who want to ensure the last angel left (because they got Gabriel as soon as they could, Aziraphale was always going to be last) is dead and gone. With no power of Heaven to draw from, Aziraphale cannot run fast enough and Crowley cannot carry them both with enough speed to escape them. The demons catch up them both on a small house on a small planet and the house goes up in hellfire with a snap of a demon’s fingers.

When Crowley screams out his name, Aziraphale is sorry he will not be able to soothe his tears this time.

In the latter scenario, the glass globe that Heaven crows over like a magpie, Aziraphale looks at what Heaven has wrought and falls to his knees. He does not hear Crowley shout as he takes in what God’s plan has turned out to be, he does not feel Crowley shake his shoulders as he sees the world he loved preserved in its last moment of agony. He does not even feel his feathers burning until half of them have fallen out, his halo has cracked and his eyes start to bleed black.

If this was the ineffable plan, he thinks, he loathes every part of it. And as he falls, Crowley desperately trying to hold his feathers to skeleton-boned wings, he realizes there is no hell left to fall into, only a black hole where one demon will never find him again.

Neither of these situations happen. Instead there is an uncomfortable elevator ride, a silent car and more than enough tears. There will be more unpleasantness after that, such is the nature of things. But eventually, there will be awkward meetings, apologies shared, and forgiveness spoken. And one day, somehow, there will be a cottage in the South Downs where there is a garden almost as grand as Eden, a library to entice any bibliophile and a kisses that are not a goodbye but a hello.

#Iz writes #character death #fic #good omens #good omens season 2 spoilers #good omens fanfic #good omens spoilers #ineffable husbands #take this fix it of sorts where I point out the ending we got is actually the best outcome #is this a fic or something I cranked out in half an hour: who’s to say

[modu-exists]

Some of my main Good Omens headcanons

*Aziraphale just tells everyone to call him Mr. Fell because no human, and I mean NO HUMAN could pronounce it correctly. No demon can pronounce it either, Crowley can only pronounce it because he went out of his way to learn. When Crowley pronounced Aziraphale’s name correctly Azi was so happy (he had a smile for the rest of the day).

-Aziraphale can’t miracle himself (heal himself, make scars or bruises disappear, get rid of a cold, etc). He can do it to other people, demons, angels. But he can’t do it to himself. He always has to go to other angels to miracle him back to health, most of the angels refuse and he has to deal with it on his own. He mostly asks Crowley (who can’t heal anyone because he’s a demon), Aziraphale knows that but it’s always worth a try. (That’s why Crowley was so distraught during the bookshop fire. Aziraphale is most likely dead and, even if he isn’t, neither of them can stop him from dying anyway.)

-Aziraphale is ashamed that he can’t miracle himself back to health like the other angels, so he keeps it hidden. Crowley only found out in 1923 when Crowley offered to play Russian roulette and Aziraphale declined. Crowley replied with “Can’t you just heal yourself if you get shot?” “About that-…” Aziraphale had to explain that if he gets hurt severely he’ll die, like any other regular human. Crowley has been protective over Aziraphale ever since he found out because he can’t heal him either.

-This also means that Aziraphale can’t miracle himself sober again, and he can’t miracle hangovers away. He doesn’t drink much for that reason (which is also why he basically never goes to the pub).

*Crowley was supposed to teach Aziraphale how to properly be an Angel, but then he fell and Gabriel and Micheal taught Aziraphale instead, (they were incredibly strict and vague). Crowley swears up and down that he could’ve been a better teacher, Aziraphale admittedly thinks so too.

*Crowley has two favourite animals, ducks and snakes. Mainly ducks.

*Crowley fell on accident. After the Great War on the plains of heaven Crowley accidentally walked in front of a lightning bolt that turned him into a demon. He didn’t ask questions, he fell due to standing in the wrong place. He’s salty about it to this day

#good omens #good omens headcanons #good omens 2 #good omens au #lgbt #good omens season 2 #Aziracrow

[aethelflaedladyofmercia]

The Quarantine/Awake-the-Snake/2020-Stress fic no one requested but I had FEELS, ok?

--

Crowley rolled over and opened his eyes for a second, then jerked awake to see a ghostly figure standing next to his bed.

“For Sssssssssssssomeone’s sake, Aziraphale, don’t do that!”

“Ah. Good morning, Crowley.” He stood a bit back from the bed, hands folded. Very subdued, even compared to their last conversation. “I, ah, I rather thought we could…perhaps…talk?”

“Alright, fine.” Crowley shoved his hands into the mattress pushing himself into a sitting position. “Gimme…just a sec…” These long naps didn’t end easily. He rubbed at his eyes, raked fingers through his hair. It had gotten a bit long, and there was stubble on his chin. Blast. He’d slowed down his hair growth, but clearly not enough.

Couldn’t even imagine what his breath smelt like.

“Rrrrrrgh, Angel, can’t you – get me a glass of – oh.” Three cups appeared on his bedside table: Water, tea, and a second, smaller glass of water. Crowley picked up the last and sniffed it. “Vodka? Really?”

“It was the strongest alcohol I could find. Would you prefer rum? Bourbon?”

“Ngk.” He decided to start with the water. “So how long did I sleep? Is it 2021 yet? 2030? The collapse of western civilization?”

“Please don’t joke.” Aziraphale’s hands twisted, tugging on his waistcoat. “I’m sure…it’ll all be fine…soon…Any day now, things will…everyone will pull together and…”

“Shit, Aziraphale.” He finished off his water, running his tongue over his teeth. Demonic morning breath could be…a lot. “What did I miss?”

“Halloween, mostly.” A flicker of a smile. “It, ah, wasn’t much to speak of this year, anyway. I imagine Christmas will be much the same, not that…well…”

“You know me, I love a commercial holiday.” Crowley shifted again, plumping up a pillow to rest his back against. “Things already sounded bad a month ago. How much worse did they get?”

“Oh. Oh, I’m sure it’s not – not worse. Just, you know, the dark before the storm. Er. The calm before dawn. No, no that isn’t…” Aziraphale turned away, blinking furiously. “Never mind, Crowley, I don’t know why I came, just go back to—”

“Aziraphale.” He waited until the angel turned back to look at him. It took a long time. “What did they do now?”

A quick, nervous flash of hands. “Politics. You know. Always – always doing foolish things when they’re worried, and – and I know they’ll…come round. Humans always…always surprise you in the end.”

“And not always in a good way.”

Aziraphale cringed back at those words. Must be bad. Crowley sighed and threw back the side of his duvet, sliding over to make room.

The angel stared at him, uncomprehending.

“Well? Hurry it up, I’m getting cold.”

With a heavy thud, Aziraphale dropped onto the mattress and moved close to Crowley, right into the curve of his arm, right up against his side. Crowley quickly tucked the blanket around them, then pulled Aziraphale closer, head resting on his chest. Soft, shaking fingers clutched at the front of his black shirt.

“Hey. Shhhh. S’alright. Whatever it is, it’s gonna be alright. We’ll get through this. Humanity will get through this. They always do.”

“But not before – so many people – get hurt.” His voice was thick now, on the edge of breaking. “I can’t just…stop caring, Crowley!”

Neither can I. Big failing in a demon, that. To look at the suffering of mortals, the pain they inflicted on each other, and feel it, down in the parts of him that were supposed to be atrophied and gone. Easier to sleep it off, because at least then he didn’t need to feel it.

“No one’s asking you to, Aziraphale.” He rubbed his angel’s arm, holding on tight. “No one will ever ask that of you again.”

“I wish…I could help…”

“I know. But we agreed. No more interfering. They have to figure these things out for themselves.”

“I hate it.” His voice was just a trembling whisper. “I hate this so much.”

“Here.” Crowley tugged at Aziraphale, shifted him, until the angel’s legs stretched across his lap, until Aziraphale was properly curled against his chest. “That’s better. You stay close, yeah?” He swayed, rocking Aziraphale as he held him. “Just stay close.”

“I – I know I’m…the hopeful one. I’ve been trying…so hard…to bring just…just a little cheer to London, to Soho. Keep up the spirits.”

“Yeah. Pastries for burglars. Nice little charity you got there.”

“It was a bit more than that!” A high-pitched noise. “But…I don’t think…I can…”

“Shhhh. S’fine. You’ll be fine.” Crowley pressed his lips to Aziraphale’s forehead. “Let me be the optimistic one for a few hours. You rest. It’s your turn.”

“I really don’t…that’s not how it works.”

“S’our side, Angel.” He shook out his wings, wrapping them around Aziraphale. Privacy. Warmth. Darkness. Everything he had to offer in the ring of his arms. He pressed another kiss to Aziraphale’s forehead. “Our side. Means whatever we want it to.”

Slowly, Aziraphale closed his eyes sinking against Crowley, nestling into his dark feathers. “Don’t think I can sleep.”

“Don’t sleep, then. Just rest. Breathe. Get your strength up. They’ll probably need you again soon.”

A small smile crept across the curve of his cheek. “I thought we weren’t interfering?”

“Welllll, I know a certain bastard who never follows the rules.” Crowley rested his cheek in Aziraphale’s soft white curls. “The world can get on without you for a day. Just rest. I got you.”

#good omens fanfiction #good omens prime #emotional h/c #bed cuddles #anxious aziraphale #soft crowley #we all need a hug today #My writing

[the-queer-dungeoneer]

Not Alone (Crowley x Fem! Reader) - Ch. 4/?

Previous / Next

Characters: Reader, Crowley, Aziraphale, Gabriel and likely more once we get into the thick of it.

Relationships: Crowley x Reader, Aziraphale x Reader, Aziraphale x Crowley

POV: First-person

Warnings: Family estrangement, otherwise n/a

Tags: @curse-brekker​, @oopstheregoesmysoul13​, @ellaorelizabeth​

*gif is not mine and neither are any of the characters or source material!

Y/N = your name

Y/N/N = your nickname

Y/L/N = your last name

H/C = Hair color

E/C = Eye color

F/C = Favorite color

A/N: YOOOOOO!! I am so sorry its been so long since an update. I think the pandemic kicked everyone in the face. But here is chapter four. It may be a bit short, but I’m getting back into the swing of things. I promise I WILL finish this fic dammit.

Lots of love! - TQD

Two Weeks Later

It had not surpassed my notice that all our conversations up to this point had been solely focused on me. Aziraphale choicely avoided talking about his family or friends. Honestly, I was the only friend of his I knew, and seeing as I visited him several times a week it was surprising that I had never encountered anyone else that seemed remotely acquainted with him – save for the violet-eyed creep that had taken far too many liberties with my left hand. I had resolved to ask him about it today. After the deep dive we took into my memories a few weeks ago, I found it only fair.

And it was with this determination I strode into the shop. I had brought two scrumptious looking cinnamon rolls from a bakery down the block as a treat. I had a lot of work to do on my case study and he had been called into meetings uptown more than usual, so it seemed necessary.  I was greeted by a small sigh and a shout from the back: “We’re closed for the day. Business will resume tomorrow. Please see yourself out!” With a giggle I retorted, “Alright, but then I would have to eat these cinnamon rolls all by myself!” Then there was a sound of recognition, the creak of a ladder, a crash, and a thud.

“Aziraphale! Are you alright?!” I shouted as I tossed the pastries and my bag on the counter, running towards the clatter.

“Oh dear, Y/N, I’m just fine. You surprised me is all. I didn’t realize the hour. Perhaps the mention of cinnamon rolls got me too excited to look down before attempting my descent.” He spoke with a small smile and a huff as I helped him out of a dusty heap of books. “Oh, blast it!” He sighed, analyzing his mess, “I had these all laid out in order and now I’ve gone and mixed them up. It’ll take me a dog’s age to get them shelved properly.”

“Well, maybe I could help, if you would accept assistance from the girl who led to your downfall in the first place.” I smiled, picking up a few volumes of Dostoyevsky that appeared to be first additions, but that was impossible.

“Oh love, I would never refuse anything from you,” He smiled, brushing dust from his waistcoat. “How about we clear up this mess, and then I’ll put on some tea and we can enjoy those cinnamon rolls?”

“I couldn’t have planned a better afternoon if I tried!”

 And it was a wonderful afternoon. With his direction, I shelved the books where he liked. His system didn’t have a rhyme or reason I could make sense of, but if he was happy, I was happy. The work went must faster with one person on the ladder and one handing off the books. After that, we settled down on the couch in the back room with hot tea and the pastries. I was sure they’d be stale, but miraculously they still tasted oven-fresh. It was curious, but Aziraphale didn’t seem to notice.

We did our usual routine of bouncing between idle chatter and reading. Occasionally a remark on the text would spiral into a tangent on philosophy and the greater good. Finally, when my homework was finished, I got up the courage to say what I’d been thinking.

“Tell me about your family, Aziraphale.”

“Oh, goodness, why ever do you want to know about all that?” He asked. Seeming genuinely alarmed by the question.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to poke a sore subject. It’s just… I have told you so much about myself and my childhood, and I feel like I barely know anything about you. The only person I know of any connection to you is Gabriel, and I hope to God he’s not the only other person in your life.”

He snickered at this and let out a resigned breath. “You’re right, Y/N, it isn’t fair of me to know every detail about your life and not share anything about myself. I find myself, um – estranged from the majority of my family. They don’t particularly agree with the way I live my life,” he began. He didn’t elaborate, but you took it to mean they were ultra-conservative, or something of the like. What other reason could they not want to be around Aziraphale? He was the most delightful person you’d ever met. “And God is good, Gabriel isn’t my only point of contact. I wouldn’t say I have many friends to speak of. I am more of a solitary observer myself. Mostly books and cocoa. But I do have one person I’d say is both my only family and best friend. His name is Crowley.”

“Crowley, huh? Tell me about him!” I was genuinely interested. Who could be the one being to capture this much of Aziraphale’s attention. And tell me he did. He talked about how long they’d known each other. The spats they’d been in. Their stark differences in music and fashion taste. He told me about Crowley’s unsavory colleagues. Occasionally he referred to him as a devil or wiley serpent. Things that would be reviling to call someone if it hadn’t been said with so much fondness. I could tell that, though they seemed polar opposites, Aziraphale cared for Crowley very much.

“He sounds wonderful Aziraphale, I hope I get to meet him some day. Him being your best friend, and all, I’m sure he’s fantastic.”

Aziraphale’s eyes glinted with recognition “Actually, I amend my previous statement. I would say he is one of my best friends.” His smile dimpled his cheeks as he reached out to squeeze my hand. I took his warmly, happy to know he felt the same way I did. “He’s a bit rough around the edges, and work keeps him away most of the time, but maybe someday you two can meet.”

“I look forward to it,” I yawned, checking the clock. I t was nearly midnight and I had class the next morning. “Alright, my darling, I need to head home. Penelope is likely upset that I haven’t turned down the bed for her.”

He chuckled and rose to his feet following me to the door and holding out his arm, “Well then we best start walking, hm?” I took his arm again, ever the gentleman, he rarely let me walk home alone if it was dark out. This was one of the many things I loved about him.

#good omens #good omens fanfiction #good omens crowley #good omens fic #good omens aziraphale #good omens x reader #crowley x reader #aziraphale x reader #crowley x aziraphale #Ineffable Husbands

[ineffably-effable]

good omens fic recommendations

If you’re looking for coherent reviews you’ll be disappointed, but if you want a list of quality recommendations - with excerpts & some vague ramblings as to what the reader should be in the mood for - enjoy!

29 recommendations underneath the cut.

(17k) Something We Were Withholding Made Us Weak by triedunture 

Crowley and Aziraphale learn to move in tandem.

Mood: beautiful slow burn, misunderstandings, heartache that would be solved if someone taught these besotted idiots to communicate.

Paradox: Crowley has never risen from his seat and gone to stand behind someone at a counter, never put his arms around their middle and pulled them tight against him. Has never apologized with a touch, with a closeness, with the thin line of his body. So why does it occur to him that he might do that now? Might press up against Aziraphale from behind and rest his forehead on Aziraphale’s nape and ask silently to be forgiven. As if it’s the most natural thing in the world when he knows, intimately knows that it’s not.

(51k) how deep the sand by Handful_of_Silence

After the Apocalypse, and with characteristic slowness, both Crowley and Aziraphale think there might be something they need to sit down and talk about.

And then Aziraphale disappears.

Mood: tragic twist of fate, separation, hurt/comfort, guilt & devotion.

He thinks about the picnic they’d have had. He’d have pulled the top down from the Bentley and let the wind tussle his hair, the weather of a glorious August now gone warming his skin. They would have chatted, sitting carefully on a tartan blanket, and they’d have made their own plans.

They might have even found the right time to talk properly. Honestly. About everything that’s been, about the possibilities that could be now that everything’s different.

About maybe not going back to London. Going back to their Jobs.

About leaving it all behind, together.

The words Crowley didn’t say are clogging up his throat.

(14k) Made Flesh by rfsmiley / @redfacesmiley

AU in which Crowley is two entities, and Aziraphale isn’t sure how he feels about either of them.

Mood: oblivious idiots, daemon!fic-if-you-squint, pining & tamed desire.

Eleven years pass, attended by another marked change; the creature cannot bear to be out of the same room as Aziraphale. The angel, isolated and frayed as he is by the fear of the coming war, has no problems with this development – he needs the company – although sometimes he looks into the yellow eyes and feels the spear of a nameless sorrow. If it comes to it, Heaven will win, of course; the certainty, however, is bitter. He tries not to think about what will happen to Crowley, or to this small being that runs at his heels as he moves, gripped by a contagious agitation.

(8k) Ad Astra by drawlight / @drawlight

Some things can only be said in the dark.

Mood: beautiful prose, longing, ruthless inner-voices & insecurities.

Aziraphale swallows. His eyes hold Crowley’s. Crowley stands very still, wretched. Terrified. Watching Aziraphale’s very wide eyes, the open of the mouth. There is a softness in Aziraphale’s look, in the swallow of his throat. It could be? (It might not be.) He wants to scream it; he wants to say nothing at all. Let me stay in this bit of maybe. Maybe is not no, maybe means perhaps, someday. Maybe means you might feel the same. (You might not.)

(13.3k) Alegría by drawlight / @drawlight

After the End That Wasn’t, Heaven and Hell are leaving them alone. Entirely alone. (This is a story with nothing of miracles.)

Mood: beautiful prose, longing, ruthless inner-voices & insecurities + domesticity

(Yes, I know the mood is almost the same as above, but honestly this is @drawlight, what were you expecting? Read it if you want a Crowley that will absolutely wreck you & leave you heart-broken.)

Aziraphale is a touch-strong man. He touches everything (Crowley knows, he always watches). Aziraphale loves and he likes to love through his skin. His fingers on a particularly fine leather binding, dipping into the embossed author, the tooled name of the title. His hands breaking apart a loaf of Italian sourdough, fingers coming away with residual flour. Dipping his hands into sacks of grain, rubbing a fine weave of silk through. He touches Crowley too, in his usual and gentle way. The touch on the arm to still Crowley’s whiplash self, to make a point during an argument. Aziraphale who thinks nothing of oh, my dear, you’ve got an eyelash just there, let me get it for you. Crowley has a good memory. He catalogs them all, cross-examines them. Six-thousand years of maybes and what-ifs and what was thats ? But Aziraphale is just as easy with his touches on glass bottles while pulling out his favorite vintages. He touches his favorite fountain pen far more often than he reaches for Crowley. No, in context, it means nothing. It’s just Aziraphale as usual. Don’t look too closely, it doesn’t mean anything. It doesn’t.

(13k) small infinities and all that by JustStandingHere / @billypotts

Crowley and Aziraphale are turned human. This is the aftermath.

Mood: slow burn, domesticity, best friends falling in love & all the beautiful awkwardness that entails.

And there it is, isn’t it? Something they’ve known for a long time, but haven’t named it. Have been too scared to name it. Something that speaks in their bones, in the space between them.

(12k) the deft, sweet gesture of your hand by deadgreeks / @mortuarybees

Crowley arrives injured at Aziraphale’s door. He takes care of him, reads him an awful lot of Mary Oliver, and knits elaborate metaphors for his insecurities (literally).

Mood: beautiful writing, mixed signals, feeling unworthy of the millenia-long object of your affections, unable to create gifts that are good enough for the people you love and being in love with a complete idiot.

Aziraphale has tended to the sick and injured during periods of plague and war many times throughout his long life, and he tries to adopt the same kind-but-impersonal detachment as he carefully washes Crowley. It is slightly harder, Crowley being the sole object of six thousand years of repressed desire, but he’s also Aziraphale’s closest friend, and a person besides, so he does him the courtesy of not ogling his bare legs or torso as he goes.

(9.3k) Slow by write_away / @theirdarkreturning

Aziraphale and Crowley find themselves somehow married. Crowley fears going too fast. Aziraphale forges ahead. Neither know how to ask questions of each other.

Mood: Miscommunication, with a hefty side order of pining and the urge to yell at your screen in the vain hopes of getting through to these two idiots.

For Crowley - that was the demon’s name, and it’s best to memorize it quickly, before he changes it yet again - knew that the angel would love him if he just asked, and Aziraphale - the angel, though there’s no rush with him, there never really is - knew that the demon would take him in with open arms if he just asked. It’s just that neither of them were good at asking things of one another.

(14.7) Lead me to the banquet hall by obstinatrix, wishwellingtons

Crowley loves taking Aziraphale out to eat almost as much as Aziraphale loves eating, but it’s always a bit of a one-sided affair. Aziraphale has never understood why. Crowley planned on keeping it that way, but best laid plans…

Mood: wonderful footnotes, pining, creating a shrine to the object of your longing and then submitting to the mortifying ordeal of them finding it.

The thing about Aziraphale is quite simply this: Crowley can never have enough of him. God, Satan, everyone knows he’s tried. Crowley has spent centuries glutting himself on the sight of him only to be empty again days later, wondering whether it’s too soon to show his face in the bookshop. Aziraphale drifts from brasserie to bar in his quest to indulge in the best of human culinary expertise; Crowley follows after, because he knows Aziraphale will be there. It isn’t enough, but it’s something, and the only thing Crowley can ever expect.

(14.2k) all i need, darling, is a life in your shape       by deadgreeks / @mortuarybees

After everything, Aziraphale and Crowley, by unspoken agreement, begin sharing their lives.

Mood: domesticity with pining, chosen family, acts of love, boyfriend sweaters & idiots in love.

Aziraphale rolled his eyes indulgently, passing out the rest of the gifts and sneaking little glances at Crowley as he struggled with the box. He’d worked so hard on it, searched all the best yarn shops in London for the perfect skeins. He even had to sit on hold for hours with the manufacturer of the yarn he chose because he needed another skein from the same dye-lot, knowing that Crowley would want only the best, and he’d notice even a minor inconsistency in the coloring.

(27k) Long Is The Way, And Hard by Kate_Lear

A story of Crowley’s thoughts about Aziraphale, from the Beginning to the present day.

And also of temptation, and want, and whether - for a Fallen Angel - redemption is possible after all.

Mood: slow burn, denial, temptation, jealousy, lust to love, character growth.

Aziraphale hasn’t shared his bed with anyone. He can’t have done, because if he has then Crowley is going to hunt down that mortal – in this world or the next – and enact something creatively and comprehensively bloody upon them. Possibly involving methods from the Spanish Inquisition, that have scabbed over in Crowley’s memory and that he shies away from picking at.

(25.7k) your weekend lover by witching

Mood: miscommunication, mutual pining, ineffable idiots who are on the same page but reading a different damn book

It was purely physical, they had agreed on that from the beginning. Aziraphale couldn’t quite remember why he had agreed to that, but he suspected it had something to do with not ruining their friendship, or some such nonsense. At any rate, that was the deal. The new Arrangement. Purely physical.

(16k) I’ve Got You To Help Me Forgive by Kate Andrews (k8andrewz)

Pt1: Crowley deals, more or less, with the Fall. Also, Crowley has feelings. The angel doesn’t help with that. Also, sunny rocks are very nice.

Pt2: In which tea is made, a story is shared, and a leap of faith is taken.

Mood: Lust, first times, innocence, ineffable sex, memory wipes, Aziraphale showing initiative and being a bit of a bastard, overwhelmed Crowley, Gabriel is a total dick. Fair warning this isn’t PWP, it has loads of plot and feelings too and fantastic characterizations.

The air in Crowley’s lungs took leave of him all at once. Memories he hadn’t given a good look at in ages resurfaced. Memories he’d quite ably buried, thank you very much and he sat up abruptly, leaning forward and propping his elbows on his knees. He set his sunglasses on the table, then pressed his face into his palms and gave it a good scrub. After a sidelong glance at Aziraphale who sat there patiently watching him, he asked, “What am I supposed to do with a question like that, hmm?”

(13.9k) The Lightness of You by Rend_Herring

God should not have built them with such discrepancy, made them need for love, and long for wholeness, then left them to their own devices.

Mood: When you want to mix up your pining & angst with a bit of humour, sex and a praise kink.

The jasmine vine actually tries brushing up against Aziraphale’s cheek and he blushes, says, “Oh, you,” all indulgent and sweet-like.  It leaves a fragrant white blossom behind his ear.

“Thank you,” Aziraphale says sincerely, and Crowley glares openly at the traitors. “That’s very kind of you.” His smile really is a beacon of otherworldly radiance. An orchid blooms on the spot, the epiphyte whore.

(7.2k) summer and his pleasures by witching

absence makes the heart grow fonder, and crowley and aziraphale’s hearts were plenty fond to begin with. a story told through phone calls while they are separated for work-related reasons.

Mood: drunk dialing and dirty talk, idiots in love

Something clicked in Aziraphale’s mind, and he held back a curse word threatening on his tongue. Luckily, or perhaps unluckily, he found himself just in that sweet spot of intoxication where he was cognizant enough to recognize that he was doing something he absolutely shouldn’t do, but not quite enough to stop himself. “I would, you know,” he said, full of newfound confidence. “I’d – if you were here, I’d make it… very much worth your while.”

(3.6k) Birds of a Feather by idiopathicsmile

Aziraphale nests. Crowley relearns some crucial facts about angelic courtship rituals.

Mood: Jealousy, lashing out, withdrawal, oblivious idiots slowly learning how to use their words.

Is Crowley jealous of a musty old flat above a used book store? In the millennia he’s spent slowly twisting his own heart around Aziraphale’s little finger, it’s not the weirdest thing he’s been jealous of, to be honest.

(11k) A Touch Like Sunlight    by goodomensblog / @goodomensblog / @just-quintessentially-me

When Aziraphale is threatened by angels who seek justice for Aziraphale’s crimes against Heaven, Crowley comes up with a plan to keep him safe from harm.

Mood: PTSD from witnessing the attempted murder of your husband, it’s not paranoia if they’re really out to get you, self-sacrificing idiots & badass idiots protecting eachother.

“Right! Brunch!” Aziraphale says, bouncing up on his toes - as if they hadn’t just been discussing the murder of archangels. “Do you think they have crepes?”

(13.6k) These Things Were Here by MajorEnglishEsquire

Crowley, following times of overwhelming distress, resorted to the snake form as a means of finding comfort and solitude.

Mood: displays of affection, love shown through care-taking, using your ineffable boyfriend as a security blanket.

Nothing like it happened again for years. The pattern, however, was too recognizable to be mistaken when it did reoccur.

When commended for some catastrophe of which he was no part, Crowley became a completely disconsolate mess, but he still actually handled those occasions better than when he was, in fact, party to such disaster.

If he was blamed, but not actually at fault, Aziraphale may find him on the verge of discorporation due to alcohol poisoning, but at least he would say what was wrong. It was worse when he had an assignment he couldn’t breathe a word of. It was worse when he would smile bitterly and leave silently, haunted beyond expression.

(4.6k) let sleeping snakes lie by kythen / @kythen

The world doesn’t end. Crowley falls asleep. And Aziraphale stays by his side, waiting for him to wake up again.

Mood: acts of love, comfort, warmth, home

To some extent, he understands Crowley’s need for sleep. It had been an exhausting decade for the both of them, what with the end of the world business, and it had culminated spontaneously in them cutting off their ties with both Heaven and Hell rather dramatically, which were the only ties that either of them have ever had since the Beginning. Just as Crowley had sauntered from the ranks of Heaven to Hell, he had finally found his way out of Hell and into something that finally felt like freedom.

(6.4k) All The Dreams We Had by ImpishTubist / @impishtubist

This time will be different, Aziraphale thinks. This time, Crowley will remember.

Mood: amnesia, groundhog day - but centered on a single relationship - and with more angst

It takes a year for Crowley to fall for him again, a year until the air raid and the church and the books; a year before Aziraphale finds himself pressed up against a brick wall and exchanging desperate, burning kisses.

Crowley’s forgotten again by morning.

(70k) The Place You Need To Reach by Zetared / @zetablarian 

When Crowley is forcibly recalled to home office, Aziraphale conspires with a denounced saint and strikes a deal with the agents of Hell to get him back.

Mood: sacrifice, loss of self, trauma, love, tenderness and fantasy-novel-esque world & character building

“I have a journey to complete,” Aziraphale reminds the Adversary, primly. “May I begin?”

“In good time, Aziraphael. In good time. Tell me, do you recall the rules correctly?”

Aziraphale grits his teeth at the purposeful use of his forgotten name, but he doesn’t mention it. “Yes, of course. Using no miracles or ethereal influence of any kind, I must walk through the circles of Hell and complete an unknown task in each to earn passage to the next. I must not look behind me, where Crowley will walk. I may speak to Crowley, but he cannot speak back. I will not hear him or see him or feel even a hint of his presence. I will move forward, and, God willing, he will follow me.”

(1.9k) Kissing, Accidentally. by skybound2 / @skybound2

The one where Crowley gives in and kisses Aziraphale while he has him pinned against a wall.

Mood: hilarious footnotes, brilliant Crowley internal monologues and ineffable kissing against a wall.

No. No what actually happens is that when Crowley slams Aziraphale up against a wall in the middle of a hallway at a former-Satanic-hospital-turned-paintball-complex to express to him how very not nice he is, his hindbrain, forebrain and all other portions of his brain, decide that while denial has been a lovely place to reside for the previous six millennia, they are rather due a relocation at this point. And “Oh! Would you look at that! Here’s the oh-so-very soft mouth of an oh-so-very-beautiful angel right in front of us! And all we have to do to get there is to just…lean forward an inch. Less than an inch, in fact! How fantastic!”

(9.3k) Build Our Kingdom by Mackem 

Mood: : ineffable dates, promises kept

“Ready for lunch?” Crowley drops to his knees to start unbuckling the straps on the basket as though this is something they do all the time; as though he hasn’t just effortlessly catapulted Aziraphale back in time almost fifty years.

“You remembered,” Aziraphale breathes as wonder courses through him. He mentioned something once during an awkward moment, half a century ago, and now here kneels a demon atop a picnic blanket.

“Hmm?” Crowley barely shoots him a sidelong glance as he concentrates on opening the basket.

Aziraphale’s eyes do not move from him. “You remembered,” he repeats, no less stunned. “Crowley, you really didn’t have to.”

Crowley’s hands still. Eventually, his eyes still on the basket, he murmurs, “Well, we did The Ritz, didn’t we?”

(9k) On The Matter Of Touch by Somedrunkpirate

For two ineffable husbands, they don’t really touch each other much. Here is a story on why that might be.

Mood: touch-starved idiots in love, heart-breaking internal monologues, misunderstandings, miscommunication, protective idiots.

Crowley had decided long ago that curiosity should have been a sin, because it has been the one thing consistently tempting him in his existence. He’s done everything he can think of and more, just so see what it was all about. But this, with Aziraphale, feels more than just an experience he can add to his endless tally

(8.2k) dum memor ipse mei by NeverNooitNiet

There is something, Aziraphale thinks, that is inherently selfish— unangelic, even— about grief. But then of course, the same could be said about love.

Mood: identity angst, calling Aziraphale out on his bullshit

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous ,” Crowley snaps. “Of course I don’t— angel, do you have any idea just how much more straightforward my life would be if only I were able to hate you?”

(5.6k) bent to the very earth by Ark / @et-in-arkadia

Use me, please, Crowley had said, so Aziraphale takes him at his word.

Mood: tenderness & kisses & sex against a wall

Aziraphale kisses him back because that is what makes sense, kissing Crowley, why, the thought crosses his mind often enough—he just never had the sort of momentum that seems to fire up Crowley now. Crowley whose hands are shaking before they ball up as fists on Aziraphale’s lapels, Crowley who keeps kissing him and kissing him like otherwise he’ll drown.

(40k) Lit in the Darkness by ToEdenandBackAgain / @toedenandbackagain​

Mood: Aziraphale and Crowley sleeping together through the ages. Mutual pining.

Aziraphale, despite being nowhere hear as gangly as Crowley, is somehow still all arms and legs when he sleeps. Crowley takes an elbow to the face three times before he wedges the angel between the wall and his body with an angry growl, making sure to trap the flailing limbs tight beneath his own.

Works In progress

this gorgeous ineffable wives snippet by @mia-ugly

Mood: beautiful writing, emotional vulnerability, submitting to the mortifying ordeal of being known,

“Whatever happens tomorrow -“ And something will happen, they won’t walk away from this. They’d never be allowed. “Darling, you should know -”

the bucket list

  by darcylindbergh / @forineffablereasons  / @watsonshoneybee​

If you’re going to go native, you might as well go all the way.

Mood: saying the absolutely wrong thing at the wrong time, reaching your breaking point, miscommunication and heart break.

“You know, we are the way we are,” Aziraphale said slowly, pressing it a little, brushing his wing up against Crowley’s, “but we can also change, Crowley. We have done, over the years. We’ve changed quite a lot, since we first met.”

#ineffable husbands #good omens fic #ineffable husbands fic #good omens fic recs #ineffable husband fic recs #this is basically a love letter to this wonderful fandom #good omens #good omens fic rec

[ijustwant2write]

Demons and Dragons-Crowley x Reader x Aziraphale (Platonic)

(GIF credit to @sherlxdestiel)

Saw a post by @darkshadow3942 and I had to write it! Also this is my first Good Omens post, and I can’t express how much I love this show!!!!

Summary: Imagine being the supposed dragon that was supposedly slain by Saint George. In reality, you’re a simple demon that posed as a dragon after Crowley dared you into it. He still gets a kick out of it to this day every time you two go out for a drink.

Characters: Crowley x Reader (platonic), Aziraphale x Reader (platonic)

Meanings: (Y/N)=Your name

Warnings: Slight swearing, drinking

(A/N: I just had to include Aziraphale in this and you’ll see why)

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

“(Y/N)! What the devil are you doing here?” I heard Crowley exclaim as he spotted me.

I was casually leaning against a lamppost, hands in my coat pockets as I watched him emerge from the bookshop his angel friend owned. He sauntered across the road, not bothering to check for cars as a grin beamed across his face.

I smiled back at him.“It’s been quite some time. Needed to get away from everyone down below, you know? Be with someone I can tolerate.”

“Tolerate? So I’ve moved up in the ranks.”

“When someone told me that you were hanging out in a bookshop, I had to come and see it for myself. How come you’re here?”

“Well, you know, anti-Christ, end of the world, usual business.”

I nodded, sensing the sarcasm.“Oh yes, heard about that too.”

“Listen, we should talk about this over a glass of wine!”

“Just a glass?”

Over Crowley’s shoulder, I saw movement coming from the bookshop, a man dressed in variations of whites spotted us, twiddling his thumbs together. Crowley noticed that I wasn’t paying attention to him anymore, spinning around before quickly turning back to me.

“Right, are we going? I know a great place where-”

“Invite the angel.”

His lips were pursed as he went to speak, but he hesitated.“W-what?”

“We can’t leave him by himself! That would just be plain rude.”

“Demons don’t care about manners.”

A slow smirk grew on my face, Crowley’s eyes reflecting worry as he saw; his footsteps were frantic as I made a beeline for the angel, liking the horrified look he was trying to hide. 

“Hello, we haven’t met.” I started.“I’m (Y/N), an old friend of Crowley’s, though I suppose you’re a much older friend than I am.”

“We’re not friends.” they simultaneously said, though neither held much conviction in their tone.

My eyes darted between them, before giggling at them.“We were wondering if you would care to join us for a drink?”

“Drinking with demons? I couldn’t possibly fathom-”

“What’s your name?”

“I-it’s Aziraphale.”

“Aziraphale, have you ever heard the term, ‘keep your friends close and your enemies closer’?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I think that’s what’s going on here. Come on, I’m parched. Where’s a good place to drink round here?”

Leaning back in my chair, I clumsily placed the wine glass down on the table, chuckling quietly to myself as it almost tipped over. Yet again it was empty, though Crowley was quick to fill it back up again. We clinked our glasses, raising them towards each other before necking the wine back again. Poor Aziraphale sat with his own drink, and though he too had drank quite a few, he wasn’t letting loose as much as we were. 

Everyone knew (or had suspicions of) these two. They definitely were friends, even if they didn’t want to label it that way. Demons and Angels despised each other, it was a well known fact, even amongst the humans. Good Vs Bad, God’s army against Satan’s. But these two seemed to break the mold. I had been around for just about the same time as them, yet I had never seen another friendship like it. They were able to find loopholes, break the system somehow without even alerting anyone. Yes, people knew, but they didn’t actually know what they were doing together.

“May I ask,” Aziraphale suddenly spoke up,“as to why you are here (Y/N)?”

I cleared my throat, crossing one leg over the other as I swirled my wine around in my glass.“To be completely honest with you, I was bored.”

“Bored?”

“Yes, bored. All anyone went on about down there was the anti-Christ and how many days it was until Armageddon. I mean, doesn’t anyone have anything better to do?”

“I mean, it is the end of the world they’re discussing. Seems like a big thing to me.”

“Yes, but I’m not interested. Everything turned so serious, where’s all the fun nowadays? We used to be able to do anything we liked!”

“Oh!” Crowley raised a finger, falling into hysterics as he tried to speak.“Do...do you....d-do...oh, I’m sorry, just hold on a minute.”

We waited as he continued laughing, the alcohol not helping him recover. He took a deep breath though ended up laughing again. Once he was calm, wiping away the tears in his eyes, he regained his posture, able to speak properly again.

“Do you remember St George?”

I cracked up with laughter too as soon as the name popped up. As we bent over giggling, throwing our heads back when snorting, Aziraphale once again remained silent, watching the two idiot demons lose it.

“St George? Why should she remember him?” Aziraphale asked, looking back and forth between us.

“Because, dear angel,” I spread open my arms in a proud fashion,“I was that dragon that was slain by the saint himself.”

Aziraphale sat up even straighter.“I beg your pardon?”

“Well, dragons are seen as evil beings right? Or used to be anyway. Obviously someone needed to do the job. Crowley was supposed to, but as usual, he found a loophole.”

“Now hang on a second,” Crowley rushed out after drinking from his glass,“we were both bored, and neither of us had an assignment, as you like to call them, like this in years!”

“Alright, if you say so.”

“Plus I don’t like morphing into animals, or mystical beings. It tires me too much.”

“Anyway, Crowley told me the details and insisted that I accept defeat from George.”

“You did?” Aziraphale raised an eyebrow, a small smile starting to form on his face.

“I don’t remember saying that.” Crowley protested.

“How would a simple man defeat a dragon? And if you know me so well, you would know that I wouldn’t accept defeat.”

“Yes, alright, but it was so much more interesting to watch than participate!”

“Hold on for just one moment!” Aziraphale exclaimed.“What happened after George slayed the dragon? Well, to you.”

“He slayed no dragon that day.” I started.“That man froze as soon as he saw me, almost shit his breeches. Before I could swallow him whole, Crowley stopped me. Somehow he convinced me to not eat the Saint-”

“But the dragon wanted human sacrifices, it kidnapped a princess!”

“Yeah, well, you know what our boss is like, a bit over dramatic a times, I’ll admit. When he got bored of that, he got Crowley in to sort out the mess he left behind, who then brought me in. I had no idea about the princess being there, she was annoying. Then George came along, I felt bad for the guy, pretended to be killed....that’s it really.”

“But the chivalry, the bravery-”

“He had none of that, and you made him a Saint.”

Aziraphale sighed.“Oh dear, if upstairs heard of this-”

I interrupted him once again.“They won’t though! It was centuries ago. Everyone was happy. I got to mess around with a good guy, Crowley got his bit of entertainment, and you did your job.”

I raised my glass in a happy fashion, chugging back the Prosecco like it was water. Aziraphale rolled his eyes, tutting at me, though not in a rude way; he was trying to process everything, the poor being. I knew that he would play by the books, he seemed to be the only angel that did nowadays. Crowley hadn’t stopped smirking throughout the story. He leaned back in his chair, one arm hooked around the back of it as he began speaking.

“Sorry I couldn’t tell you. But (Y/N) here is a sore loser.”

I scoffed.“I didn’t lose, I played dead so that some mere mortal would have a chance of living, because you begged me to.”

“See what I mean?”

“Although I am quite displeased by the fact that George didn’t do a good deed in ‘defeating evil’ as it were, I am grateful for what you did (Y/N).” Aziraphale finally smiled.

My face scrunched up at his words, pausing before saying,“What?”

“I put it down to good showmanship. I can imagine you put on quite a show.”

“A total drama queen.” Crowley added.

“Yes, well, I can admit it was a rather riveting performance.” I looked at my nails, distracting myself from the holy forgiveness being bestowed upon me.“Gave me something to do for a while.”

“Come on, admit it,” Crowley nudged me,“you loved it.”

“You know what gentlemen, we should do this more often. There are many stories I could tell you both.”

“Both?”

“Not all of them concern you Crowley.”

“I suppose you’re not that bad really. Why we could make this a daily thing-wait...Oh dear! Crowley, we must get going!”

“Whatever for?” Crowley slurred.

“Armageddon!”

The demon sighed, moaning like a child as he stood.“Yes alright. (Y/N), you need to pop by soon, tell me those stories. Pop by the bookshop anytime.” He slung his jacket over his shoulder, waltzing away as Aziraphale spluttered over his words.

“No! Well I don’t mean to be rude but, you see it’s my bookshop and-”

“Aziraphale, I think you might want to run after him. You do have a world to save.” I grinned.

He nodded, nimbly running after his demon friend. As the opposite pair quickly left, I gazed over the various alcohols left on the table. Crowley had drank almost all of his, though there was still enough left for me, whereas Aziraphale wasn’t as near finished.

I giggled to myself, pulling the beverages closer.“Seems a shame to let this all go to waste. What to start with first?”

#good omens #good omens imagine #good omens imagines #good omens one shot #good omens x reader #crowley #good omens crowley #crowley good omens #crowley imagine #crowley imagines #crowley one shot #crowley x reader #aziraphale #good omens aziraphale #aziraphale good omens #aziraphale imagine #aziraphale imagines #aziraphale one shot #aziraphale x reader

[dietraumerei]

Whumptober 2020 - Alt 13. “Accident”

(This is set in the same universe as A Little Place in the Country. You probably don’t have to read that first -- honestly, it’s a behemoth! -- but a few things are useful to know:

- Aziraphale is female-presenting. Often pretty butch, but she’s more on the femme side in this story. Crowley bounces around between gender presentations, but in this story she’s female-presenting too.

- Crowley sometimes has problems with her snake-y hips and back, and uses a range of mobility aides. In this story, she uses a wheelchair.

- Aziraphale is very much the guardian of queer people, and she has a whole circle of beloved queer folks of various ages, one of whom plays a big role in this story. They are very much found family.)

TW: hospitals, knee injury

“Honestly, you're the most fussing person I've ever met! I'm just fine!”

Crowley had just let herself into the shop, and winced. First at Aziraphale's words, then at the wave of pain she could feel off of her angel. She was having a pretty bad spate with her hips and back, so it was that she wheeled herself a little faster to find Damien standing over Aziraphale, who was laid out on the sofa, her knee bandaged and a bag of ice draped over it. Her skirt was pulled up scandalously high, and Crowley couldn't find it in herself to be entirely worried, what with angelic thigh to admire.

(Also, Aziraphale would be fine. Crowley would make it be so.)

“Oh good, you're here. Tell him I'm all right!”

“Tell me what happened,” Crowley said, as Damien came over to kiss her cheek, because he was raised properly. With his back turned to Aziraphale, the angel could lay her hand on her own leg and soothe the pain, if not heal it entirely. Going from horribly swollen to perfectly fine was, Crowley had to admit, probably too much to excuse away.

“Your wife,” Damien turned around to glare at her, “refuses to go to A&E even though she can barely put weight on her leg.”

“Sounds about right,” Crowley said, wheeling herself closer and kissing Aziraphale. “What did you do, love?”

Aziraphale groaned. “It's nothing, I swear. Just...an accident. A tiny one.”

“We were out for lunch,” Damien said, perching himself on the end of the sofa and stroking Aziraphale's hair. Oh, he loved them so much, dear old friend that he was. “She looked smashing as usual – honestly Crowley, you ought to rent her out to old queens so we can feel elegant again.”

“You're always elegant, my love,” Crowley assured him. “Wait 'til I'm back on my feet, I'll make you feel like the belle of the ball.”

“Why wait?” Damien asked. “We'll draw every eye in the room right now, gorgeous.”

“I'm right here,” Aziraphale said.

“Is that in protest for the flirtation or the renting you out?” Crowley asked, making eyes at Damien and very subtly curling her hair a little more. She was high femme today, even had tits and everything, and her wheelchair was a sleek matte black that matched her heels.

“...actually, neither,” Aziraphale had to admit. “We did have a lovely lunch, you darling man.” She sighed, and closed her eyes. “It's these bloody heels. Crowley, I don't know how you walk in them.”

“Oh, no,” Crowley said sympathetically. “Caught on something?”

Aziraphale shook her head. “Slipped. Went down with my usual grace.”

“Hey now,” Damien and Crowley said together, and Crowley touched her cheek.

“Oi,” she said softly. “You had an accident. It doesn't say anything about you, beautiful.”

Aziraphale opened her eyes and smiled softly at them. “I love you both very much. As I said, I went down hard. Not very far away at least, and poor Damien helped me home.”

“Twenty years ago and I would've carried you like a knight in a tale,” Damien promised her. “But we managed, you and me.” He sighed. “Crowley, I really don't like how her knee looks. It's swollen badly, and she can't put any weight on it hardly. I wrapped it up, but I'm not exactly a doctor.”

Crowley chewed her lip. Of course either of them could heal Aziraphale in moments, but it wasn't...the done thing. They were at least pretending to be human – although Damien had politely ignored their lack of ageing, and oh yes the way they could both change their bodies up. One did not grow the tits Aziraphale had overnight. A miraculous healing might be a bit too much.

(They could wipe his memory, but they'd long ago agreed to never do that to their beloveds. It felt...wrong. Disgusting, somehow. A breach of trust.)

“Love,” she said gently. “Even wrapped it doesn't look good. I know you hate it, but will you let Damien take you to A&E? I'll go with you too, if you want.”

Aziraphale must have been doing the same calculations she was. They were going to have to get through this the human way – although with miracles to block the pain far better than any dose of paracetamol would. Aziraphale might be grumpy and uncomfortable, but like hell would she be in pain. That really wasn't allowed.

“Fine,” she said, defeated. “Fine. You win, although you'll see, it's nothing. I'm sure I'll be better tomorrow.”

Crowley smiled at her, and kissed her softly. “I'm sure, angel-love. My good girl. Let's get you up – you can borrow a pair of my crutches.”

Aziraphale sighed loudly, but when she could hardly take a step, even leaning on Damien's arm, admitted Crowley had a point.

They made quite a scene in the local A&E, Crowley reckoned, but it was miraculously over-staffed that day, and London was having a surprisingly accident-free day – unlike Aziraphale, it had to be said – and they were seen to quickly. It was...kind of interesting, she had to admit. To go through things the human way, the slow way. To make Aziraphale giggle and smile, to ease her boredom, and the nervousness of being x-rayed, of waiting in a bed with her pretty leg propped up, her knee still badly swollen. She and Damien were an excellent comedy team, if she said so herself, making the nurses laugh too, charming everyone they met, a kind of honour guard to cover for a slightly miserable, scared Aziraphale. Was this how humans did it? Full of compassion, gentleness, the nurse who complimented Aziraphale's dress and made her blush and preen, and the other nurse who had helped her settle in the bed, the compassion pouring off of her so strongly that even Crowley could feel it. She was matter-of-fact and maybe the most intensely calming person Crowley had ever been around, and she made her angel feel better, smile a little more confidently, and sigh in relief at the ice laid over her knee.

Aziraphale rested against the thin pillows, and watched Crowley and Damien flirt outrageously with each other. They were doing it to make her happy and, the shit of it was, it worked. She forgot she was in a hospital bed – her! An angel! Who could miraculously heal herself except apparently when she was an awkward old thing who fell right in front of one of their human friends who had the gall to love her and worry about her! It wasn't to be borne, really.

So she giggled and egged them on and let Damien declare his undying love to her and flirt and admire her body. He could actually do it with style, she had to give him that – Crowley just drooled at her, more or less. Honestly, one might expect better from your actual demon, but not Crowley.

Damien, on the other hand, was just feeling up her good leg and making her giggle uncontrollably when  someone showed up to go over her x-rays and the like.

It wasn't good news. It wasn't bad news, she hadn't broken anything, but they suspected at least a serious sprain, and perhaps worse damage than that to some ligaments. She would get a heavy bandage and a knee brace to wear for the next week. She was to come back in if she still couldn't put weight on it when that week was up. She was to take it easy, and be careful, plan to need to the brace and crutches for up to a month, even if it wasn't any worse than a sprain. She was to let her friends take care of her, keep her leg elevated and iced, and come back in if the pain got worse.

Aziraphale's face fell further and further. What a stupid creature she was, the only angel in the world who would slip on something and wind up in A&E.

The only angel who pretended to be human so she could have friends, openly love the world, let herself be truly hurt so they wouldn't be worried or scared of her. Even, perhaps, give them the gift of caring for her as much as she cared for them.

She smiled bravely, and held Damien's hand tight as they wrapped her leg up, the stiff brace...well, already helping, she had to admit. Crowley was right there too, smiling at her, pretty as could be and so gentle. Aziraphale would use her crutches, and that was...something soft and good. Crowley did this all the time, and there was something there, about how human disability was, and how Crowley was way ahead of her on so much.

They made it back to the bookshop, the three of them, Aziraphale slow as she learned to use the crutches, awkward with her leg forced straight. A back bedroom had appeared about the time Crowley first needed to use a wheelchair, and it was surprisingly sunny and big and pleasant, for what probably should have been a box room carved out of the back of a bookshop in the middle of one of the densest neighbourhoods in London.

“I didn't even know you had a garden back here,” Damien said, standing at the huge picture window.

“Oh yes,” Crowley said cheerfully. “We just don't do much with it.” Indeed, it was a riot of colour and overgrown flowers and roses and grass that had become a meadow. There were birds everywhere, and bees hummed as they went about their work, deeply startled to find this corner of paradise here. It would provide a wonderful distraction for someone who, say, had to settle on the long, low window seat and not move around very much while keeping her leg iced and propped up on the handy foam wedge that also happened to be there.

Aziraphale went for the bed, though, deciding that even if she hadn't earned it – well, she'd earned it. Damien and Crowley did their best to make her comfortable, fuss a little, love a lot, and who couldn't laugh and feel treasured at that?

They did chase Damien home, finally, swearing up, down and sideways that they were fine, fine, and Crowley got him to promise to take her out to dinner soon so they could wow all of London with their style. There were many kisses, and Aziraphale got a whole, long hug all to herself, before he finally agreed to leave on the condition that they'd agree to let someone check on them every day.

(Of course their entire circle knew. Of course. Crowley's phone had been going off constantly all afternoon, and there had been pictures and selfies and more pictures to document her journey through the NHS. The x-rays had been a particular hit. So had the shot that was inexplicably just of Crowley's cleavage.)

Aziraphale enjoyed her three minutes without fussing as Crowley saw Damien to the door and oh all right. It was lovely to be in bed with her darling, Crowley hauling herself in beside Aziraphale easily and the two of them laughing already, hugging and kissing properly, really properly, long and languid and with plenty of tongue.

“What a pickle I'm in,” Aziraphale sighed, and Crowley threw her head back and laughed.

“You done fucked up, angel,” she said, and laughed again at the dirty look she got before hugging Azirpahale harder. “I love you. You promise me it doesn't hurt?”

“I promise,” Aziraphale sighed. “Also I shall be effecting a miraculous recovery a week from today.”

“That's my girl,” Crowley said, and kissed her cheek. “I am sorry, angel. Pickle is right.”

Aziraphale smiled and looked at her leg, bandaged from ankle to hip. “How do they do it? That was frightening.”

“The same way you just did it. By being scared, and having nice nurses to help them, and friends who love them,” Crowley said gently. “And a very hot and sexy wife, I might add.”

Aziraphale smiled. “You forgot modest.”

“So I did!”

Would Aziraphale ever stop laughing at her demon? Probably not. But right now it felt so good, to be loved and cuddled, to have someone take care of her even though she didn't really need it. But she did, because she'd got hurt, and had to pretend to be human. Maybe she'd even let her body heal itself, the human way. Out of curiosity. And a month wasn't such a very long time, not really.

She rested her head on Crowley's shoulder and hugged her. “Thank you for lending me crutches. I like that they're yours.”

“So do I,” Crowley said, and kissed her brow. “Oi. I love you. This was just an accident, angel. Happens all the time.”

“I know, love,” she said softly, and snuggled a little closer. “You okay to stay in London until I'm back on my feet? Otherwise we'll have the children following us back home.”

“Of course. It'll be easier for you to get around under the human's eyes here than in the country,” Crowley agreed. “And it's such a nice time to be here.” She smiled and kissed Aziraphale's cheek. “We'll figure out how to get you to some proms, angel. And a nice dinner now and again, to keep your strength up.”

Aziraphale's smile grew. “Oh, I like that. I love you, Crowley.”

“I love you too.” Crowley patted her bandaged leg gently. “Here's to the human way.”

“To the human way,” Aziraphale agreed, snuggling more firmly in Crowley's strong arms. Between the two of them, and their friends, they'd get through this.

#whumptober2020 #ineffable wives #good omens #my fic

[phlintandsteel-ao3]

Before The Beginning

"Do you think of me, while you're out building stars?"

A flutter of wings.

A whisper in the spaces between their atoms.

Red hair lit up like its own halo, like Raphael is twice as holy, twice as important as any other angel.  

And he is...

He is.

"Every moment, angel."

<//>

The moment after the Heavens are created, they are drawn to each other.  From the dawn of existence.  Time hasn’t been invented yet, so there’s nothing to mark the passage.  There is only brushing against their brethren, light interweaving as they rejoice.

When She gives them corporations, it makes many out of one, and secretly, not all are happy with it.  

Raphael misses belonging.  But when fingers run through his hair, marveling at the color, at the curl, he recognizes.

“Oh.  It’s you.”

A nod.  

“Your hair is the color of flames.”

“Yours is the color of starlight.”

They explore their new forms, tracing each other with fingertips, then palms, then pressing close in a snug tangle of limbs.

If they share enough skin, they can feel each other again.

(The other angles do not feel like they do.)  

<//>  

She gives them jobs, right after She creates time.

Something to pass it.  

<//>  

They cling close, spirits mixing and dipping into each other along the places where their skin touches.

<//>

“This nebula is truly one of our most beautiful projects to date…  Did She give you the suggestion for the color?”

“No.  It’s the color of Jehoel’s eyes.”

Gabriel blinks, stares at him too long.

“But since She made Jehoel, I suppose in the end, it actually was Her idea…”

The corporation that is Gabriel relaxes.

It is the first time that Raphael wonders.

(The questioning comes later.)

<//>

“I miss you when you’re off creating constellations…  It’s...cold without you.”

“You know my hair isn’t actually made of fire, right?  Isn’t that supposed to be your element anyway?” Raphael teases, pressing his forearms all along Jehoel’s back, crisscrossed in between his wings, holding him close.

(Curse these corporations that keep them apart.)

“I meant inside,” Jehoel admonishes, pressing his cheek more firmly against Raphael’s neck, baring his soul to him as best as he can.  

“Shhh, I’m here now, angel,” Raphael squeezes him tight.

<//>

(Isn’t it blasphemy, for Her Grace to not be enough?)

<//>  

"Do you think of me, while you're out building stars?"

A flutter of wings.

A whisper in the spaces between their atoms.

Red hair lit up like its own halo, like Raphael is twice as holy, twice as important as any other angel.  

And he is...

He is.

"Every moment, angel."

<//>

“If the forms of our existence can change, cannot the names attached to them as well?” Jehoel asks.

Raphael blinks at him.  

“Why do you call me ‘angel’?” Jehoel frames Raphael’s face with his hands.  

Their legs are twined together, stomachs pressed close.

They only breathe to feel the rise and fall of each other’s chests.

“Because…”

(Because he’s not Jehoel.  He’s not.  We should be the same, but admitting it feels too much like a reprimand.)

“Because ‘Jehoel’ has never felt quite right, has it?  Not to you, and not to me,” Jehoel admits, his eyes tracing the thoughtful curve of Raphael’s brow.

“What do you want to be called, then?  What feels right?” Raphael asks, shifting to rub a thumb over the back of the hand cupping his face.  

“In my spirit?  ...I would be called Raphael,” Jehoel whispers.  

“We can’t both be Raphael,” he reminds him, voice shaking as he yearns.  

(Yearns for when the two of them were made of the same atoms, the same light.)  

“Then I shall be Aziraphale, instead.”

Raphael’s soul sings as a joyful smile spreads over his face.  He can feel the harmony it creates with Aziraphale’s, so close, right there under his skin.  They both move to get as close as possible as quickly as they can, pressing against each other even more, willing the torrent of emotion to spill over into light, into the oneness that they lost.  

In their haste, Aziraphale’s smile bumps against Raphael’s.  

Oh.  

Neither of them thought the parts they used to communicate could be used to communicate this.  

“Aziraphale…”

Raphael presses their mouths together again.

The veil is lifted.  

Aziraphale surges forward, in corporation and in spirit, filling Raphael with a hurricane of suppressed longing.  He’s swept aside in the torrent of it, gone.  He isn’t just himself anymore, they’re them.

(He yields instantly.)

(Willingly.)  

It’s not the all consuming oneness of before, but it’s close.  So close.  

“Oh, my clever Aziraphale…”

“Stop talking, my dear.”

<//>

They don’t talk to each other for a long time after that.  Three nebulae and a galaxy’s worth.  They have better things to do with their mouths once obligations are done.

<//>

(They should have talked.)

(Maybe Raphael wouldn’t have questioned, if they had...)

(But maybe Aziraphale would have where he hadn’t before…)

<//>  

When She creates the humans, everything changes.  

Raphael can see why she adores them.

(But the other angels do not feel for humans like She does.)

<//>

It takes the humans a much shorter amount of time to realize the intimacy of mouths on mouths than it did Raphael and Aziraphale.

<//>

(Why?)

(Why not?)

(Why us?)

(Why them?)

<//>  

Raphael is on shift during The Betrayal.  

When Lucifer betrays Her, Gabriel bears witness against Raphael and his questions.

Light cannot escape the strength of his grief when Raphael realizes that questioning will be punished with losing everything.  

(At the center of a black hole is love.)

<//>

Good and evil.

Light and dark.

Up and down.

You and me.

All Her creations are double edged swords.  

(Be careful how much you want to know.)

<//>

It is supposed to be part of their punishment, that demons remember while angels do not.  

For Crawly though, it is only mercy.  

If his angel suffered without him as he did, well…  Then he would have lost faith entirely, like the rest of his brethren.

(As it is, he's the one who’s lost both the most and the least.)

(He isn’t sure what Lucifer is on about, that prat never loved anyone but himself.)

<//>

The forces of Hell spend rather more than seven days trying to break in to the Garden.  

In the end, it is Crawly and Crawly alone who can slither through.

(Go up and make some trouble.)

He can feel it as he burrows, feel it in his bones, that the only reason he can pass through the barrier is because Aziraphale is on the other side.  

(But he keeps that to himself.)

<//>

When he stands in Aziraphale’s presence for the first time in an eon, he can tell his angel is...diminished…

(But still Aziraphale.)

(Always Aziraphale.)

<//>

“You gave it away?!?”

<//>

(He gave it away.)

<//>

Aziraphale may be a Principality now, and Crawly may be a demon, but there’s still a strange sort of leftover resonance in their souls, drawing them to each other, only feeling truly at ease in each other’s company.  

<//>

“What?  You can’t kill kids!”

Crawly can feel the vacillation in him, even if Aziraphale doesn’t say anything, and he clings to it.  

(It feels like hope.)

<//>

“What was it that he said that got everyone so upset?”

“Be kind to each other.”

“Oh, yes, that’ll do it…”

(There are too many conflicting emotions in him to parse each one out.)

(So he just watches on in horror.)

<//>

Crowley gets called back down below, where all Hell has broken loose.  

Because the keys have been taken.

Lucifer’s lost his greatest leverage in his self proclaimed war against Her, which was the human souls he’d been hoarding down there.  

Everyone has to report back for some sort of giant strategy meeting.  

(Which is ridiculous, because they’re all just doing as they’re told.)  

It’s a pain and a mountain of paperwork and a swearing of allegiance to a new plan and all Crowley wants to do is run his fingers through hair like strands of starlight again.  

(He remembers the stars.)

(He’d trade them all to feel the touch of Aziraphale’s skin again.)

<//>

Lucifer leans forward on his throne, head tilted just so, to make sure the light of the flames bounces properly off his cheekbones.  

“Do you love him?”

Crowley doesn’t think of warm hands and warmer mouths.

“I remember him.  I remember what loving him cost me.”

(He thinks of stars collapsing instead.)

By some miracle, Lucifer is placated.  It might be for the very first time.

(What the devil is She playing at?)

<//>

Crowley isn’t sure which is the worse torment, being in Hell without Aziraphale, or walking the earth with him so close and yet so far.  

<//>

(Is this part of your plan?)

<//>

He takes it back.  Being friends by Arrangement is the worst chaos of a feeling ever.

(But it’s also the best.)

At least they can make up for all the talking they didn’t do before.

<//>

It takes everything in him not to grab Aziraphale by his frilled lapels and kiss him senseless in France.  But he knows it wouldn’t go over well.  

He has to keep telling himself that this isn’t his Aziraphale.

(But it is.)

(It is.)  

He’d do anything just to be allowed to stay at his side.

<//>  

“Anthony?”

“You don’t like it?”

“No, no, I didn’t say that…  I’ll get used to it.  What does the ‘J’ stand for?”  

“It’s, uh, just a ‘J’, really…”

(Lies told in a temple should burn more, shouldn't they?)

(It’s a ‘J’ to remind him that angels have free will too.)

Their hands brush as he hands over the rescued books, and there’s shock in it, shock at the tendril of love interwoven.  

(It’s enough to sustain Crowley for another 6000 years, the whisper of love in Aziraphale’s touch.)

(He wishes he could craft another hundred nebulae the exact shade of Aziraphale’s eyes in that moment, but his angel isn’t the only one who’s been diminished.)

(Falling made them all less.)

<//>

“Anywhere you want, anywhere at all,” he offers.

But what he means is please, choose me.  

<//>

And suddenly, he’s out of time.  

The End is upon them, Hell is onto him, and Aziraphale doesn’t remember him.

“The forces of Hell have figured out that it was my fault.  But!  We could run away together!  Alpha Centauri, lots of spare planets up there, no one would even notice us!”

(Choose me, his soul screams, just for once, choose me!)

“Crowley, you’re being ridiculous.  Look, I’m quite sure if I can just, reach the right people, that I can get all this sorted out…”

“There aren’t any right people,” Crowley says, dumbfounded, getting right up in his face, “There’s just God, moving in 'mysterious ways’ and not talking to any of us!”

“Well, yes, and that is why I’m going to have a word with the Almighty, and then the Almighty will fix it.”

“That- won’t happen…  You’re so clever, how can somebody as clever as you be so stupid?” Crowley asks, aghast.

“...  I forgive you.”

(So that’s it, then.)

(After 6000 years, Crowley snaps.)

(What reason is there to keep holding on?)

(Maybe he’s been deluding himself this whole time….)

“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!”

<//>

(Well, he thought he’d snapped at the time.)

(When he really snaps is screaming at both Heaven and Hell on the floor of a burning bookshop.)

(He imagines this is what Falling felt like for the rest of them.)

<//>

"I lost my best friend…"

"I'm so sorry to hear it…"

(Something in Aziraphale shifts, to see that Crowley didn't leave without him after all, that Crowley stayed.)

<//>

After the failed End, things are almost too quiet in comparison.  

Aziraphale wears his own face again.

Perhaps it’s for the best that he doesn’t remember, in this moment.  

(Because the symbolism would break his heart.)

(God knows it would break Crowley's, if he allowed himself to think about it.)

They stay together, without going off anywhere, just living their lives, but together.  

<//>

The first time Aziraphale leans toward Crowley with the intent to kiss, there is no other word to describe Crowley's posture but nervous.  

"Is this alright?" Aziraphale whispers.

"It is.  God, Aziraphale, it is.  It's just, I'm not sure what will happen…" Crowley confesses.  

Aziraphale smiles at him indulgently.

(Because he doesn't know.)

(Maybe Crowley should stop him…)

(But he doesn't have the heart to seriously consider it.)

(It feels like he's been waiting an eternity for Aziraphale to choose him.)

When Aziraphale presses his lips to Crowley’s, it’s soft, no surging or toppling him over onto his back like the first first time.  Aziraphale kisses like he doesn’t know that souls are for pouring, but it’s more than Crowley ever expected to feel again.  

“I…  Crowley, have-  …  Have we done this before?” Aziraphale asks him, confusion writ hard upon his face, “I would remember if we had done this...but…”

“But not if She took it away…” Crowley whispers, his eyes still closed.

(Were they told not to speak of it, or was that just his own self preservation?  It’s not like any angel would have ever believed a demon about it…)  

(But now...)

(But now…)

“What do you mean She took it away?”

Crowley opens his eyes.  

“I mean…  In the beginning, there was us.  Before.”  

“Us?” Aziraphale asks, a slow terror dawning over his face, “Before what?”

“Before I questioned!” Crowley answers, his voice too loud compared to Aziraphale’s.  “Before the Fall, before the humans, before time itself was set spinning, there was us.”

“Us,” Aziraphale echos, brushing his fingers over his own lips.  “I…  I think I believe you…  But why-”

“Oh, come off it, angel,” Crowley practically jeers, his emotions spinning completely out of control.  

(Healer, heal thyself.)

“It was part of our punishment, to remember.  Think about it.  You know all demons were angels before the Fall, but do you remember any of us?  Do you remember me?  I know you don’t,” Crowley spits out, so close to breaking that he risks complete and utter ruin if this goes badly.

Aziraphale looks terrified as Crowley is speaking, but instead of answering, he kisses him again.

And this time he pours his heart into it, no holding back.  

It burns.

(But god, Crowley could die happily this way.)  

“Is…  Is it supposed to feel like this?” Aziraphale pulls back, tears in his eyes.  

“You were the angel of fire, you’ve always burned a little…”

“Of fire?...  No I wasn’t.  I’ve always just been, me,” he frowns.

“No...you weren’t...” Crowley insists softly, “Well, you’ve always been you, but you used to be more, just like I did…”

Aziraphale shakes his head, like he can’t fathom the concept of everything he’s finding out, everything that’s been taken from them.

“Wait.  The angel of fire’s name was Jehoel,” Aziraphale says hesitantly, like he isn’t sure if he wants Crowley to be lying to him after all or not.

“Yes.  But you chose to be Aziraphale instead,” Crowley makes a helpless motion with one shoulder.

“I chose?  I…  I don’t remember...” Aziraphale adds, sounding frustrated.  

“I know…”

“Crowley, what were you the angel of?” Aziraphale asks, as if he’s just now realizing how strange it is that he’s never asked before.  

Then it’s Crowley’s turn to shake his head.  

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It matters to me.”

“Leave it, angel.”

“You can’t tell me things like this and then not answer my questions, Crowley,” Aziraphale chastises him, starting to look distraught.  

Crowley gives him a horrified look, just now realizing what Aziraphale is dancing along the edge of, by questioning.

Aziraphale’s face softens, but he still looks hurt, confused.  Not by Crowley, but by the situation.  “Why would I be diminished?  I didn’t fall…  Did?...  Did She change me?  From Jehoel into-” Aziraphale pauses and motions at himself.

Crowley jumps into the pause and says, “No, angel.  You chose to be Aziraphale, long before the Fall, ages beforehand.  That wasn’t what diminished you, that was...that was something She did later...” Crowley trails off.  

(He’s not going to say the words ineffable plan.  Not here, not now.)

Aziraphale stills.  It’s not the peaceful stillness that angels are supposed to be known for.  It’s an angry, teetering stillness.  One that when it tips over, promises violence.  

“Crowley, what was your name, before you fell?”

(Damn his clever angel.)

Crowley hesitates, swallowing hard as his throat threatens to close up.  

“Crowley,” Aziraphale repeats himself, insistent, “What was your name?”

With a trembling hand, Crowley reaches up and cups his angel’s cheek.  

“It was Raphael.”

Aziraphale’s face looks like it’s about to shatter.  

Crowley is ready to grab the pieces of him, if need be.

(Always Aziraphale.)

And then the anger comes flooding forward.  

“How dare She.”

“Aziraphale…” Crowley whispers, not sure if he can or should or even really wants to calm him down...  

“How dare She,” Aziraphale repeats, his anger far beyond righteous.

(Words like primal were invented for this.)

Before Crowley can say anything else in return, the two of them are suddenly bathed in a blue-white light from above.  He freezes in terror, eyes going wider than they ever have before.  

But Aziraphale, his clever, beautiful Aziraphale, looks up, and rages.  

“Give it back.”  

Crowley’s heart skips a beat.  

“Aziraphale, you don’t know what-”

“Give it back!” Aziraphale cuts off the Almighty, “He may not have known the consequences, but I do.  Give me back my memories,” he demands as angry tears start to pour down his face.  

“Aziraphale…” Crowley says helplessly, his whole corporation starting to shake and tremble.  

“You said we had a choice, but you took mine away from me,” Aziraphale admonishes God, “You had already taken my memory of him away when you told us of the Fall.  That’s not a choice, that’s a lie.”

The sadness clinging to the air around them is so strong that Crowley feels like he’s choking on it.  

When no response is forthcoming, Aziraphale turns his face down and away from the light of God.  

Sparks and embers begin to swirl upward out of him, like a log disturbed on a campfire.

(This is what happens when you kick the angel of fire too many times, Crowley thinks a tad hysterically.)

Aziraphale falls to his knees, crying out in pain.  

Crowley catches him, eases him down while they cling to each other tightly.

(God, it burns.)

(It was always going to.)

The sparks intensify, until Aziraphale is consumed, until they both are.

But Crowley doesn’t let go.

This is their choice.

An informed one this time.

(We should be the same.)

(The same light.)

(The same fire.)

(The other angles do not feel like they do.)

(He yields instantly.)

(Willingly.)

(He remembers the stars.)

(So that’s it, then.)

(At the center of a black hole is love.)

Falling made them all less, but somehow, it makes Aziraphale more.  And Crowley is swept along with him, their fetters removed, shackles broken, fire and stars at their fingertips again, now that they’re on the same side.

(God, show me your Great Plan...)

After She leaves, it’s silent for a long time while they exist.

“Raphael?...”

“That’s not my name anymore, angel…”

A thoughtful hum.  

“But I remain Aziraphale yet...  I think, because I chose that, She cannot take it away from me...”

Crowley lifts his angel’s hand, presses a kiss onto the back of it.  They’re still laying on the floor, all pretenses and trappings of humanity stripped away, burned away by the Almighty’s light.  

“Do you want to call me ‘Raphael’ again?” he asks, quiet, accepting of any outcome.  

“Aziraphale is my rebellion, but ‘Crowley’ is yours, my dear.  I’m not going to be offended if you want to keep it.  I’ve grown rather fond of it, actually.”

“Ok, angel.  Ok,” Crowley finds himself smiling.  

“You know, I’m not an angel anymore…” Aziraphale points out.

“That’s not what I mean by it,” Crowley assures him, still smiling.

Aziraphale smiles back.

“I know.”

When Aziraphale rolls them over, hovering over Crowley, the intent to kiss him for eternity written plainly on his face, it takes Crowley’s breath away to see his new form.  

“Aziraphale,” he says, a benediction now, no longer a plea, “Your wings are red…”

A nod.  

“Yes, I thought we’d go well together that way, without being too matchy-matchy.”

Crowley is laughing when Aziraphale finally leans down to kiss him, unable to resist tasting the joy on his lips for a moment longer.  

Kissing on the floor of Crowley’s flat for a year and a day may seem excessive, but it’s not.

(It’s not.)

(It’s really not.)

They used to kiss for decades, they used to kiss for centuries when they could get away with it.

(Plus, in Heaven, there was nothing else all that interesting to do but steal each other’s atoms and tuck them up close inside their hearts.)

But Aziraphale pulls back after only a year, and Crowley whines in protest, following his lips upward.  

“I’ve been thinking…”

“Well I haven’t, I’ve been kissing you,” Crowley complains ineffectually, already feeling the stretch of their souls separating and settling back into their own corporations like taffy pulled too far apart.  

Aziraphale smiles indulgently at him.  

“Some of us can do more than one thing at once, my dear.”

“Not all of us are Cherubim of unfathomable power, angel,” Crowley grumbles.  

“Are you, overwhelmed?...” Aziraphale grins, leaning down close again.

“By you?” Crowley says, wrapping all his limbs around Aziraphale like a limpet, “Always.”

He tucks his face into the crook of Aziraphale’s neck and just, holds on tight.  

“Oh darling…  I can’t even imagine what you’ve been through, these 6000 years,” Aziraphale cups the back of his head, sliding fingers up into his red locks.

(In his true form, Crowley’s hair was like a tumble of lava, like a curtain of a million red stars burning and twisting around each other at once.)

(Aziraphale could spend eternity running his fingers through it.)

“Don’t get all mushy on me now, angel,” Crowley says, his voice cracking.  

“I make no promises...”

Crowley squeezes him extra tightly for a moment, before settling back against the floor again.  

“What have you been thinking about?” Crowley asks, knowing they really aren’t going to be able to just kiss for the next century, as much as they both might want to.  

“Us.  And Heaven, and Hell,” Aziraphale tells him, growing pensive.  

“We…  Surely, we must have a little more time?” Crowley says.

“If we didn’t, would you have wanted to spend it any other way?” Aziraphale asks, giving him a quick peck on the lips.  

“...No,” Crowley admits, “Is this it, then?  Can...can you feel them coming for us, somehow?”  

“Not as of yet,” Aziraphale shakes his head, “But it’s only a matter of time, isn’t it?”

“What are we going to do?”

“Well, the way I see it, we have two options.  We could run, but, it couldn’t be to any place within Creation.  She’d still be able to find us, no matter how distant the nebula…” Aziraphale tells him sadly.

“The only thing outside Creation is the Void, Aziraphale, we can’t go there.  No one but God Herself has ever survived it.  There’s no stars, no space there, just nothingness…”

“And yet, every constellation brought into existence overwrites it…” Aziraphale points out.  “Also, it has come to my attention recently that omission is not the only lie being perpetuated upon us by the Almighty.”

“Even if we could survive it,” Crowley says, scrubbing a hand over his face and pinching the bridge of his nose, “Honestly?  That kind of sounds like the easy way out now, running from our problems…  And, there’s no books in the Void, no Bentley’s…  What’s option two?”  

“Well, in order to fix all this, truly fix it…  I believe we will have to kill Lucifer.”

“...” Crowley blinks at him.  “Angel, my darling, I think the Fall may have gone to your head a bit...” he suggests calmly, eyes worried.  

“I don’t mean to rule Hell, if that’s what you’re thinking,” Aziraphale tuts, because it’s very obviously what Crowley is thinking.  “What I mean is to end the War, but not by fighting it.  I don’t think I need to explain to you the impossibility of getting Lucifer to call things off on his end.  But if it wasn’t his call to make anymore…”

“Exactly how is that not ruling Hell, again?” Crowley asks.

“Because once Lucifer is gone, we will tear it down.”

Crowley surges forward, sits up so that he and Aziraphale are on a more even level.  

“Aziraphale, you cannot set loose the hoards of Hell upon the earth.  I didn’t think I needed to explain to you how completely awful I am at being a demon, I am, literally the worst demon in existence, going off evilness, you cannot base the rest of them on me.  Granted, some of them are only half bad, but, there are some beings down there that would like nothing better than to reek havoc and terror on humanity for the rest of their days…”

“That is why they would not be let loose, they would be watched, retrained, so to speak, by me.”

Crowley doesn’t question his ability to do it.

As a one of the Cherubim, protecting the Garden, and by association the entire earth, had been Aziraphale’s job.   

“That’s a...rather hands-on approach…” Crowley says, jaw hanging open.  

“Well, someone needs to take one.  Humans get a second chance, why shouldn’t demons?  This is getting rather ridiculous, don’t you think?” Aziraphale counters.  “Why do we have to serve Lucifer just because we refuse to serve Her?”

(How do you refuse to serve a plan you don’t understand?)

“Thinking you’re better than your superiors is a dangerous game to play, Aziraphale, he’s the Morning Star,” Crowley says, shaking his head.

Aziraphale reaches out and cups Crowley’s cheek, stroking a sword-callused thumb over it.

“How many suns have you created?”

Crowley’s eyes go wide.

“That’s different...”

“What are the odds,” Aziraphale says slowly, so that it has plenty of time to sink in, “That Lucifer is diminished as well?”

(Falling made them all less.)

“Ok...  But.  Even if we could kill him, that doesn’t guarantee that She’ll stand down, Aziraphale, She could still set Heaven upon us and try to wipe us all out.”

“She could…  But worst case scenario?  The absolute, most final, irreversible scenario?  Is that She undoes us completely, erases us from existence.  And my dear, I think, if She really meant for it to end like that?  That She would have already done it.  But She didn’t.  She let me Fall instead…”

“Fuck...  Are we really doing this?”

“If we want to stay together, here, on earth, I think we have to.  Besides, even if we had another 6000 years of being ‘left alone’, it wouldn’t be enough.  I demand eternity at your side,” Aziraphale declares to him passionately.  

(And sometimes, that’s all there is to it.)

<//>

(In the Beginning, God created the Heavens and the Earth.)

(And God looked upon Her creation, and saw that it was good.)  

(Who judges, when God is created?)

(What good is just beginning over?)

<//>

Having watched Crowley go in through the front door so many times, Aziraphale certainly knows the way into Hell.  

He does not saunter in.  

He unfurls his wings, all four of them, blood red and shimmering, and calls up an armor he has not worn since before the invention of man.

The front doors explode inward under a single touch of his finger.  

Demons scream and scurry away from his presence before even having a chance to see him.  

“Lucifer!” Aziraphale calls out, making his intentions clear, “Where is he?”

He meets no resistance, absolutely none, until he gets to the little throne Beelzebub has set up outside the Dark Counsel’s chambers.  

And even then, it’s hardly resistance.  

“What’s going on here?” they bluff. 

But Aziraphale can feel their fear.

(No other Cherubim has ever Fallen.)

(And the only Seraph who did, well…)

“You have taken him, and I intend to get him back,” Aziraphale seethes.  

(He doesn’t need to elaborate, because now he knows that demons know.)

(Know what Crowley is to him.)

(Know what they were.)

(Know what was done to them.)

Beelzebub steps aside, even as they say, “He’s not here, we don’t have him…”

“I guess we’ll see, won’t we.”

Aziraphale floats up the steps to the chamber’s doors, rolling his eyes internally at the ridiculous figures and symbols carved into it.  

(They mean nothing to a being of his power.)

For these doors, he uses his whole palm.  They dissolve with a boom under his power, leaving a gaping space that four of Aziraphale could walk though.  

(He manages to fill it up though.)  

The Lords of Hell turn from their various debaucheries and hiss at him, drawing their weapons, leaping toward him with murderous intent simply for daring to be an intruder.  

Aziraphale raises both arms out in front of him and snaps his fingers, wiping all of them out of existence at once.  

There’s a strangled sounding noise from behind him, probably Beelzebub.

(Good, let them bear witness to what’s about to happen here.)

Even the Dark Counsel's playthings are erased, leaving Lucifer and Aziraphale alone.

(Small mercies.)

Lucifer stands up from his throne.  

He tilts his head, hands clasped behind his back like he’s unfamiliar with taking any pose but condescension.  

“If this is supposed to be an...audition, you’ve got my attention-” Lucifer squints at him, tilts his head the other direction, “...Aziraphale.”

“Nothing of the sort,” Aziraphale says at the same moment that Crowley, in snake form, jumps quick as lightning from his hiding place under the throne.

He wraps himself around Lucifer’s hands and middle, like a living restraint, keeping his arms behind his back.  

“How dare-  You insolent piece of scum!” Lucifer rages.  “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

“I believe,” Aziraphale says as he summons his sword to him, his old sword, the broad one that takes two angelic hands to wield and could cut down a dozen foes at once, “The technical term is an execution.”

Lucifer laughs, incandescent rage still pouring off of him in waves.

“You think I need my hands to fight you?  You think this very realm itself doesn’t obey my commands?” Lucifer sneers.  

And then everything is on fire.  

The very air itself is made of flame, and not just of regular hellfire either.  This is The Fires of Hell, that which destroys even demons, that which torments the very souls of humans, long after their bodies are gone.

There are multiple screams from the doorway, where the gathering watchers have to suddenly reel backward for their lives.  

Lucifer laughs maniacally for a long minute, which, that alone would make an observer question his sanity, forget everything else…  

Eventually, he stops laughing though, and wills The Fires away.  

“You know, you always were the brightest star,” Aziraphale says, causing Lucifer’s jaw to drop, “But not exactly the brightest pupil.”

“What!?  How!?”

“I’m The Angel of Fire, idiot,” Aziraphale says primly, then takes the Morning Star’s head clean off with one swing.  

(There are perks to being soul bound to the former Angel of Fire.)

(And Crowley likes this whole immunity to fire thing too.)  

“Don’t forget hisss heart,” Crowley stays holding on tight, even through the pain of being in contact with Lucifer’s bare skin this whole time.  

“Of course, dear,” Aziraphale says, stepping forward, “I’d not forget a thing like that.  Are you out of the way?”

Lucifer’s corporation is still standing, still struggling, even as his head comes to rest a short ways away.  

“Yesss, jussst do it!”

“You fools, we’re on the same side now!” the head screams at them, blood already matting his golden locks.  

Aziraphale looks Lucifer directly in his decapitated eyes as he says, “We’re on our own side.” 

Then he pierces the blade through the Morning Star’s chest.  

What’s left of Lucifer falls to its knees.

“Leave the blade in, he’sss not dead yet!” Crowley warns, tightening even further against the thrashing.  

“Oh?  What was your first guess?” Aziraphale says, motioning to the head that’s begun screaming continually.  

“Jussst end it already!” Crowley urges him.

“What else do you want me to do?  I can’t take the sword out again!” Aziraphale says.

“I don’t know, angel, killing isssn’t my department,” Crowley hisses, “Jussst, do sssomething!”

Aziraphale looks between the severed head and Crowley, back and forth, until suddenly an idea flashes across his face.  

(To err is to exist.)

(To be inspired is divine.)  

He drops to his knees, placing his hands on Lucifer’s forehead, and calls up all the power he possesses within him.  

(How many times did he see Crowley do this?)

(How hard can it be to do the reverse?)

(What’s the opposite of healing?)

Light bursts out of Aziraphale and Crowley both.  

The face of the Morning Star crumbles.

The screaming stops.

His corporation is crushed within Crowley’s coils, leaving only ash behind to float on the super heated air.  

It’s dead silent in the throne room of Hell.

Aziraphale grimaces as he wipes the ash off his hands.  

Crowley slithers over to him, climbing right up him and draping himself around his angel’s shoulders.  

“Are you alright, my dear?” Aziraphale asks, running soothing hands along Crowley’s scales.  

“Yesss.  It ssstingsss, but I’ll live.”

“Not that I don’t love having you all over me, dear, but perhaps it would help to transform back?” Aziraphale points out as he climbs the few stairs up to Hell’s throne.  

“Perhapsss,” Crowley says, but makes no move to disentangle himself.  

Aziraphale smiles to himself as he turns around and sits on the throne.  

A mass of demons, lead by Beelzebub and Dagon, are all gathered at the doorway, watching in shock.  

“Right,” Dagon seems to come to her senses first, before any of the others, “We’re under new management, then.”

And she takes a knee.  

All of Hell is quick to follow.  

“Here’s what’s going to happen,” Aziraphale says, his voice carrying to all of the corridors of Hell.

Before he can continue though, Crowley turns back into his human corporation, right there on his lap.  

Aziraphale quickly steadies him, to keep him from falling to the ground.  

“Really, Crowley?”

“What?  You look just as powerful with me sprawled over your lap in this form,” he grins, flashing some fang.  

“Lord have mercy…” Aziraphale sighs.

The demon hoard gasps.  

“Listen, everyone,” Aziraphale says, getting back on track, “The War is off.  There will be no more evil for evil’s sake, no more temptations, no more discord and discontent.  Hell, is hereby closed.”

Before the shocked exclamations can even begin to rise from the crowd, a blue light envelopes them all.

Not the solitary spotlight of God’s attention, but a diffuse glow that builds and builds until it’s blinding, until there’s nothing left in all of existence but The Light.

(And God looked upon Her creation, and saw that it was good.)

Crowley and Aziraphale come back to consciousness clinging to each other tightly.  They’re hovering in the clouds, with every angel and demon accounted for behind them.  This is the Heaven Aziraphale remembers from before, just majestic clouds and light and gentle breezes, not the corporate police state the angels turned it into after being left to their own devices for too long…  

“What’s happening?” Crowley whispers, looking around as everyone else looks back at them with the same confusion.  

“Judgement,” Gabriel says, his face determined.  

“Um, not quite.”

Every being looks upward at the source of the voice like they normally would.  Aziraphale’s eyes go wide though, and he forcibly grabs Crowley’s head and turns it back down, covering him with one of his wings.

“It’s ok, Aziraphale, I’m going to tone it down for you guys.”

It’s not until God has fully descended and Her Majesty has been tucked away enough that She’s no longer glowing, that Aziraphale releases his protective stance over Crowley.  

(Even as angels, very few types of them were made to withstand God’s presence.)

(Archangels were not one of them.)

“Let me just start by saying that I am, so, so glad that you stayed,” God smiles at them kindly, almost proudly.  

Crowley leans over to Aziraphale and whispers, “Is it just me, or does she look exactly like that chick from Star Wars?”

“Star Wars?  What are you-  Crowley, focus,” Aziraphale hisses at him.  

God folds her hands, as if in a mockery of waiting patiently.  

“Oh, uh, were you talking to us?...” Crowley looks around and then winces, pretty much preparing to be smote right there.  

“Were any of the rest of you thinking of running off to the Void?” She asks, giving them a wry smile.  

There’s a murmur through the assembled masses behind them.  

But no one speaks up.  

(No one has a single, solitary clue as to what’s going on.)  

“I wanted to thank you, too,” God says, “For taking care of Lucifer.  I just couldn’t finish things up knowing he’d still be around to terrorize the humans afterward.”

“You’re welcome?” Aziraphale says, incredibly confused.  

“Wait, so this is The End, then?” Crowley asks.  

“For some of us,” She answers.  “Look, I appreciate the sentiment of you taking care of ‘The Enemy’ for me, but, guys, come on.  The opposite of Life, isn’t evil,” She tells them, “Lucifer may have been a pain in the ass, but he wasn’t my other half.  He wasn’t the first one to screw up,” She assures them.  

“I…  I don’t understand…” Aziraphale says.  

“Let’s just say, that when we went through our crucible, we were too afraid to stay…  It, changed us, though…  And we regretted it…” She sighs, her gaze going out past them, out into the distance.  

Crowley turns around, some unknown danger pricking at his senses.  

Behind them, moving slowly but steadily toward the crowd, is Death.

God lifts her arms, making a parting motion in front of her.  The angels and demons are separated like the Red Sea, with Heaven and Hell mixed on both sides.  

Aziraphale tugs on Crowley’s arm, pulling him with him out from in front of God.

“This is not our fight, my dear,” Aziraphale whispers to him.  

Crowley steals a look at God’s face.  

She doesn’t look determined or angry or even riled up.  She looks sad.

“Are you sure this is going to be a fight?” Crowley asks him, asks Her, asks for anyone who’s listening.

“It's ok,” God assures them all, “I wasn’t sure if it would be this way or not, you know, with free will involved and all, but I’m glad it is.  I’m glad we get a chance to fix our mistake.  You all know enough now to hold on to your existences yourselves, without my help.  My Son will shield the humans, but the rest of you are kind of going to be on your own,” She adds, like She really does regret that, but there’s nothing to be done for it.  

As Death approaches, the group of angels and demons closes up behind him, silently and unanimously, as if by a higher power’s will.  

“Oh my God, you’re just going to let him?...” Crowley blurts, cringing at how it comes out halfway through.  He pushes on though.  “If you’re just going to abandon us, then what was the point?”

God takes her gaze off the approaching finality and addresses Crowley with glowing, starlit eyes.  

“The point was, to teach you that dichotomy is a trap.  Don’t fall into it,” She says, turning to look back at Death, “Or you’ll end up just like us...”

Death stops in front of her, reaching out with his free hand that isn’t occupied with his scythe.  

God reaches up, wrapping her arms around his neck.  

“I’m so tired,” She whispers, tears starting to fill Her eyes.  

“I know,” Death whispers back.  

And then he runs her through.  

Thousands of angels and demons cry out in sadness, cry out in agony at the loss of Her Grace, all at once.  

Death holds God as She dissolves into a million points of light in his arms.  

(Who judges, when God is created?)

(Who judges, when God is killed?)  

(Who is created, by good existing?)

(Why?)

After She is gone, Death drops his scythe.  

He tips his face upward.  

He dissolves into a million points of darkness.

And the Heavens shake.

“Uh, we need to get out of here,” Gabriel says, panicking.  

“It’s too late for that,” Crowley overrides him, “Everyone!  Form up!” he yells, waving his arms just a touch desperately.

“Yes, quickly now, stay together!” Aziraphale adds, shedding his human form as existence starts to tremble around them.  

Everyone copies him, wings and eyes and claws and eyes everywhere as they huddle together, angels and demons, creations of God and abandoned of God, all together, all at once.

The Seraphim and Cherubim form a protective circle around the rest of them as the lesser start screaming, feeling their selves being eroded away.  Those protecting turn up their power, as high as they can, willing with every miraculous allotment ever given them, for it to be ok.

Aziraphale’s fire-red wings are the only point of color on the outer circle of white.

Crowley slips inside his wings, the sacred ones used to cover himself, and he presses their lips together, one last time.  

The Void beckons.  

(At the center of a black hole is love.)

Nothingness begins to creep in between the angels’ wings.  

(At the center of a black hole…)  

Tears flow freely down Crowley’s face as he and Aziraphale kiss and kiss, their atoms sliding in between one another’s, the light of their souls the only thing they can see behind their eyelids.  

(At the center…)

Something wild and desperate at the very core of Crowley clicks.

Wonders.

Questions.

“There’s another option,” he suddenly says, breaking away from Aziraphale’s mouth.

“What?”

Crowley looks around quickly, not leaving the safety of Aziraphale’s arms and wings.

“Gabriel!” he yells, catching his former co-worker’s attention from across the huddled masses, “The Pillars!”

The fear on Gabriel’s face flickers as it competes with dawning comprehension.

“Go!” Crowley waves at him, pointing to the other side of their angelic shield.  

“Crowley, what are you doing?” Aziraphale asks as Crowley turns back to him, sticking his hands through the gap on either side of the Cherub’s shoulders and out into the Void.  

“If this existence is going to insist on unraveling,” Crowley hisses, because fuck, that hurts, “Then we’ll just build a new one.”

And stars explode from his finger tips.  

Crowley leans in and kisses his other half again, and a hundred blue nebulae the exact shade of Aziraphale’s eyes are born in succession.  

(Suns burn.)

(Planets spin.)

(Galaxies twinkle in the sky.)

(The universe is a lot smaller afterward, but at the center of it all, is love.)  

<//>

“What now?” the humans ask.

The Son of Man looks up at the night sky, filled to the brim with new constellations that have never been seen before, never even been dreamed of, and a knowing smile spreads over his face.

“Now we’re free.”

#good omens #crowley #aziraphale #aziraphale/crowley #ineffable husbands #crowley-as-raphael #aziraphale-as-jehoel #playing fast and loose with angelic mythology here #i hope you all are up on your good omens meta #all you really NEED to know though is that Aziraphale basically means “Also-Raphael” #that’s like a major plot point #on a side note i just gained like 500 followers in less than a week? #you guys are crazy and i love you #here have some fic #i actually titled it this time #fair warning i made myself cry while writing this

[qfantasydragon]

That Blessed Arrangment

Fair warning, this one is a bit long and a continuation of another post you can find here. I’ve also just gotten an AO3 account and have posted everything have so far (x).

Part Three

A quick miracle slipped the certificate past the clerk who otherwise might've objected to a witness signature that read "I am." Crowley tried to argue Aziraphale into keeping it and hanging it on a wall, but the angel was firm that the whole business be done properly.

   "I, for one, do not want to run the risk that the whole thing fails to work because we didn't do one last step."

   Crowley hissed but satisfied himself with a copy. More than once Aziraphale walked in on him holding it, staring at the signatures. The angel was never sure if it was God's or theirs that he was focusing on, but decided to leave the demon to his thoughts.  

   Miraculously, (Aziraphale protested that he had nothing to do with it. Crowley may have, but refused to admit to anything) both sides seemed to have missed that they had gotten married. Or at least, neither one was saying anything about it.  

   Crowley took hanging around the bookshop, Bentley parked haphazardly in the front. (The fact that it never received a ticket was, in fact, a demonic miracle, but neither of them thought much of it.) Plants began to take up residence in the windows and corners. The grad students who wandered in and out began to carry with them stories of a giant snake curled up in sunny spots, slithering along bookshelves, and more and more frequently, draped around the owner like a feather boa. The most famous of these stories was one in which two students were holding a conversation with the strange white-haired owner and the snake began to slide off the top of one of the shelves. Right on to the owner's shoulders. Who merely adjusted his stance to take the weight and kept talking.

   Both swear they have no idea what was actually said as they watched in wide-eyed horror as the snake lazily coiled around his shoulders and gave the students an unblinking look with golden eyes before, for all intents and purposes, appearing to go to sleep. (Allegations that one of the students was attempting to flirt the owner out of a book have been furiously denied.)

   Aziraphale and Crowley began to make plans to add another two floors to the store—the first would be a proper living space, with a bedroom, kitchen, and all the other rooms the average human had. The second would be a soundproofed greenhouse for Crowley to grow his plants in.

   They both still caught glimpses of angels and demons out of the corner of their eyes, but as months passed and nothing happened, they both slowly relaxed. This was their normal now; easy going conversations, the gentle bickering that was a habit after six millennia, and a million new discoveries about each other now that they no longer had to pretend to be enemies. A beautiful normal.  

   Right up until it wasn't, of course.

   The trouble started innocently enough. Anathema came by to chat and peruse the books, convincing Aziraphale to sell her one on the grounds that he had run off with The Prophecies of Agnes Nutter and returned it...toasted. As she was paying, she mentioned this nice little bakery Newt had taken her to for a date.

   Apparently, it had amazing crepes.

   Aziraphale barely had to turn to give Crowley his practically patented pleading look before the demon was asking if he'd like to go out tonight.

    There wasn't a lot Crowley wouldn't do to make his angel smile like that. A drive of an hour to watch him eat was nothing.  

   So that evening they went out and got crepes, Aziraphale only slightly too dignified to bounce around excitedly as the server brought out plate after plate of thin pastries.  

   "Might as well make an evening of it," Crowly pointed out, so they spent the rest of the night cheerfully sampling the quality of alcohol the nearby restaurants and pubs had to offer. As the night wore down they washed up in a club where a group of drunk teens spotted their rings and cornered them into going on the floor for the couples dance, ignoring Aziraphale's protests of two left feet.

   The place was slowly emptying as people trickled home, but the lights still flashed dimly and the music still played as Crowley and Aziraphale swayed gently on the floor, arms wrapped around each other. (If Anathema had been there at that moment, she would have seen two sets wings, one black, one white, wrapping around each other, shutting out the world.)

   The song ended and they slowed to a stop.  

   "Ready to go home, my dear?" Aziraphale murmured to his husband. Crowley's arms tightened in a brief hug before releasing.  

   "Let's sober up first. Be silly to stop the apocalypse only to get discorporated in a crash."  

   Restaurants the next day wondered where the extra bottles of wine and brandy and whiskey had come from, but most of them shrugged and accepted it. A couple of the more enterprising employees decided that if the bottle were supposed to be gone, why, then it was their duty to make them gone.

   It was with easy chatter about an exotic plant Crowley was considering, ah, acquiring, that they wandered back to the Bentley and worked their way down the deserted rural roads, the clock inching closer to dawn.  

   Something was on the road that had not been there a second earlier.

   Crowley swerved wildly, sending the car into the ditch by the side of the road with the sound of cracking glass and screeching metal.  

   Firm hands dragged Crowley out and suddenly he was soaked with something made him tingle in a vague, unpleasant way. This what humans are talking about when they say pins and needles? he wondered blearily, ears ringing from the crash.

   Aziraphale blinked and realized he was flat on his back on the road and—that was Michael staring down at him with a critical look on her face. He scrambled back and onto his feet in a rather undignified way.

   "Michael! What are--"

   "Holy water doesn't work. Even looking at it I still have trouble believing it." Aziraphale jerked his head around to see Sandalphon and Uriel gripping Crowley's arms as he staggered in place, disorientated. In front of him was Gabriel, sharply dressed as always, examining Crowley in the manner of a curious child studying an interesting bug.

   "Aziraphale!" Gabriel glanced over at the angel with a grin that made him tense, "Didn't think we would leave you two alone forever did you?" His purple eyes caught on something, and he frowned. "What's that on your finger?"

   "Looks like a wedding ring," Sandalphon provided, "Like humans get."

   "I know that," Gabriel snapped, turning back, "But why--" he caught sight of Crowley's left hand.

   "Well," Michael commented in the sudden silence, "I would like to say how unexpected, but it's really not."

   "Do you really think," Gabriel snarled, "That the Almighty would recognize a union between a demon and an angel? How dare you profane matrimony like this!" Crowley laughed, sounding a little drunk.

   "Oh, She recognized it mate. Her signature's on the paper and everything." He grinned wickedly at the archangel. "Believe me, I wasn't expecting it either."  

   "Gabriel," Aziraphale tried to cut in, Michael holding him back.

   "That's it," the archangel bit out--

   "I really don't think--"

   "Holy water may not work--"

   "Leave him--"

   "So I guess we'll have to try other methods." Crowley's grin flickered and went out.

   "Uhh. Today's not really a good day for me. Maybe next week?" Gabriel pulled a flaming sword into existence and Uriel and Sandalaphon took a step back to give him room to swing.

   "First," he said tightly, "let's get rid of the body."

   He swung.  

   There was a loud clang.

   The world went perfectly, unbearably still.  

   To the east, the sky lightened.

   It had been a long, long, time since two angelic swords crossed, but neither the earth nor the stars had ever forgotten. They were frozen, waiting to see what would happen.

   Aziraphale stood in front of Crowley, his own sword blocking Gabriel's downswing, holding it effortlessly in midair. His head was bowed.

   "Do you know," mused Aziraphale in a tone that Crowley didn't think he'd ever heard from the angel before, "That I gave my sword to Adam? The Adam from the Garden, I mean."

   "What--" Gabriel started in an angry tone.

   "He needed it, of course, just have been cast out and all, but that was only part of the reason," Aziraphale continued speaking in that soft, thoughtful voice that had everyone standing perfectly still. There was a pressure in the air, like a storm beginning to form.

   "I hated the War you know. The first one. The demons had been our friends, our family, and yes they were arguing with Her, yes they were doubting. But are we not supposed to forgive? Are we not supposed to show mercy? Instead, there was blood and death and pain and then a third of us were simply gone, and the rest of us couldn't even remember their names. Their faces."

   "Angelic swords," Aziraphale raised his head now, and his eyes were glowing and behind him wings were spreading and they had eyes of their own that were staring staring staring-- "Are made from the essence of the one who owns them. They are a part of our being. That part of me—that part of me that had fought, had led, had warred—I couldn't stand it. Couldn't stand the sight of it. So I took the first opportunity I had to give it away."

   "Through all the centuries, through all the millennia, I couldn't have called it back to me if you asked. I didn't want it. After the first time, I never wanted to fight again." Aziraphale stepped closer to Gabriel and forced their swords higher.  

   There were six wings spread behind Aziraphale now, each feather with an eye that stared at one of the angels. The two set in his face where white and burning with fires that spilled over the edges like tears, but Aziraphale's face had never been so still. Around him reality was groaning as a shape, a form, an entity that was never meant to exist in this dimension churned around him.

   There was a reason angel's first words were do not be afraid.

   "I suppose I should congratulate you," Aziraphale breathed, "You've given me a reason to pick my sword back up. Isn't that what you wanted? For me to fight?" There was panic peeking around Gabriel's eyes, and it looked as though it was taking every inch of his power not to step back, to disengage, to run.

   Dawn was breaking.

   "Did you forget," Aziraphale breathed, "that I am the Principality of the Eastern Gate you fucking piece of shit?"

    "I. Outrank. You."  

   Gabriel's own wings were out now, spread and fluffed out, a panic response as his arm trembled. At some point, their swords had switched positions so that he was blocking, trying desperately to keep Aziraphale's sword from slicing through him.

   The shape that was never meant to exist in this plane of existence did the equivalent of baring its teeth and pretending it was a smile.

   "Aziraphale," Crowley called from behind him. The Principality didn't turn around, but their attention shifted. Crowley's glasses had been damaged in the crash, and at some point they had fallen off. The demon was soaked, normally lively hair pressed flat against his head. Gently, he extended a hand, extended a piece of his own true nature, and pressed against his angel's back, where all the wings came out, in this dimension and in as many of the others as he could reach.  

   If Aziraphale was the heart of the sun rising in the east, Crowley was drifting nebulae in the emptiness of space, black holes singing the loss of all they had been.

   "He's not worth it," he sighed to his spouse, "None of them are."

   (Latef he would snort about it to himself. A demon counseling peace.)

   Some of the tension went out of Aziraphale, and they refocused on Gabriel.

   "And the Lord said to forgive seventy times seven," they told him quietly. "I have forgiven much of you Gabriel." Everyone's ears popped and suddenly it was just Aziraphale again. A little pudgy, a little short, a bookkeeper in London Soho.  

   But still he stared evenly at Gabriel and leaned in.

   "If you ever try to interfere with us again, if you ever dare hurt him, I will rip your name from the Book of Truth myself and grind whatever remains of you after into dust. Do you understand?"  

   Gabriel nodded frantically, and Aziraphale disengaged with a slither of steel and a crackle-pop of fire.  

   Immediately Gabriel stumbled backward and there was a series of whoomphs as all the angels retreated back towards Heaven.

   Aziraphale watched them go, face closed off. Crowley left him to his thoughts for a few minutes while he miracled the Bentley back onto the road and functional again. Then he meandered back, his sunrise shadow tangling with Aziraphale's.

   "Ready to go home, angel?" Aziraphale blinked, long and slow and tired before nodding. Crowley gently guided him back into the car before clambering and driving off as the sun climbed into the sky.

   They were silent the whole way back. A couple of times Crowley glanced worriedly over at Aziraphale who was staring quietly out the window. The sword was sheathed and leaning against his leg while he absent-mindedly traced designs on the pommel.

   When they reached the bookshop Crowley parked with more care than usual. Aziraphale still seemed to be wrapped up in his own thoughts, moving slowly to get out of the car and unlock the door. The angel stood in the center of the room and looked so unbearably lost, sword clutched in one hand.

   "What are you thinking?" Crowley asked softly, tilting Aziraphale's head up so that their eyes met. He hadn't put on another pair of sunglasses yet.  

   "I don't...I don't know." The angel forced a hand through his hair. "I'm thinking that it was nice to stretch my wings. I'm thinking that I picked up my sword and it felt good in my hands. I'm thinking that I'm horrified by how much I wanted to hurt Gabriel. I'm thinking that I would do it all again, do everything I threatened in a heartbeat if it meant...if it meant keeping you safe. I'm thinking that that should worry me, but it doesn't." Aziraphale looked back up at Crowley, and he looked so helpless that Crowley reached out and hugged him hard, chin resting on the top of his angel's head.  

   "Don't be horrified angel. You defended us. All the other angels—they're meant to be soldiers. Meant to start fights and end them. Meant for war. You though—well you said it. You're the guardian of the eastern gate. You're meant to defend what's already there, to protect new beginnings and fresh starts. That's what we are, isn't it? A new beginning."

   "Besides, did you see the look on that wanker's face? I'm going to treasure that memory for the next century at least."

   Aziraphale choked out a laugh against Crowley's chest and the demon smiled as the last of the angel's tension melted away.

   "Thank you, my dear," he smiled as he stepped back. "You think that will keep them away for good?" Crowley snorted.

   "Well we proved your marriage idea worked—I'm officially immune to holy water, and I'd guess the same goes for you and hellfire. So they're not sure how to kill us, and I'm pretty sure you scared them enough that they're not going to keep trying."  

   "Yes, I suppose you're right." Aziraphale seemed to be regaining his normal good cheer, even if there were still bags under his eyes.

   "C'mon angel. Let's get you some sleep."

   "But the bookshop..."

   "I'll run it for you." His angel didn't like selling books, Crowley knew, but he also understood that right now Aziraphale wanted the anchor of his faux humanity, wanted to worry about mundane things like who would take care of his shop while he was resting. The angel gave him a grateful smile.

   "That is very much appreciated, dear." Aziraphale turned to go off into the back rooms where he kept a bed when Crowley stopped him.

   "Oh and angel?" Aziraphale looked back. Crowley grinned, wicked and delighted, "'Fucking piece of shit?’ Didn't know you had it in you." The angel blushed and stuttered.

    "Well it seemed appropriate at the time--" Crowley laughed, open and free as the city woke up around them and sunlight poured like a blessing through the windows.

#good omens #good omens fanfiction #Aziraphale swearing #aziraphale fighting #that blessed arrangment #aziraphale #aziracrow #crowley #crowley x aziraphale #archangels #principalities #post-apocalypse

[sincerly-kate]

Falling Skies: Part 4 (Crowley x Fem!Reader)

A/n: Yes I am now finally writing a part four to this series, and since I got a lot of positive feedback saying that they want me to continue the series; that’s what we shall do! 😘💙

Here’s a playlist I made for this series✨

-Kate

Warnings: Probably a few swears here and there, some heart aching fluff, Adam might be a tad ooc and for once no major angst (wow I know right?)

Words: Around 1.2k? oops...

Previously,

“Who is it angel?” I say without skipping a beat.

“The same white-winged bastard I nearly killed earlier.”

“Gabriel.” The three of us said all at once.

Now,

“No, absolutely not! I barely got to you in time last time you tried to ‘talk’ to him!” Crowley threw his arms up in the air walking away from the two angels, his hands rubbing over his face in frustration.

You tried to walk towards him, but Aziraphale held you back by your wrist while shaking his head at you, you turned to him and tried to speak but he beat you to it.

“He needs to cool off, he’s no good to no one if he’s in this kind of mood.” Aziraphale said to the nephilim beside him, seeing the relaxation in her face made him sure that she wouldn’t go after him, so he let go of her wrist in his light grip.

“Well, now that he’s not going to help us, what are we going to do now?” you said, now slightly frustrated, not at anyone really specific, but you just wanted to go back to normal- well, as normal as an angel, a demon and a nephilim can be.

Aziraphale looked at you with a wide eyed look, if this was like the cartoons, there most definitely would’ve been a light bulb above his head.

“I think I know just the person, follow me. I want to properly introduce you to someone.”

~

Once you and Aziraphale arrived at the park, you were absolutely confused.

“Why did you bring me here? You said we were going to go talk to someone, don’t you think this is a little too- ya know- people-y for this kind of talk?” You looked at him with utter confusion.

“It was the only way you two can speak without it looking too suspicious y/n, just trust me.” Aziraphale says, and with that he walks away, nodding to someone behind me.

You turn to see this young boy behind you, you huff to yourself, look at the ground and smile. Of course; Adam.

“Hey Adam, what’s going on?” You said now looking back to him, guiding him to a bench so the two of you weren’t in the way of others.

“Aziraphale told me that you were thinking of doing something dangerous, and it could possibly hurt you.” Adam looked to you with such an innocent face, you couldn’t help but give him a slight smile.

“Yeah, I was thinking about it.” Your leg bounces up and down as you fiddle with your hands, and look to the ground.

“Why?” 

“I need to do it to figure out why Gabriel did what he did.” You tried to be subtle with the boy, but you knew that it was futile.

“With your wings?”

You took in a shallow breath as you looked at all the people living their lives care free. The children in the playground behind the two of you filled your ears, the groups of two running and talking about their lives and upcoming events, You take a minute to refocus yourself before you answer Adam. “Yeah, that’s part of it.”

“What’s wrong with the way they are? It only changed what you look like on the outside, he can’t change who you are unless you let him.” He continued to give you that same innocent looking face as you slowly look at him with mild shock, you forgot he saw the whole thing, the burning of your wings and all.

You were not expecting that kind of advice from an eleven-year old, Antichrist or not.

“He took a part of me that day, a part that I’m not sure I can ever take back. Especially since I’m apparently a nephilim.”

Adam gives you a small smile, then begins to speak.

“That doesn’t change a thing about who you are though, especially to Crowley and Az. They love you for you, and that’s all that matters to them; that you’re safe and happy.”

You begin to feel your eyes water up at this young boy’s words. He was right though, you knew that deep down; Aziraphale and Crowley will be with you til the end- and forever after that.

“Thank you Adam, I’m glad Az dragged me out here after all.” You went to give him a hug which he reciprocated.

“It wasn’t just him you know, I might have asked him t knock some sense into you as well.”

You laugh and quickly break the hug to look at your snake-eyed demon,

“You needed to hear it from someone besides us, we don’t want to see you get hurt angel.” 

You were about to correct him for calling you angel, since- well, technically you weren't one- but he stopped you.

“No matter if you’re a nephilim, demon or an angel, you’re still my angel y/n; Always have been, always will be.” As he said this, you ran to him with tears streaming down your face as your run into him and hug him.

He looks down at you and pulls you in for a kiss that said everything you needed to hear without him saying a single word.

‘No matter if the skies are falling down or the sea parts, or if another Armageddon starts up once more, I’ll always be there for you.’  

The two of you break away, and look towards Adam.

“Thank you for everything Adam, I’m glad you we’re able to talk sense into me. I guess I couldn’t see past my own vendetta to see what truly matters.”

“Which is?” Adam says, confirming what he thought you were going to answer with.

“Love.”  Adam smiles at this, knowing he completed his job.

Crowley pulls you into a side hug, as the two of you invite Adam into the hug, which gladly accepted and ran to the two of you as you closed off the hug to the three of you.

After the three of you stayed in the group hug for a while, you decided that you guys needed to part.

The three of you went your separate ways after that, you and Crowley towards the bookshop, and Adam the other, but deep down you knew that that definitely wasn’t going to be your last encounter with the young boy.

~

As the two of you began your walk back to the bookshop, you locked arms with Crowley and you broke the silence.

“I’m sorry so stuck up lately. Neither of you deserved that, but especially the way I treated you with the whole Gabriel thing and-” he placed his finger over my lips.

“Angel, there’s absolutely nothing you need to apologize for, both of us did things that were not proud of, but it was all meant well. I don’t know how I’d live with myself if I let you get hurt and I stood by,not doing a damn thing about it.”

You nodded with a smile on your face as he removed his finger from your lips.

“Now, shall we properly try and figure out how to deal with him? No running away this time y/n?” He said with a devilish look on his face, his gold snake eyes making an appearance behind his glasses, for you to see. 

“Let’s do it. I promise I’m done running.” You say with a giggle

And so the two of you made it back to Aziraphale’s bookshop, where you began to brainstorm ways to get back at him for what he did to you.

As a group- finally.

Tagged List:

@carry-on-my-wayward-stark​

@ourownsideimagines​

@lukaerith-morningstar

Message me if you want to be tagged in this series!

#Falling Skies #crowley x reader #anthony j crowley x reader #crowley good omens #crowley #Aziraphale #good omens x reader #good omens #good omens fanfic #kate writes #adam good omens

[elphenfan]

Nesting (Good Omens) 1/?

Chapter One I Chapter Two  I Chapter Three I Chapter Four I Chapter Five I Chapter Six I

I forgot I hadn’t uploaded this here. Apologies. I was inspired by this post by ariaste here on Tumblr, though I sorta ended up not truly hitting any of the prompts fully. Maybe another time. I suppose this is a slight AU.

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

The first time he noticed it, he was sure he had stepped into the wrong shop.

But no, this was definitely A.Z. Fell & Co., the bookshop owned and, ostensibly, run by the kindest angel in existence. If nothing else, he should be able to tell just based on smell; not only was he so familiar with the bookshop that he could smell whether people had come in or not, he knew Aziraphale’s smell as well as he did his own.

But that said, something was off. Enough so that he had been left unsure for a long moment. What was it?

“Aziraphale, did you move the books?” he called.

The angel, who hadn’t even looked up from where he seemed to be pouring over some new acquisitions when Crowley had come in, lifted his gaze to frown at him. The glasses perched on his nose made the gesture look rather adorable.

“Move them?” he said, incredulity in his voice. “They’re all here, as you can see. What would I want to move them for?”

Was there something else in his voice, too? No, he must’ve imagined that.

“I don’t know, you tell me.”

“You’re the one asking. Why are you asking, anyway?”

He wasn’t going to say it was because something felt off. That would not only be giving up far too easily, it would more than likely offend Aziraphale. More than it already had, at least.

“Just thought the light fell differently in here,” he lied smoothly, moving further into the shop and gesturing. “Thought you might have moved them around a bit, that was all. For better display or whatever.”

“Oh.” No, it did sound as though there was something else in the voice, even if he couldn’t pin it. “Well, yes, I have. Just a few things. You know. Better composition and all that. A bit of visual appeal.”

As though he ever had much track with what was visually appealing. That was, of course, a matter of individual taste but Aziraphale had a gift for always getting it wrong, sometimes only slightly, sometimes quite spectacularly so. The man was almost a century and a half out of style with his clothes, for crying out loud!

And he definitely never moved his books around for something as relatively mundane as visual appeal. After all, that might have quite a disastrous effect.

“Aren’t you afraid customers will find that to be appealing, too?” he asked, leaning up against a bookshelf as he looked at the other. Taking just a bit of advantage of his glasses to let his eyes wander down over the form in front of him. Just as he always did whenever the opportunity presented itself.

Aziraphale stiffened slightly at that, as he tended to when the dreaded word ‘customers’ was used.

Crowley knew he would and hoped that it might prompt the angel to actually reveal the real reason.

Unfortunately, he was to be disappointed.

“What did you want?” the angel asked instead, turning his attention back to the books. “I thought you had something on up in…where was it? Manchester?”

He remembered.

“Finished that yesterday. Just thought I’d pop down and see if you’d be interested in some lunch. My treat, of course.”

And the way that Aziraphale not only unstiffened but positively beamed at the suggestion wiped the odd feeling about the bookshop from the demon’s mind.

The next time he came to the bookshop rather than meeting up with the angel somewhere else, as was often the case so as not to alert their respective head offices, though, he was struck by that feeling again the moment he set foot in the place. It was stronger than before. Much stronger, in fact.

This time, he didn’t mention anything, just moved around the bookshop quietly. Aziraphale was busy with something or other and if he knew he was there, he had yet to acknowledge it out loud.

As far as he could tell, the books had been…rearranged again. They had always looked…fine, but now there a bit more of a…well, frankly, a visual appeal to them, arranged so that your eye swept across them naturally rather than having to endure the bumps and dips of differently formatted books, as though you were tracing a particularly spiky mountain range with your eyes.

It was very inviting, even for someone who was hardly the biggest booklover or connoisseur.

It wasn’t just the books, though. The sofa was there as it had been for the last…well, before they’d fallen out over that whole holy water thing. But the cushions weren’t merely expensive, they were new and the – had the sofa itself been reupholstered? Had it ever been that before?

What on earth was going on? Aziraphale wasn’t the type to change his décor on a whim, or even that often, and both of those were severe understatements.

He was then tempted to ask Aziraphale but decided against it. The last time, the angel had clearly not wanted the question, though exactly why wasn’t clear to the demon.

Well, so a few updates for comfort. That was hardly a bad thing, was it? The sofa looked more inviting than usual and the cushions looked decidedly snuggable.

Had he actually just thought that word? Eurgh.

He helped himself to a bottle of red wine that the angel had left out just to get rid of that thought. But he did share it with the other, so that was okay.

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

It was only when he’d gotten back to his own flat, had in fact laid down to sleep, that something came to him, slamming into him hard enough to jolt him upright.

Those things…those additions and changes, they weren’t for comfort. They were – they were for nesting!

No, they couldn’t be. They simply could not because…because this was Aziraphale!

Yes, okay, so angels nested when they felt a particularly strong connection to someone else, usually another angel, and wanted to settle down with them in a more exclusive partnership. That didn’t negate their other duties, of course, or mean that they had no love for anything else.

To be honest, he had wondered somewhat about that whole thing. Angels weren’t supposed to form a stronger connection to one particular being than to the rest of the world. It was supposed to be equal, wasn’t it? Why had God allowed that sort of thing, that sort of behaviour, in the ranks of Her angels?

Then again, it was supposed to be caring, too. They were supposed to care about humanity in the first place, and it seemed that they somewhat struggled with that, judging by the comments Aziraphale had let slip over the years.

‘You don’t want to get Gabriel upset with you’ came to mind, for instance.

But there must be someone up there that wasn’t entirely like that. Otherwise, Aziraphale wouldn’t be nesting for them, would he? He had never picked anyone to nest with in the almost six thousand years they had known each other. At least, not as far as Crowley knew, and if it was the case, then he would’ve found that out about his angel by now.

Except…he wasn’t really his angel, was he? Or at least, he wouldn’t be for much longer, if he was nesting. Then he would be someone else’s and Crowley would’ve blown his chances for good.

If he had ever had any chance to begin with, of course, and he honestly didn’t think he had. Leaving aside the fact that they were on opposite sides…well, no, actually, not leaving that aside. He was a demon, fallen and sullied while Aziraphale was…perhaps not entirely pure but far too decent, too right to entertain those thoughts about someone like him. Friends were one thing, a nestmate was quite another. He couldn’t hide that from the higher-ups, either.

Even leaving all that aside, wouldn’t Aziraphale have nested earlier, if that had been on his mind? At least lately, as within the last 200 years where he’d had an actual base of operations he could use as a nest, and yet, up until this point, he had not so much as hinted that he wanted to, despite all the time they’d spent together. Wasn’t that evidence enough?

A point could be made that Crowley could’ve gone and started nesting himself, if that was what he wanted from Aziraphale, and it would be a good point.

Except for a few snags. First of all, it wasn’t as though Aziraphale ever came to his flat, so he wouldn’t be able to see it if he had done it. Second of all, he actually had started once or twice, or maybe more than that, realised what he’d been doing and had pulled it down in case the angel showed up and got the wrong, or right, impression.

He hadn’t even dared think at the time about what the reaction to it would be.

That he’d struggled with himself every step of the way of dismantling every single one of them was another matter entirely.

The point was that he had attempted it before now, because he couldn’t help himself, hadn’t been aware he’d done it until afterwards, or he’d thought that maybe, just maybe, there could be a chance for him only to get scared of losing what he already had and pulling it down. There’d never been anything remotely like that from Aziraphale, Crowley knew. He’d spent enough time in the bookshop that he would spot it if anything changed, as proven when he’d seen it earlier.

He still wanted to nest for his angel so badly but hadn’t dared to, not properly to show it off to him, in case he’d be rejected. No, not in case. In the certainty he would. Nesting wasn’t for a demon, was it? Neither for it to build nor be the recipient of.

And now he’d missed whatever miniscule chance he might’ve had; Aziraphale’s heart had been captured by someone else, enough so that he was prepared to commit himself to making a proper nest out of his beloved bookshop. One he was satisfied enough with to not only not pull it down but add to it. Slowly perfecting it.

For someone else. Someone who wasn’t Crowley.

No. No! No, he wasn’t. He definitely wasn’t nesting. He couldn’t be nesting, he just – he couldn’t!

Crowley realised then that he’d grabbed onto the bedding on either side of him hard and had begun to pull at it as though it had somehow offended him and deserved to be destroyed. He had also begun to hiss, as he did when he forgot himself. However, this wasn’t the soft hiss of contentment that sometimes slipped out when he was enjoying himself, usually around Aziraphale. This was a hiss of pain, even if it was an emotional pain rather than a physical one.

Taking a deep breath and then several more, as the first one didn’t help much, he told himself again that it was wrong. That’d he’d misinterpreted something as innocent as Aziraphale sprucing up the shop a bit. For his own benefit, of course. Not for anyone else’s.

Aziraphale barely had any contact with Heaven beyond what was strictly necessary to keep them off his back, and what he did have didn’t sound at all nice. There was no way that with that, he’d somehow managed to find himself a soulmate that he’d want to nest for.

No way at all.

Telling himself that, firmly, he laid down to get some sleep.

If he had dreams in which he kept falling, what of it? Those were hardly new.

The addition of reaching out towards a familiar body with its back turned to him and arms and wings wrapped around it from in front of it was new, though, as was the cry of a treasured name. One which wasn’t acknowledged.

He wished he could say he didn’t remember what he’d dreamed about when he woke. What he could do was push it as far out of his conscious mind as was at all possible, and that was what he did.

It took a few days, but he managed it.

That he had to avoid Aziraphale for those days was another matter. The angel thought he was on a job somewhere else in the city, thankfully, and wasn’t available.

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

By the time they met up again, a few weeks rather than a few days later, Crowley had successfully managed to not only suppress the nightmare but convince himself that Aziraphale wasn’t nesting.

That they met somewhere that wasn’t the bookshop was an irrelevant detail. Aziraphale had offered to treat him to some dessert so how could he refuse?

It was quite a worthy enterprise, too, as it always was when the angel was allowed to choose the venue. Crowley was quite good, too, thank you very much, but he wasn’t quite as adept at finding the hidden gems as Aziraphale.

One dessert turned to two then three. Then a fourth, with a side of Irish Coffee and then something a bit…stronger.

They got some wine to go, under the influence of Crowley’s glare rather than Aziraphale’s polite smile, then headed back to the bookshop, which the demon didn’t think twice about. It wasn’t as though it was an uncommon occurrence. Quite the opposite.

That didn’t last long, though.

The moment he stepped over the threshold, he stopped dead. There it was again, that feeling that –

He had to grip onto the doorframe to keep himself upright as it came flooding back to him.

“Crowley? What’s wrong?” Aziraphale asked from behind him. He sounded concerned but then, he would if there was something the matter with his beloved bookshop.

Crowley managed to pull himself together.

“Nothing. Just…dizzy for a moment, that’s all.” To emphasise his point, and also just a little because he did need it, he leaned his back against the doorframe.

Aziraphale moved closer to him and looked him up and down, what Crowley might have termed, in other circumstances, a light frown of concern marring his forehead.

“Oh, dear. Was the wine too much? Or the combination? Perhaps it’s best if we call it a night, then?”

Part of Crowley – to be fair, quite a large part – agreed with that assessment, though not necessarily for the reason Aziraphale thought, and what was more, was touched by the consideration the angel displayed for him.

There was a part of him, however, a little, nasty part, which hadn’t forgotten about the nesting part, that whispered to him that of course Aziraphale wanted to call it a night. He’d obviously done more decorating on the bookshop, the nest, and didn’t want Crowley to see, either because he might worry that he’d get the wrong impression or because it was at a stage where it wasn’t meant for anyone’s eyes but his intended.

No. That couldn’t be right. Why would he have invited him over to the shop in the first place, then?

But had he really? Or had Crowley just assumed because that was how it went, and Aziraphale had been too polite to say anything? Was so polite, in fact, that he even framed the dismissal as a question of consideration.

The demon tried to look and see if there was anything else in that expression of apparent concern. Something that might clue him into what the angel was really thinking.

He couldn’t find it. But perhaps he wasn’t aware that he actually wanted Crowley out of there, which would leave his surface expression quite…innocently true, as it were, while not negating the rest. The fact that he was tipsy probably also made it harder for him to remember that he didn’t want the demon here.

For a moment, Crowley considered pushing past it. Put on a brave face and pretend that it was fine, he’d only been processing the sugar or something. Ignore what Aziraphale might want and go into the shop, right into where the evidence was. Show the angel that wasn’t going to sit idly by and –

The thought of how Aziraphale might react to that breach of trust or whatever you might call it stopped him, though. Or maybe it was the bile in his throat. Or perhaps a combination.

Whatever the case, he backed out of the thought almost as soon as it had formed.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale said, his tone questioning. He’d stepped closer, his hand hovering in a raised position as though he had just about stopped himself from touching.

Something twisted in Crowley’s belly at that.

“Yeah…perhaps. Perhaps you’re right. I should – ehm, yeah, definitely.” He was happy that his sunglasses were currently rather large, as the risk of his eyes being visible was greatly reduced that way.

He wasn’t expecting the words that came next.

“Would you like to have a lie-down? I know it’s in the back of the shop, but the sofa is long enough to accommodate you, so perhaps – “

The sofa. The sofa. The thing that had been upgraded not just with new cushions but with actual new upholstery – which hadn’t even been needed!

One of the very things that had clued him in that his angel might be nesting for someone, someone who wasn’t Crowley, and he expected him to be able to have a lie-down there? That he would feel better after staying on that piece of furniture?

“No, I’m – I’ll just go for a walk or something,” he managed to say. To his own ears his voice sounded wrong, croaky and echoey at the same time, but that might just be the alcohol’s doing.

If Aziraphale heard it, he didn’t show it.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

“Yeah. Course. Probably too much sugar or something. Enhances the alcohol.” He didn’t feel drunk right now, though, just queasy. “Like with fruit, you know.”

“Oh. Yes. Of course. Should I – “

Should. Not ‘would you like’ or ‘do you want me to’. No. Should. As though he was obligated to…

He waved a hand, somehow managing to make it seem flowing and nonchalant.

“Nah. I’ll be fine,” he interrupted. “Don’t worry about, about me. Go on in.”

He swallowed around a lump in his throat and managed a smile as he pushed himself off the doorframe. Though his face was tilted towards the other, he wasn’t actually looking at him. “I’ll see you around.”

With that, he turned and walked away, his slightly unsteady gait, even compared to normal, not due to alcohol at all.

He didn’t notice that Aziraphale stood standing in the doorway to his bookshop and watched him until he was out of sight and consequently, he didn’t see the expression on the other’s face, either.

All that kept replaying in his mind was that tableau that had assaulted him the moment he’d looked into the shop.

There hadn’t just been more clean-up, more attempts to make it cosy and inviting in a way it’d never quite been before, just in case it did attract custom.

The clincher to say Aziraphale was nesting, what had made him nauseous, even as innocuous as it seemed, sat there in plain sight.

A feather on the floor.

#good omens #go fic #Aziraphale #crowley #aziraphale/crowley #Ineffable Husbands #multi-chapter fic #pining crowley #crowley angst #elphen fic #chapter1

[thetunewillcome]

stargazing

Summer Omens: Day 30 (on AO3 here if you prefer)

That night in 2010, Aziraphale watched them study the stars from across the garden.

“Wha’s that?”

“You’d call that the Big Dipper,” Nanny answered, following Warlock’s pointed finger up to the sky, “but here, we call it the Plough.”

“That?”

“That’s Arcturus.  See how bright it is?”

“Where is it?”

Nanny gave him a smile and shifted him to her other hip.  Wishing he could walk over and join them, knowing he shouldn’t, Aziraphale leaned forward in the chair outside the door of his quarters.  They had to pretend – couldn’t be seen together too often, even just by Warlock, or word would spread through the staff and, the next thing they knew, their jobs would be on the line – but Crowley had taken to finding creative excuses to spend time in the gardens with the child.  Even though it meant enduring yet another level of surveillance, he would not have traded the chance to see her every day for the world: and he shouldn’t have to, if all went as planned.

“Arcturus is up in the sky, dear.  Far, far away from Earth.  Though not as far as many of the other stars.”

“We go?”

She laughed, and across the darkened field, Aziraphale laughed, too.  “Go to the stars?”  He could have sworn her eyes flickered over to his face.  Her smile held back secrets.  “We’d need very strong wings for that, my love.”  She pulled him closer to her.  “Time for bed.  Perhaps you can dream yourself up a pair.”  She lingered a moment, taking one last look at the night sky before heading back toward the house.

As the shadows swallowed her figure, he thought: if there were a place where no one was watching, where no one cared how close they stood or how often they talked or how brightly his eyes lit up when Crowley entered any room, perhaps that place was somewhere off among the stars.  Perhaps, some day, they’d go dare to go there.

-

That night in 2018, Aziraphale stood a foot from him on his balcony, head tilted up.  Clouds whispered their way across the night sky, thin enough that the stars could peek through them.  “You should try to sleep,” he said gently.  Even he felt tired from the whirlwind of the past few days.  “Don’t need to deprive yourself on my account.”

“I could never sleep like this.  Too wired.”  Crowley rubbed his eyes, smearing the soot that had stuck to his face.  Aziraphale wanted to miracle his skin clean with a touch of his fingertips, but he doubted Crowley would let him.  “And it’s almost morning anyway.”

Was it really?  In the night’s fatigued silences and wild brainstorming, in between the practices and briefings – “Beez hates it when I make small talk”; “Gabriel will have heard about the possession by now, no need to hide it”; “the one with the scaly fish face is Dagon" – he had completely lost track of the time.  He checked his pocket watch: 4:37.  He knew he should suggest they switch corporations once more, go their separate ways before the sunrise, but he so desperately wanted to remain in Crowley’s orbit that he couldn’t force out the words.  “Aren’t the stars lovely tonight?” he managed instead.

Something sharp (anger or regret or pain, he couldn’t tell) flashed in Crowley’s eyes.  Afraid it would return and settle there, Aziraphale turned his gaze to the sky, nerves ragged, heart beating too fast.  The sky was beginning to lighten; it was almost time.  Will this even work?  The stars blinked silently, offering no wisdom or comfort.  One cluster of them, he wasn’t sure which, must be Alpha Centauri.  If we make it through whatever they have planned for us, he promised Crowley silently, you’ll see why staying put was worth it.  And I’ll spend eternity apologizing for not trusting you enough to go anyway, the second you asked me to.

“We should get a move on,” Crowley said, holding out his hand.  “Ready?”

With a fragile smile, he answered, “as I’ll ever be,” and grasped Crowley’s hand.

-

That night in 2029, Aziraphale laid next to him, hand in his hand, fingers laced together.  Around them, crickets sang and the cool night wind rustled the branches of their orchard.  They had reached the tipping point of August, when the world teeters between seasons, warning you to breathe in and savor the last floral wisps of summertime before they fade to fallen leaves.

“Six!” he called excitedly, pointing at the trail of a shooting star.

“Missed it,” Crowley grumbled.  “I’m beginning to think you’re stretching the truth.”

“You’re the one who turned it into a competition, dear.  I’d be perfectly content sharing the stars with you.”

“But where’s the fun in that?”

“Sharing is fun.”

“Winning is fun.”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes, knowing it was far too dark for Crowley to notice.  “And what does the winner get as his reward?”

“Dunno.  Whatever he wants?  Four!” he shouted, making Aziraphale flinch.  “Sorry,” he laughed.  “I’m catching up.  Watch out.”

Turning his attention back to the sky, he wondered what he’d request when he won.  Whatever he wants.  Studying the stars in their garden, with Crowley’s shoulder pressed against his, he searched for something he wanted that he didn’t already possess and came up stunningly empty.  

Not too long ago, he had seen betrayal and rejection – “we can run away together” – written in these stars, been haunted by what he had done.  Tonight, he read only tranquility in their gentle blinking.  Twice now, they had fought to keep this peaceful world.  The second time, they had fought as one, wiser and stronger than before.  Twice, they had won.  For any mistakes Aziraphale had made in their past, he knew he was forgiven.  He glanced down at his reminder of this gift: the golden band on his finger.

“I thought we were supposed to share everything now,” he said playfully.  “That’s what Anathema and Newt promised in their vows, remember?”

“You want to share everything, do you?  Your quill collection?”

He hesitated.  “If you’re careful, I don’t see why not.”

“And your jumpers?”

“Well… They wouldn’t fit you properly.  And they’re not–”

“And your books?  Even the first editions?”

“Alright.”  Crowley’s shoulders shook from muffled laughter.  A grin spread across his face.  “Fine, forget it.  You called my bluff.  You know me too well, I’m afraid.”

“Nah, just the right amount to– Five!”

“And seven!  I saw it too.”

“You did not.”

Aziraphale rolled onto his side and stared down at Crowley.  “I most definitely did.”

“Cheater,” Crowley said as he lifted his head up for a kiss.  “If you win, what’ll you ask for?”

“Anything I want?”

Crowley nodded.

“I already have everything I could ever want,” he said softly.  “I have you.”  He watched his words sink in, the way Crowley still looked surprised by them despite all the ways Aziraphale had confessed his love over the years, and then he leaned down and kissed him tenderly.  He ran his fingers through long red curls.  “I mean it.”

“But that’s no fun,” Crowley whispered with a smirk.

“Fine.  I want you to figure out where that awful draft in our bedroom comes from and make it stop.  Is that more fun for you?”

Grabbing a fistful of his shirt, Crowley pulled him close.  “I take it back.  I’m your prize.  All you could ever want.  Such a sweet sentiment.”

“Now you’re just avoiding–”  He was interrupted by Crowley’s lips on his.

Above them, the stars burned and died and burst to life light-years away from where they lay.  Another shooting star streaked across the sky, but neither of them noticed.  On that late-summer night, as fireflies danced in the garden around them, Crowley and Aziraphale turned their attention away from the escape of the heavens, toward one another and the life they had made together, right there on Earth.

(Previous days: sand / ice cream / burn / camp / grass / pride / bloom / sunset / freckles / sweat / festival / snooze / lavender / lightning / relax / garden / road trip / berries / independence / solstice / trail / melting / firefly / petrichor / ice / dandelion / marshmallow / swim / fireworks)

#summeromens #good omens #good omens fic #good omens fanfic #good omens fanfiction #stargazing #nanny ashtoreth #baby warlock #body swap #south downs #post second war #Ineffable Husbands #day 30 of 30 #challenge completed! #my writing #reblogs are appreciated #thanks for reading

[just-an-angel-and-his-demon]

“Aziraphale I really don’t understand why you do this. You can just miracle these pastries into existence. Why do you insist on baking them?” Crowley said. Aziraphale could only smile.

“Because it is more fun this way,” Aziraphale said, pulling ingredients from their cupboard. He set them out on the counter and thought for a moment before turning back and grabbing more. He continued this process until every single thing that was sitting in their cupboard was now on their counter. Crowley sighed.

“Aziraphale, this is such a mess. Just miracle it up. It’s easier.” Aziraphale shook his head.

“It’s easier but less fun.” He said. “Now, Crowley, get out some bowls.” Crowley shook his head.

“I am not getting out any bloody bowls.” He snapped his fingers and miracled a cake. “Look how easy that was, Aziraphale.” Aziraphale snapped his fingers and the cake caught fire.

“Oops,” Aziraphale said. He put the fire out and tossed the cake in the trash. “My bad.” Crowley sighed.

“Fine. Teach me how to bake.” Aziraphale clapped his hands and found the biggest bowl they owned.

“What do you want?” Aziraphale asked. “I can do cakes, macarons, cookies, breads-”

“Whatever you want to do, Aziraphale. I’m not going to eat them.” Aziraphale sighed.

“Crowley,” He pouted. “Stop sucking the fun out of it.”

“You sucked the fun out of it when you decided that you wanted to make a cake instead of ordering one or miracling it.” Aziraphale shook his head.

“Please Crowley. Do this just once time for me. If you don’t like it I’ll never make you do it again.” Crowley sighed. He couldn’t be mad at the angel when he spoke like that.

“Alright, fine,” Crowley said. “Teach me how to make cookies.” Aziraphale smiled, seeing as his little manipulation (it wasn’t a full temptation, he knew that would never work on Crowley) had worked.

“What kind?” Aziraphale asked.

“What kind does it-” Crowley caught himself being negative towards the activity and stopped himself. “Chocolate chip,” he said. He knew that Aziraphale was quite fond of that kind of cookie and just wanted to please him at that point. Aziraphale thought for a moment.

“It seems we don’t have enough chocolate chips for that,” Aziraphale said, giving Crowley puppy dog eyes, hoping he would do the miracle himself rather than making Aziraphale do it. Crowley complied. Of course he would. This was, after all, for his angel. He didn’t want anything to do with the activity. Aziraphale smiled. “Alright, so the first thing you are going to want to do is set the stove. So that it warms up while we’re baking instead of us having to wait on it later.”

Throughout the rest of the afternoon, Aziraphale led Crowley through the process of making cookies, forcing him to have an active role in the baking. Aziraphale loved watching Crowley struggle. There were a couple of times that Aziraphale had to perform a few miracles so that Crowley wouldn’t feel bad or anything because he made a stupid mistake (mistaking salt for sugar who does that? Crowley apparently). By the time the first batch of cookies was in the oven, it seemed that Crowley’s mask of hating the activity had melted.

He, in fact, asked Aziraphale to teach him other things to bake. The angel loved baking. It was a little known fact about him. No one really knew just how much he liked baking. Not even Crowley did. Knowing that Crowley was enjoying the activity too was warming his soul. Besides, with all the extra baked goods, it would give them an excuse to visit Anathema and Newton. They were always happy to take in all of Aziraphale’s extra pastries.

They spent much of the afternoon bent over various recipes for various pastries. Some were easy and required no miracles whatsoever to create. Especially now that Crowley was learning his way around the ingredients. Some required so many miracles to do that both Crowley and Aziraphale began to wonder how humans ever accomplished them without the help of miracles. Every other step in the process required some sort of miracle just to make sure the treats turned out properly. It was a miracle in and of itself that Crowley didn’t give up on those ones right then and there.

As soon as one thing was out of the oven, the next thing went in. Or, if the recipe called for it, the temperature was reset. They used a miracle or two to make the process a bit faster between temperature switches simply because Crowley was not a patient demon. Though, most demons didn’t have virtues, so it made sense.

Before they knew it, every surface that could have been covered with pastries was covered with pastries. Everything from cookies to cakes to breads and other desserts. By the time they’d put the last batch of cookies in and miracled everything to be cleaned up, it was nearly five in the morning. As they were supernatural beings, they didn’t need sleep, so this didn’t bother them so much.

What bothered them was the fact that they had more stuff to give away than they had friends to give them away to. And in today’s day and age, you couldn’t just go up to anyone on the street and start passing out baked goods. That just wasn’t done. People would be afraid of drugs or something. But Aziraphale couldn’t very well let it all go to waste. He didn’t know what to do with it though. He very well couldn’t eat it all. Even the extras once their friends would have picked over it.

“What if we hosted a party?” Aziraphale asked. Crowley shook his head.

“What kind of party would we be able to host that would get rid of all this?” Aziraphale shrugged.

“A party?” Crowley sighed.

“Besides, who would we invite that we wouldn’t just give this stuff to anyway?” Aziraphale sighed.

“You’re right,” He said. “But we very well can’t keep all of this.” Aziraphale smiled. “Oh! How about your demon friends? Would they like any of this?”

“You did not just say that.”

“What?” Aziraphale asked, genuinely unaware of what he might have done wrong.

“What am I going to do? Call up ole Beelzebub and be like ‘yo Lord. Me and Aziraphale have spent the day baking and were wondering if you’d like some. Sorry for not dying in my holy water bath by the way.’ Seriously. Do you think that lot would take anything from us after that whole thing?” Aziraphale sighed.

“No I suppose not.” He thought for a moment. “How about a bake sale. We could send the money off to some charity or-”

“That’s not a terrible idea,” Crowley said. “Or maybe we don’t even give the money to charity. You could always use more books,” Crowley said.

“Well I-”

“And you’re always speaking of that leaky roof that you refuse to miracle away. With bake sale money you could hire a human to fix that for you.”

“I suppose that keeping some of the money to ourselves wouldn’t hurt . . . “

“It’s settled then!” Crowley said. “Bake sale it is. Let’s get this all packaged up and get ready for the show tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow!” Aziraphale exclaimed. “Why there’s too much to do before tomorrow!” Crowley shook his head.

“Nonsense,” he replied. Everyone in London already knows about it and we already have all of the legal documents to prove that it is quite alright.” Crowley held up a pile of documents that did, in fact, clear their names to sell their baked goods. “All we have to do is get everything packaged up and ready for tomorrow.”

“What about-”

“Anathema, Newton, Madame Tracy, and Shadwell?” Crowley asked. “Well they’re going to come here and take their pick before we open our doors bright and early tomorrow morning. What do you say angel?” Aziraphale smiled. It seemed that Crowley had already gotten everything taken care of.

***

That afternoon, none of their human friends could believe all of the desserts and breads they had to pick from. Anathema had expected only a little bit of a surplus. She hadn’t been expecting every surface to be covered.

“What is all of this?” Anathema couldn’t help but ask in her shock.

“I made Crowley learn how to bake and turns out he loves it more than I do,” Aziraphale beamed. “So you’re taking whatever you want and we are selling the rest of it.”

“How did you even have-”

“Miracles.” Crowley said. “Lots and lots of miracles.” Newton shook his head.

“You two really are gay, aren’t you?” Aziraphale was the one to reply.

“In human terms, I suppose you could say that,” Aziraphale said. “Though techincally speaking neither one of us have a gender, and you are basing that statement off of stereotypes that the gay community doesn’t particularly like because it can be harmful.” Aziraphale shrugged. “But yes. We baked. We baked a lot. And it is probably going to become a normal thing with how much Crowley enjoyed it.” Crowley nodded.

“This is crazy you guys,” Anathema said. “There is no way you are going to get rid of all of this with one sale.” Aziraphale shrugged.

“Maybe not,” Aziraphale replied. “But at least it will get our numbers down significantly. Hopefully we’ll get enough money to fix that pesky leak.”

“Don’t you guys have magic or something,” Newton asked. “Why can’t you just magic the leak fixed?” Crowley shook his head.

“You tell me,” Crowley replied. “I’ve tried using logic to talk to him about it but he won’t have any of it.” Anathema and Newton finished picking through the desserts, of course stooping to try all of them that they could, but taking with them at least one package of each baked good that they’d made. Once that was all said and done, Aziraphale made cocoa to share, though Anathema and Newton insisted that they’d already gotten cavities by just looking at the pile of sweets that Aziraphale and Crowley had left.

Shadwell had tried to insist that they’d stolen the goods and were now trying to drug them, but Madame Tracy shut him down and took even more than Anathema and Newton did, all the while Shadwell was muttering about “that southern pansey” and how he could exorcize him off the face of the Earth if he wanted to, just by pointing at him. He had, after all, managed to do it before. He didn’t trust the business that the lot of them had running, but he decided against shooing Mr. Fell of the face of the Earth. Not out of the kindness of his heart but because he knew that Mr. Crowley would never be able to get rid of all of this stuff on his own.

***

Aziraphale set out a little table in front of his bookshop. Well, he set out multiple little tables. He’d been grateful that Anathema and Newton had offered to help them with the sales so that he himself could be more focused on book sales (or rather making sure no one was too tempted by any of them) and Crowley didn’t have to be in charge of everything. Aziraphale loved Crowley to bits, but he couldn’t even be trusted to make sure the Antichrist was in the right place. So why wouldn’t he mess this little thing up too? Getting the Antichrist in place was even less complicated than having to deal with sales and everything.

Most people, as Aziraphale had hoped, had stayed out of the bookshop. Aziraphale never had really enjoyed it when people came into his collection. He only called it a bookshop to keep up appearances. He really didn’t like selling the books. He liked dealing with the people who would fight him for the books even less. The nerve some humans had was remarkable.

Every once in a while, Aziraphale would go outside to check on things and make sure everyone was stocked up on all of their treats. They’d been able to get quite a lot on those tables, but not nearly everything. He would take the money in and switch it out as needed (switching the smallest bills and change for bigger bills if they needed that, taking the bigger bills out so they didn’t get robbed).

The overall feel for the day seemed to be that the people loved their pastries. Of course, neither Aziraphale or Crowley had been surprised by this because of the fact that they’d used so much magic to make it happen. Magic tended to do things to food to make it better, even when that wasn’t asked of it. However, when they were asked about any secret ingredients, Crowley insisted that they had just used more butter or vanilla or sugar (depending on what it was) in the recipe to make it good. A number of people informed Crowley that he should open up a bakery because he would be phenomenal at it.

Crowley knew this to be true. He could be good at anything he wanted to be, he was a demon after all. A demon who was, in human terms, dating an angel. The two of them together meant that they would be unstoppable in anything that they decided to do together. However, he knew that in order for him to open up a bakery with the angel, he would have to ask Aziraphale to close the shop. Even the best humans wouldn’t be able to handle running two businesses at once. The angel might have been able to handle it, especially with how few sales the bookshop ended up getting, but he knew that they had to keep up appearances. Especially with how well known the names of Crowley and Fell were in the area.

He could, of course, always go at it alone. But he didn’t want to do that either. The main reason he even liked baking to begin with was because he loved doing it with Aziraphale. If he were to open up his own place without Aziraphale, he would get stuck with all of the work of owning a business without any of the fun as to why he would have opened it in the first place.

As a compromise to the community, the A. Z. Fell and Co. bookshop hosted a city wide bake sale once per month, weather permitting. This gave Crowley all of what he would have wanted in a bakery with none of the stress.

Besides, he quite liked not having a full time job.

#long post #aziracrow #aziraley #aziraphale #azirowley #crowley #good omens #good omens fandom #good omens fic #aziraphale and crowley #crowley and aziraphale

[aethelflaedladyofmercia]

Dream A Little Dream - 3

Our next @bingokisses prompt is Tucking Hair Behind the Ear/Palm Kisses! This fic went in...a rather different direction than expected, but I wanted to make full use of the dream concept at least once.

The earlier sections are available on AO3.

Chapter 3: AD 1017 - The Impossible Dream

The knight rode his white stallion easily through the mist, mirror-bright armor resting lightly on his back and limbs. Ahead, a brilliant white stone tower rose, tall enough to pierce the sky, its peak obscured by black storm clouds. Rose bushes thick with thorns surrounded the base, barring all entry except through a single window, nearly a hundred feet high.

He swung himself down from the saddle and strode across the green sward. “Fair maiden!” The warrior lifted the visor of his helm, throwing his voice to echo off the stone. “Tales of your sorrows have spread throughout the kingdom. But fear not, for I, Sir Aziraphale, have come to rescue you from your sordid fate and see you safely hence!”

Far above, a figure leaned from the window. Narrow face pale above a deep black dress, clinging tightly to every curve and angle. Long limbs lost in sweeping crimson sleeves perfectly matched to the figure's main feature: endless waves of dark red hair. A single lock slipped free and tumbled down the side of the tower, nearly long enough to brush the ground below. Long-fingered hands cradled a pert chin as shining eyes took in the knight.

“Really? That’s what you’re going to open with?”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale’s gauntlet struck his hip with an annoyed clank. “I was trying to set a mood here.”

“You certainly set something.” Crowley chuckled, sending another ripple through the ocean of red hair. “I mean, it started well enough, I guess, but sordid fate? See you safely hence? Kind of falls flat if you ask me. Didn’t even mention slaying any wicked beasts.”

“Well. Not really the slaying sort.”

“Don’t let the princesses hear you say that.” Crowley’s fingers drummed on the windowsill. “They all love to see a good slaying. As for what comes next, is safety all you can promise? Might hold out for a better offer.”

“I hardly think you’re in a – a bargaining position up there.”

“Oi, you know how many knights have come by before you? I usually stop counting after twelve, and that was a while back. This tower is prime real estate.” A flash of white teeth behind blood red lips. “Most of them were much better at the speeches, you know. I can give you pointers if you like.”

Aziraphale shifted his cape back over his shoulders, covering his armor. “This isn’t a game, Crowley. Can’t you be serious for once in your life?”

“Everything is a game, Angel.” A flick of Crowley's head sent another river of hair wriggling down the side of the tower. Thick, loose curls, with a strong braid running through the middle. The tips of the hair came to rest twenty feet above the rose bushes. “Oh, will you look at that? Guess I shouldn’t have trimmed it last week, but you know. Split ends. Did you bring a ladder? None of the other knights brought ladders. You’d think, maiden in a tower, that’s the first thing they’d grab.”

“How many knights managed to scale the tower?”

“Jealous?” Crowley braced against the window frame and leaned forward, spilling out the rest of the hair, as well as an ample expanse of bosom. “Don’t worry, the dragon got all of them. They may have talked nice, but they were just shiny armor and fancy words. No substance. Not like you, of course.”

“Flattery won’t win me over.”

“Flattery can do anything, properly applied.”

Aziraphale took a deep breath and adjusted his helmet again. Really, none of this was going remotely to plan. He ought to just drop it and walk away, but not until he was absolutely sure of one thing. “Crowley. Are you alright? The rumors all say that the maiden in the tower is being held against her will. Do…do you need help?”

Crowley’s head tipped this way and that, thinking it over. “Well…yes, I suppose. See, I can’t leave this tower until someone tames the dragon. Why, did you want to try?”

“That was the plan, yes.” He glanced about. The tower was atop a hill, so despite the mist he could see a fair distance. No sign of any monster. “But, if we can get you down before it returns…”

“Nh. Well. About that.” Crowley’s grin grew wider, face grew longer, splitting into a black-scaled, arrow-shaped head with a mouth full of fangs and smoke. “I’m the maiden and the dragon. Ssseemed more efficient that way.”

Delicate, thin hands turned to claws, carving deep cracks into the stone of the wall, and the spill of hair twisted into a long red tail that slashed and darted through the air.

Aziraphale’s horse fled with a terrified scream, but the angel stood his ground, braced and unflinching as the tail wrapped around him, lifted him, pulled him through the air like a fish on a line.

All at once, he was inside the creature’s lair, a deep stone cave filled with stalactites and stalagmites, a pile of shining treasure somewhere just out of sight. One scaled fist clutched the angel from breastplate to greave, while a claw dragged around the edge of his helm, scratching curiously.

“Well? Aren’t you going to sssscream?”

Aziraphale found one golden eye, towering somewhere above him, and held its gaze. “And why should I do that?”

“I’m a monsssster, you idiot.” The fist tightened slightly, enough to make the armor creak and groan. “I could dessstroy you in an insssstant.”

“But you won’t.” Aziraphale wriggled his shoulders, pulling his arms free one at a time. “You won’t hurt me. Ever.”

“How can you be ssssure?” Twin gouts of steam shot from enormous nostrils, volcanically hot. “You should kill me before I tear you apart.”

“You really do need to listen better. I already told you, I’m not the slaying type. I’m here to save you from your fate, no more, no less.”

“You can’t – Angel, there’sss nothing to ressscue me from! You can’t take me away from myself.”

“Well, I certainly didn’t say anything about taking you away.” Aziraphale swept the helmet off his head, dropping it to clatter across the cavern floor. A mass of curly white hair shook free, not as long as Crowley’s had been, but wild and loose, spilling across his shoulders and face. “If you can be both prisoner and dragon…I am both knight and maiden.” His hands rested on the claw that hovered before his face, drawing it close, pressing his cheek to it. “I’m here to rescue you. I’m here to join you.”

“Angel…” The tip of the claw traced across his skin, sharp but gentle, and tucked a lock of hair behind Aziraphale’s ear. “You can’t…you can’t want that.”

“My dear Crowley. What more could I want? You are my friend, my trusted companion. The one being who…who makes me feel…myself. Who makes me feel that’s nothing to be ashamed of. Please, Crowley, let me do the same for you.”

The clawed hand opened, and suddenly Aziraphale stood on Crowley’s palm, every opalescent scale as big as his own hand. Nothing held him back now. He could jump. He could flee.

Instead, Aziraphale knelt down, armor melting into a shining silver gown, and curled up in the cup of Crowley’s hand as if it were the softest down bed in the world. Pressed his lips to the draconian palm. “Whatever form you take, you are the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen.”

“Do you mean that?”

Aziraphale glanced up in time to see the dragon’s snout melting again, softening, re-shaping into a narrow face with high cheekbones; neither male nor female, human nor dragon; black scales traced back from a jaw too wide, golden eyes stared unblinking below a sharply sloped brow. The hands that clutched Aziraphale’s elbows were still tipped with sharp claws, and a bright red tongue – splitting into a charcoal-black fork – shot out to taste the air.

He smiled, taking Crowley’s face in his hands. “There you are! My darling…” Aziraphale kissed those thin lips, tasting their desert-dry heat, and felt trembling hands clutch at his hair.

“Angel…”

Aziraphale pressed close, hands tracing down Crowley’s sinuous, bare back, feeling the form shift under his touch – scales, soft skin, silky hair, hot, cold, always changing. Crowley’s tongue flicked down his neck, just to the neckline of his gown, questioning.

“Yes,” he whispered into Crowley’s ear. “Oh, yes, Crowley—”

The wagon bounced over a hole in the road, jostling all its contents, including an angel who had been more than a little lost in his thoughts. The rap of his skull against a barrel helped to clear his mind.

Aziraphale quickly tugged his tunic straight and ran his hands through his hair – cut short, as always, regardless of the current fashion – glancing furtively at the other travelers. Two men and an older woman had also hitched a lift to the nearest city. He felt certain they must somehow know what he had imagined, that somehow the intensity of the fantasy had projected itself into the air around them—

But, no, all three sat, arms folded, concerned only with their own thoughts and their own troubles.

Clearing his throat, Aziraphale settled back into the corner of the wagon, tugging up the hood of his undyed wool cloak to hide the flush of his cheeks.

He daydreamed far more often than he used to, particularly while traveling – and more and more often, his fantasies featured one particular being. Though they were rarely so complex. Not to mention so physical. His imagination had simply run away with him, as sometimes happened.

If he concentrated hard enough, he could still feel the grip on his shoulders, drawing him deeper into the embrace—

Oh, no. No, that was dangerous. Crowley would never agree to…oh, whatever that little fantasy had symbolized. A partnership of some kind.

Well, no that wasn’t true. Crowley had suggested a partnership…an Arrangement…once before. Dropped hints every time they met lately. Aziraphale had refused to even consider it, but perhaps…perhaps…the time had come to think again.

Not just yet. Better to consider such things in complete privacy. He took the fantasy and carefully wrapped it in soft cotton, tucking it into the hidden drawer of his mind where he kept his very favorite daydreams, to revisit at a more opportune moment. He would need something simpler to entertain him on the ride.

Aziraphale carefully selected another dream, well-worn from use, and his mind slowly filled with a little stone cottage in a forest glade, the sound of waves echoing from just out of sight, and a dark-robed figure with red hair dancing in the wind, picking blackberries from the bushes…

--

“There you are!” Aziraphale’s hands cupped Crowley’s face, hideous and twisted though it was, but he only smiled, so warmly, so guilelessly, that it broke Crowley’s heart all over again. “My darling…” The angel rose up on his toes to press full, plump lips to Crowley’s mouth, arms pulling the demon into an embrace so close, so tight, that clawed hands scrambled to reciprocate.

“Angel…” Crowley meant to kiss Aziraphale’s jaw, but the serpent tongue had a mind of its own, exploring his neck down to the opening of his gown, the swells and curves hidden underneath. Surely that would be the last straw; surely now Aziraphale would see Crowley was nothing more than a beast, a monster whose very presence defiled everything pure. Crowley waited for the rejection, for Aziraphale to struggle to get away—

“Yes,” the soft voice curled into Crowley’s ear, even as soft hands clutched at narrow hips. “Oh, yes, Crowley—”

He snapped awake, scrambling to keep his balance on the branch as the wind chilled his flushed skin.

That had…not been the dream he expected. Usually, after an attempted exorcism, he had bad dreams for a week.

Crowley had fallen asleep in a tree, after being driven out of the nearby village by an overzealous priest. It happened more often these days; the humans were becoming more aware, somehow, more able to see him for what he really was. He’d need to improve his disguise, work harder to fit in.

Work harder to be anything other than himself.

The one being who…who makes me feel…myself. Who makes me feel that’s nothing to be ashamed of.

“Easy for you,” he grumbled into the darkness. “You’re a blessed angel. You’re as bloody perfect as the day you were made. Why would you ever feel ashamed? And I’m – I’m just…”

Whatever form you take, you are the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen.

He closed his eyes again, trying to catch that warmth, that feeling of acceptance, one more time. Not that Aziraphale actually felt that way, he’d rejected Crowley's idea for an Arrangement, cut him off any time he tried to even bring it up. But still…

Crowley drifted off to sleep, hoping he’d dream of Aziraphale again.

--

Thank you for reading! This one got WILDLY out of hand as I wrote, but in a good way, I suppose. More will be coming shortly, but if you liked it, please drop a comment here or on AO3!

Let me know if you want me to tag you on future chapters.

@angel-and-serpent

#good omens prime #ineffable husbands #monster crowley #genderfluid crowley #aziraphale and crowley #aziraphale #crowley #fairly tale retelling #asexual ineffable husbands #asexual aziraphale #asexual crowley #my writing #Dream a little dream #ao3 link #prompt fic

[frenchibi]

you bring me home

(another fic? yeah. more on my ao3 too btw; same url)

2k ineffable husbands wedding fluff fic, you’re welcome lol - full fic under the cut!

~~~

It’s 45 minutes away, and Crowley cannot stop his hands from fidgeting.

He’s abandoned the mirror – stupid thing was making him feel antsier by the minute, messing with his hair and conjuring imaginary wrinkles and stains on his clothes from the corner of his eye, definitely not productive. So he’s turned away – but that’s left him with no other options than to pace, and fidget, and worry.

Today’s not meant to be for worrying.

He’s not even really sure why, and that’s what’s most annoying, really. Today has been six thousand years in the making, and objectively he’s never been surer about anything.

He didn’t think he was prone to pre-emptive nerves (there’s a benefit to taking life as it comes, to winging it, to not thinking too much about plans for the future that go beyond “dinner, tomorrow night?”) – but then again, he’s no stranger to anxiety.

Christ’s sake, this isn’t a trial he’s facing, after all.

He wishes he wasn’t so fucking stressed.

He tugs his tie loose, then refastens it. Tugs it loose again – it feels weird, being so done-up. There’s too much gel in his fucking hair, isn’t there? And fuck, he’ll have to take off his sunglasses, won’t he? Shit.

He’s never felt so woefully unprepared and yet so ready for something at the same time. It’s strange and unpleasant and he wants to throw something at the nearest wall and maybe scream for fifteen minutes.

He does neither of those things, though he does aim a half-hearted kick at the foot of the mirror.

The room seems to shrink and contract around him, too-small and cramped and stifling. Fucking hell. The last time he’d felt this bad, he’d changed into a snake before he’d even finished the thought, and hid in Aziraphale’s sock drawer for a week.

Can’t very well do that now. 43 minutes. Shit.

If he were a snake right now, he’d curl up in some tiny, tiny space and sleep until he forgot what was giving him such panic, such endless energy and restlessness.

He’s never been good at pacing.

In an impulse decision, he throws open the door. Fuck this.

The corridor beyond is empty, thank Someone, and Crowley is moving without any destination in mind except the one he’ll always, inevitably end up at, no matter how far he goes. Circling back like a planet, like a satellite.

He almost forgets to knock, but catches himself at the last minute, remembering the time, the place, the day. His stomach flips.

“Yes?”

Even just that voice, just that tiny word, and the world feels like it will be okay.

“Angel,” Crowley says, and shit, his voice is doing the exposing thing, the vulnerability thing, “can I- can I come in?”

There’s a beat of silence, only a beat, and all of Crowley’s fears live in that tiny moment, expanding, swallowing everything.

Then: “I don’t believe you’re quite supposed to – but alright.”

Crowley hesitates, with his heart in his throat and his knees about to buckle.

“A-are you sure? I know this matters to you, angel, I just-“

The door opens. Tiny miracles.

Crowley clamps his mouth shut and walks inside.

“Close it behind you, would you, dear?”

Aziraphale is standing at the far end of the room, facing a mirror not unlike the one Crowley just fled from. He’s in a suit (not unheard of), but a black suit, which, although they’d discussed this before – seeing it is something else entirely. He’s got a cream-colored tie, one Crowley knows matches his own suit, and he’s fussing with it.

He gives Crowley a look through the mirror, a brief glance, a glance away – and then he turns to take him in properly.

There’s weight in his gaze, and a part of Crowley regrets that this moment isn’t occurring in 42 minutes and in a different room – but a much larger part is overcome with potential relief from the ever-present strum of nerves, and that feels more important. And selfish. But the longer he’d pictured not reaching out to the only person who helped, the worse he’d felt, exponentially.

A small frown crosses Aziraphale’s face – he knows. He always, always knows.

Crowley steps forward with a slight shake of his head, just so, and reaches for the tie. Fusses now, too. Loosens it up. Tightens it. Miracles a bowtie, then changes it back. His hands are shaking.

“Oh, darling,” Aziraphale says, and it’s soft, and the warmth in his voice could melt even the hardest of hearts.

“Just,” Crowley says, but no other words want to leave, they’d rather stay and constrict his windpipe and bring tears to the corners of his eyes.

He knows what he needs – and either Aziraphale really is a telepath, or he just knows, somehow, as well. Knows from the years upon years upon years he’s been carrying Crowley through panic attacks, been shielding him when no one else would have ever thought he’d need it, protecting him, holding him-

Aziraphale steps closer, and his arms come up and Crowley falls, because this is the only place he can let it go, let everything go and just breathe.

There’s a familiar scent, a familiar embrace, a comfort, and a slowly-calming heart. A shaky breath, and another, and another, until the path is clear again.

Aziraphale has pulled him close, supporting his weight, holding him up. His hands are warm and gentle, and he catches all the fear, the jitters, the doubt, like it’s nothing. Holds.

“M’sorry, angel,” Crowley breathes, into the space where his head is tucked, against Aziraphale’s shoulder. “Ruined the surprise.”

“Nonsense,” is the reply he gets, and another squeeze. “You needed something else today. I’m glad you came to find me.”

He’s said things before to that same effect – thank you for trusting, thank you for reaching out. Little reminders that it’s not a one-sided thing, even if Crowley always feels like he’s the burden. That it’s okay to want, it’s okay to need, and it’s okay to voice the need that isn’t being met. That he won’t be judged, or shunned, or cast away. Aziraphale would never.

It’s a process. And this is a big day. The biggest.

A tiny confession, massive in size: “Christ, I’m bloody terrified.”

Aziraphale pulls back, just enough to see his face. His voice is soft. “Terrified of what?”

Crowley shakes his head. How does one even answer that?

“…nothing. Everything. I- I don’t know.”

Aziraphale takes hold of his hands, coaxes him over to the red-velvet couch. Tacky. Terrible. But it takes the weight off his ever-shaky knees. His eyes dart around the room, like they’re afraid of what they’ll find. Don’t look at the concern, don’t look it in the eye. But he can’t help it.

“Afraid of… someone interfering?” the angel asks, quietly.

Crowley shrugs. “Maybe. No. I don’t… no.” They’ve given them no reason to. That part of their lives is over. It should be, for a long time. It should be.

“So then… afraid of embarrassing yourself, dear?” A bit of a teasing tone, and Crowley feels his burden lift when he sees the soft, fond smile. “I promise I won’t hold it against you if you trip. Though I can’t guarantee I won’t be laughing.”

He wants to laugh, too, but all his body does is huff, still so strung with nerves.

Aziraphale is still holding his hands, tugging them just a little bit closer. “…not that, either, is it? Darling, are you…” He swallows, like it’s taking effort, and there’s a shadow on his face, “are you having second thoughts? I just- I want you to know that that’s alright, if that’s it. If you need more time, we can-”

Crowley shakes his head with much haste and vigor; “No, angel, God no-”

He pulls Aziraphale’s hands into his own lap, twists the small vine-y ring on his pinkie, holds them close. “I’m. I’ve always been sure about you. I just. I’m so- Fuck, I’m so terrified, that like. We do this, and then one day you’ll wake up and you’re chained to me and I’m the burden you carry for the rest of your life, I- are you sure? Angel, you could have the world, are you- do you really want-”

Even as he says it, it feels like an injustice, for him to doubt like this, for him to hurt like this, even though the angel’s shown him nothing but kindness. It’s giant and looming and it’s all that he can see, despite all the light his angel brings. And that’s it, isn’t it, the fear? That his own darkness will always overpower that light.

Aziraphale is shaking his head, and oh, oh no, he’s made him cry, he’s made the angel cry-

“Crowley, Crowley, love- don’t you even dare suggest- I’ve been alive for six thousand years and nobody, nobody completes me like you do. Nobody has seen every aspect of me, and chosen to hold them in love. I have never, not ever, not even for a second- no, Crowley, look at me. Please, I need you to understand. I’ve never- never ever wanted anyone but you.”

Angels don’t lie, just like demons don’t love. Crowley knows they both can - there’s enough human in both of them, shining through the cracks, but Aziraphale wouldn’t, not about this. He radiates concern, and truth, and love, oh, so much love.

This isn’t a lie, because he taste the truth of it on the air, feel it in every crevice of his being.

“I’m sorry,” and his voice, it breaks, like tiny splinters tearing through icebergs, “angel, I know, and God, I’m so sorry-” But the angel catches him again.

“None of that,” Aziraphale says, “that is quite enough. You never have to apologize for feeling overwhelmed. My dear, that’s what I’m here for. And if you forget, or you’re afraid it’s stopped being the truth, just ask me, and I’ll tell it to you again. As many times as you need to hear it.”

Crowley ducks his head; it’s still hard to be seen like this, to be loved like this, so completely, so openly. Aziraphale, as ever, knows. He opens his arms again, pulls him in, tucks him into his shoulder. Crowley remembers to breathe.

He’s not sure how long they just sit, and breathe, and hold. Long enough for apprehension to be sucked away, and slowly creep back in – they can’t be late, not for this.

Crowley shifts, slow, reluctant. “…angel? Do you… what time is it?”

Aziraphale pulls back, equally reluctant. “Just about time to go, I’d expect. Do you feel ready?” Something in his voice says that it doesn’t matter. That he’ll slow time and stop for as long as Crowley needs.

Crowley grimaces, but his humor is returning, slowly, slowly. “Ready as I’ll ever be. Always was, really.”

The angel tuts, but it’s not offended, not really. “I think excitement is rather appropriate, don’t you? That’s the prevalent feeling, in good ceremonies, or so I’ve read.”

“…these ceremonies are usually for humans,” Crowley says, “we don’t need to conform. Though I guess you’re right about excitement. It’s… a commitment. A- a promise. That is exciting.”

Aziraphale beams. “Well, there you go.”

He pulls himself to his feet, extending a hand to Crowley as he does so. “Shall we break with tradition, and walk down together?”

Crowley thinks of the plan, thinks of the different ideas they’d has as to who would be waiting (he’d always been waiting) and who would take the walk (always toward one another, no matter where they’re coming from). Thinks how it could go both ways and make absolute ineffable sense.

“Yeah. Yeah, I do think we should.”

It feels fitting, poetic. Their own side, as always. Their way. He links their hands, and lets his angel pull him to his feet.

~

“I’m going to cry,” Aziraphale tells him, before the doors are opened. “Just- just warning you. I will. I seem to be incessantly emotional today.”

Crowley turns to face him, through his own watery eyes. “Bet I’ll beat you to it.”

And he does.

~~~

(Thank you for reading, give me a shout if you liked it!! & maybe consider reblogging to support a new writer in the fandom :D)

#good omens #good omens fanfic #good omens fanfiction #ineffable husbands #ineffable hushands fanfic #aziraphale x crowley #aziraphale x crowley fanfic #my writing

[ourownsideimagines]

Hide My Wings Tonight: When In Rome (Chapter 3)

Here is Chapter Three!

Read it here on AO3

Or Read it Here on Tumblr below the cut!

---

(Name) had been keeping busy in the years since the flood. She performed miracles, did blessings - she took on work loads that were not her own to please those above her.

Especially Gabriel.

She would do anything for him, something her brother had teased her for endlessly over the years. Today there would be no teasing though. Gabriel asked another favor of her - in fact, of both herself and Aziraphale. If anybody else had asked her to do this, she would have said no. She might even have laughed at them.

But there she was, standing among the crowd that had gathered in Golgotha. The sound of each blow of the hammer had her wincing. She couldn’t imagine the sheer amount of pain Jesus was being put through, and a part of her wanted to run and stop them.

But she knew, even if she tried, that Aziraphale would stop her - whether than meant taking her hand to pull her back, or removing her from this plane of existence altogether she didn’t know. She just knew she’d never get anywhere near that cross.

“I don’t like this.” (Name) murmured to Aziraphale, trying to keep her hands from shaking by clasping them together.

“I know you don’t.” Aziraphale replied. “But there’s simply nothing we can do.”

“There’s never anything we can do.” She all but hissed out. “What’s the point of our miracles if we can’t perform them.”

“We can’t save everyone.” Aziraphale reminded her. “And we cannot question the lord’s plans-”

“I didn’t question them, I just judged them. Silently.” She cut him off.

“If this is what you consider silent, my dear, I would hate to see what loud is.” She wasn’t sure if it was meant to be a joke or not, but she found no humor in it. The two of them were silent, until a familiar figure dressed in all black slithered up beside them. (Name) didn’t recognize them at first.

“I’m sorry ma’am, can we help you,” She turned to them, her throat going dry when she realized it was Crawly.

“Hello, (name).” She said, grimacing when there was another blow to the nail. “You two come to smirk at the poor bugger?”

“Smirk?” Aziraphale scoffed. (Name) opened her mouth to say something, but Crowley beat her to it.

“Your lot put him up there.” She said.

“We’re not consulted on policy decisions.” Aziraphale grumbled.

“Hell consult you on everything, Crawly?” (Name) snapped.

“I’ve changed it.” She replied, ignoring (name)’s question.

“Changed what?” Aziraphale inquired.

“My name. Crawly just wasn’t going it for me. A bit too squirming at your feet-ish.” She said, not tearing her eyes away from the crucifixion. 

“Well, you were a snake.” Aziraphale reminded her.

“What’s your name then, ma’am?” (Name) asked. “Something long and hard to pronounce?” She smiled down at (name) for a split second, a smile that turned quickly into gritted teeth at the next blow of the hammer, and tore her momentary gaze away.

“Crowley.” She told her. (Name) winced, but nodded.

“Did you ever meet him?” Aziraphale asked Crowley, attempting to change the subject.

“Yes,” Crowley said softly. “Seemed a very bright young man. I showed him all the kingdoms of the world.”

“Why?” (Name) asked, and Crowley finally turned her eyes to gaze properly upon the siblings.

“He’s a carpenter from Galilee, his travel opportunities were limited.” She said, grimacing again. “That’s got to hurt,” She looked back as the centurion came around to start on Jesus’ other hand. “What was it he said that got everyone so upset?”

“Be kind to each other.” Aziraphale moved an arm around his sister, and she appreciated the small comfort. She leaned into him, stealing another glance at the red headed demon. Her form was cloaked in black, as it always had been, and she wondered how Crowley might look in white, like the Angels.

She quickly shook the thought from her head.

“Yeah, that’ll do it.” Crowley said, scrunching up her nose. (Name) bit down on her tongue to keep from gagging as the nail plunged into Jesus’ wrist, and she turned her gaze to Aziraphale. She kept reminding herself that she was doing this for Gabriel, a favor for the object of her affections. If he needed her here, it must have been for important reasons.

(Name) couldn’t bring herself to watch was they finished, using ropes to haul the cross upright, Jesus’ wails of pain tearing through every nerve ending in her body. After the flood, (name) didn’t know if she could ever take this much grief in one sitting, and she wanted to run.

But she couldn’t run. She would need to return to Heaven with her brother to inform Gabriel and the others that the crucifixion was successful.

She turned to Crowley, who had been rather quiet, watching with a distant gaze as the crowds began to dwindle. (Name) cleared her throat, and Crowley turned her gaze to the Angel.

“Until we meet again, Crowley.” She said.

“Until then, (name).” Crowley replied with a nod. (Name) took Aziraphale’s arm, and with a bat of her eyes, they were back in Heaven.

There was more work to be done.

So much so, that she would not see the demon Crowley again for eight years. Considering the many years between their last meetings, a part of her wondered why eight years felt like anything at all. 

She and Aziraphale had been in Rome to influence a boy named Nero - Aziraphale had suggested they turn his interest to music; but there was something deep down inside of the boy that (name) knew wouldn’t be influenced by much light.

Still, she would persevere.

She and Aziraphale had been at a local bar when Aziraphale’s attention had been drawn away by a familiar voice.

“Crawly?” He asked, and (name) turned her head to find the redhead sitting at the nearby bar, a pair of dark spectacles over his eyes. She tried not to make any noise of surprise or disappointment when she saw that he’d chopped off his hair, which was now almost to his scalp, with the acceptance of the front which was curled back.

“Crowley,” She corrected her brother. “What a coincidence, running into you here.” (Name) took the initiative to move over by him, and Aziraphale followed with no protest.

“Still a demon then?” Aziraphale asked, and (name) kicked him.

“What kind of stupid question is that?! ‘Still a demon’? What else am I going to be, an aardvark?” Crowley snapped, and (name) rolled her eyes.

“Just trying to make conversation,” Aziraphale said.

“Try a little less, brother dear.” (Name) said. “I must apologize for him - we don’t get out much.” Crowley’s gaze was on her, and there was a faint smile on his lips.

“You have drink?”

“Not yet, no.” (Name) replied, surprised when Crowley asked for another cup before pouring her some. “Thank you.” She said, taking it grateful.

“Salutaria!” Aziraphale raised his cup, which he had barely touched since he'd gotten it, and the two both clinked their cups against his. “In Rome long?”

“Just nipped in for a quick temptation.” Crowley said as he took a sip of his wine.

“Anybody special?” (Name) asked.

“The Emperor, Caligula.” Crowley said. “Not that he needs any tempting to be absolutely appalling - going to report it back as a success.” (Name) nodded quickly. “What about you two?”

Aziraphale took the chance to explain, and (name) took the time to study Crowley. He looked a little withered down, tired, and slightly annoyed - she guessed, from her brother’s question. She didn’t blame him for being upset. Aziraphale didn’t know when to keep his mouth shut sometimes - he’d almost gotten the two of them into trouble on many occasions.

A part of her wondered why he was wearing dark glasses - no one would ever notice his exotic eyes, other than herself and other supernatural entities. It disappointed her, and she had no clue why.

“What else are you up to while you’re in Rome?” Crowley asked suddenly, snapping (name) from her thoughts.

“We were thinking of trying Petronius’s new restaurant.” Aziraphale told him with a smile.

“They say he does remarkable things to oysters.” (Name) piped in, hoping neither of them had noticed her spacing out.

“I’ve never eaten an oyster.”

“Well, maybe we could tempt you to join us.” She could feel Aziraphale’s eyes on her, but kept her own on Crowley. He was gazing at her above the small, round lenses of his glasses, and she again saw the faint smile on his lips. “Unless, of course, I’m not allowed to do any tempting.”

“(Name),” Aziraphale warned.

“What? I am inviting an old acquaintance to a meal - nothing bad about that.” (Name) finished her wine and set aside the cup. “So, Crowley, what do you say? Join us?”

“Afraid not,” He said. “Though I do appreciate the offer, I have places to be.”

“Says the man we found alone at the bar.”

“Touché.”

#Hide My Wings Tonight #HMWT #good omens #good omens x reader #crowley x reader #crowley x fem!reader #crowley x angel!reader #crowley x reader good omens #crowley x fem!reader good omens #crowley x angel!reader good omens #crowley #crowley good omens #anthony j crowley #x reader #x fem!reader #x angel!reader #aziraphale's sister!reader #reader insert #good omens reader insert #my writing #reese writes #chapter fic #chapter three #manual posting