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feralbutfluffy · 6 months

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Interstitial: The Library of Alexandria

Instead of a chapter, today there's a one-shot inspired by chapter 59.

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Crowley watched Aziraphale as he ran his finger lightly over the scrolls, looking for something in particular. He didn’t ask what it was he was searching for.

He didn’t really care.

He sat on the floor, ignoring whatever was digging into his shoulder. Something old and terrifyingly valuable, no doubt.

He sighed and took a swig from the jar of wine in his hand. “You going to be much longer?”

Aziraphale frowned at him. “You don’t have to be here, you know.”

Crowley grumbled something indecipherable and took another swig.

“It wouldn’t kill you to help, you know,” Aziraphale said, irritation clipping his words. “We’d be finished quicker if you would just-”

“You’d be finished quicker,” said Crowley.

Aziraphale glared at him from underneath his eyelashes. “Well, yes, but it hardly signifies. It comes down to the same thing, surely? The sooner I find the scroll the sooner we can break for lunch.”

“I fail to see the incentive. I’ll remind you that you’re the one who’s been banging on about that fish thing since we ran into each other this morning.”

“Be that as it may-”

“Anyway, helping you would be against my job description, wouldn’t you say?” Crowley crinkled his nose. “Bit unprincipled from a demonic perspective, to be helping your lot with… whatever it is you’re doing.”

“I assure you this is entirely personal,” sniffed Aziraphale.

“Be that as it may…” imitated Crowley, his tone entirely mocking.

Aziraphale shot him an annoyed look and crouched to examine the shelves at Crowley’s feet.

Crowley took another swig and let out a deeply contented sigh. There was nothing like needling the angel to brighten his day. He let his shoulders fall back against the scrolls, enjoying the satisfyingly soft crunch of crumpling papyrus and the equally satisfying look of horror on the angel’s face at the sound.

“Crawley!” He hissed, sounding appalled. If they hadn’t been in a library Crowley imagined it would probably have been an indignant shout.

“It’s Crowley now,” he reminded him blandly.

Aziraphale hurried to his side, placing a hand against the dip at the base of his spine and sliding it up to his shoulders, neatly pulling him forward and away from the damaged scrolls behind him.

“You can’t do that! These scrolls are invaluable!”

Crowley ignored the strange prickling heat he felt at the angel’s touch.

“How do you know? You haven’t even looked at them yet, they could be…” he scrambled, “... a painstaking account of someone’s dreams! Or the ramblings of a madman! Honestly, look at this place, it’s packed to the gills with scrolls. They can’t all be important.”

“This is the finest collection of written material in the world, Craw- Crowley. Of course they’re all important!” Aziraphale was still supporting Crowley’s back with one arm as the fingers of the other smoothed out the creases in the scrolls behind him.

Crowley gave no sign of intending to support his own body weight.

“Move,” Aziraphale said commandingly, shoving him upright. Crowley bounced forward, head falling against his chest, looking like a puppet with cut strings. He sat like that for a moment, listing forward, as he listened to the soothing sound of the angel putting everything to right. He wondered if Aziraphale might touch him again if he lay back and crumpled more scrolls.

He might.

Or he might discorporate him for crimes against papyrus.

He put the jar to his lips and drank deeply. Wine. What a marvellous discovery. It was the only good thing to come out of that whole mess with Noah. The rainbow-

Well, the rainbow was fine, he supposed. But the wine …!

Truthfully, he’d needed it to get over that atrocity. He couldn’t understand how Aziraphale had managed to take it so in stride. The cries, the bloated bodies, the smell… He shuddered and swallowed down a large gulp of wine.

“I know I’ve already told you-” started Aziraphale at the sound of the wine sloshing against the side of the jar.

“Yes, yes, shouldn’t drink in the library-” mumbled Crowley, waving the jug in front of him at the same time as Aziraphale continued, “You really shouldn’t drink in the library. What if you spill it?”

Crowley tried to look offended. “As if I would! Nectar of the Gods, lest you forget,” he said pointing at the jar.

“There is only one God as you very well know,” said Aziraphale primly, kneeling to face Crowley. “I’d thank you to refrain from such blasphemy when you find yourself in my company.” He looked extremely disapproving, hands folded in his lap, a frown etched on his face as he eyed the jar in Crowley’s hand.

He could be so sanctimonious sometimes. It really was unbearable.

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saglaophonos · 8 months

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He knows why Crowley — who had not so much as picked up a book since the invention of the printing press — had done all that, and done it to save the fragile, insignificant human items that Aziraphale reveried with such vital importance, without even having to be asked. He knows, with a feeling of exhilaration like a live wire throughout his body, why Crowley had always saved him, had always thought of him, and had always treated him with such kindness, the likes of which Aziraphale had never received from anyone else, and never would, or had thought to extend even to himself.

Season three opens on London, 1941, and the end of a long night.

and what if the good omens s3 opening scene was a continuation of the 1941 flashback? and what if i wrote it? in script format? what then?

#good omens #good omens fic #good omens fic rec #azcrow #ineffable husbands #i have spent so long. writing and rewriting this #so yeah i'll even tag it correctly #char writes

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freetheworms · 7 months

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SOFT AZCROW BABIES BECAUSE BEE IS KILLING US ALL WITH THEIR HUMAN AU

growing up together, cuteness, angst, autism, baby gays, richard siken poetry, a wedding, and one well-worn comfort yellow sweater. GO READ IT. GO NOW

#azcrow #ineffable husbands #good omens #aziraphale #crowley #anthony j crowley #gomens #good omens 2 #gracie draws #good omens s2 #gomens season 2 #gomens s2 #bee dropped the start of this fic into the server out of NOWHERE and none of us have been normal since #ITS SO SWEET AND EMOTIONAL AND THEM #and boy is it well thought out! we're pooling knowledge on accurate timeline media and haircuts and and and #one of us WENT TO SOHO and sent tour pics and descriptions. three of us have drawn the babies in this sweater #a fourth drew the sweater years later in a very different context dvjggkhgkvndv #anyway we're insane

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smolalienbee · 7 months

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Now that they’re teens and inching ever closer to adulthood, it’s not an item of clothing Anthony would want to be caught wearing out in the open. He has a distinct sense of style, after all - all black and red and mysterious - but still, he carries the yellow jumper with him whenever he can, dons it when it’s just the two of them, alone and in the comfort and security of their own company. Aziraphale knows that Anthony does it because he loves him. Aziraphale also knows that Anthony is afraid.

Aziraphale & Crowley as kids from And a Silver Sixpence in His Shoe!

#sixpence gomens #sixpence fic #smolalienbeeart #good omens #azcrow #ineffable husbands #aziraphale #crowley #kid!aziraphale #kid!crowley #human au #gomens #good omens fanart #aziraphale x crowley #crowley x aziraphale #aziracrow

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heartinajarofpickles · 7 months

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Dinner is not over

Part 5

Run to rise and leave me blind, i feel it coming all the time

Half of the cup was already gone, hands trembling so much they almost spilled the little liquid left on it, feet touching the dark pavement one step at a time anxiously looking forward to see how Muriel was handling the library, mind focused on the fact that aziraphale wasn't there anymore so that his absence didn't take him aback, she was halfway there, eyes fixated on a new door color, when something solid and cold on his hip pulled her out of his thoughts, and stopped him from looking at the door.

She realized that she was on the ground and the pain came immediately after, hips and head hurting, Oh! the head, it felt like it was going to explode, the person driving left not caring about the accident nor the being they have hurtled, or perhaps caring too much, but about the consequences that’ll bring.

Crowley was okay with this being his end, lately things on earth were dizzy and confusing, like they were many many years ago, after that everything just became worse, it was many years ago and in a far better place, with no strings attached, so he didn't dare to imagine how bad things could get here, the only things that grounded him to earth were gone, he come to this place to accompany humans, to tempt them, to make them make choices, for him to intervene and help them choose the way they wanted to live, it was only fair that one of those humans would take his life, and what better than with a car, one of their best inventions.

Humans would probably be gone thanks to aziraphale in a couple thousand years, if Crowley died he would go back to hell, there, demons would notice his existence, maybe just by punishing him, making him an example of what happens to traitors, it wouldn’t be the first time that happened and right now it was far better than what was happening, he wanted for someone to call out his name even if it was just to torture him, to laugh at him, ridicule him, THAT was better than nothing at all, than an unimpactful existence, maybe none of that would happen and he'll just get back to the crowded place that everyone keep insisting was his home, either option was better that seeing how the creature he loved so purely destroyed what they have been caring for together the last 6000 years based only on bad decisions and pressure exerted by a higher powers.

The demon was slowly saying goodbye to his earthly years relieving theirbest memories one by one in the few seconds he thought he had left, preparing to say goodbye to the body that had held him so many nights and anticipating what would be of him in the afterlife, when a familiar high-pitched voice invaded the space.

— “Mister Crowley, are you okay?” Although it shouldn't, it took him by surprise, in no time he restored his composure and responded to the curious eyes.

— “Yeah sure kid” the demon said while an almost unbearable pain on the hip ached her, he couldn’t stand up by himself, so Muriel helped him cross the road, until they arrived at the library.

It was different, barely the entrance remained the same, instead of the deep red color there was now an almost electric blue adorning the door, a sign could be read stating the hours it was opened 9-5 every day, but the inside, that was what took Crowley aback, what once was a cozy place packed with books and old comfy chairs, with warm walls and wood floors was now all organized by sections, by genre, yearly, or alphabetically, it didn't matter which one, if Muriel did it that meant it was a good system, a system that was meant to be accessible for those who came inside, and a system that aziraphale didn’t have as his books were ordered in quirky unique ways that made sense in his head and his head only, because he was supposed to be the only one in contact with them, only him and the people he trusted could inhabit that quiet little sophisticated nook on earth, however that domesticity was all over, as strangers now enter the room where Crowley poured his love time ago.

The new layout was intended to welcome people with clearer colors, bright white lights and colorful modern chairs, all of this inviting them to buy.

The hit, the caffeine and the new state of one of the few places where he truly felt himself made the world whirl once again.

All he wanted was for this to stop, he closed his eyes to escape from the tormenting reality, when a figure posed in front of him, and suddenly they didn’t feel so bad.

Muriel had miracled out Crowley's wounds, only the superficial ones as his power was limited, still his hip didn’t hurt anymore, and she felt pretty proud of Muriel for discovering new things.

— “Wow, already making miracles, huh?”

— “Oh! Well yes, I’ve learned a lot thanks to aziraphale!”. Pain.

— “Is that so?” The angel had visited Muriel but not him. Pain again.

— “Oh well just by reading, Aziraphale’s books really have a lot of him in them” They did. “Besides it's cute how he gives them little names, I feel as if he was talking to me”

— “Sounds just like him” said the demon in what was intended to sound depreciating, but coming out mourningly.

Thanks to the fact that Muriel keep distracting him from the destructive way his mind been working lately, and to the miracleperformed, Crowley could appreciate the view with detail, he got up and started analyzing the books realizing that a large number of the originals were already gone, pristine new books taking their place, making the place seem stocked, luminous white lights adorning the roof facilitating people that wanted to evaluate what they were about to buy, chairs in all different colors gave a good contrast to the rest of the store and serve as a thoughtful addition for however that wanted to start their treat at that exact moment.

— “Sold much Uriel?”

— “Oh you noticed! Yes, I did, it wasn't that hard really, a lot of people seemed to be very interested, and for some of them they gave me a lot of money, at first I didn’t understand the concept of money, I still don't fully grasped it, you just give it away and people give you back things right?”

— “Pretty much yes”

— “Yes I knew it!, apparently some of them were really rare as they gave me a lot of money from them”

— “You were not supposed to sell them, did you know” said Crowley in a dismal tone

— “Don’t be silly this is a bookshop, that’s what we do”

The demon gave a little laugh both for the way that Muriel’s speak so sure of themselves, and because of a reminder of better times popped up, when the angel would give infinite explanations as to why he couldn't sell his books.

— “True”

The last safe place on earth had crumbled, becoming a new version of what it was, a version not made for Crowley, not in a bad sense, time changes, it's a normal and organic thing that happens, but ever since that kiss he had remained the same, soul forever buried in a place that wasn't there anymore, trapped in the past unable to escape.

After analyzing all, the demon's mind only came with one possible solution, one unique thought, the plan that could make all of this stop, the thing that would get rid of all of his problems.

— “Muriel, could I ask you for something?”

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cobragardens · 7 months

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Fic I Crave

Crowley in the Sixties getting stoned. I can't imagine Crowley or Aziraphale ever smoking tobacco because Aziraphale absolutely would not stand for smoke or smokers near his beautiful books, but by the same token I also can't imagine that Crowley of all people has never tried weed. Cannabis has been smoked as long or longer than alcoholic drinks have existed, he was a bootlegger in the 40s, and he was hanging around Soho in the 60s. You can't tell me he hasn't run across it and been curious, just like he was with alcohol. Honestly some of the stuff Crowley says already sounds like things people stay when they're stoned ("Do ducks have ears?") and I just wonder how much worse it would get.

A fic supposing that the high-power miracle A&C perform jointly is the result of a mediated connection between them (Adam or Jimbriel), and that if the connection were not mediated but direct, the power of the joint miracle would be even stronger, and then increasingly stronger still in proportion to the amount of contact or the emotional intensity of the contact A&C have. If Crowley's anger can generate an infernal energy discharge sufficient to trip the breakers in at least one building, what kind of power would joy from both of them, through the connection, create? enough to protect Earth from Heaven and Hell? enough to remake Heaven and Hell entirely?

Due to reasons, Aziraphale is cultural attache and spiritual mentor to the Christ child, who is an adolescent girl. Crowley helps. Hijinks ensue.

Given that Aziraphale is hesitant to try alcohol because he doesn't think he should get drunk, I can't imagine him willingly trying cannabis, but I can imagine an innocently consumed special brownie, and y'all. Imagine Aziraphale with the giggles.

Remember: Do not tag Neil Gaiman with fanfic, fan theories, or S3 predictions.

#good omens #good omens 2 #good omens s2 #good omens fanfic #good omens fanfiction #ineffable husbands #good omens 420 #azcrow #aziracrow #azicrow #aziraphale x crowley #good omens fic I want

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varnishlight · 9 months

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reposted finally.............it's here. i haven't read it in full since i was 17 so i'm still insanely embarrassed.

#good omens #op #azcrow #sighs #ineffable husbands #my weird little mishmash of book and s1 tv. cute #UHHH reblag if you want #maybe i'll get that sweet sweet aziraphales library promo its the backbone of my fic career <-- joke

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castiellesbian · 2 months

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the Destiel vs azcrow fight is not serious and doesn't matter but also. mad that you don't have over a hundred episodes of content and >100,000 fics on AO3 aren't you

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lineffability · 5 months

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in fanfic news, this week I raced through the ENTIRE Garden of Delights series like a madwoman, it's very kinky smut and absolutely porn-focused but has a romance plot underlying it all that will draw you in by the third fic, and as someone who does not usually go for human azcrow this interpretation of them as humans was SO delightful and had me shipping these characters so hard (afab nonbinary crowley who is a little shit and also a mess, and caretaking agender az!! delightful), it also probably unlocked a number of kinks in me and maybe u too (it's a lot of consensual non-con but so so well and carefully done)

#fic rec #that's it from me tune in next week when i lose my mind again #like every week #but this wrecked me I couldn't stop reading the last few installations in a haze #racing towards their well deserved happy end #but the journey is so painfully delicious

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anthonycrowley · 8 months

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i love when azcrow fics are from outsider povs because you get like 5k words of people going why are these gay men so fucking bizarre and it slaps every time

#text #my post #mobi #gomens

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mrghostrat · 3 months

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hello! just dropping in to say i'm so excited that streamers and bnf got updates so close together. i don't usually read fics that veer into the worlds of internet or fandom culture, but you've written them in such a way that i can't help but want more! i love how you embed skins into your work because it makes the experience so much more immersive. and your art!! your art is so lovely! i just finished your teachers au the other day and i love how you capture azcrow in your style.

thank you so much!!!

i’ll often update them together because i get into such a writing flow that the creative energy will keep burning even when i finish a chapter, but i’ll desperately need a break from whatever world/universe i was focused on. so it’s really nice getting to switch over to another story and work on that, instead of just staring at the wall to decompress 🥰

#i do this with writing vs art too! whenever i finish a drawing i wanna keep being creative but don’t wanna look at a pen for at least a year #ask a rat

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feralbutfluffy · 6 months

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62. Convergence

Chapter 62 of Too Wise to Woo Peaceably

It was patient urgency.

It was impatient restraint.

It was being in the eye of a hurricane; everything moving overwhelmingly fast and not at all.

Aziraphale had been stationed on Earth for thousands of years. He had existed for aeons. He had learned so much in that time, experienced so much in that time. He had lived, and felt, and enjoyed, and in the entirety of that duration, in all of those years, in everything he had felt, there had been nothing - nothing - like this.

And had he ever expected to be here?

No, of course not. An angel and a demon, hereditary enemies, digging a grave for their mandated conflict and burying it deep - six millennia under - beneath the comforting weight of friendship, and longing, and care, and love.

And had he ever dreamed of being here?

Yes. Oh, yes.

In private. In secret. Ever since the kiss in the bookshop he had dreamed of it, and he had folded and folded those dreams until they were hardened squares, folded them tiny and tight so he could tuck them away, wedge them between his memories, and pretend they were never there at all.

And now...

His focus was sharp with greed, his entire being overwhelmed by a hunger that yearned to taste the specifics of the moment, that longed to savour them, swallow them down, keep each one somewhere safe and secret and sacred, keep them guarded in his heart, in the back of his skull, in the marrow of his bones.

The damp hair curling against Crowley’s temple.

His pupils, fully dilated, obsidian surrounded by molten gold.

The pulse visibly drumming against his skin.

The sound of rasping breaths being dragged in and out, rough with want.

Aziraphale was pinned beneath Crowley’s angular frame but he felt as if he might be floating, actually, and his heart was in his throat, and he was vaguely aware that it shouldn’t be there, shouldn’t be lodged in his airway making him feel like he might choke, like he might be smothered by the intensity of the love he was feeling, but he couldn’t do anything about it. It was stuck fast.

He pulled his hands from Crowley’s to place them tentatively on his waist, and ran them up his sides and over his back. Crowley shook and closed his eyes, pressing his forehead into the curve where Aziraphale’s neck met his shoulder, and Aziraphale lightly dragged his fingernails down and back up the former demon’s back, reveling in every twitch and shudder.

He wanted nothing more than to wrap Crowley in a tight embrace. He wanted to pull him in and hug him to his chest, cradle his head against his heartbeat, let him hear it repeated and repeated and repeated - I love you I love you I love you - until it sank into his skin, until the truth of it was a part of him, until it eased every harm he had ever done, soothed every hurt he had ever inflicted, as he stroked his hair and kissed his eyelids and drowned them both in the downpour of everything he had ever held back in his denial.

But he thought that would be too close to a feeling of restraint to be welcome, so he kept his arms loose and his hands soft and his touch gentle.

And he trembled with the effort of it.

A ferocious, rocketing need was burning through his body, his nerve endings sizzling and catching alight where Crowley’s fingers grazed his skin, and the small fragment of his mind that was still able to formulate thoughts was picturing the Rod of Asclepius.

It was picturing the Rod of Asclepius and wondering if - in some other telling, in some other rendering - the staff might perhaps have been a flaming sword.

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Crowley was… surprised.

He was surprised he wasn't smoking at the edges where his thighs pressed against Aziraphale's.

He was surprised at how easy it felt, this thing that had seemed impossible for so long.

He was surprised he hadn't discorporated from pure pleasure.

He was surprised to be here at all.

He was… surprised.

Aziraphale was touching him. Really, purposefully, intentionally touching him. He was touching his sides, running his nails lightly down his back, and Crowley felt the gentle rake of them like forked lightning down either side of his spine.

And had he ever expected to be here?

No, no. Fuck no, he hadn't expected it but-

And had he ever dreamt of being here?

Yes. No. Not here exactly. For a demon with a banked love that had spanned thousands and thousands of years, his dreams had been embarrassingly chaste. Usually, they were companionable silences; an angel and a demon enjoying a quiet evening together, one having a cup of tea, the other having a glass of wine, nothing to see here, only two peaceful beings and an appalling, enveloping love.

Sometimes they were alternate endings, rewrites of bitter memories or hurtful phrases, doors pried open by his imagination when in reality they'd been slammed shut. Dreams of-

"I don't even like you!"

"You dooooo!"

"....I do”

And dreams of-

“We could… I don't know. Go for a picnic. Dine at the Ritz.“

“I'll give you a lift. Anywhere you want to go.”

“... Alright. Take me to yours.”

And dreams of-

“I don't think my side would like that.”

“You don't have a side anymore. Neither of us do. We're on our own side.”

“... I like the sound of that, actually.”

And of course, dreams of-

“We can make a difference!”

“...You can't leave this bookshop.”

“Oh, Crowley… Perhaps I could leave the bookshop, but not you. Never you.”

… And other romantic, frothy nonsense concocted by a tired mind sick to the teeth of pretending; it had used his moments of rest to jettison futile thoughts in order to keep him moving, like sandbags thrown overboard to keep a balloon in the air. They never went anywhere, but they were enough. Sometimes, in his wildest dreams, Aziraphale might make a tiny move towards him, might tilt his body, might do something Crowley would interpret as intent, something that would lead him to think of leaning in for a kiss... And he would wake up instantly to find himself on the ceiling, sweaty, flustered, and too agitated to see the angel again for at least a couple of months.

So being here, now, was not exactly a dream come true.

He’d never been insolent enough to dream of this.

This was much, much more. Much more. He put both hands out for it, a prayer from a fervent believer. He was tongue-tied, words of devotion caught behind his teeth, and he had burned so many times - in sulfur, in hellfire, in the Bentley after speeding through a blazing M25 - but he had never burned like this.

This was a delicious, heavy smoulder. It made him want to melt into Aziraphale completely, made him want to wrap around him like a serpent basking on a rock, basking on his rock, and wasn’t that just the most romantic frothy nonsense? Only this was no dream, this was happening, wasn't it? This was real.

Aziraphale’s movements were careful, and gentle, and steady, and Crowley felt his touch and thought of reach out your hand and put it on my side.

He felt his kiss and thought of stop doubting and believe.

And he did.

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Aziraphale allowed Crowley to tug him to his feet.

“Feeling better then, are we?” He said, arching an eyebrow at Crowley’s improved stability.

“Much,” said Crowley, stealing a kiss.

“You could barely walk earlier-”

“Angelic kisses must have restorative properties,” said Crowley, grinning, and their feet tangled as they stumbled across the carpet, Crowley unbuttoning Aziraphale's shirt as they went, bending to press dutiful kisses at each point of skin revealed. Aziraphale sighed happily and allowed himself to be gently pushed back onto the bed, into a pile of blankets and pillows and cushions so deep he was almost buried in them. He laughed as he tossed some to the floor, the laugh dying in his throat as Crowley pulled off his top, the black one with the thin yellow stripes, and stood at the foot of the bed looking long and lean and angular.

Of course Crowley had been bare-chested after the rescue from Heaven, but everything had been so awful then, and there had been so much pain, so much hurt, it hadn’t mattered, hadn’t even been a consideration. But now…

He stood there, any lingering pain pushed aside, his torso marked with pale lines and raised carvings, his bruises splashes of indecent colour on an otherwise pale canvas. He looked brave. He looked alive. And, well, Aziraphale thought it was probably a good thing he’d been a demon really because he was spectacular, and it must be sinful to look quite so tempting.

Crowley dropped the black fabric on the floor and Aziraphale must have been doing something with his face because when Crowley looked up and caught his expression he froze, his pupils contracting slightly, his jaw tightening.

“What? Should I not have-?” There was uncertainty in his voice, fear that he had overstepped, a hollow echo of you go too fast for me hanging in the air between them, and his shoulders hunched inward, the hollows at his collarbones becoming more pronounced with the movement. He tilted his chin up in a gesture of defiance even as he looked down at Aziraphale with a chastened expression, an oxymoron made flesh.

Aziraphale propped himself up on his elbows and smiled at him, and he tried to pour everything into it - his admiration, his wonder, his desire, his fascination, his joy - and he hoped Crowley could see it, wondered if he could feel it radiating off him in helpless waves.

He certainly must have seen something, because his jaw and shoulders relaxed, and one corner of his mouth kicked up into a fraction of a smile, and he came forward to kneel on the edge of the bed, falling forward over Aziraphale, bracketing his shoulders with his arms. He looked down at him, his hair falling forward on his forehead, his eyes wide and imploring.

“Yeah?” Crowley said, and the word was almost-shy, packed dense with apprehension and hope.

Puppy dog eyes thought Aziraphale, and a hysterical giggle almost bubbled out around the heart in his throat. Not puppy dog eyes at all. Serpent eyes. Beautiful, adoring, hopeful serpent eyes.

He cupped Crowley’s face in his hands in such a gentle hold that he was barely touching him. “You are magnificent.”

Crowley didn’t flinch at the touch, but he flinched at the comment, a reflexive recoil, and his lips parted to form the shape of some denial, some interjection, but Aziraphale shook his head minutely and put two fingers to his mouth, staying the words.

Crowley stared at him, his breathing heavy, and Aziraphale was mesmerised by the rising and falling of his naked chest. Crowley flicked his tongue against Aziraphale's fingers and huffed with laughter when he pulled them away in shock. Aziraphale narrowed his eyes and retaliated by pushing up to trace Crowley’s collarbone with his lips. Crowley’s elbows almost gave out. He let out a long, shaky hiss, and then his pupils widened again, and Aziraphale felt positively wicked in the most wonderful way.

“Crowley, you are-”

“Lucky,” interrupted Crowley in a low, earnest voice. “So lucky.”

“Shhh don’t be silly,” he said, rubbing at a faint white mark that underlined how very unlucky he had been. “I’m blessed to know you,” Aziraphale said, and put his lips to a thin white scar that crossed Crowley’s chest.

"Blessed," Crowley repeated, his eyes half-closed with pleasure. He gave him a lopsided smile. “Blessed either way,” he said, prodding his chest with a finger, “...Angel.”

Aziraphale’s smile was crooked as he wondered if this would be the thing that pushed him over the edge into a Fall, if this was what would tip him over into something he had been afraid of for so long that the fear felt like an intrinsic part of him. He wondered if this was what would cleave him from Heaven, and he closed his eyes, waiting for the familiar icy terror, the asphyxiating guilt, the feeling of celestial duty stomping on his wants and needs in steel-toed boots, grinding them to dust.

But it didn’t come. There was something - a whisper of censure, a muffled shriek of outrage - but it was so far away as to be almost inaudible, and then Crowley kissed him again and it vanished completely.

There was no going back. He had tasted, for good or for ill, and it had awakened an appetite that couldn’t be ignored, and Aziraphale kissed Crowley back and thought, I’ll be damned.

And he remembered Crowley’s reply of it's not that bad when you get used to it and he thought that if it involved this, then he could get used to it.

Oh, he could definitely get used to this.

****************************************

Aziraphale was smiling up at him. His jacket was... somewhere (now with three fewer buttons), and his waistcoat had been removed and carefully folded (by one sheepish demon feeling guilty about possibly having ripped the jacket). His shirt was fully unbuttoned, hanging loose against his sides, exposing his torso. Crowley had unwrapped him like one of those chocolates Aziraphale liked so much, and now he was lying beneath him panting happily, looking as rumpled as he'd ever seen him, and he loved him, so much, so much, and he thought that if he could, he would reach into his chest and rip out his heart, press it into his hands, close his fingers over it, and he wouldn't feel a thing because after all hadn't it always been there?

And he sat up on his knees, curling two fingers of one hand into one of Aziraphale's belt loops as he used his other hand to drag black-tipped nails down Aziraphale's stomach, eyes creasing in happy satisfaction at the little sounds it elicited. He ran a fingertip along the skin just above his waistband and watched, fascinated, as the angel's skin leaped at his touch.

Aziraphale swallowed, and whimpered, and then said his name, but - unfortunately - it wasn't a mindless utterance spoken in pleasure, it was a question.

Crowley tilted his head and met his gaze.

"Do you-," the angel licked his lips and tried again. "Do you... Do you have an awful lot of experience with this sort of thing?"

Crowley stared at him.

"What?"

"How many times have you...?"

Crowley blushed. Properly blushed. "Er...."

"I just want to know how similar this is to temptations you might have done in the past-"

"You think I do this with-"? Crowley is so indignant he almost chokes. "A kiss, maybe, at most, and that's only if absolutely necessary!"

Aziraphale was the one staring now. "So you've never...?"

"No!" A moment of silence passed while he turned the question over in his head and a thought occurred to him. "Have you?"

"No! No of course not!" Aziraphale says hurriedly, and the quick stab of jealousy that had pierced Crowley's chest immediately disappeared.

"Oh. Right. Good. I mean, okay."

Although Aziraphale is rather pink, and he has been known to lie...

"Are you sure?" Crowley can't help it, he just blurts it out, this needy question, this desperate request for reassurance, for yes I'm sure, and yes you're the only one.

"Quite sure," Aziraphale frowns at him, but his cheeks are magenta.

"You're blushing, angel," he points out.

"Well, I may not have done it before, but I've read things..."

"... Of course you have," said Crowley dryly.

"... So I'm certainly familiar with the theory."

Crowley's eyebrows rose. "Right. The theory."

He nodded at Aziraphale, enchanted as usual, besotted like always. Here he was lying beneath him, struggling to draw breath, flushed with pleasure, and the blessed angel was trying to talk to him about theory.

"I can tell you about it," breathed Aziraphale, "I can tell you about- about- about erogenous zones."

Crowley groaned and buried his face in Aziraphale's neck.

"I could tell you about- about-" Aziraphale stuttered as Crowley nipped at his shoulder with teeth that were slightly sharper than they ought to have been. "... th-th-the different-"

"If you say erogenous zones again, I swear..." growled Crowley, pinching one of his nipples, making Aziraphale arch off the bed with an embarrassingly loud cry. "What do you take me for?"

As charming as he found Aziraphale's love of learning, Crowley didn't think this was the time to discuss theory. All he wanted to do was trust his intuition and keep experimenting and exploring until he discovered how to make Aziraphale see stars.

He would figure it out as he went. He was sure he would.

He always did.

****************************************

In the ensuing hours, Aziraphale and Crowley slowly explored an aspect of humanity they had long ignored.

They made an effort to indulge in human pleasures they had been denying themselves, and after that there were no more miracles.

There was no snapping of fingers, no shortcut taken, no instant gratification. They had waited for so long, wondered for so long. Reverent, trembling fingers explored creases and dips, curves and hollows, millimetre by millimetre.

There was an urgency that shook them both, powerful and electric, and it was the feeling of a door they’d been pushing against forever, shoulder to shoulder, suddenly opening so that they were tumbling through it and falling into each other.

They harnessed it. They channeled it into the gentle pressure of fingertips digging into sensitive skin, and unhurried, leisurely kisses, and deliberate, tender touch, and skin being revealed by degrees, and adoring hands, and worshipping mouths, and achingly slow strokes.

Words were exhaled by one to be inhaled by the other, and their names fell from their lips like prayers, and they were together, and they were inhabiting each others' hearts, and they were inhabiting each others' bodies. Angel, demon...

And neither of them exploded.

And both of them saw stars.

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ladyluscinia · 7 months

Text

OFMD Fic Statistics, Revisited

I made this statistics analysis post about Izzy’s popularity on AO3 back in January 2023, and I’ve been wondering for a while how the numbers have shifted. (More thoughts.) Seeing as S2 is about to ramp up fic writing again and upend current trends, I figure this is about my last chance to look only at S1 / hiatus popularity. So. New numbers.

The original post was made at 12,072 fics. Today we are at 23,187. Almost doubled.

“Israel Hands” is character tagged in 11,271, so 48.6% of all fics. Lucius Spriggs is tagged in 6153 (26.5%), Jim Jimenez in 3732 (16%), and Oluwande Boodhari in 3201 (13.8%). Our mains still unquestionably take the top spots, with Blackbeard / Edward Teach at 17,773 (76.7%) and Stede Bonnet at 16,355 (70.5%). Also if I exclude all the character tags of the Revenge crew I get 1441 fics (6.2%) that mostly don't use character tags, around 60% of which appear to be BlackBonnet. Did see one Doug/Mary though. Get some, girl!

Compared to 9 months ago, Izzy is up about +3.9% and everyone else is down less than -4%. Lucius at -3% and Edward at -3.6% appear to be the biggest hits. But, again, these percentages are still nearly twice as many fics total (ex: Lucius added +2593 to his January total of 3560). This looks like the fandom has been pretty consistent about which characters they write about? (I'll muse on trends later.)

Re: Shipping... Let's get BlackBonnet out of the way. This ship is tagged on 15,111 OFMD fics, making it 65.2% of the fandom. Now 906 of those are also tagged SteddyHands, making it a whole 6% of all BlackBonnet, and reducing BlackBonnet to 14,205 fics and 61.3% of the fandom if we exclude them.

Running the otp:true search says that now 10,016 fics and 43.2% of all OFMD content is BlackBonnet with no side pairings at all.

The fandom is getting a little more varied and willing to write about more than their OTP. It's down -6.9% which is a good thing if you like basically any side characters. All these numbers are still definitely on the high end, though, even for a canon pairing. Like the main thing making them seem less skewed to me is Good Omens (TV) that has AzCrow at 83.7% of 57,524 fics. And that's a huge outlier with less side character attention than a true ensemble cast.

Izzy Hands compared to shipping tags is still probably a better idea of how much positive attention he's getting, so we'll break those down next. See if that slight character tag gain reflects in ships.

BlackBonnet is still the biggest tag under "Israel Hands" with 5499 fics - that's 48.8% of all "Israel Hands" fics. It also means 23.7% of OFMD fics are tagged with BlackBonnet + "Israel Hands". SteddyHands is also tagged on 840 of those, so we can exclude that many and say 41.3% of "Israel Hands" fics / 20% of OFMD fics are tagged with BlackBonnet + "Israel Hands" and NOT SteddyHands.

The actual Izzy ships go:

Edward/Izzy at 2816 under "Israel Hands", 3029 (13%) total. Excluding SteddyHands becomes 1997 under "Israel Hands", 2139 (9.2%) total

Edward/Stede/Izzy at 1819 under "Israel Hands", 1994 (8.6%) total

Stede/Izzy at 1290 under "Israel Hands", 1385 (6%) total. Excluding SteddyHands becomes 532 under "Israel Hands", 567 (2.4%) total

Izzy/Lucius at 1015 under "Israel Hands", 1116 (4.8%) total. Black Pete/Lucius still outranks it even inside Izzy's tag, btw

For comparison Black Pete/Lucius is sitting at 1845 (8%) of fics. 75.7% of those are also tagged BlackBonnet, and excluding it leaves you with 448 (1.9%) of fics. I didn't want to run otp:true since there's so much poly!Lucius.

Oluwande/Jim is at 1662 (7.2%) of fics. 72.1% of those are also tagged BlackBonnet, and running otp:true leaves you with 302 (1.3%) fics that are purely TealOranges.

Very, very modest gains in the Izzy shipping sphere, mostly via SteddyHands and its +1.9% raising several boats if we're being real. Still... take Stede out and not even BlackHands breaks double digits. Izzy/Lucius went up by +0.5%. Comparatively Black Pete/Lucius is down -1.8% from January, and Oluwande/Jim down -1.3%. Again, we're seeing a pretty consistent fandom here. Remember these drops aren't all going to SteddyHands (obviously)... there's a lot of negligible ships that are fluctuating too and hopefully benefiting from having a slightly larger slice of the pie to share (and twice as many fics in that slice)!

Trend-wise, I'm actually surprised it's still so consistent? BlackBonnet going down is easily the largest change here, and it's not exactly huge. Also inevitable and a good thing, based on patterns from other fandoms. I mean, you might be disappointed if you are literally only here for them, but very little sucks like watching an ensemble show and then finding out the fandom gives zero fucks about any of the characters outside the huge main ship... even when you like the ship!

I do wonder if the very small boosts in Izzy content have anything to do with Izzy fans retreating into the canyon to keep their fandom enthusiasm alive? I know all the aggression from the Izcourse has cut off a lot of Izzy fans from the general fandom and all the side character and minor ship content therein, and creative communities around minor ships are small enough without being subdivided further. If you have a whole community who will talk to you about Izzy, and then you can only talk about TealOranges with your Izzy friends because half the TealOranges people have you blocked, you might just write more Izzy???

Anyway hope people find this as interesting as the last one.

#our flag means death #ao3 #statistics are good and fun #izzy hands ofmd #stede bonnet ofmd #blackbeard ofmd #no cut on this one either because i still don't know where it would go #ofmd meta #shipping #my meta #ladyluscinia

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