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vidavalor · 9 months

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Meta on The Bookshop and The Bentley and what the show presents as a timeline for how and in what ways Aziraphale and Crowley began to make both of these spaces safe for one another...

The Bentley was "our car" back in the '60s and Aziraphale already knew it... just as Crowley knew Aziraphale had made The Bookshop safe for him in the 1941 scenes. How do we know this? And what, exactly, did they do to make these places (that are extensions of themselves) safe for one another and for each other to be together more freely? Long-ish meta under the cut...

In S2, we learn that while Crowley protests (weakly lol) that The Bentley is his car, Aziraphale already knows better, and we see what that means when he takes it to Edinburgh and Shax wants to get into it. Earlier in the season (and also in S1), we saw that The Bentley is actually pretty unsafe if Crowley's in it alone when it comes to demons of Hell harassing him. Shax pops in whenever she wants. Beez unleashes a torrent of flies in his car for fun and also shows up whenever. Demons can come through over the radio, including the terribly disturbing scene in S1 when Satan goes beyond The Bentley and jumps into Crowley's mind while he's driving and Crowley seems to lose consciousness for a moment. But what happens in S2 when Aziraphale is driving? *The demons can't get in the car without an invitation*. It's just like The Bookshop. When Aziraphale head to Edinburgh, Shax has to trick him to get him to invite her into the car. This implies something interesting...

...which is that *anytime* that Aziraphale is in The Bentley, demons can't get into it without an invite. It implies that Crowley made the car that way, to protect Aziraphale, right? But it also would then suggest that anytime *they're both* in the car together, this would also be true, which is why Crowley's never really stressed about demons hopping into The Bentley anytime he and Aziraphale are driving in the car together. He wasn't stressed on the Tadfield journey, etc... Off of that? Look at the '60s scene again...

Aziraphale wants to bring Crowley Holy Water and talk in what, for them, is a pretty open fashion about their relationship. It's a conversation that has Aziraphale express love and concern for Crowley and in it, he's talking about what he wishes they might have one day or could have, if their lives were different, and he gives him a symbol of protection that he now understands Crowley sees that way. Not a suicide pill so much as a way to protect them both-- Aziraphale, especially-- should they be found out. Where does Aziraphale have this conversation and give Crowley this gift? In The Bentley. He doesn't go to Crowley's flat. He's never actually been seen inside it, though we know he's likely been there in the past briefly. He doesn't go to where Crowley just was-- inside The Dirty Donkey. He waits for him in the car, where *he already knows it is safe to speak openly*.

Given that he's an angel and Crowley a demon, I'm sure that Crowley had to invite Aziraphale into The Bentley at some point, the same way that Aziraphale had to invite Crowley into The Bookshop. That happened sometime prior to 1941, as we learn in S2, but there's more than just the invite here. Aziraphale knows that this space is as safe as The Bookshop, which means that Crowley did that for him sometime in the last few decades (after 1941, as we'll see below) and that he told Aziraphale and Aziraphale is comfortable enough to have this big conversation in The Bentley. So Aziraphale knew that Crowley had made The Bentley safe for them as far back as the '60s... and there's evidence in S2 that Aziraphale has done the same in the bookshop and that Crowley knew in 1941. What evidence are we talking about?

How about the only time that Crowley's ever let Aziraphale get away with calling him nice/thoughtful/kind/etc. until the present of S1?

When they're having their post-magic show candlelit wine date in The Bookshop, the scene parallels The Ritz in the S1 finale a bit because they're both drinking and talking about some craziness that has just gone down and changed the nature of their relationship. We have them talking about trust here-- "well, you said 'trust me', so..."/"and you did"-- but also Aziraphale has now, in two earlier 1941 scenes, one in each season, attempted to call Crowley saving the books something positive and both times was told by Crowley to shut up. But in The Bookshop? Crowley, kinda playfully, *lets him get away with it*, in the first instance we've seen where he has ever let this happen. This is the first time he's openly let Aziraphale compliment him since back Before the Beginning, when he was an angel, and he accepted Aziraphale's compliments on his nebulas.

And look at Aziraphale here... so in love. So happy to have Crowley here and to be really actually *alone* with him and say nice things to him and have him not have to reject them, thinking about how maybe, over time, Crowley might start getting used to having a space where he's treated kindly and can be free to be more vulnerable... maybe, he'll even start to feel so comfortable one day that he'll take off his sunglasses when he's in The Bookshop, though Aziraphale also is nervous about that, too. Those pretty, yellow eyes do things to him...

1941 nerves to...

Back in 1941, the compliment that Crowley accepts in The Bookshop is when Aziraphale makes a comment that Crowley could have chosen to lure Aziraphale into some trap with the magic show that proved how evil he really was if he wanted to to which Crowley replies: "Nahhhh." :) Aziraphale is *intentionally saying for the 8 millionth time since Crowley rescued the books lol* that Crowley doing so is kind but he's doing here *because he's found a way for him to be able to where Crowley doesn't have to reject it*. He's *done something to The Bookshop* to make this possible. It's evident that he had to be doing some kind of miracle to hide Crowley's presence in the "angelic embassy" that is The Bookshop since he invited Crowley in (which was totally like very soon after it opened) because it's hard to imagine that either of them would feel safe if Crowley could just be lounging on the couch when a bunch of angels just apparated into the shop, right? Aziraphale did something to at least make them knock lol. He did something so that it's okay for them to be alone together, undisturbed, and the 1941 date is either an early-ish example of them testing it and getting comfortable with it and learning to enjoy it or it's maybe the very first time they ever did. Aziraphale is still nervous to compliment Crowley even in this private space and still a bit unused to Crowley lavishing him with the kind of open sweetness that he can behind closed doors (the "my Nefetiri-fooling fellow" supporting his magic moment; the way he admits he trusts Aziraphale when they're drinking wine later.) Crowley is *very* not used to this in 1941-- he still looks like it's taking some getting used to but he very much likes it and starts to relax a fraction, as we'll look at below.

Crowley, by contrast, can't do the same magic thing to his flat because of it being leased by Hell or whatever to a point that they can take it from him and they have different ideas of ownership and property, so his place has never been as safe as The Bookshop... but he makes The Bentley safe for Aziraphale in the same way that Aziraphale made The Bookshop safe for Crowley. But here's the thing... I think this was a new thing that Aziraphale did sometime between the opening of The Bookshop and 1941 or maybe *in* 1941 and because of Crowley saving the books. That new thing being that he did something to the shop that made it so that when Crowley was inside it or when they were both inside it, angels couldn't get in unless Crowley and Aziraphale were allowing it. (None of this applies after The Ball/Attack on The Bookshop in S2 because Maggie accidentally allowed demons into it and Aziraphale didn't have any time to undo that, exactly but we're talking about prior to that.) This privacy allows them to speak freely and it has to exist and for awhile because by the modern era of S1, we had them getting regularly sloshed together without concern in The Bookshop and it's also where they made their plan to literally thwart The Great Plan. By that point, Crowley is comfortable-- he takes his glasses off, he lounges, he gets drunk and

Mah point is... this can't happen unless Aziraphale did something to make it happen and told Crowley about it. So not only was Crowley invited into The Bookshop, at some point, probably at a later, separate point, possibly in 1941 but definitely *by* 1941, Aziraphale has done something to make the place completely safe so that they both can have unguarded conversations in there. In the process, we are treated to the evolution of these conversations. The scene where they get drunk and talk about the end of the world and eternity in S1 is *completely different* on a comfort level for both of them but especially for Crowley in 1941. Compare/contrast the "bouile... baby. fish stew! anyway!" of the gif above lol with

In 1941, we are literally watching him start to get comfortable in The Bookshop. Yes, Crowley likes his whole sexy and mysterious look and to stand there looking all dashing against the column while Aziraphale goes on about his magic show but he's also just... nervous. He's been here before and he knows they can talk more freely there but he has to *trust* Aziraphale for that to work. He does trust him but he also knows Aziraphale's whole sense of demons as the bad guys and while he knows that Aziraphale likes him and that he thinks he's different from others, they've had quarrels and Crowley, we know from S2 now more than ever, has been traumatized to all Hell (literally) over this thing between them. He was literally dragged to Hell a few decades ago when with Aziraphale and then, sometime later, the two had the "fraternizing" fight and the misunderstandings about holy water exist really strongly in 1941 still. It's the connective piece between the 1800s scenes and the 1960s scene. So I sort of wonder if their fight in the 1860s and not being able to say more than they might be overheard saying and worrying about ducks having ears and all that made Aziraphale say to himself: ok, enough, I've got to do something so that we have a spot that's not just where we could go where people won't necessarily see us in public but where we can actually speak openly. What he does is then something to The Bookshop that makes it really fully safe for them. And then he tells Crowley about it and Crowley is silently a pining, burning mess of love and gratitude over this. A safe place that's now much more safe to a point that he could maybe nap here in the sun a bit or, even better, just say whatever he wanted to Aziraphale without worry?

It's a container... It's a gift. Someplace you can store your whole... you... and be safe...

And Crowley's all skittish in 1941 but he has been through a lot and even if he didn't tell Aziraphale what happened in Hell (or all of it) after they met up in Edinburgh, Aziraphale gets that being dragged down to Hell and then disappearing for awhile was not the most pleasant of things. He wants to make Crowley feel safe. He already had The Bookshop and the fact that Crowley could come in and know he wouldn't be dragged to Hell or bothered by other demons and Crowley was appreciative of that, no doubt, but Aziraphale did something at some point that allowed them to speak openly in the shop and be truly safe and 1941 shows them trying it out a bit. Crowley starts up all layered and stiff-- he's standing, he's got his hat and his glasses and his coat and his jacket and everything on. He and Aziraphale are sweetly awkward in that they can say things like thanking one another here. Aziraphale calls him a friend, probably for the first time ever, based on how he says it and how Crowley reacts (which makes "we're not friends-- I don't even like you" in the bandstand in S1 even more like... we knew you were lying Aziraphale but you really are. Here's your own words from the past as proof lol. To his credit, Crowley is just like "you dooooo" like 'cmon, I know that much. We're at least friends.' And he's okay with saying that because Aziraphale *started it* back in 1941 lol.)

After a little bit, though, Crowley starts to enjoy watching Aziraphale go on about his magic act and the tricks he's pulled and wants to pull and he's nervous about performing and they're hatching a plan together. They're going to work together-- like in the S1 scene where they get drunk and then sober up and hatch the plan to be godfathers to the antichrist. And so he loses the hat and the coat. He takes a seat. He opens up his jacket as he speaks (Aziraphale is mentally fanning himself lol). He lets his glasses slip a bit at times in the conversation. He loosens up and starts tempting fate a bit-- seeing if this thing Aziraphale did... this (angelic) magic that Aziraphale worked here... really works. What can he say and get away with it here? He knows he can say more than he has but also he's not going to push this fragile thing with Aziraphale too hard. He likes making Aziraphale laugh though, likes being able to just openly hype him up. *My Nefetiri-fooling fellow*... the professional conjurer compliment kindness. And poor Aziraphale is like oh this was a very good idea I had and also I am a puddle of melted goo on the floor as he's so very hot...

But okay so then go back to what I said about The Bentley in the '60s and how Crowley then does the same thing to it that Aziraphale did to The Bookshop so that they can be together there, as well. Crowley's also allows them to go on adventures together and talk undisturbed on the trip. The reason he does it, though, is to give Aziraphale a space where Aziraphale has the same level of control as Crowley does in The Bookshop. A spot where he can feel safe from Heaven and Hell for awhile, where they can be together and talk. He *hadn't yet done this in 1941, though*. How do we know?

Here's him telling Aziraphale not to compliment him about the books while they're riding in The Bentley. Sure, he could just be saying this here not because of Hell but because he's just awkward about his whole romantic gesture moment but it's not much different from the "shut up" after he initially saved the books a few moments earlier and it's way different from how freely they both feel to speak in The Bentley in the 1960s, not long (for them) after this.

The above is something you probably don't say where ducks have ears, right? But then we get the end of S1 and they're dining at The Ritz-- something Aziraphale said he'd like to do here in The Bentley in the '60s as a symbol of them being together. That last time they do at the end of S1 that symbolizes them having an "our side" more openly has Aziraphale do what he did in The Bookshop in 1941... sit there with his drink at the table and compliment Crowley, tell him he's good, if in a cheeky sort of way... "if you weren't, at heart, a bit of a good person", right? This moment that shows them on their own side at last and beginning to really feel like they have that together while they're on their old dream date at The Ritz here and the nightingale sings, what is this scene, really, but Crowley accepting a compliment from Aziraphale in a public space with a *fondness* in parrying back a demonic response to Aziraphale's compliments? What is this but 'f Heaven and Hell, we're doing our own thing now', really? The Bookshop and The Bentley are still their private spaces but "and if you weren't just enough of a bastard to be worth knowing..." is Crowley accepting Aziraphale's compliment and just complimenting him back. He lets Aziraphale call him kind-- openly accepting of it, loving it, fond of him for it, in a public space, for anyone to hear. He smiles at him, utterly besotted. It's years of the privacy of The Bookshop and The Bentley that got them here, starting back in 1941 when Crowley saved the books and Aziraphale did more magic than it might have first appeared...

In the old days, Aziraphale had to learn that Crowley couldn't accept a compliment openly in public. That they had to pretend. The Ritz is the end of that but it takes millennia to get there. This evolves into him magick-ing The Bookshop into a place where he and Crowley are allowed to be unabashedly, openly kind to one another without fear of reprisal from either side-- it's them having their own side, whether or not Aziraphale will admit it or not, and he's the one who first took action to make it. As time goes on, Aziraphale begins to enjoy baiting Crowley sometimes with compliments in public *and because Crowley is well-aware that he has a spot, made by Aziraphale, where it's safe for them to really be open with and gentle with one another*, he's also well-aware that Aziraphale is baiting him in public with it on purpose because he knows that Crowley has to deny it so Crowley evolves his response past just "shut up" and the like to

Crowley has never slammed Aziraphale into a wall in The Bookshop and told him that he's never nice and nice is a four letter word lol. He just gets snarky-soft and quiet-shy. He gets to bask in it when they're alone. Crowley in The Bookshop by the modern era is sunglasses-free and relaxed and lounge-y and intimate and Aziraphale is not remotely afraid of him. Crowley *knows* Aziraphale is not remotely afraid of him. He's not at all worried that slamming him up against a wall will bother or scare Aziraphale. He knows it turns him on. They've made a game out of it by this point. Because they get to be *actually* nice to one another in The Bookshop and The Bentley and they're more intimate as a result-- they know one another better after decades of having that privacy-- so they know more about what the other is thinking or their motivations when they're in public together. They know they're soft for one another. They've had a place to explore that attraction a bit as well and now, they're messing with it. Now, Aziraphale knows he can get Crowley to shove him into a wall and get him close enough to kiss if he says he's nice in public and Crowley does it because it's an in-joke of sorts to them. 6,000 years of the angel who wants the demon who really is kind but pretends not to be and who isn't fooling the angel anymore but still has to fool Hell. The evolution from just 'shut up" to "i'mnotnicei'mademonniceisafourletterword"-level dramatics is just more time together and a lot of that time spent in a private space where they can let their guard down and flirt like crazy with one another.

So, sometime prior to or likely around 1941, Aziraphale went from the step of allowing Crowley into The Bookshop (pre-1941, probably near the opening of it) to magick-ing it into the real refuge for Crowley and the two of them that it becomes for all of the decades since and sometime after that, in return, Crowley magicks The Bentley to be the same thing. I apologize for the fact that you're probably now thinking about Crowley putting his glasses back on in the living room of The Bookshop and The Bentley playing "A Nightingale Sings in Berkeley Square" and how neither of them now really have that safe space entirely with Heaven and Hell invading The Bookshop and no Aziraphale around to magick them all out of The Bentley but! Just think of how they're going to get a cottage together in the end and they know how to make it safe for one another because they've been doing it for a long time now. :)

#ineffable husbands #good omens meta #good omens #crowley #aziraphale #good omens s2

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ineffablydelighted · 7 months

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[Cute Omens #4]

[Also called: Crowley gets j-e-a-l-o-u-ssss]

Right before Aziraphale leaves for Edimburg, ready to get inside the Bentley

Maggie: Oh, Mister Fell, wait! *runs towards him*

Aziraphale: Yes, Maggie? Hello?

Maggie: I just wanted to tell you again how grateful I am for... You know... *awkward shoulder balancing and smile* Not collecting the rent.

Aziraphale: *soft smile of an Angel* My pleasure, Maggie! No need to thank me everyday 😊

Maggie: You... You don't get it, do you?

Aziraphale: I... I'm not sure, now?

Maggie: Nobody does that anymore... People like you, I mean. They do no exist anymore. People are more like... your... *unsure but tries* boyfriend.

Aziraphale: Crowley? Oh, no, Maggie, you've got the wrong idea, Crowley is a very nice... *very long pause* friend... of mine? *shy smile*

Maggie: F-friend of yours? Oh, oh my, I am so sorry, I've... got the wrong idea, um... It's just that... I see him with you so often, and you are- and I just figured- Nevermind.

Aziraphale: *his smile starts to display some hints of regret without him realizing*

Maggie: Listen, Mister Fell, it is most probably not my place, but... In case you wanted to... You know, live something less... "friendly", I might know someone who might be... interested?

Aziraphale: *sudden flashes of Maggie's grandmother hitting on him* O-Oh? You do?

Maggie: You... Remember Mister Brown?

Aziraphale: Oh, yes, I saw him yesterday, he asked me to organize the next Monthly Meeting!

Maggie: Didn't he ask... Anything else?

Aziraphale: Not anything of substance I can remember of. Are you... implying he would have wanted to... hum... ask something else to me? *is never comfortable about these things*

Maggie: I think he likes you very much. And... I am sorry to say, again, certainly not my place, but... he might be a... better fit than your... friend.

Aziraphale: *embarrassed laugh* Maggie, truly, you've got the wrong idea about Crowley! He's the nicest person I've ever met *in over 6000 years which is saying something* and the best...*always marks a pause there for some reason* friend I could ever wish for!

Maggie: I understand, really, it's just that you seem... lonely, sometimes?

Aziraphale: Do I?

Maggie: Trust me, I know the feeling!

Aziraphale: *sympathetic smile* Nothing from... Nina?

Maggie: I'd rather not talk about it, it's... painful. Anyway, um... If you wanted to... Talk some more with Mister Brown, I'm pretty sure he would be very pleased!

Aziraphale: Well, I-

Maggie: *runs without warning* Oh, I-I really have to go, have a good trip, Mister Fell!

Aziraphale: *awkward wave**gets in the car* Oh, hello, there. I'm sure we're gonna get along just perfectly! *taps the steering wheel amicably*

Bentley: *activates a random song the second Aziraphale is seated and ready to go*

Oh, how wrong can you be?

Oh, to fall in love was my very first mistake,

How was I to know,

I was far too much in love to see oh

Jealousy,

Look at me now...

The next morning, the Bookshop's bell rings

Mr Brown: Mister Fell? Hello?

Jim: Hello, I'm Jim, Mister Fell's assistant! How can I help you not buying a book?

Mr Brown: Actually, I was hoping I could see Mister Fell himself, if that is...

Crowley: *arrives in style* Mister Fell is not here, who's ask- *stops and looks at him from afar* Oh. You, again? *is unsure why this last word came out of his mouth but still did*

Mr Brown: *startled* Ah, it is... you... Mister...?

Crowley: *reaches his glasses and puts them on**smirks and walks towards him* Crowley. Hello.

Mr Brown: I-I forgot to ask yesterday, you are...?

Crowley: *raises an eyebrow* I... am...?

Mr Brown: *tries to express himself with just the eyes*

Crowley: *does not get it**at all**makes some waves with his chin to signify he needs more details*

Mr Brown: Maybe... that was a mistake...

Crowley: *clueless Demon* A... mistake? What? The monthly meeting?

Mr Brown: N-no! Nothing to do with the monthly meeting! I...

Crowley: You wanted to see Mister Fell about... Not the meeting? Why?

Mr Brown: I... This is... *sighs* Can we, please, stop beating around the bush?

Crowley: *thinks he somewhat starts to get it but remains unsure* Uhhh... Sure...

Mr Brown: Is Mister Fell in a... relationship at the moment?

Crowley: *hesitates for much longer than he expected* Not... that I know of? And, well, I certainly... would know?

Mr Brown: Wait... You're not his... On-and-off partner?

Crowley: *feels something unexpected growing besides astonishment**is it... anger?* I am most certainly not.

Mr Brown: Oh... OH! G-good! I mean, okay! Are you his... cousin or something?

Crowley: *laughs* Hell no! *is tempted to remove his glasses for some reason*

Mr Brown: Business partner?

Crowley: Sort... of... speak?

Mr Brown: Oh, okay, hum... Can you please not tell Mister Fell about our encounter? I feel like I need to ask him out myself, you see?

Crowley: *finally totally gets it* Sorry. Ask him out? As in... Ask him for a date? *chuckles* Oh, no! Angel doesn't date, ever! *has heard the joke of the next three centuries*

Mr Brown: *gets offended**and cold**well, at least he tries* I-I'm sorry to say but that is not on you to decide, is it?

Crowley: *stops laughing out of nowhere and feels the anger taking the lead**approaches him menacingly* Or maybe, just maybe... it is?

Mr Brown: B-but, you said-

Crowley: *even colder voice* I know what I said, I just don't believe you heard me, so let me clarify... *takes him by the collar*

Mr Brown: *gasps*

Crowley: Mister Fell... doesn't... date. *ends up with a creepy smile*

Mr Brown: *muster some courage**looks at Crowley's hands on his vest**looks back at Crowley's glasses* What if he wants to?

Crowley: *gritted teeth* I assure you: he doesn't.

Mr Brown: How would you know that?!

Crowley: I just do.

Jim: *is back or maybe has never left, nobody knows* Uhhhh... Do you need... assistance in anything?

Crowley: *releases Mr Brown with the heaviest, most threatening smirk**turns at Jim* Can you show Mister Brown the exit? We're done here.

Mr Brown: But I...

Crowley: *turns back at him**accidently nose-on-nose* Ou-T.

Mr Brown: *recoils**frowns his brows**but remains intimidated* I guess you have some unfinished business to attend to, Mister Crowley.

Crowley: *looks at his nails* Yeahhh, I most certainly do. Taking care of Mister Fell's things takes such a long time indeed!

Mr Brown: *to Jim* I know the exit, thank you. Good... *to both* Have a... good day.

Crowley: *indifferent* Oh, I will. Taking care of...

Mr Brown: Mister Fell's things. Yes, I caught that.

Jim: Have a good day! *waves enthusiastically*

[The door closes]

Mr Brown: God, these two really need to talk!

***

Navigation time!

[While needing you to consider that, most of the time, the scenes are randomized and do no necessarily follow one another at all]

Previous - Beginning - Next

#Cute Omens #Good Omens #Good Omens minific #Good Omens fanfic #Good Omens fanfiction #Ineffable Husbands #Aziracrow #Aziraphale #Crowley #Featuring Mr Brown #Not-his-cousin Crowley #Jealous Crowley #Taking care of Mister Fell's things indeed #Angel doesn't date #Bentley knows her classics

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shousimi · 9 months

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Good omens season 2 mini meta

alright good omens I’m not done ranting about the second season yet BECAUSE (spoilers under cut)

There’s a few things that I can’t stop thinking about:

1. Crowley was his happiest this season in heaven

Did anyone see how giggly Crowley is in heaven? He’s smiling, chuckling and jumping around and snorting with Muriel, and then again with Saraqael, and then again when going down the lift.

And I know it isn’t heaven specifically that’s making him giggle: it’s doing something mischievous (just like how he laughs when Aziraphale tells him about the halo thing) but isn’t it ironic? That this is the happiest we see him in the present time, and it’s when he’s snuck into heaven? It’s not heaven itself that makes him happy, but regardless, in this season we see him giggling and in a good mood the longest when he’s in heaven.

2. Aziraphale’s Halo

This is something my sister pointed out, and I don’t want to give more attention to it partly because I don’t want to believe it. But if we think about foreshadowing in this season, Aziraphale literally takes off his halo and throws it down. I know it’s something angels do during war, and the halo is more of a weapon than a symbol. but still, could it be foreshadowing? The immediate worry that he could have caused a war, and how pleased Crowley was by that. If it is alluding to something in the next season, it’s either Aziraphale falling (I hate that idea) OR Aziraphale declaring war, rejecting both heaven and hell as well as his status as an angel.

3. Aziraphale pulls Crowley in for the kiss

I am SICK of no one talking about this (jk). but right on minute 47:00 of episode 6, right before the camera shifts again, Aziraphales hands hover before getting closer to Crowleys back, and then their bodies shift closer together as if by force. I FULLY believe Aziraphale used his hands to pull Crowley in closer before pulling them away in the next shot after realizing what he did.

I’ve rewatched those few seconds so many times that no one can convince me thats not what happened.

4. Aziraphale has been wooing Crowley this entire season

Crowley only realized he was in love with Aziraphale in the final episodes.

I think Aziraphale has known since the start.

He’s been establishing intimacy with Crowley this entire season. For example, why ask to borrow his Bentley now? Like Crowley says, he likes taking the train. And instead of just asking to borrow it, why say that it’s “our” car? Why imply that it’s their bookshop?

He was constantly pushing Crowleys limits to see how far he can get, from the apology dance to borrowing his car and then asking them to dance together.

And Crowley lets him. He does the dance, he lets him use the car (though he’s not happy about it), and he dances with him even though he says he doesn’t dance. Aziraphale has been establishing an “us” from the beginning, and Crowley let’s him, mostly.

Crowley lets him borrow the car, but doesn’t allow Aziraphale any liberties with it. Crowley takes care of his bookshop, and doesn’t sell any of the books. but he also immediately takes his plants out of the bookshop before Aziraphale even has a chance to step inside. I’m sure he’s uncomfortable with Gabriel there, but this is also him asserting his independence, saying no to an “us” implicitly.

5. The ball

“Why were we all dancing?”

“I thought it might make you realize that [Maggie] loved you, and then you’d fall in love with her”

This might be a bit of a stretch, but HEAR ME OUT. What if, what IF, this is what Aziraphale was trying to do but with himself and Crowley?

Think: his ‘wait and see’, keeping the ball a surprise and shooing Crowley out of the shop while he sets up. His weird insistence on creating a perfect atmosphere at the expense of ignoring any and all dangers outside, which he knows can’t enter the bookshop anyways. Crowley is panicking, while Aziraphale literally manufactured a romantic setting and then dragged Crowley to dance with him, excited and giggling. If there weren’t demons outside the bookshop (which Aziraphale didn’t know about yet and was desperately trying to ignore any distractions), and Crowley wasn’t busy panicking, how would that scene have gone differently?

Aziraphale was trying to establish an ‘us’ this whole time, and in the end Crowley was too. But their timing was tragically off.

(6. More in the tags about the metatron btw.)

#good omens season 2 #gos 2 spoilers #gos2 spoilers #go2 spoilers #good omens season 2 spoilers #good omens #also re the coffee theory #I fully believe the metatron did something to influence Aziraphales decision #I also believe the metatron couldnt make Aziraphale have an opinion he didnt already have #The first time in the bookshop where Aziraphale decides to go to heaven is by the metatrons influence #that you cannot convince me out of because he was clearly ready to say no and then for no discernible reason after taking a few steps #he says yes despite looking unwilling a few minutes prior #I believe Aziraphale meant every word he said in that conversation with Crowley #I also believe he only took that deal BECAUSE he believed Crowley would be with him #and that he wouldnt go to heaven if it meant no crowley #the second time he confirms his decision to go to heaven is right before stepping into the elevator #The metatron tells him about the second coming and a miracle sound appears in the background which is NOT the elevator bc that gets its own #sound #he has a realization of sort and looks at crowley while looking unsure #he then makes the decision to step into the elevator but his reason this time is his own #the final decision is him wanting to stop the second coming from the inside #he is unable to communicate this to Crowley however #he didnt know about the plan to end the world again until this moent #Crowleys go to has always been to run away while Aziraphale's has always been to confront the problem head on #I also FULLY BELIEVE that the bentley playing the nightingale song is not just to make us and crowley cry #if Aziraphale wanted to communicate one final message to crowley in a way only they could understand why wouldnt he use the bentley/#and an intimate song only they know the meaning of #it was just so uncharacteristic of him to leave his bookshop with no preparation FOREVER and not take a single thing with him #he hates heavens stifling atmosphere and heaven doesnt like him either #that much is made clear in season 1

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transmasc-wizard · 8 months

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i'll ask u about your blorbo connections if u ask me abt mine <33 (i was tagged by someone else </3) Very curious about crowley in particular

YAYAYAYAY also I just realized we were tagged by the same person whoops. anyway

this is going to be just like heavily implied traumadumping on main btw but I've been in various stages of a breakdown for over 6 hours so i deserve it actually :3

BLORBOS:

tim stoker: anger issues. has lost some shit in the past. dresses atrociously. uses humour to mask how genuinely dysregulated they are. cares so deeply for people it drives them up the wall. bisexual

nico di angelo: happy queer child thrown starkly awake by a traumatic truth at a young age and becomes closed off confused manipulated and angry for several years only to find good supportive people who help him back on track (but he is still ill) (and that will probably not go away). also I took his name

eleanor shellstrop: sooooo scared of being left behind. so so scared. also, not entirely sure how to be a good person, but she wants to. kind of naturally mean and prickly and insults people out of love but is working on being nicer. (also side note I'm SOOOOO chidi coded too)

carlos: I have autism I like science he probably has autism (to me he does) and likes science and also we are both very quick at adjusting to weird shit if we find it interesting

L: why he talk like that. why he sit like that

michael shelley: trusted the wrong people 👍 changed a lot 👍 became a little fucking UNHINGED ! afterward 👍

crowley: it's the "let's leave behind everything else. I don't give a shit about the world I only care about you. we are on our own side against everything. we're a team. i love you, i dont have to say it, you know. you dont have to say it, i know you do too. please please please let me protect you please don't let them hurt you like they hurt me. wait please don't leave me why are you leaving me why are you choosing them. we're a team. I love you. i say it. say it back. why aren't you saying it back. why do you only want me how i used to be. I've changed so much. it wasn't on purpose. please love me this way. i love you. please. woah silly fashion sense :3" for me <3 does that satiate ur curiosity

martin: there is this pit of loneliness deep in your chest and it has probably always been there but now it will not go away and it consumes you, it swallows you whole. you are surrounded by people and surrounded by love but that pit has teeth and it tears you to shreds and all anyone else can do is watch. and yet, the love helps. it helps enough to hold on. that pit is inside you but it is not you. it hurts so much. it hurts because you're still alive. also bullshits skills and no one notices + homosexual + glasses :]

jinx: abandonment issues, anger issues, social awkwardness, intense mood swings, needs to be good enough to keep, unnatural hair colours <3

#asks #me #luce!!

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poisonepel · 4 years

Text

School Uniform Story Notes ✨ (1/2)

this is for the people like me who can never remember which story a certain scene you’re trying to find came from 💢 and for anyone else who just wants to know what happened 😭😭

Part 1: Heartslabyul, Savanaclaw, Octavinelle, Scarabia Part 2: Pomefiore, Ignihyde, Diasomnia (coming soon!)

Riddle 🌹 There’s No Drawback to Not Knowing

Ace and Cater discuss which phone cases are in style right now; Riddle doesn’t know anything about the latest trends but he’s fine with that because it makes no difference to him. When Ace tries to explain them, Riddle repeats that it’s not important and snaps at them to go somewhere else. Once they leave, he mutters to himself that he’ll look into them later.

They mention that a paper talking about new discoveries in the history of the Land of Hot Sands was published (which affected everyone’s history tests) 👀 I wonder if that involved Jafar at all

Riddle doesn’t check the results of his exams because he knows he always gets 100%

Cater’s phone case is considered trendy right now lmaoo

Ace mentions wanting a phone case design featuring creatures with “fuzzy heads and legs growing out of their eyes” (the momeraths??)

Ace ♥ Such an Honest Freshman

Ace helps Trey carry back groceries from the store, under the guise of wanting a piece of pie with lots of cherries on it in return. Trey suspects that he wants more than just some cherry pie—Ace ends up spilling that he wanted Trey to tell him which topics would be covered on their history tests.

Ace’s brother is 7 years older than him, and used to take him lots of places together 🥺

Trey usually reads or does homework to pass time at the dorm; he didn’t slack off even as a freshman because he knew Riddle would be coming the year after and he didn’t want Riddle to be angry with his grades 😂

Trey used to make sweets for his little siblings when they pestered him for them!! And he’s been helping around his family’s bakery since he was little

Deuce ♠ One With the Wind

Ace can’t decide which club he wants to join since they all sound tempting. Deuce mentions he joined track and field because there was no Magical Wheel club, which gets him started on a tangent about how much he loves those motorcycles and how he can’t believe Ace has never even touched one.

Deuce tried to open a Magical Wheel Lovers Club but Crowley rejected it

When he was little, Deuce used to get Magical Wheel magazines and admire all the models 😂😂

Magical Wheels are fueled by the drivers’ magic power 👀

Deuce loves the high-speed feeling of “becoming one with the wind” (ie. going really fast on a motorcycle, also sprinting and things for track and field)

Cater ♦ The Portrait of Rosalia

Cater tries to get Kalim and Leona to join a party to keep the lonely portrait Rosalia company. The truth is, he just wanted to put Rosalia in a good mood so she’d share what would be on the next history test with him.

Rosalia hangs in the west school building (the rose in the west wing??), near the staff room and has been there for years; she knows stories about magift tournaments from the past.

Cater implies he knows some secrets about Kalim 🤔

Mentions that Leona comes from a ‘ladies first’ culture

Trey ♣ Open Your Mouth

The Queen has a rule saying that if you eat turkey for dinner, you must brush your teeth two times that night. Ace tries to get away with only brushing once, but Trey catches him and asks both him and Deuce to let him smell their breath to make sure they both brushed at least once already; then he apologizes because he used to do that with his little siblings and it became a habit. He proceeds to give them detailed advice about brushing their teeth.

I didn’t like this one lmao it felt kind of pointless

But anyway Trey knows weirdly thorough tooth-brushing techniques, a lot about teeth in general, and has multiple brushes for focusing on different parts of his mouth 🦷

Leona 🦁 I Grew Up Spoiled

Vil needs Leona to take some pictures with him for the school newspaper. Although reluctant at first, he eventually agrees because Vil won’t stop annoying him about it. Before they go to the shoot, Vil notices one of the buttons on Leona’s vest is coming off and offers him his sewing supplies to fix it. But Leona says if he wants it fixed he should just do it himself (also Leona grew up spoiled and doesn’t know how to sew). Vil gets really salty with his attitude and says he’ll only do it because he needs “his props” to look pristine.

They’re both super catty with each other 😂

At one point Vil said the button wasn’t the right one and asked for a different one; Leona handed him a new one and said “Oh btw this is a magic button, it always comes back even if it comes off.” Vil was like “????” and Leona explained sometimes he’ll leave his clothes that lost a button in his room, and he’ll find it later with this button sewed back on again

Vil said it’s probably Ruggie who quietly sews them back on for him 😭😭 but smh Leona just replied “Oh well same deal, it always comes back”

Jack 🐺 I’ll Expose Your Crimes!

Jack smells something weird in the cafeteria and decides to go investigate. The smell first leads him to the Leech twins; he wrestles Floyd for this suspicious briefcase that they have (turns out there was just a beauty serum inside that they were bringing to a customer). Then Jack realizes the smell was actually coming from Epel; he forcibly pulls a container out from Epel’s jacket pocket and finds... several types of onion product in there (Jack hates onions). Epel reveals he’s been hiding the onions because Vil is forcing him to eat really bland food and the onions help give them flavor.

Jack suspected the smell was a chemical leak in the school and his first thought was “I won’t be able to get in today’s workout!!” sir,,,,,

His sense of smell gets immensely better in his wolf form

After they sorted everything out, Epel invited Jack to sit with him for lunch 🥺

Ruggie 🐆 In Grandma’s Hands

Ruggie comes down to the cafeteria in the middle of the night because Leona wanted a midnight snack. He finds a bunch of vegetables in the kitchen and decides to make some soup with them. Jade appears and informs him that those actually belong to him; to avoid having to owe him any debts, Ruggie offers to teach Jade some ways to cook them, since the reason Jade had left them there in the first place was so that he could ask the ghost chefs for recipe suggestions in the morning.

The awkward laugh they shared when Ruggie realized the vegetables were Jade’s tho 😂😂 I wish the side stories were voiced omg

The one who taught Ruggie all of those recipes was his grandma

Also Ruggie sings while he cooks 👁👁💖

Azul 🐙 Just One Die

Idia brings a game called The Magical Game of Life to one of the board game club meetings; Azul gets very passionate about it despite at first turning his nose up at games that only rely on luck. Eventually he starts practicing how to perfectly throw a die to land on the number he wants so he can cheat the luck factor.

Azul.... honest to god he never slacks off 😭

Jade 🐬 A Mindset I Can’t Understand

Jade is making teas in the middle of the courtyard when Kalim stops by to see what’s going on. Kalim ends up talking about teas from his home, and Jade asks if he could show him how to brew the special tea they have for guests. It’s supposed to be super sweet so Kalim insists on dumping as much sugar as possible into the cup, but Jade really hates sugar.

Kalim got so disgusted when Jade was talking about his raw meat diet in the sea 😂😂

But also Kalim 🙏 He tries so hard to help everyone but he always happens to miss the mark

Floyd 🦈 Talk with Me About Something Fun

Floyd gets bored working on a report so he decides to go bug Riddle, insisting that they do their homework together. He helps Riddle find a book he needs but won’t quit playing around with him over it. In his anger, Riddle brings up how differently Jade is compared to him, and Floyd immediately gets bored and leaves.

The book Riddle needed was called “The History of Magic Carpet Weaving”

Kalim 🦂 Let’s Get Along!

Kalim is shopping at Mr. S’s Mystery Shop for the Scarabia 1st years welcome party. Riddle asks him why he’s the one running errands and not Jamil (the reason was that Jamil was stressed with how Kalim was handling the decorations for the party so sent him away basically 😂). Kalim ends up inviting Riddle to the party; he only agrees after he hears there will be a magic carpet there.

Kalim is so rich it hurts 💀 Riddle called him out for yawning during dorm leader meetings and he said “If I yawned at Scarabia, Jamil would just get my bed ready for me!”

When he was talking about the magic carpet Kalim said “Let’s go to the end of the world together” (Was that the name of the wintry tundra in Aladdin??)

This is the one where Kalim talks about how he only eats Jamil’s food because he used to get poisoned as a child; his dad & Jamil had told him “This is the fate of the oldest son of the Asim family”

Jamil 🐍 I Mean It

At lunch, Kalim and Ruggie go get food for themselves plus Jamil and Leona; while they’re waiting, Leona implies that Jamil might try to hurt Kalim someday, much to Jamil’s offense. Later Ruggie and Jamil mull over having to work with their respective ‘masters.’

Leona’s intelligence is often downplayed bc of how lazy he is but he really is good at figuring things out 👁 This was shown in Cater’s story too.

Ruggie and Jamil having that little squabble about how they think each other’s masters (for lack of a better word) would be more difficult to deal with was kind of cute 😂

#twisted wonderland #rambles #THESE ARE SO SATISFYING OMG #you wouldn't believe how many times I think 'lets read some personal stories :D' but then every one I click sounds so familiar #I know I haven't read them all #I just can't tell which ones I already read #lets just go through all of them again problem solved #this time taking notes 🖊

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adhdeancas · 3 years

Text

Sunset Sound: Rusty Cage

Chapter 6 is on AO3 here!

oo baby we ( @friedchickenangelwings and I) are getting to the mushy parts and buddy am I excited to show you... but until then, we’ve got some redemption team building (fuck TPTB!) here you go:

“Of all the godforsaken hellholes in the thankless void-”

“Shut up, Crowley.” Meg and Cas say it at the same time, which stops Crowley from pacing around the cell so he can put his hands on his hips and pout. Cas rolls his eyes and turns back to Meg.

“Meg, is it really… you?” Cas doesn’t want to hope, but this Meg seems… real. Like Meg. The demon in question scowls like she’s offended by the question.

“Missed me, Clarence?”

“Yes.” Cas says automatically, feeling no need to hide it. Meg’s face changes a bit, softens into something that’s not disdain. “How can I know it’s really you? Tell me something only you would know.” Cas is desperately wishing that this is real, isn’t just another Empty-induced vision trying to make him lose hope. Meg was there in one of his lowest times, was nice to him, and though he knew she had somewhat of an ulterior motive, he also sensed her genuine care for him. The idea of finally seeing her again gave him just a spark of hope, just a spark.

Meg’s eyes glistened with mirth. “Are you sure you want me to do that?”

Cas gives a side-eye to Crowley and rethinks. “A hint.”

She taps her fingers on her knee, sticks her lips out in thought. Something comes to mind, Cas watches it form into an idea and she smiles. “Pizza man.”

Cas flashes back to a determined, rather out of his mind moment when he looked at Meg and decided to practice his make-out moves. Admittedly, she was a good kisser. Unfortunately, he did it directly in front of Dean and Sam. His cheeks turn pink as Meg grins. “Good to see you, Meg.What are you doing here?”

Meg shrugs. She kicks her feet up on the bars of her cell and looks at Cas. “Apparently I’m a ‘disruption,’” she says plainly. “The bible-thumpers don’t like that much.”

“Disruption? What are you disrupting?” Crowley sighs loudly behind him.

“What isn’t she disrupting? That’s her deal. To annoy.”

“Eat glass, Crowley.” Meg replies cheerfully.

“Enough, you two.”

There’s a tense moment of silence before Meg continues. “I’ve been slashing my way through the bitch, ever since I heard it’s been using my face.” She raises an eyebrow. Cas blinks at her.

“You’ve been attacking The Empty?” The insanity of this demon. He loves her.

Meg smirks. “I like this face. Fought hard for it. Besides, not like I had much of a chance getting out of here, anyway. I figured, might as well have my fun before it valiums the place.”

“Had?” Crowley sounds indignant. “No, absolutely not.” He knows what she’s implying. Cas perks up immediately. If she’s proposing an alliance, that means she has something to give. Something that might get them out of this despicable, hopeless hole.

“You have a way out?”

Meg nods, eyes wandering to Crowley. “I just needed some more muscle. So, what do you say, Clarence? Crowley?” The latter name comes with an abundance of venom. “Team up?”

Crowley and Cas share a glance before Crowley grunts. “It’s a deal.”

Meg gloats for a few minutes, as long as she can while the angel and demon glare at her from across the room. Finally she gives in and explains her plan.

They’re all reclining casually when the angel comes back to check on them. It’s an angel Cas doesn’t recognize, one of his brothers that had fallen long ago, probably some of the only to follow Hester’s ways. “Hey handsome,” Meg drawls when he comes in. He remains stoic as he peeks in at Crowley, who waves back campily. “I’ve always had a thing for men with religious guilt.”

She sends a wink to Cas before the angel turns to her. “I’m not a man.” he says simply, trying to appear unaffected. He steps closer to her cell, and she bares her teeth more than grins.

“Angel, then.”

“Yes.” Meg nods and sticks an arm through her cell bars, putting a soft hand on the back of the angel’s neck. He steps a little closer, almost up to the bars and Meg. “Do you really expect me to want to-”

“Oh don’t flatter yourself, handsome,” Meg spits out. With a grunt she brings her other hand to the front and cuts open the front of his neck with a shining fragment of blade. The angel’s grace flows out and into the air. Meg uses telekinesis to keep it floating there before shoving the rest of the fragment through his neck.

He dies with a gurgle and a whimper.

Meg waves her hand and some of the grace flies in a circle through the bars. The grace sizzles and burns on the hard surface, and Meg pushes broken bars out and steps through. “Found out by accident that pure grace is like acid to this pit.” She pushes a new shot of grace to cut through Crowley and Cas’s cell bars. They climb out after her, and Cas grabs the angel’s discarded sword.

“Dandy. Now let’s kill us a few fanatics, huh?”

They sneak down the hallway, but encounter no new enemies. Creeping up a short set of stairs yields no threats either. They are almost through the next hallway when they hear “Castiel?” and Cas’s blood runs cold.

The three look over to the dark cell the voice is coming from. Emerging from the shadows, leather duster blending into the darkness of the wall, is Billie.

Cas pushes Meg and Crowley forward trying to rush them out of Billie’s sight. It doesn’t seem to matter, though. “Castiel, wait. Please.” Cas pauses and stands then, offering a questioning and cautious glance over at his companions, who seem just as confused. “We can help each other.”

Cas crosses his arms. He doesn’t know what to expect from Billie. The last time he’d seen her she’d been hellbent (excuse the pun) on bringing him and Dean personally to a fresh grave. “Why would I trust you?”

Billie meets his gaze. “Because I have insider info. I know what’s happening out there, with Sam and Dean. And Jack.”

Cas knows it could be a trick, he does, but he can’t help his curiosity. “Are they alright?”

Billie takes a look at Crowley and Meg then before looking back at Cas. “Let me out and I’ll tell you everything I know.”

Cas immediately looks to Meg. She uses the last bit of angel grace she has manipulated and frees Billie from her cage. “Okay, you’re free. Are they alright?”

“Hm, snookums, I think the chat will have to wait.” Crowley calls back. He’s peeking up the last set of stairs until freedom, and it’s then that Cas hears voices and footsteps. “We’ve got company.”

The fight is rough and quick. Cas and Meg go out first, angel blade and blade fragment in hand. He tosses his first kill to Crowley, who catches him and pries the blade out of his weakening grasp. Meg does the same with Billie (albeit a bit more roughly) and they fight back to back. Cas battles at two angels at once, ending one with an uppercut to the chin and dodging the other. Meg lodges her blade fragment in the knee of her opponent and uses his own blade to kill him. Crowley sidesteps the angel running at him and shoves him up against the building to slit his throat. Grace oozes out and he wipes his blade in it, flicking the liquid at the feet of the angel attacking Billie. The ground under them burns and dissolves, giving Billie the moment she needed to take her kill. A few minutes later Hester and her closest rush outside to see the commotion. They start toward them immediately and Billie shouts to alert them.

“Clarence, retreat!” Cas is too caught up grappling with a larger angel that he doesn’t notice the advance. Meg steps in and tosses him off. She yanks Cas back by the arm and he stumbles into a run with Crowley and Billie. They sprint off in the direction of the closest scuffle, losing their captors in a sea of skirmishing entities. It isn’t until they pass another such grouping that they stop to breathe.

“Fuck.” Billie breathes. It makes Meg laugh, which makes Billie almost smile.

“You said it, sister.”

“We’re out.” Cas repeats. He didn’t think they would get this far. “Let’s hope they give up.”

Crowley raises an eyebrow. “On the Empty’s orders. Sorry Cas, but fat chance.”

Billie nods her agreement. “The Empty is bolstering them with every ounce of hope it sucks from the rest. They’ll keep going as much as we want to stop.”

It sobers the group quickly, as they all realize it’s true. They want to stop running. Their heads tell them all in different voices, but they all say the same thing: it’s hopeless. Give up. Give in. Lay down and die.

“Too bad. I was hoping the little bitches would get tired.” Cas gives Meg a tired smile before he remembers what Billie had promised.

“You said you could sense what happened to the Winchesters, to Jack. Billie, are they alright? Did they defeat Chuck?”

“Yeah, what’s up with that anyway? Why do you get extra juice?”

Crowley levels Meg with a withering glare. “She was Death.”

“Until recently.” Billie adds, glancing at Cas with an indecipherable expression.

Meg blinks. “Oh. Alright.” No comeback for that one.

“What do you know?”

Billie sighs. “I can sense Chuck. He’s… redistributed.” She massages her temple, obviously trying to mine information. “Into Jack. Jack is… in heaven.”

“He’s dead?” Cas’s stomach drops out of his body. Billie quickly shakes her head.

“No, he’s… different. He’s alive.” Cas exhales in relief. “Castiel, Jack is more powerful than ever before.”

Cas frowns at her. “So you’re saying he’s… God, now?”

“Your bloody kid is God?” Crowley interrupts incredulously.

“Your what-now?”

“Then why hasn’t he flown us out of here?” Crowley seems enraged. Meg is flabbergasted. Cas holds them both off as he thinks.

“Something’s wrong.” he mutters.

Yes. I’m dead. Billie’s wrong. Cas knows it isn’t really Jack, but his head snaps up anyway. His child is standing stiffly a few feet away, bright eyes fixed on Cas. You didn’t save me. You just left me there, alone. How could you do that, Cas? You told Kelly you would protect me, you promised!

“Jack would have… he would have saved me. Something’s wrong.” Cas nods. Jack saved him from the Empty before they’d even met, there is no way an even-more-powerful Jack wouldn’t do the same immediately. Either he is being manipulated or there is something wrong with him, and Cas will settle for neither. “We need to get out of here ourselves,” he says firmly. He looks up and says it to the Empty’s version of Jack, bright, lifeless eyes, so unlike his kid’s.

You’ll never make it.

We have to try.

tag list (ask to be added or removed):

@dochunterwitch @justonecitizenoftheearth @gnbrules @purpe @castiel-is-a-cat @alienapparatus @damian-janus-pendragon

#sunset sound #chapter 6 #rusty cage #destiel #deancas #fanfic #billie #meg masters #crowley #castiel #hester #jack kline #chuck shurley #my writing

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greenbergsays · 5 years

Note

You did ittt!!! OMG I was absolutely convinced that I should not get into a new OTP after that emotional train wreck Destiel but here I am, obSeSseD with Good Omens after I all that talking of yours (had to try) My friend said my eyes looked like shiny orbs of joy when we were watching this scene with Crowley pushing Aziraphale up the wall. Frickin hell, I'm trash now. Just trash. FUUUC how do we manage these feels? I need it to be canon, just this once! It will be, right? Do you know anything?

Take my hand, my friend, let me take you on a journey.

To understand the true significance of what we’ve been given, we need to begin earlier. A little more than 6,000 years earlier, to be precise. Just after the beginning.

An angel and a demon stand side-by-side, watching as the first humans make their way across an unforgiving landscape.

Angels and demons are, as one angel will later explain to his demonic counterpart, “hereditary enemies.” They’re supposed to hate each other. They’re supposed to distrust each other.

They are not, however, supposed to stand amiably beside each other on a wall as these two currently are. The demon, in particular, is not supposed to casually begin a conversation with an angel.

It would not be remiss to say that the connection between this particular angel and this particular demon is instantaneous. There is information shared in this first conversation that one would not normally share with an enemy.

“I gave it away,” says Aziraphale, and Crowley smiles.

It’s information that could very easily be used against the angel, but it never occurs to the demon to do so. Instead, when his companion voices worry over doing the wrong thing, Crowley comforts him and then answers that worry with one of his own: what if he’d done the right thing?

Crowley began this conversation and he is the one that keeps it afloat. A connection is forming between them, because Crowley–perhaps unknowingly, perhaps not–reaches out for it again and again.

Over the years, that connection only grows.

In 3004 B.C., Crowley once again approaches Aziraphale. He begins their conversation by gently teasing about the sword. He’s saying, “I remember you. I remember what we talked about. It’s been a while, but I haven’t forgotten.”

Something that is, we will eventually understand, important to Aziraphale. He’s dismissed by his own faction, but he is not dismissed by Crowley.

In 33 A.D., Crowley says, “Oh, no, I’ve changed [my name].”

It’s important to note this moment. 2,000 years in the future, a demon will ask, “What’s he calling himself up here these days?”

2,000 years and his name isn’t widely known among his own faction. But in 33 A.D., he makes sure that Aziraphale knows it. It wasn’t important to him that all of Hell knew what to call him; it was only important that Aziraphale knew.

In 41 A.D., Aziraphale approaches Crowley. This is important. He hasn’t before, but now they are familiar enough that he feels comfortable doing so. And more than that, he wants to share something that he likes with Crowley. Through one little “temptation,” he tries to build a deeper connection.

And, too, both here and in 537 A.D., we find that Aziraphale can recognize Crowley by voice alone, even through a suit of armor.

By 1601, they have an arrangement. By 1601, they have a rapport. By 1601, they can overhear Shakespeare say, “it would take a miracle,” and Aziraphale turns immediately to Crowley. His expression is beseeching, pleading, and Crowley answers that with an exasperated, “Oh, alright. My treat.”

By 1601, Aziraphale protests activating the arrangement again, because, “If Hell finds out, they won’t just be angry. They’ll destroy you.”

By 1601, Crowley has taken to circling behind Aziraphale as they talk; something that, up until this point in their history, we haven’t seen him do. It’s a protective tick.

He is, quite literally, watching Aziraphale’s back. He is monitoring, so that he knows the very second that things go south for them, and he is monitoring in such a way that Aziraphale won’t be harmed first, without Crowley having a chance to stop it.

By 1601, they are more than just colleagues.

In 1793, Crowley calls Aziraphale “angel” for the first time. He could mean it as a title. He could mean it as an insult. It is neither of those things.

In 1862, they have their first real, true fight. It’s because Crowley wants a weapon that will kill him–not discorporate, but kill–and Aziraphale won’t do it. His feelings have only grown and deepened. He can’t do anything, can’t provide anything, that will potentially bring harm to Crowley.

In 1862, Crowley hisses, “Fraternize?” because such a word has implications. It implies they are still enemies. It implies they are merely friends.

It’s impossible to know which one he is protesting. It couldn’t possibly be both. (It is both.)

In 1941, an angel trusts far too easily and gets himself into trouble. A demon walks on consecrated ground–something that blatantly hurts him–to save that angel.

In 1941, a bomb falls on a church and that same demon saves a small briefcase of books.

So much of what they’ve experienced together could be explained away. But to save his books is an act of selflessness that has no other meaning. Crowley knew that Aziraphale would be upset. Crowley knew him well enough to know that he would’ve forgotten the books in the mayhem. He made sure they survived.

In 1941, the music swells, and we slowly pan in to see realization dawning on the angel’s face. He is in love.

In 1967, Crowley plans a heist. We know what he wants from the church. Aziraphale swallows his pride and goes back on his own word–”No,” he said, in 1862, “absolutely not.”–to deliver that very thing. It’s safer this way.

None of the humans will understand how terribly vital it is that Crowley not touch the holy water. They won’t understand what it would do to him, should they accidentally spill it on him. But Aziraphale knows, and he brings the holy water to Crowley already in a closed container, because he needs Crowley to be safe.

“After everything you said,” Crowley says, because he understands how significant this moment is.

But 1967 is more than just an angel backing down so that no harm will come to his demon.

1967 is the year, the moment, that Aziraphale says, “Perhaps one day we could..oh, I don’t know. Go for a picnic. Dine at the Ritz.”

1967 is the year that Aziraphale openly suggests a date.

“I’ll give you a lift,” Crowley says in response. “Anywhere you want to go.”

Stay with me, is what he doesn’t say. We could have that date tonight.

And 1967 is the year that Aziraphale says, “You go too fast for me, Crowley.”

I can’t, he doesn’t say back. It’s too much, too quickly. I have to get used to this still. But if you wait for me…if you wait for me, then yes.

In 2008, the year that the Antichrist is born, they dine at the Ritz. It is clearly not the first time.

Aziraphale, who won’t entertain a conversation about stopping the end of the world, says, “This is purely social.”

He does not remember whose fault the Reign of Terror was, but he remembers that when they ate together, they had crepes.

In 2008, Crowley–a demon that we never see without his sunglasses, unless he is alone and safe in his home–sits on the couch in Aziraphale’s bookshop, and removes those sunglasses, the barrier between himself and the world. The world, but not Aziraphale.

In 2019, Aziraphale says, “I could entertain,” and Crowley instantly knows what he means. He groans the groan of someone who has had to sit through that “entertainment” too many times. He suffers through it again, because Aziraphale always gets his way.

In 2019, their bickering has become a familiar dance to them both.

In 2019, Crowley dismissively says, “No, I know what you smell like,” with an annoyance that implies that should be obvious.

In 2019, a blue paintball ruins a white coat that had been kept in tip-top condition for 180 years. Despite the fact that its wearer is, in fact, an angel and can miracle it away, this is not what happens.

Instead, the angel pouts at his demonic companion, his eyes wide and beseeching as he explains why it wouldn’t be the same as it would be if Crowley were the one to do it.

Crowley pouts back at him in sympathy, and then indulges Aziraphale, like always. Aziraphale’s answering smile is brighter than the sun.

Inside the ex-convent, Crowley pushes Aziraphale against a wall, ostensibly to intimidate him, but Aziraphale is not intimidated. He is not afraid. He is distracted by where the tips of their noses touch, because they are so close.

When they’re interrupted, it’s by a woman that says, “Excuse me, gentlemen, sorry to break up an intimate moment.”

They do not jump apart. They do not correct her.

When Crowley realizes he knows the woman and stops her from escaping, Aziraphale says nothing about Crowley’s previous annoyance or what he was trying to convey with his little display. Instead, he fusses about Crowley controlling a scared woman into stillness as he casually straightens his wrinkled clothing.

Crowley fusses back, and then they approach the woman together, as a singular unit.

In 2019, Crowley says, “Run away with me.” In 2019, Aziraphale says, “It’s over.”

Afterward, Crowley will go home and search for a place to go. He’ll decide on Alpha Centauri, but he won’t go there. He’ll dally. He’ll procrastinate. He’ll sit in a movie theater and brood, where he’s found by demons. Where he’s told that they finally know he’s messed up.

Will he go to Alpha Centauri then? No.

He’ll go back to Aziraphale. He’ll beg Aziraphale to go with him. He’ll apologize for an argument that wasn’t even his fault.

Aziraphale, visibly torn, will still refuse him.

Will Crowley leave for Alpha Centauri then? No.

He’ll go back to his apartment and he’ll plan. He’ll kill a demon and he’ll trap another and then, he’ll go back to Aziraphale again. He’s been rejected twice, but he’ll try again, because to Crowley, there’s no point in fleeing to survive if Aziraphale isn’t with him.

In 2019, Aziraphale will be cornered by three angels who do succeed in intimidating him, the way Crowley did not.

One of them will say, “Don’t think your boyfriend in the dark glasses will get you special treatment in Hell.”

Aziraphale knows better than any of them what that word means–boyfriend–having lived on Earth this whole time, but he does not correct them.

He should. He’s clearly in trouble with his faction. If he wanted to save face with them, he would deny that that’s what his relationship with Crowley is. He’d deny having a relationship at all.

He does not.

In 2019, Crowley will find the bookshop burning and Aziraphale gone and he’ll mourn. He’ll scream into the fire and he’ll pick up one of the few unburnt books left and he’ll carry it with him, despite the fact that he’s professed that he doesn’t read.

He will, when he’s reunited with Aziraphale, call it, “a souvenir.”

As he steps out of the bookshop, the music says, “Find me somebody to love.”

It isn’t a coincidence.

Nor is it a coincidence that the next time we see him, he’ll be in a bar. He won’t care about the apocalypse anymore. He won’t care until he sees the spirit of an angel in the seat across from him. Until he learns that Aziraphale is still alive and here.

Because there’s no reason to save the world if he can’t be in it with Aziraphale.

At the end of the world, Aziraphale says, “Do something or I’ll never speak to you again.”

The very thought of it hurts Crowley. He can’t abide it, cannot sit there and do nothing and allow it to come to pass. He stops time, so that it cannot come to pass.

After the end of the world, they sit on a park bench together. Crowley says, “Your bookshop isn’t there anymore, remember? It burned down.” And he says it with more gentle compassion than a demon should be capable of.

Because the bookshop was important to Aziraphale and only Crowley can know just how important; his reminder is said in the tones of someone who is grieving with their loved one, for their loved one and what they have lost.

They change faces, but even with Aziraphale’s face, Crowley cannot stop himself from circling his angel. It’s instinctual now, the need to protect.

They act like each other and in many ways, they’ve gotten it right, but in many ways, they’ve gotten it wrong, too.

In Aziraphale’s eyes, Crowley is suave and cool and a little bit dangerous. He’s untouchable, unmatched.

In Crowley’s eyes, Aziraphale is calm and cool and collected. Aziraphale is strong and steady and brave.

After Heaven and Hell have been dealt with, they sit on a park bench together. They laugh. They discuss, in a more serious tone, what the future might bring. It’s left unsaid that they will face it together; that’s obvious at this point.

When they leave, they don’t part ways. They dine at the Ritz.

And in 2019, at a table for two that miraculously came available at the Ritz, Aziraphale says, “You’re a good person,” and for the first time, Crowley accepts it with a little smile.

“And you,” he says, “are [enough of a bastard to be] worth knowing.”

Aziraphale blushes, his smile self-conscious, but he is ultimately pleased.

“To the world,” Crowley says, and he means, to us.

“To the world,” Aziraphale echoes, and those three words are said with so much affection, so much love, that you don’t need to be told that he means something else entirely–that he’s saying something else entirely–to know it.

“I need them to be canon,” you say. “Just this once.”

They already are.

You’ve just been shown their love instead of told it.

#marveldaydreamer #greenberg replies #good omens #the nice and accurate ramblings of desdemona greenberg #ineffable husbands #long post #really fucking long post #i mean neil gaiman says it's written as a love story #but that's the LEAST validating part about the whole damn thing #look at them #look at every damn moment between them #THAT IS A RELATIONSHIP #their journey narratively speaking is enemies to acquaintances to colleagues (of a sort) to friends to something that is more than friends #It is quite literally 6000 years of a slow-burn romance

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jayankles · 4 years

Text

Blanks to Fill.

Pairing: Dean x Reader, Donna x Reader (More on the Donna side)

Summary: You wake up and discover that your little night in Vegas may have been a whole lot larger than you expected. You have no recollection of what happened the previous night and you need your friends to remind you of what went down.

Word Count: 2570

Written for: @spndeanbingo / @spnkinkbingo / @goodthingshappenbingo / @badthingshappenbingo / @/spnonewordbingo / @spngenrebingo / @spnfluffbingo

Squares Filled: Vegas / Free Space / Waking up together / memory loss / zaffre / big spoon / woke up married

Warnings: Making out, grinding, implied future w|w sex, mentions of handjobs/blowjobs, dirty truth or dare

Pounding, your head was pounding and you didn’t want to move, as you thought about it, you couldn’t really move. The heavy wait around your waist was holding you down, even your cheek was a little wet.

What the hell?!

Sighing with a little whine in there for good measure, you reached up to your face to wipe off the wetness. It was drool, you didn’t know if it would have been a good thing or a bad thing if it was yours or not.

You should probably check to see whose arm was around your waist since you had no recollection of whatever the hell happened last night. You must have hit the alcohol a little too hard the previous night. Hand grazing over the figure’s hand, your eyes widened as you noticed the terribly familiar scar. Fuck! God, it was Dean Winchester. Of course it was. Slowly, you lifted your head to take a look at the room that you had apparently booked last night, or stolen - it was probably better if you didn’t know.

At least the walls were nice and calming. And it was kind of nice having Dean snuggle you from behind, keeping you close. Just a few minutes, maybe. Humming, you finally gathered everything you had in you to turn around and face him.

“Dean…” you whispered, your fingers coming up to stroke over his face to wake him up but you noticed the ring on your finger. You shuffled back, almost to the edge of the huge bed and grabbed his left hand, seeing if he had the same situation as you.Jeez, he had a ring on his finger too. Did y’all get married on a whim? Did you get married to different people and come back to the same room? (Because that was plausible.) Did the two of you have sex? “Dean get up!”

He groaned, annoyed that he hadn’t naturally woken up. “What? What?”

You lift the blanket and search his lower half and thankfully he has his pants on - a nice colour too, zaffre to be exact. At least, he got married looking suave and dapper. You had to find out what the hell happened last night. Someone in this hotel had to know what happened, right?

“Dean, I think we might be married. Like legally married. We’re in Vegas.” You bit your lower lip, jumping from the bed and wrapping the quilt around your body, even though you weren’t naked, you still felt a little vulnerable.

“Oh, I see.” Dean hummed as he looked down at his left hand, twirling the ring around his finger. How was he so calm about this? He just brushed it off and acted cool. On the inside though, Dean was freaking out. How could he get married and not recall one thing, other than getting absolutely hammered.

“Well, lets order some room service and then we can find out what happened in the last 12 hours or so.”

Your mouth turned into an upside down smile and if Dean wasn’t freaked out, you shouldn’t be feeling it either. It was gonna work out and you were going to find out what happened to the two of you.

After a huge breakfast, and a lot of coffee, the two of you got dressed and made a few calls. While Dean was on the phone, you closed your eyes, seeing something you don’t remember really doing. Was it a dream? Was it something that actually happened?

“I think I sang karaoke with Crowley and made out with Donna.” You shook your head. That couldn’t be right could it? “We gotta know what the hell happened and how we got here.”

You called everyone you could think of that would be here, you even checked the front door to tell them where to meet you and Dean.

“Does anyone have any idea about what happened last night?” You asked when all of them gathered in the hotel room.

You had knocked back a few too many drinks already but they just kept on coming, Donna and Jody started off the rounds but Crowley had surprised you as well as Castiel but Sam and Dean did the exact same thing. You were far too gone to care about how many more you could hold to drink Dean under the table.

You were persuasive. So much so that you convinced the boys to join you and the girls to get up on that stage and sing your hearts out to the crowd, belting out the lyrics to a song that all of you knew; it had to be Eye of the Tiger. More drinks were brought up to the stage when you were there. Twenty five minutes had passed and eventually you were thrown off of the stage and out of the bar. It would have been a downer if you had left there empty handed but Jody had pulled out a bottle of Jack from nowhere.

You had to get out of there right now before anyone in the bar found out that a bottle had been stolen. You hightailed it out of there, on your way to the next location. Apparently, that was Donna and Jody’s room.

You started with spin the bottle. The bottle spun and spun until it came to a stop. Donna. You smiled and turned to the woman in question,smiling hard, well a goofy grin more like.

Shifting the pillow from under your butt and climbing onto your knees. “Want us to do it in the closet or you cool here?”

You didn’t have time for her to answer as the rest of the room shouted that they were cool with the two of you making out in front of them. Weirdos.

Despite them reveling in the fact that the two of you were going to kiss, your drunken state devoured their excitement as if it was a compliment.

Shrugging, you cupped Donna’s face in your hands, rubbing your thumbs over her cheek. Her hands slid from your shoulders to your waist, pulling you in closer before you crashed your lips together. She tasted so good, the strawberry gloss tainting your tongue. A few minutes had passed and you practically had to be torn away from Donna’s lips just to continue the game. She pushed her hair out of her face and breathed out, probably the first breath she had taken since the two of you kissed. You giggled, a little drunk off of her kiss as well as the alcohol, hand slowly sliding from her face down to her thigh.

Now it was Donna’s turn to spin the bottle, out of the corner of your eye, you saw a flick of Crowley’s wrist, a few seconds later the bottle stopped in front of you. Round two. And you were ready, completely okay with it. A little more ready than last time. The way you climbed into her lap, legs wrapping around her thigh, said everything you needed to say, you really wanted to kiss the fuck out of her again.

You licked your tingling lips, still tasting the strawberry on them. Donna had a twinkle in her eye, grabbing your thigh and having you rock on hers. You couldn’t help yourself anymore, you dove right in kissing hers once more, moaning right into her mouth when her thumb rubbed over your clothed nipple. Donna teased you, her mouth moving from your lips to the corner of your mouth. She tipped your head up and to the side, lips pecking over your cheek to your ear. “I think we should give the others a chance to snog each other's faces off. Maybe we could pick this up another time.”

Spin the bottle was soon followed by a grueling game of truth or dare. Sam was first and he picked truth, so you had to pick a dirty one. What would be the first dirty thing you would do if you woke up as the opposite sex?

“Give my new titties a squeeze,” he snorted, laughing as he thought about what he was going to say next. “Oh, I’d finger myself too. See what feels good.”

He made a good point. Crowley had entertained the idea that he had fantasised about a teacher that he had way back when he was a human. It was weird because what was hot then is definitely not hot now. Thank you, evolution.

Donna was up next, truth. You were going to have to think of a real humdinger but all you could come up with was ‘have you ever watched another couple have sex?’ She had the nerve to look a little embarrassed. Oh, she definitely had seen something.

“Come on, Donnie. Tell us about your voyeurism.” You poked at her side, trying to get a little bit of information from her. You wanted to know the juicy gossip.

“Okay, Pokey McPokerson. They weren’t exactly a couple, more like a one night stand on a hunt and the guy forgot that he had an extra roommate.” Donna stares pointedly across the room and when you look over you see the tips of Dean’s ears go pink. He’s been caught red handed, well butt naked. “I kinda wished it was me but then I realised it’s more fun to watch then fantasize about it later.”

A few of the dares included Dean doing a little striptease to everyone in the circle, getting him down to his underwear. Sam tried to do a back flip but he passed out right after he jumped. Crowley snapped his fingers and magicked up some clothes that would have cost a fortune but apparently you could have what you wanted when you were the king of hell.

Jody had admitted that she had a crush on Crowley when they had gone on their few dates. Castiel surprised you when he chose a dirty dare. Donna clumsily rose to her feet and reached into her backpack, pulling out a blindfold. Of course she had a blindfold. Donna put the blindfold over Castiel’s eyes and told the others to stay quiet. She motioned to Jody, curling her finger towards her. This was crazy. Castiel was either going to get a hand job or a blowjob and you would be happy to watch either.

Lastly, it was your time to shine. You had to pick dare, you couldn’t chicken out now but you couldn’t wait to see what they could make up for you. Much to your surprise, it wasn’t a dirty one. It was to go to a church and marry Dean. Thankfully, you had the awesome clothes that Crowley rustled up for all of you. You took another shot from the bottle.

“You know what? Let’s go do this shit. Anyone have a ring that fits my ring finger?” You said, waggling your left hand, then looking sweetly at Crowley before giggling. “Please. You have great style.”

Crowley smirked smugly, his head tilted to the side, clearly falling for your flattery. Rolling his eyes he put his hands into his inner jacket pocket and pulled out a pair of beautiful rings. “Off you pop, go tie the knot, lovebirds.”

“You may now kiss the bride.” The officiant pronounces, like he’s done this way too many times before. This was Vegas after all.

You and Dean shrugged at each other before he grabbed at the back of your neck to pull you in closer to him. His lips press to yours and you’re surprised that his lips against yours are so soft. A complete contrast to what Donna’s were. It was nice, almost too nice. But you liked it either way.

You, Dean, and the others exited the hall and giggled at how ridiculous the situation was. You and Dean were married because of a drunk dare and at the moment it was a pretty cool marriage, Dean had a weird look in his eyes when he looked at you, like there was something different there and you could feel something different too.

You hung out for another hour celebrating a marriage before the others called it quits and retired to their rooms. Dean held your hand and pulled you to his room.

“Want me to lift you over the threshold.” Dean said with a goofy look on his face, eyebrows wiggling at you, making you do a gigglesnort.

“You’re so corny.” You said, linking your fingers together, lifting your leg so that he could carry you. “Let’s go, husband.”

Dean took your instructions to heart, quickly opening up his room door escorting you inside, moving a few feet into the huge room before setting you back down on the floor. He hummed,it was funny. How all of a sudden could he be a husband and have you as his wife? His hands flew your hips to steady you before you fell.

Sparks flew.

Dean’s eyes flickered over yours and yours to his. Your eyes darted over his lips when his tongue poked through. It was like something had changed inside of you. Dean growled when your lips collided once more and there was more hunger in this one. Without breaking the seal on Dean’s lips, you slipped his jacket off of his shoulders. Fingers deftly unbuttoning his shirt, it followed suit with the jacket onto the floor.

Giggling, Dean lifts you onto the bed and holds you close. It’s not even a minute later before the two of you passed out, snoring extremely loud that even the neighbours could hear if they were sleeping.

Eyes wide, you huffed out a puff of air, completely overwhelmed at everything you had achieved last night. You couldn’t believe that Castiel got a blow job from Jody and he didn’t even know who it was. Maybe Vegas, alcohol, and a game of dirty truth or dare was not a good mix, you wouldn’t be doing that anytime soon but it was nice just to let loose and take a break from the hunting world.

“So, are we married? What are we gonna do about it? Being legally married is kinda dope though, I think you should just take me on a date next time.” The questions rolled and you blubbered, wishing that you hadn’t said that last bit out loud, but if you were going to get married then you hoped that the next time you got married you knew what happened and you were actually going to be dating before the big day. “Alrighty then. Day at the pool or annulment first?”

“I could go for a swim. We’ll annul the marriage before we go, let’s just enjoy this time before we go back to reality. Besides, if we tell people we’re newlyweds we get some sweet deals on shit, we might even get a free slice of pie.”

Donna smiled, rolling her eyes at Dean before her eyes swept over your body. She discreetly pulled out her phone, her fingers tapping away then put it away. When your phone vibrated, you checked to see the message, knowing it was from her.

“I actually forgot to bring a bathing suit. Donna, do you think you could hook me up?” You asked, a hand smoothing over your face. Getting to her feet, Donna held out her hand so you took it and followed her to her room.

“I have the perfect thing for you.”

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i-write-and-therefore-i-am · 4 years

Text

One Monstrous Miracle (Part Five)

Okay. So. This one got away from me. It got unexpectedly dark, and I’m not sure how I feel about that but I’m going to post it and move on with the story. I am not a happy author about this chapter, for many reasons. Nevertheless, I love each and everyone of you and I hope you find it within you to enjoy this <3 (Pst! If you’d rather read on Ao3, here ya go!)

Previous-Next-First

Pairing: Aziraphale/Human!Reader

Summary: Michael takes some initiative. So does Sandalphon. Uriel is basically the emotional support nerd ig. Aziraphale has a nightmare. Reader does NOT have a good time.

Warnings: Okay listen closely. I have written a non-graphic description of a kidnapping, and subsequently a heavily-implied violence segment. I might be overstating or understating (please tell me if I am understating!), but I just want to keep you lovelies safe.

ALSO: This is NOT a warning, but while you’re here I might as well tell you that I have used they/them pronouns for Michael, and it/its pronouns for Sandalphon (from the script).

Word Count: 2730

(@gif, shits going down)

Michael was not stupid. They were not dimwitted, or blinded by heavenly goodness, or any of the things that they could very easily accuse their fellow celestial beings of…being. They had been paying the Angel Aziraphale very close attention these past millennia, and they had seen exactly what they had expected; the Angel had gone native. Worse than that, he had gone native and he was fraternizing with the enemy. THE enemy. El Numero Uno. The Demon Crowley.

Because Michael was none of the things mentioned above, they had quite a bit of room to be some other things, like cunning, vigilant, and good at waiting for just the right moment. They didn’t bring the aforementioned knowledge to Gabriel’s attention straight away for the sake of…strategy. It had nothing whatsoever to do with the fact that the Archangel-Fucking-Gabriel wasn’t the only gosh darned Archangel around (and that’s with a capital ‘A’, thank you very much), and so there really was no pressing need for Michael to give the information in the first place, now that they thought about it. They could investigate on their own, build up a solid case, and then work from there. Maybe get some respect around the elitist promotion trap that was their Heavenly home. If only.

Michael enlisted Uriel, knowing that she would be invaluable when looking for documents or anything paper related. She had the memory for things exactly like that. Michael brought Sandalphon precisely because they knew that Aziraphale was still terrified of it after what happened at Sodom and Gomorrah. Together, they monitored Aziraphale’s every move—although the angel had somehow devised a way to keep the group from ever being able to overhear any of his traitorous conversations with the hated Crowley, they weren’t deterred in the slightest bit. They could follow the pair, take pictures, perhaps the odd selfie when the mood hit. Michael was building their case against Aziraphale, and it was only a matter of time.

Armageddon threw everything into quite a pretty mess, now didn’t it? Aziraphale was openly discussing his meetings with his “wily adversary”, reporting on the current status and whereabouts of the Antichrist (Warlock. What a revolting name). Things were starting to get fun for the first time in about a hundred years, and Michael simply didn’t have the time for their surveillance missions anymore. Not to mention that Gabriel was demanding that they all stay together as often as possible, which was a nightmare in and of itself. Michael was rather looking forward to the end of the world, not for the gargantuan blood bath that would ensue, as most of their angelic associates where no doubt panting for, but for the endless peace that comes after a job well done.

One day, when the Antichrist (still Warlock, despite Michael’s very best efforts) was 10, nearly 11, Michael noticed something very strange about the familiar bookshop that they and the rest of the group had been watching for the last couple of centuries. There was a woman, well-dressed (Michael assumed. Angels, proper Angels, that is, Aziraphale not included, have no real sense of human fashion), practically cantering down the pavement, apparently towards Aziraphale’s shop. “No, that can’t be right,” Michael thought to themselves. Although, thinking back, that woman did look strikingly familiar. So familiar, in fact, that—

“Uriel! Take a look at this.” Michael had rolled her rolly chair away from her workstation and towards the cubicle to the right of hers. Uriel popped her head around the weird, cloth divider separating their “offices” with a curious expression.

“Yes, Michael? What is it?” The other angel asked from her rolly chair. Michael gestured that she should roll her rolly chair into Michael’s cubicle.

“I’ve found something strange in the Eden files, take a look at it.” The Eden files was their special code name for anything pertaining to Aziraphale that was not, strictly, on the books. This strange something happened to be a livestream of the street where Aziraphale lived. The woman was getting closer to the shop, although not quite close enough to tell if that was, indeed, where she was going. Michael pointed the woman out to Uriel.

“Now. She looks awfully familiar to me.” Michael’s gaze drifted from their finger to Uriel sitting beside them. Uriel had her thinking face on, which could mean one of a million different things and by this point in their long, coworker relationship, Michael had learned to just let her think. Uriel frowned slightly, moved closer to the screen, tapped a single key on the keyboard in front of them on Michael’s desk, and rewound the feed. She paused it. Zoomed in. Michael wondered why it was so difficult for the Management to install some touchscreens on the ground floor, at least for the Archangels and Possibly a few of the Principalities. They’d seen inside of Gabriel’s office (Yes! A whole, bloody corner office with glass windows instead of walls so that he can survey the worker bees in their nest and not one but TWO whole touchscreens!), after all. Uriel snapped her fingers in front of Michael’s face.

“Michael? Were you listening?” Michael, as you know, had not been listening. At all.

“Of course, Uriel. What was that last bit, again?” Uriel sighed and pointed at the woman zeroed in on.

“She visits the shop almost every day. She might be important.” Michael leaned forward in their rolly chair, squinting at the grainy image despite the fact that every angel had perfect 100/100 eyesight. They hummed.

“Yes. I quite agree. Sandalphon?” They called out the name of the coworker whose cubicle stood on the left side of theirs. They heard the familiar sound of the rolly chair growing nearer until Sandalphon sat beside the two other angels. Michael pointed to the woman on the screen.

“Let’s keep an eye on her.” They all watched as Uriel unpaused and the woman entered the shop.

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They did not have to wait long for the woman to make another move. Only a few hours later, she was hurrying out of the doors, clutching onto her purse and…crying?

“He doesn’t hold on to them long, does he?” Sandalphon remarked, rubbing its forefinger across its teeth diamonds. Uriel giggled but sobered when Michael glared at her. This was not the time for making jokes. That woman was certainly a human woman, there was no doubt about that. Why was she spending so much time around Aziraphale? Why had she run sobbing from his shop? Was this like that holiday Aziraphale took with Alexander the Great? Michael very dearly hoped not—Aziraphale had positively ruined that poor boy.

“Keep your focus on that woman. We need to learn more about her.”

The kept the feed trained on her as she made her way home. She didn’t live too far from Aziraphale’s shop. But just far enough that walking was just slightly out of her way. Uriel, the more softhearted of the bunch of angels huddled around the screen, wondered whether they should miracle her a taxicab, but she was quickly shut down.

“What, and give ourselves away? Gabriel would have our halos!” Michael exclaimed, shifting in their chair. Once the woman was in the door, Michael cut the feed, gaining the attention of the others. They cleared their throat.

“Ahem. So. Not only has Aziraphale been seen consistently in the presence of known Demon Crowley, but he also appears to have developed some sort of relationship with a…mortal woman. Once again, Aziraphale proves that he does not have the strength required to walk among them. Instead, he cavorts with them, befriends them—”

“Runs a bookshop,” Sandalphon growled helpfully. Michael nodded appreciatively.

“—and runs a bookshop. Clearly, he is no longer fit for his position.”

“That’s all well and good, Michael, but he can’t be removed from said position. Only the Almighty can deal with that level of personnel change.” Uriel reminded them calmly. Michael sighed deeply.

“I know that. We all know that. The only problem is something must be done about it. Aziraphale can no longer be allowed to continue this way. It’s heinous.” All the angels nodded their head in mutual agreement. They all tried to think of something they could do, but nothing seemed to jump out at anyone. It stayed like this for a few long moments before suddenly, Sandalphon gasped loudly, startling the other two.

“I know!” it said. “The girl. She’s important to him, right?” Uriel scoffed.

“She did just run from his shop in tears, Sandalphon, did you miss that part?” It was unfazed by Uriel’s goading.

“Exactly. It’s Aziraphale! He’s so soft, he’ll go groveling for her forgiveness within a fortnight. And when he does…”

“They’ll make up with each other. Where are you going with this?” Michael interjected impatiently, not in the mood for idle chatter. Sandalphon grinned, its teeth glinting in the Holy light.

“We kidnap her. Get us in Gabriel’s good books, get some information, and, of course, to scare powe ickle bitty Aziwaphawe. Perfect plan.”

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It was not, as it happens, the Perfect Plan. However, credit is due where credit is due, and that credit goes to Sandalphon for thinking of a Nearly-Perfect Plan. It would have been the Perfect Plan had Aziraphale and that blasted woman not been so stubborn and stayed apart for so long. The days until the Antichrist’s birthday were slowly running out, and the time during which the angels could execute said plan was drawing thin. Thankfully, the two made up just in the nick of time, so it had worked out in the end.

The trio had made the trip to Crowley’s flat, knowing that they would find Aziraphale there. Aziraphale had been flustered, but his story about checking about in the demon’s abode appeared to check out. Michael refused to take their eyes off of him the entire time. After they miracled away, they appeared in an alleyway not far from the woman’s home, and on her usual route. Michael had decided, because Michael was a little bit of an ass at times, to make the mystery just a smudge more difficult by abducting the woman outside of the home BUT simultaneously leaving a single, white wing feather on the floor of her locked flat. It really was quite devious for such a pure-hearted creature. Hmm.

The kidnapping went swimmingly. Uriel snuck up behind the woman, Sandalphon had thrown the bag over her head, and once everything was settled (or as settled as can be with a kicking and struggling woman in tow), Michael miracle them into a top-secret location. I’m afraid that I, as the author, am not at liberty to disclose the location of the following events, because of course I’d have to kill you afterwards, and I’d rather not do that.

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Angels do not have dreams. Angels cause dreams in other people, they take away dreams from other people, and they may, upon occasion, serve as conduits for messages from the Almighty, which often appear to other people as dreams. But Angels themselves do not dream. Except for Aziraphale, evidently, whose subconscious had decided to do away with the natural order of things to just…you know…spice it up a little. Aziraphale frowned deeply in his sleep and rolled over, sniffling.

He was in a corridor. There were no lights, only a faint glow that seemed to come from nowhere at all. There was one door, ahead of him, but the rest of the corridor was bare, empty grey concrete. He began to move towards the door, but the corridor seemed to get longer the closer he got, until he was nearly running, trying to make some progress down the hall but never moving one inch.

The scene changed, the corridor erupting into grey and black smoke that smelt faintly of saltwater taffy. The scene reconstructed itself as a square room lit with an old-fashioned lightbulb swinging slowly back and forth from the ceiling. There was a figure shivering on a metal chair in the center of the room, hands tied behind their back and a sack over their head. Aziraphale heard whimpering from the figure and made to rush over to help them but he found that his feet were rooted to the ground, as though someone had glued them straight to the floor. Aziraphale looked up from his shoes and gasped.

Surrounding the figure were Michael, Uriel, and Sandalphon. Michael stood directly in front of the figure, bending over slightly. Sandalphon stood directly behind the figure, fingers grasping at the sack. Uriel stood apart from them both, in the corner opposite to Aziraphale. Michael made a motion at Sandalphon and it yanked the sack off of the person’s head to reveal—

Y/N. Eyes red from crying, hair a mess, makeup smudged and beyond repair. Aziraphale felt his heart stop beating. What the hell was going on? Was this some kind of joke? A voice, nagging at the edge of his consciousness told him that no, it was not a joke. Aziraphale struggled against whatever was holding his feet down with renewed vigor. He stopped when he heard your voice, hoarse and trembling. It broke him to hear you like that.

“W-who are you? What do you w-want from me?” You coughed, and Aziraphale felt a miracle dance along the tip of his fingers. He would make you well again, he would heal whatever has happened to you. You continued. “I have m-money if that’s it! It’s n-not m-m-much but—”

“Silly girl, we don’t want your money.” Came Sandalphon’s voice.

“Mmm, that’s right.” Michael responded. They leaned in closer to you, and you sank deeper into the chair to escape them. “What we want is information.”

“Wh-What? What information? I don’t- “

“What do you know of the Angel Aziraphale?” Azriaphale’s blood went cold. He had been so close to telling you himself! After all of the Armageddon mess was straightened out, he had promised himself, he would march right up to you and tell you the truth. But not now! Not when he couldn’t be there to explain, when you were hurting, being hurt, tied up like some criminal. A noise horribly like a snarl erupted from Aziraphale’s throat, startling him. Was he truly invisible in this room? After a couple of seconds of pure terror, Aziraphale’s pulse began to slow and he realized that this was most likely a vision dream, a message from someone showing him something that was either already happening, or about to happen. He prayed to anyone who would listen that it was neither of those two options.

“I swear I don’t know!” The sound of your terrified voice brought him back. Sandalphon laughed its ugly laugh and Michael chuckled.

“Should we really be doing this, Michael?” Uriel inquired softly from her spot in the corner. Aziraphale was sure he was just projecting his terror onto her, but he thought he could almost see a hint of concern in her deep black eyes. Michael just shook their head.

“It’s not as though she’ll have very long to remember it, will she?” At this, your body seized in horror, eyes open wide in shock. Fresh tears were streaming down your cheeks. Aziraphale wanted to burn this room to the ground.

“Are…are you going to kill me?” you whispered through your crying. Aziraphale held his breath to listen for the answer:

“Oh, dear me, of course not. Do you know how much paperwork that would be? Oh no. Definitely not killing you. As long as you give us the information we need.” Came Michael’s reply.

Aziraphale felt that old rage bubble up inside him, and his sword hand itched, as though the missing sword were a missing limb instead. He took a deep breath and clenched his hands into fists. He would not debase himself in such an appalling manner. He had grown since those days, and he would not be brought to his knees by a dream.

“I told you, I don’t know anything!” you pleaded desperately. The room was beginning to fade away, smoke swirling at the edges, illuminated by the swinging bulb. Aziraphale cried out, reaching out for you only to be met with empty air.

“Oh, we’ll see about that, now, won’t we?”

The last thing Aziraphale heard before waking was the sound of Michael’s laughter.

Tag List:

@chelsfic @lordbeezyprinceofhell @bi-andreadyto-cry @petalduck @dreamerkim @stripedbugs @caligirl1992 @aelin-thefirebreathingbitchqueen

PLEASE tell my if you want to be added/taken off/have asked before but I’m stupid so you don’t see your name here!!!!

#mine #aziraphale x reader #Aziraphale #crowley #good omens #One Monstrous Miracle #michael sheen

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tio-trile · 4 years

Note

Hey first of all ur Gomens art is just SO GOOD I love ur book and show boys equally!Aziraphale is so fluffy and ur Crowleys are just UGH my heart hes pointy on the outside and soft on the inside and u capture it perfectly. Sorry I’ll get it together 😫 What I *actually* came to ask is what do u think of the hc that pre-bureaucracy Heaven’s lobby area looked like the Uyuni Salt Flats? I like to think Crowley remembers it but Azi doesn’t and one day he shows him the memory. Hope ur staying safe!

Ahh thank you so much for your comment ^^

By “pre-bureaucracy”, does this imply that somebody has to build the Heaven office building...no wait but I thought Heaven and Hell are actually in the same building so...actually, the lobby can still look like that!! Since it’s so reflective Heaven can just be above and Hell is the other way down below. That’s a nice fanart idea. Thanks!

#aksdhl Sorry this got so stream of consciousness #thanks for the #ask #!#Anonymous

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kickingitwithkirk · 4 years

Text

Beyond Seduction: pt II

Pairing: Artist!Sam Winchester x Isobella Tennant

Warnings: cursing, flirting, touching, sexual innuendos, low self esteem, domineering mother

WC:2508

A/N: So in this part Isobella implements the next step in her plan and the slow burn starts building between Sam and her.

Part I

Mobile masterlist

*no beta, all mistakes are mine

***

The new boy had scurried off the fetch more coal as the door knocker sounded. Sam opened it and was stunned to see who was standing there.

“Are you still interested in painting me?”

Sam blinked a few times thinking he was imagining her standing there but no, she hadn’t disappeared. “Did Crowley seek you out to jolly me from the doldrums?” He chided her as he leisurely leaned against the door jam.

Izzy stood up ramrod straight, pushing her shoulders back and jutted out her jaw, “Who’s Crowley? Obviously, you were not serious, I’m sorry to have bothered you.” She tursley replies, marching back down his walkway before he knew it.

“Wait!” Sam called out louder than intended, making her pause as he rushed out the door barefoot wincing from the cold and stopped in front of her, “I’m sorry, you took me by surprise, I was beginning to think I had imagined you.” She raised an eyebrow at that remark.

“Perhaps you should seek help from Doktor Freud,” It was Sam’s turn to raise an eyebrow, surprised she knew about the famous psychoanalyst, “if all you can imagine is someone who looks like me.” He was set back at the disparaging comment about herself.

“How about we discuss it inside before my neighbors think I’m even madder than they already believe.” He glances down drawing her attention to his inappropriate outdoor attire.

“Oh hell, how are you not freezing?”

“Actually, I am but I wasn’t gonna let you disappear again.” She lets out a little huff before proceeding him across the threshold into his brightly lit home.

All the gas lights are turned up as evening sets in, illuminating the area almost as brightly as daytime. Izzy lingers in the entryway looking around at the sumptuous if eclectic furnishings enhanced by the lighter colored walls.

Sam quietly observers her. The coat is way too big, swallowing her frame, gloves are almost worn out and the wool wrapper is hiding most of her head.

She stops, turned in profile in front of a statue of Anubis, running a gloved finger over the engravings along its base. Sam can clearly see the curve of cheekbones and the strong cut of her jaw. Sensing him watching, she turns to face him full on.

Sam steps closer as his artist's eyes continue cataloguing her features. A small smile plays on his lips at an errant smudge of soot on a cheek, the cinnamon freckles dusted across her face standing out against her creamy skin, even her full lips possess them. The nondescript nose is the same.

He remembers her being well above the normal height of most women, realizing it’s not from the heels of her indecently revealed boots under that god awful orange dress, it’s all her.

He moves scant inches in front of her, forcing her to tip her head back to continue making eye contact with him.

Sam’s stomach free falls in disbelief at their color, even her long lashes are exactly like Dean’s.

Were like Dean’s...Sam mentally having to remind himself his beloved older brother has been gone for nearly sixteen years.

“Fuck, your very tall!” She blurts out, snapping him from his dark musings.

“So are you and a lady does not use such language.” Sam gently admonishes, making her snort in a very unladylike manner, “Then you haven’t spent much time around real ladies if you believe they don’t curse.”

Sam chuckles knowing all too well those real ladies. Lady De Burgh did erotic things with him that would have even the lowest prostitute blushing. “You are very free with your opinions.”

She shrugged, “I prefer to be truthful than a sycophant like most of the queen's court.”

“Touché. Now that we are done exchanging the pleasantries,” Sam reached for the top button of the overcoat she stiffened, “I am not a whore even if my employer has cast me off.”

Sam lightly traced the button with his index finger, “He cast you off because of what happened that night?” His voice took a hard edge at how she had been treated by the Duke.

She bit her lower lip looking down, “None of that,” Sam touched her lip gently pulling it free and rubbed his thumb across it, enjoying its plumpness, “I’d rather you didn’t damage yourself and you’ve done nothing wrong to warrant dismissal, even if he has had his fill of you.”

It had always elicited anger in him at how the aristocracy thought they were above reproach for the way they treated those in their employment. Too many times he had seen women dismissed when the lord of the manor was done with them, moving on to the next young chit.

She looked up at him, “I know what is expected of a model...” blushing, she was unable to finish.

“I have never asked any woman to give more than she’s willing. I won’t deny I want you to warm my bed,” her eyes widened as Sam slowly licked his pink lips suggestively, distracting her as he unbuttoned the coat and moving behind her, slips it off, dropping it onto a nearby chair, and lowered his voice saying, “but only because it’s what you want too.”

Sam tipped his head down a bit, close enough she could feel him breathing against her cheek, the heat of him radiating on her back barely a hands width away, making her tremble, getting a sense of how imposing he really is as he takes the end of her scarf and untwined it to reveal her messy, barely held up by a few pins, hair. He gives into temptation and removed them.

Her hair was even more glorious than he remembered, luxuriously thick waves, kinked from the damp weather, tumbled past her waist, below her buttocks, brushing her thighs in a fiery mixture of reds and golds.

Sam walked in front of her watching her shiver, delighted he was already having an affect on her. “You’ve caught a chill. Let me show you to your room where you can freshen up.”

Sam lead her up three flights of stairs to the servants quarters in the attic. “You have the floor to yourself. Mrs. Mills has her own house, the maid lives with an aunt, the new boy is in the carriage house and of course Crowley is in the basement,” Izzy squinted at the amused way he said it, “the butlers quarters.”

“The WC is across the hall.” Sam remarks opening the door for Izzy to enter into the cupboard sized room typical for a governess and leans against the jam crossing his arms.

Upon the washstand sat a chipped basin and pitcher, the dresser had a fine layer of dust on it but the floor was recently swept, the linens laying on the narrow bed appear freshly laundered.

“The stove draws but we don’t skimp on coal, not that I’d expect you to light your own fire unless you want to.” Sam dropped a hand to rest on his thigh emphasizing his actual meaning. “I missed lunch, if you’re hungry, join me in the Blue room in a half hour.”

“You want me to sup with you?” Izzy asked confusedly, assuming she would be taking her meals with his other servants.

“Of course, even though I’m employing you, I prefer my models to dine with me, as would any guest would in my home. I’m afraid it will be whatever Crowley comes up with, Mrs. Mills won’t be back till Monday. If you prefer, I can have something sent up.”

Izzy was about to answer when her stomach rumbled loudly in the quiet quarters making Sam laugh, “I’m guessing you’ll join me?” She nodded in response. “Good, I’ll see you shortly Izzy Morgan.” Sam's eyes raked over her one more time before closing the door. Izzy sat in the bed shaking but not from the cool room.

Whether it was from her adrenaline tapering off or the sheer arousal Sam made her feel she wasn’t sure of. One thing she did know, one way or another, she wouldn’t leave his home an unsullied woman.

Dinner turned out to be sausage, rewarmed biscuits and a gravy that looked strange but was tasty. Sam lounged in his chair watching Izzy eat like a well mannered lady, she obviously had picked that up from being in service, but cleaned her plate like a dock worker. He had to add being a pinch penny to the Duke's growing list of faults when it came to his staff, judging by the way the awful orange dress was to short and hung loosely on her frame.

“I can get Crowley to fix you something else,” a confused expression crossed Izzy features wondering why he said that after she had already finished her dinner, “I noticed you cleared your plate.”

Oh.

Izzy felt her stomach clench so hard it hurt, once again hearing her mother’s voice running through her head about her unladylike appetite, eating everything in front of her as if she was some common field hand instead of a titled lady.

Lavinia Tennant never missed an opportunity to chastise her unladylike daughter.

A true lady eats like a bird, only a few tiny bits of each course out of politeness. No gentlemen would ever want a wife who eats more than him.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to eat this much, I won’t do it again.” Izzy automatically apologized using the tone that always placates her mother, staring at the table.

Sam sat up in surprise watching Izzy rapidly blinking, regaining control of herself realizing he had unwittingly triggered something in her. What had happened to her ? “I didn’t mean to imply you ate too much,” he reached over placing a finger under her chin and gently lifted up trying to get her to look at him, “I thought perhaps you were still hungry and would like something else. I’m not chastising you.”

Izzy finally looked up and Sam was saddened by the expression he found.

“In my home no one goes without what they need, do not be afraid to ask. And you’re welcome to raid my kitchen anytime, day or night. Do you understand me Izzy?”

“Yes sir.”

“Good, and it’s Sam. And do not think it has slipped my notice that you brought nothing, not even a toothbrush. I keep a few clothes on hand for my models but I doubt they’ll fit. If you can survive till Monday, I’ll take you to a dressmaker I know for something that’s not...this.” Sam finished gesturing the dress making him develop a hatred for the color orange.

“I feel like an orange nightmare.” Izzy comments, sounding more like herself.

She was intriguing him more and more. He knew she was made of sterner stuff but wondered what had happened to create the dichotomy he just witnessed.

“If you’re not too tired I want to get you in my studio and do some preliminary sketches tonight.”

***

Izzy wandered around the large room with high ceilings covered in tin refracting the lighting from the towering candelabras Sam lit. He didn’t use the gas lighting in here, something about the way the light cast something or another. She shivered slightly wondering why the room was cooler than the rest of the house.

As Sam pulled out a sketch pad and charcoal from a cabinet watching her moving in the periphery, examining everything with the same curiosity she had shown earlier stopping in front of a small copy of Venus and Cupid with a Saytar. “Did you do this?”

“Yes,” Sam said as he sat down on the stool he had placed near the raised platform covered in pillows, “it was the only one I have left from Italy. The Master would toss all of our works in the fire when he had to much to drink”

“You traveled quite a bit in your studies?”

“I was lucky that I had a chance to study with several Masters around Europe.”

“I’ve only been to Scotland once. Weather was dreadful but I wouldn't have traded it for a month of sunny days.” Izzy moved over to the platform and stood in front of it, “So how do you want me?”

Sam swallowed feeling himself becoming aroused at the innocent question as several ideas ran through his mind. “Please sit, I want to do a few preliminary sketches, familiarize myself with your features.” He watched as she stepped up and sat cross legged on the pillows keeping the ramrod straight posture like a duchess, something ladies were trained to do from childhood.

After about an hour she was wiggling around more than a professional model, “Can you sit still for more than a minute?” Sam huffed out ripping off another sheet, adding it to the growing pile around his feet. “Let's take a break.” Izzy stood up and arched her back stretching that awful dress taught over her revealing some interesting curves under its bagginess.

“That dress has gotten on my last nerve,” Sam barked out and pulled his shirt off handing it to her, “put this on.”

Izzy froze staring at him. She had seen men’s bare chests before, all her brothers weren't the most modest, but their figures were nothing compared to Sam’s.

He possessed musculature that could have been used for an anatomy manual, long chestnut hair brushed his broad shoulders encased in sun kissed golden skin, random beauty marks dotted his torso, a light smattering of hair sat between his nipples, toned stomach accented by the deep v of his hips.

Izzy already thought he was extremely attractive but after seeing Sam like this, he was breathtakingly beautiful.

Reluctantly taking the shirt she moved behind the carved screen participating a corner and unbuttoned her dress with shaking fingers. “Don’t forget to remove your chemise too.” Sam said standing directly on the other side.

“I know that Sam.” Izzy irritably tossed her dress over the screen hearing Sam curse after it landed on his head making her giggle.

She peeked around the screen at the sound of the candelabras being moved behind the platform. “I need to see you in a different lighting angle.” Sam tells her before perching on the stool again.

“Whenever your ready.”

Izzy feels her breathing becoming rapid as her nerves take over. She’s never been this undressed in front of any man before, not even Greyson and Sam Winchester was definitely not just any man.

“I know your nervous but I will only look at you as an artist and their subject. I won’t do anything untoward you unless you want it too.” Sam emphasizes again.

Izzy took a deep breath and came around the screen, walked to the platform and stepped on it.

“Don’t sit yet, move to the center in front of me please.” She moved to the designated spot.

“Turn around slowly,”

Sam felt his breath catch as the lighting behind her turned his white shirt translucent and he could see her figure.

Forevers: @donnaintx

#artist!sam winchester x isobella tennant #romance #sam winchester x ofc #slow burn #sam winchester fanfiction #victorian era #artist!sam winchester #sam winchester #sam winchester au

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mortuarybees · 5 years

Text

It looks like this:

The air is cool and thick, filled with a light mist, and it promises a rainy and dreary day; but it is barely dawn, now, and there is a soft, muted beauty to the darkness of the street below, just barely lit with a thin grey light. Crowley leans out their small window balcony, a cigarette posed on his lips, the watering can balanced on the sill. He exhales a cloud of smoke, watching the way the water in the air weighs it down, makes it heavy, and a smile curves around a wide yawn. He loathes waking this early, has never been a morning person, but it's not so bad, to enjoy the stillness before the bustle of a busy, thriving city.

Aziraphale doesn't like it when he smokes; he says there are less dangerous vices to indulge, worries about his lungs, and Crowley understands, he does, but he's smoked on and off for some twenty years now, and he likes the way it fills him up, that nicotine rush, and then settles him, gives him something to do with his nervous, flighty hands.

{It looks like this:

This was their first argument, sometime on the dark walk home from a date. It was weeks before Aziraphale finally hauled Crowley in for a kiss, asked him, like it was 1945, if he wanted to go steady, like Crowley hadn't been committed to him since the moment he first saw him, that afternoon during fresher's week, hadn't already laid in bed and thought, I'm going to marry him, after their third date. He was bad-tempered this evening, though he'd still insisted on going out, and Crowley pulled out his pack of cigarettes, smacking it against his palm.

"Must you do that?" Aziraphale snapped at him.

Crowley paused, a cigarette halfway to his mouth. Early on, he'd always asked before smoking around Aziraphale, but he'd always said yes, so he stopped asking. "No, I can wait."

"I mean at all," Aziraphale said. "It's terrible for you, don't you know?"

"Lots of things are terrible for me, angel, I can't quit them all," he drawled.

"You could quit the one most likely to kill you," he said. "Really, it's a disgusting habit."

"Oh, disgusting, is it?" he said, raising his eyebrows. He'd been short and irritable all night, picking at his food, complaining about the weather, and it had put Crowley in a foul mood too. "I'm disgusting, now?" He knew that wasn't really a fair leap to make, but Aziraphale was clearly roiling for an argument, and Crowley was sick of trying to be the bigger person.

"That's not what I said," he said, scowling. "But the habit certainly does you no credit."

"What, not fancy enough for you?" he said, irritation buzzing in his chest. He'd seen the tense set of Aziraphale's shoulders, his squared jaw, tilted frown, and he'd asked if he was sure he wanted to go out tonight, promised they could reschedule, or do something else, but he'd insisted. Yet he'd spent the whole night picking at him, like he wanted him to get pissed. He lit the cigarette anyway, though because he wasn't a complete asshole, he still held it in the hand opposite Aziraphale, careful that the smoke didn't drift to him. "You want me to smoke cigars, or--" he gestured, "get those gold tipped things they have in the movies? This too base for you?"

"It certainly smells worse," he sniffed, tilting his chin imperiously, and--well, it hurt, a little, and his temper flared in response.

"Oh, that why you won't kiss me then?" he snapped. He hadn't brought it up, really, not since he asked if he could kiss him after their first date and he said no, told him he wanted to go slow, and Crowley was happy to oblige, but it had been seven dates, and a guy started to wonder if there wasn't something wrong, at a certain point. "You used to guys tasting like--like--" he fumbled, and cursed at himself. What the hell did rich guys taste like? "Fancy mints?" Oh, fancy mints, brilliant. They entered the campus grounds, and Crowley's stomach sank. He hadn't realized they were so close, he didn't want to end the evening on a sour note.

Aziraphale turned red. "Maybe," he hissed, "I just don't want to get too attached to someone for whom this clearly means far less."

Crowley stared at him, the cigarette loose between his fingers. "The fuck?" he managed to spit out.

"I think I'm going to take the shortcut," he said, stopping abruptly on what was, admittedly, the more direct path to his dorm. They usually drew the evenings out, though, taking their time, usually even lingered for a bit to chat outside his building. "Good night, Crowley." And with that, and Crowley struck dumb, he stormed away.)

He hears the bedroom door creak open, and hurriedly stubs the cigarette out on the brick side of the building, drops it in the little canister just out the window, mostly hidden, and fumbles to pick up the watering can. Aziraphale putters around in the kitchen, filling the electric kettle, putting bagels in the toaster.

"There's that box of strawberries in the fridge," he reminds him without turning around, watering a rose bush. "Need to eat them today or they'll go bad." Aziraphale only hums in response, and Crowley's lip twitches. He likes the mornings, will even get up early when he doesn't have to, the monster, but he's not functional before his tea, will barely say a word.

There's the familiar clatter of mugs taken down from the cupboard, the kettle lifted from its base, the bubbling whoosh of boiling water over tea bags, and he smiles, listening to Aziraphale's familiar footfalls approach. He sets Crowley's tea on the windowsill and wraps his arms around his stomach, pressing a kiss to his neck. "Good morning, dear."

"Morning," he says, turning his head to kiss him on the cheek.

"How are your little darlings?"

"My little disappointments are doing fine," he says. "The damned hyacinth should be in bloom by now. I might have to toss it," this he directs at the offending pot in question.

"Oh, do give it a chance, love," Aziraphale tuts. He leans back a bit to sip his tea, and Crowley puts the watering can down on the balcony, picks up his own mug. It's uncomfortably hot against his coldnumb fingers, and he scowls. "It's going to be a gloomy day, isn't it?"

"Seems like it," he mutters, squinting out at the slowly lightening street. Aziraphale's warm body pressed against his back is a pleasant contrast against the chill, and he leans back against him, smiling at how he tightens his arm around his middle, kisses the bend of his neck.

Then he sniffs at his collar, and lifts his head. "You've been smoking."

"Haven't," Crowley says weakly, and Aziraphale sighs, shaking his head.

"I just wish you wouldn't," he says. "It's terrible for you."

"Yeah, yeah, I know," he agrees, and brightens, turning around. Aziraphale's soft hair is sleep-mussed, sticking up at odd angles, and his eyes are bleary. His pajamas have always been ridiculous; a matching set, under a proper banyan, like some kind of Austen man. "How about we make a deal?"

"A deal?" Aziraphale smiles. "What kind of deal?"

"We play hooky today," he says, and Aziraphale's smile dims. "No, listen, we stay home today, just the two of us, lounge around eating strawberries, ignore our phones, and this'll be my last pack. Scout's honor."

"We don't have that many strawberries," Aziraphale points out, brow furrowing. "You weren't in the Scouts."

"Whatever," Crowley says, waving dismissively. "We spend the day together. Maybe we could go to the Tate, haven't been there in a while, or--"

"Crowley, dearest," he says with great gentleness, "we can't. My hours--"

"Just today," Crowley says. "C'mon, when's the last time you called in sick?"

"They're practically looking for excuses to fire people, dear," Aziraphale says, biting his lip. "I'm sorry, it would just be--well, terribly irresponsible."

"What's the point of life if we can't be irresponsible sometimes," Crowley mutters, but he knows he's right. Disappointment curls in his stomach, and a bit of despair, too--he works six days out of the week, and too little of his and Aziraphale's time overlaps. They're luckier than most, he knows that, but that still doesn't mean enough.

"I'm sorry," he says, eyes downcast, and Crowley summons a smile, pats his arm.

"Not your fault," he says. "It's capitalism, right?" He takes his tea into the kitchen to pull their bagel halves out of the toaster, fetching the pot of cream cheese and box of strawberries from the fridge.

(It looks like this:

Crowley lay in bed, staring up at the crack in the ceiling and itching to do something terribly irresponsible like find someone to give him a stick-and-poke tattoo, or something cheesy like throw rocks at Aziraphale's window so he could apologize.

Except it wasn't really his fault, was it? Aziraphale had been needling him all night, but--well, he'd known he was just in a bad mood, and he'd given into it anyway, snapped at him, made it more personal than cigarettes. But he did imply that Crowley was disgusting, which was cruel.

He rolled over with a groan, pulling the thin Romeo and Juliet paperback from under his pillow, and opened it to the strip of pictures they'd taken in a photo booth at a festival on the high street. Aziraphale was flushed red with excitement and the two drinks he'd put away, his hair a bit wild, glasses askew; it had gotten too warm for even him to wear his blazer, and it was slung over Crowley's arm, the one that wasn't wrapped around his shoulders. They beamed at the camera in the first, Crowley gave him rabbit ears in the second, in the third Aziraphale pressed his hair into his cheek, Crowley making a face at him, and in the fourth, Aziraphale kissed him on the cheek, Crowley's eyes wide, mouth agape. He'd wanted to turn and kiss him properly, press him against the inside of the photo booth and kiss him like he'd never been kissed before, until someone came to kick them out, dragged them out by their feet and told them to get lost, and find an alley to continue it, but he'd held back, knowing he'd only kissed his cheek because he was tipsy, he didn't mean it as an invitation.

How could he think that it didn't mean as much to Crowley? The very idea completely baffled him; he felt quite certain that if either of them had been standoffish or aloof, it had been Aziraphale. Aziraphale had asked him out a few times now, shy and nervous like he thought Crowley was going to refuse--and Christ, he'd thought his heart would stop that first time, the pink flush in his cheeks, the way he just barely glanced at Crowley from under his lashes--but it had been Crowley chasing him, not the other way around. It was Aziraphale who said he wanted to go slow, didn't want to kiss him, hardly wanted to do anything but hold hands on occasion, and stroll arm in arm--

Alright, it had to be mentioned, Crowley loved that, he loved how Aziraphale went for strolls, not walks, strolls, had his favorite routes for whatever mood he happened to be in, the shyness with which he brought Crowley to new paths, like he was introducing him to his family, how he liked to do it with their arms linked, occasionally leaned his head on Crowley's shoulder, and he could smell his shampoo mingled with the spring air. Crowley had dated guys before, slept with guys before, but nothing he'd ever done had been so intoxicating as catching a whiff of Aziraphale's cologne. He felt giddy and lovesick and wild about him; but there was a peace he'd started to find too, a stillness, like the whole world was spinning around him, off-kilter and fast, but Aziraphale made him feel grounded, like he didn't have to sprint to catch up with everyone else. Like it would be enough to just lay in the grass and watch the rest of the world make itself sick running endless races, those loud American cars in neverending laps.

Oh, yes, he was completely fucked.

He closed the book and pressed his face into the pillow, unable to look at the photos anymore. What if Aziraphale didn't want to see him again? Maybe he'd pushed too much, maybe he'd made him feel rushed, he did hound him an awful lot, and being entirely honest with himself, Aziraphale could do much better than some broke asshole in secondhand clothes reeking of smoke who'd fallen head over heels for him two days into meeting him--

Someone knocked at the door, and Crowley shoved his head under the pillow, scowling. His roommate groaned theatrically from the other bed. Whoever it was kept knocking, and finally called, "Crowley, phone for you."

Crowley opened his eyes, frowning. No one really called him. Certainly not his family. Aziraphale, very occasionally, but not often, and not tonight, not after how they'd ended things.

"C'mon, mate, I don't have all night," they snapped, stomping away, and Crowley got to his feet, shuffling out the door and to the phone down the hall, hanging just off the hook.

He picked it up. "Hello?"

"Oh, Crowley, dear," Aziraphale said, sounding relieved, and Crowley pulled back to stare at the phone, a startled warmth flooding him. "I wasn't sure you'd take my call."

"You didn't say you'd be calling," he said, leaning against the wall. He bit down on a smile, ducking his head to hide it behind his hair, inspecting his bare feet on the carpet.

"Well, ah, I left in quite a state, didn't I?" he said, huffing an embarrassed laugh. "I didn't intend to call then, but the moment I left, I regretted it, dear boy, you have to believe me. I'm terribly sorry for what I said."

"You're--sorry?" Crowley blinked.

"Of course," he said. "I'm so sorry, I--I was upset, irritated, and I took it out on you, and that wasn't right."

"Uh," Crowley cleared his throat. "No, 's fine."

"It isn't," he said. "I do hope you'll let me make it up to you. Perhaps we could have dinner tomorrow night? If--if you'd rather wait, or think about it, given my behavior, I understand--"

"No, dinner sounds great," Crowley said, grinning. His throat felt thick and his eyes stung with tears, and it was stupid, he wasn't even sure why, he'd just--half expected, he supposed, that he'd have to grovel forever for another chance, for Aziraphale to forgive him. Never thought he'd be the one to apologize. "Actually, what are you doing right now?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"What're you doing now?" he bit his lip. "There's a 24 hour pub down the street, we could grab something now."

"It's nearly midnight," Aziraphale said, but Crowley could hear his smile. "I'm in my pajamas."

"It's a 24 hour pub down from a university, angel, I'm sure they've seen worse than some kid in silk pajamas."

"You don't know they're silk."

"I do."

"You don't."

"Are they?"

Aziraphale paused. "Maybe."

Crowley barked out a laugh. "See? I know you."

"I suppose you do," he mused. "If you insist. So long as you're in your pajamas as well."

"I am," he assured him. "I'll put on shoes for you, though. Wouldn't want to scandalize you with my ankle."

"I appreciate that," he said drily. "You know, I've never been out of the house in my pajamas before."

"I'm honored to be your first," Crowley said earnestly. "I'll be at your dorm in five, alright?"

"Alright, dear boy," he said, his voice warm. "I'll be waiting.)

Aziraphale sits his tea on the counter beside Crowley's and sighs, running a soothing hand down his spine. "I am sorry, dear."

"No, I know," Crowley says. "I'm not upset with you, just...the situation. I'd just like to have a day together. Another one, I guess."

"I know," Aziraphale murmurs. "Still, I'm sorry. I wish we could too."

Crowley leans back into his hand as he smears cream cheese on their bagels. "Fuck capitalism."

Aziraphale laughs. "Fuck capitalism," he agrees, and moves away to get the small cutting board and a knife from the drying rack to cut up the strawberries.

"Thanks for saying 'fuck,'" Crowley says, lips curving. "You know it always makes me smile."

"I do," he says.

They move to the small dining table with their tea and bagels, and Aziraphale takes Crowley's hand, smiling at him like they're two kids on a first date, and runs his thumb along his knuckles. "Maybe you could try and come home a few hours early? And we could rent that movie you've been wanting to watch, the one about Queen."

Crowley beams at him. "That'd be--I'd love it," he says, squeezing his hand, even though it'd be easier to eat his bagel with both free. "Maybe a bottle of wine from Sainsbury's?" He quirks his brow, smiles suggestively. "We've already got condoms, don't worry about that."

Aziraphale laughs, shaking his head. "Subtle, darling."

"Oh, really? Wasn't trying to be."

"You're entirely incorrigible," he sniffs, and pauses. "Good to know, though."

(It looks like this:

It was dark and quiet out, a Tuesday night, intimate in the shadows between the lampposts. Aziraphale did wear silky pajamas, under a hideous paisley dressing gown, and it looked so at odds with his wingtips Crowley couldn't help but laugh. They held hands, talking and yawning in the street, and separated only to find the backmost booth of the pub.

Aziraphale ordered tea and a slice of pie, and kicked at Crowley and scowled until he ordered chips.

"What had you so irritated, then?" Crowley asked finally, after the waiter had brought their food.

Aziraphale took his time putting his napkin in his lap, twirled his fork around in his hand, before answering. "I spoke to my brother on the phone, before you came. He just makes me so angry, sometimes, and I--shouldn't have taken it out on you. I'll do my best to be more considerate, in the future."

"Did you mean what you said, though?" Crowley said, and winced. He should just accept the apology, he shouldn't push at him, only he knew it would dog him until he got an answer. He inspected a chip carefully to avoid his eye.

"About the cigarettes? I do worry about you, dear, truly, but I don't think it's disgusting," he said. "Or--well. I always have, but you...look rather cool, I think. Smoking isn't, but--you are. I was being cruel, and I do apologize, truly."

"No," he said, clearing his throat. "The...other thing. About me not caring as much."

"Ah," Aziraphale said, and Crowley glanced up to see him staring at the table, gnawing at his lip. "Well, it's only--you're just very handsome, Crowley, and interesting, and--and cool. I'm sure you get this sort of thing all the time, but I don't." He laughed, just a quiet thing. "I don't really talk to people, much, and I...always kind of thought," he traces a whirl in the surface of the table, "this sort of thing wouldn't happen, for me. Being trans. It's silly, I know, but I was always afraid...and you've really no idea what it means to me, to have it. For it to be you. I like you, a lot."

"Angel," Crowley said, his voice coming out choked; and unsure what to say, he simply reached out, taking his hand, holding it there on the table. "I think I do know."

Aziraphale peeked at him. "You do?"

"I like you too, angel," he said, running his thumb along Aziraphale's. "God, I like you a lot." He laughed, mouth quirking. "Too much, maybe. I don't...this means a lot to me, too. I don't want you to think it doesn't."

"Oh," he said. "Good, then."

"Yeah," Crowley breathed, beaming at him. "Good.")

They're halfway through Bohemian Rhapsody and their bottle of wine when the storm takes the power out, plunging the flat into darkness.

Crowley's head is in his lap, Aziraphale's hand stroking his hair, fingertips dragging along his scalp the way he knows Crowley likes, and when the tv screen goes dark, he groans, turning to press his face into Aziraphale's stomach.

"Oh, dear," Aziraphale murmurs, and he sounds genuinely upset. "Oh, Crowley, I'm so sorry."

"'s fine," he says, voice muffled in Aziraphale's shirt. "We've got it another couple of days, don't we?"

"We do," he says. "Still, I'm sorry. I wanted us to have a nice night together, I know you--"

"We are having a nice night together," Crowley scolds, sitting up. He loops his arms around Aziraphale's neck, playing with the shawl collar of his pajama shirt. "We always have a nice night together."

"I know, but you wanted to do something special," Aziraphale sighs.

"Things do always seem to go wrong," he agrees, and gets to his feet. "The candles are in the coat closet, aren't they?"

"We should just go to bed," Aziraphale says, and Crowley gestures at him dismissively, rummaging around for the bag of half-melted candles they've collected over the years from various charity shops. He carries them through the kitchen into the living room, piled precariously in his arms, and sets to putting them around the room. "Here, dear, let me--"

"I've got it," Crowley says, waving him back towards the couch. He fumbles with his lighter, making his way to all the candles. The light is dim and orange and ever-moving, and when he turns to face Aziraphale, to see that he's satisfied with Crowley's work, his breath stalls in his throat, at how it plays on his face, gentle and glowing. He looks...younger, softer, but there's still those delighted crows feet around his eyes, that deep furrow between his brows, the laugh lines from his nose to his mouth. He's smiling, pleased, the shadows dancing to highlight the curve of his cheek, then his soft jaw, his hair, fresh-washed that afternoon and free of product, curling against his forehead. He looks warm, and inviting, and like home, like a soft blanket and a hearth, and Crowley moves towards him, drawn like gravity, and straddles him, legs bracketing his hips, arms looping back around his neck. "Hey."

His smile turns, somehow, softer, fonder, and he says, “hello, you."

"God, you're beautiful," he says, and kisses the blush that rises in his cheeks, has every time he's said it without fail.

"As are you, my dear," he says, winding a lock of Crowley's hair around his finger. "Oh, how lucky we are."

"It's not luck," he says, and leans in to kiss him. "Fate, baby. It's fate."

(human au masterpost + ao3)

#This Had No Point But None Of Them Do #henry speaks #good omens #human au #ineffable husbands #smoking cw #im sorry smoking has become a Theme lately it's very not cool many of my relatives have died from lung diseases related to smoking or are il #*ill #It's Just About The Intimacy #anyway communicating is good and sexy #henry writes

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sintheyokai · 5 years

Text

Uncle

So @oiseaunoir11 and I were chatting and I threw this idea into the void and he really liked it so here I am starting to write a Twisted Wonderland drabble story with an OC I made on the spot. Al this may involve Morad. Also this might involve @edda-blattfe HC about Rook so CW for Implied Abuse towards like... The end? And @twistedwonderlandimagines HC about Pomefiore vs. Savanaclaw. Rated T for like... One swear?

Uncle

Vil sleepily walked through the halls of Night Raven college. He had gotten a late night notice from Sam (although he's still questioning how the shopkeeper got into the dorm) that someone was waiting for him in the front office.

Headmaster Crowley's office, specifically.

Needless to say, he was a bit confused and pissed (who dare wake up the beautiful Vil Schoenheit?), but he went regardless, never changing out of his pajamas.

He finally reached the door, and rapped on it three times.

"Come in." he heard the Headmaster speak from inside. Vil entered, only to be nearly tackled by a hug.

"Vil, my dear little brother, it's so good to SEE you!"

Oh by the Evil Queen no.

"Phillis?" Vil raised a sleepy eyebrow at his brother.

Phillis was much taller than Vil, and looked nothing like him. He had pitch black hair, his eyes a sweet warm brown, and skin much paler than his, but cheeks having a beautiful rosy hue.

"That would be me, Vil! Thank you for stopping by, I was worried you'd continue your beauty sleep."

"I nearly did..." he peeked behind his elder brother to see a woman holding something wrapped in a blanket. "Oh, Casanine! You're here too?"

Casanine giggled softly, "Of course, Vil, you should know by now that my husband and I are joined at the hip!"

Casanine was nothing short of a doll. Her face was round and delicate, and her whole body was like china. She, too, had jet black hair that reached to her mid back. But instead of brown eyes like his brother, hers were a piercing blue.

Crowley cleared his throat as to gain their attention.

"Mr. Schoenheit, I believe you have something important to tell your brother?" he pressed.

"Oh! Yes!" Phillis suddenly grabbed Vil's shoulders lightly.

"We need you to look after Ebony."

There was a silence. Vil wasn't quite sure he'd heard right. Was he still asleep?

"Wh-What?" he stuttered. Phillis shook his head, bowing in apology.

"I know, I know, it's far too early, and you probably have quite a lot of work to do, but Cas and I have major tests till Friday, and my school rules state we can't bring our kids during those kinds of tests."

"But doesn't she have school?"

"No, it's Heroes Week, she's off of school for now."

"So I'm...."

"Babysitter from today through Thursday, yes Vil."

Phillis then picked a bag up off the floor, offering it to Vil.

"She's got her blanket, her stuffed bird, some snacks in case she doesn't want anything here, pajamas, spare clothes, toothbrush and paste, medicine and bandaids, and some storybooks in case she has a rough night."

Vil took the bag and slung it over his head and onto his shoulder. He then held out his arms to Casanine, who carefully handed him the little blanketed bundle that was his niece. She stirred a bit, looking up at her uncle.

"Uncle Vil?" she said, in a cute yet groggy and sleepy voice as she looked up at him with equally sleepy doe eyes.

"Good morning, Ebony~" he cooed, stroking her bobbed black hair before turning back to his elder brother and sister in law.

"You two go home and get some rest before testing. I'll take care of her."

"Thank you SO much, Vil," Casanine smiled, "This means the world to us!"

"Not a problem, Cas."

And with that, Vil left for his dorm, Ebony lightly snoring all the way.

--- --- ---

The next morning was hectic. Vil was the last one still asleep, and Rook was getting everyone ready. He left for Vil's private room for a moment, pounding on the door four loud times. He put his ear to the door.

"Uncle Vil! You're being robbed!" he heard a far too loud whisper.

Rook raised an eyebrow before Epel came by.

"Has he still not answered?"

"No, but I heard someone in there...

They put their ears to the door once more.

"Uncle Vil! There's two! Wake up!"

A rustle of sheets. Silence. A hurried rustle of sheets. Then Vil, quite loudly:

"I slept in! Oh by the GREAT SEVEN, I am laTE! Sweetheart, see who's at the door!"

Rook and Epel were surprised to hear the word 'Sweetheart'. They stepped back to allow said "Sweetheart" to open the door.

The large wooden door was opened, but Rook and Epel saw nothing.

"Uncle Vil, are these your fends or should I gab a boom?"

The duo jumped and looked down to see a small child, probably elementary school aged. She was pale, had shiny, bobbed black hair, and big blue eyes that looked far too big for her head.

"Rs, Ebony, remember to practice your Rs." Vil ignored the question, finally tying up his sash and grabbing a small, short sleeved denim jumpsuit from the bag on the floor. Ebony puffed her cheeks a little, then tried again.

"Are. These. Your. FrrrrrrIENDSSSSS... Or. should. I. GrrrrrrrAb. A brrrrrrOOOOOOm?"

Vil gave her a small smile, "They're friends sweetheart. Now go put this on, quickly, so we can get you something to eat as fast as possible!"

"Okay! You look RRReally pretty today Uncle Vil!" Grinning, the child grabbed the jumpsuit and ran to the bathroom to change. Vil looked at the gaping mouths belonging to Rook and Epel.

"My niece." he said, only causing the mouths to gape further.

Ebony was soon out of the bathroom, making a beeline for her pair of laced, red tennis shoes and purple socks. Vil glanced at the clock. They had 15 minutes to get to the Mostro Lounge to probably grab a quick bite before his classes.

"Ebony, honey, do you need help tying-"

"No thank you! Watch!" the child grew a cat like grin before quickly tying her shoelaces, "Look Uncle Vil! I did it!"

"Ahh! Look at you, tying them all by yourself!" Vil squealed as Ebony got the other shoe tied, "Such a big girl, I'm so proud! Now come along, let's go get something to nibble on!"

She grabbed her stuffed bird as he gently took her tiny hand before pulling her alongside him, Rook and Epel following close behind.

Upon entering the common room, there was an explosion of "Awwww!"s and "So cute!"s among the students. Vil paused for a bit.

"Everyone! This is my niece: Ebony Black Schoenheit, her parents can't take her to their school due to testing, so we have to care for her, understood!?"

A collective "Yes Dorm Master" was heard before Vil rushed out, niece in tow.

By some damn miracle, they made it to the cafe with 10 minutes to spare and at a minimal line. When they got to the counter, Azul took a quick glance at Ebony.

"Heroes Week?" he guessed. Vil was slightly taken aback at the guess.

"Yes, actually, how'd you guess? Oh, and two of the chocolate croissants if you can, Azul."

Ebony suddenly gasped, peeking into the glass cake cabinet.

"Morad!" she squealed, dashing behind the counter before Vil could catch her. Ebony practically tackled the poor, unfortunate child to the ground in a hug.

"Ah! Ebony!!" Morad squealed with equal delight upon realizing who was hugging him.

"Morad, get off the floor, you might trip someone." Azul asked politely, the two children getting up quickly, "Is this the Little Miss Ebony you've told me so much about?

Ebony grinned and bounced about, "Moraaad! You did tell your big bother about me!"

"Ebony, dear, I know you're having fun, but Uncle Vil needs to get to class!"

"Okay! Who's your fist class?"

"My FIRST class is Potions with Professor Crewel."

"Boom boom class?"

"Yes, Ebony, boom boom class."

"YAY!!" Ebony burst into a fit of giggles as she ran to her uncle, who handed her one of the croissants as they walked out the door.

--- --- ---

When they walked in, just as the bell rang, Divus spoke.

"Mr. Schoenheit, is there a reason you're bringing a child to my class?"

"My apologies, Professor, my brother and his wife had their own classes to go to, and they couldn't bring her today."

Cater went wide eyed, "You have a brother??"

"Yes, put a sock in it, Cater!"

"That's enough." Divus raised a hand, "Very well. As long as she doesn't get too close to any potions."

Ebony suddenly hugged the professor.

The room was silent.

Then a muffled voice came from the depths of his fur coat.

"Fluffyyyyyyy~~."

For the entirety of Potions class, Ebony practically stuck like glue to Divus, playing with his coat and occasionally asking her uncle what he was brewing. There was only one explosion throughout the lesson, which made her scream (and sent her into a concerningly gleeful frenzy).

Once that class was over, Vil gave her a key.

"Ebony, sweetie, go grab your blanket, my next class is going to be Professor Trein, he's a bit boring. Do you remember where it is?"

"Yep! On your bed!"

"Good. And if you get lost, you know what to do?"

"Find somebody and be caful."

Vil kissed her forehead and patted it, "Yes, find someone and be careful. I love you."

Ebony giggled, running off to the Pomefiore dorm as Vil went to History, only hoping that his niece would make it to both the dorm and class safely.

--- --- ---

Kalim and Jamil were just coming from the infirmary. Kalim had fallen off his broom during flight class and had needed to go get a few bones healed by the nurse. As they walked through the halls, they heard a little voice.

"E-Excuse me!"

They turned to see a little girl, holding a blanket and stuffed bird, trembling a few feet behind them.

"Hey kiddo!" Kalim grinned, "Something you need?"

"D-Do you know where M-Mr. Trein's class is?"

Kalim and Jamil glanced at each other. Was this Mozus' granddaughter or something?

"Yeah!" Kalim answered, "We're headed there now actually! You wanna come?"

She said nothing, only grabbing Kalim's hand and staying close.

Mozus was in the middle of a lecture when they came in.

"Mr. Viper. Mr. Al-Asim." he said, eyes brooding, "You are late."

"Yep! Nurse." Kalim chirped, handing his professor his and Jamil's late passes.

"And what of this child?" Mozus pressed.

"They finally adopted!" Floyd shouted from the back of the class, sending a small ripple of giggles throughout the classroom.

Ebony suddenly let go of Kalim's hand, making a beeline for her zoning out uncle. He only snapped out of it once Ebony started shaking him and squeaking a whisper.

"Uncle ViL!"

"Ebony! Oh Ebony, baby, what's wrong?"

Ebony nuzzled deep into Vil's chest before looking up at him with nearly falling tears and failing a whispered whimper.

"I DOn't liKE THE SHot scAy rED maaaaaaaN!"

The room was silent as only one thought ran thought ran through Vil Schoenheit's mind.

I am going to fucking murder Riddle Rosehearts.

"Mista, may I pet your kitty?" Ebony's attention was immediately taken by Lucius lazing about on Mozus' desk, all fear vanishing into piqued curiosity.

The class held their breath. Surely Mozus Trein had enough heart to-

"Absolutely not."

One could almost hear the imaginary mirror shatter into a thousand pieces.

"Aww... Okay!" Ebony piped, not seeming bothered as she snuggled into her stuffed bird and put the blanket over her shoulders.

Vil rubbed her back before Mozus continued his lecture.

---

15 minutes left. 15 minutes and he'd be out of this hell with Ebony in tow.

Vil was having much more trouble staying awake during Professor Trein's lecture on the History of Sirens. It also didn't help that he was constantly distracted by his niece's blanket, which just didn't want to stay over her shoulders.

He suddenly realized that he couldn't find Lucius. He wasn't on the desk, nor playing with some books in the storage room, so where...?

He heard a soft purr to his right, and he glanced over to see...

"Lucius, let the child sleep." Mozus interrupted himself for but a minute before continuing. He didn't get far though, as Lucius continued to seemingly nip at Ebony's hair. "Lucius! Let her sleep!"

Lucius suddenly grabbed a corner of the blanket, dragging it over her shoulder and tucking it in with his paws. He grabbed the other corner and repeated the process. Then, after the cat seemed satisfied with his work, he curled up, cuddling near Ebony's head.

Silence.

"Ahem! So, c-can anyone here, tell me, whyyyyyy-" Mozus struggled to keep his composure and continue the lesson. Several jaws nearly dropped.

The man had a weakness.

And they just found it.

Even once that class ended, Ebony was still asleep, so Vil loosely wrapped the blanket around her before picking her and his bags up, walking to the mess hall.

About halfway there, she stirred awake.

"Where are we going Uncle Vil?"

"Lunch, honey. Do you want me to put you down?"

"No thank you. Unless it helps you walk! Wait..." she suddenly hugged his neck, "Will the scay red man be there?"

Vil patted her head, "Yes, sweetheart. But don't worry!" he gave her a small, playfully happy pout, "Uncle Vil will take care of the scary short red man for you, okay?" he tickled her a little on the neck, sending her into a giggle frenzy.

"Okay! You're so strong Uncle Vil! And so pretty!"

They made it to the mess hall, and Vil sat his niece beside Rook. He then told Ebony:

"What did the scary man do, honey?"

"He sceamed 'Off with your head!', and I didn't know if he meant me."

"Okay, so Uncle Vil's going to fight the scary red man okay?"

Ebony started to tear up, "Please don't die Uncle..." she whimpered, bottom lip quivering. Vil kissed her forehead.

"I won't, Ebony sweetie. Go play with Morad! Maybe that will help."

And he rushed to the Heartzlabyul table while Ebony went to the Octavinelle table on the other side of the room.

"RIDDLLLLLEE!" Vil yelled, making the monarch nearly choke on his cupcake. He turned around with a fierce scowl.

"Schoenheit, how dare you yell at-"

"Do you want to explain why you were screaming in the hall?"

"My dorm members were being disrespectful!"

"Really!? Cause you done scared the shit out of my niece because she thought you were talking to her!"

Riddle was silent for a moment.

"You have a niece? How old?"

"Five, soon to be six. Wait no that wasn't the point of this conversation!"

Riddle went pale.

"Oh... I-"

Riddle paused. The words he were about to say felt so weird!

"I'm sorry. Is there a way I could make it up?"

"Yes, actually." Vil whispered something into Riddle's ear. Riddle let loose a small smile.

"Of course, Vil! I'll see to it by tonight!"

"Good. Now, I'm going back to my ta-"

"VIL!"

Vil snapped his attention to the voice, Epel quickly hurrying to him.

"Savanaclaw has Ebony!" he said, clearly panicking.

"Is she hurt?" Vil asked.

"Not yet!"

"Then what's wrong?"

"Y-You're not worried?"

Vil sighed, "One thing my brother taught me and his kid is that your decisions are no one else's but your own, and that as long as it doesn't harm yourself and others, be it in the short or long run, go for it. Trust your gut too."

Epel listened carefully to these words.

“So even if I hate those beasts’ guts, as long as Ebony is safe, I’m fine.

There was then a sudden scream.

"Uncle Vil!! Look!!! I'M SO HIGH!!!"

Vil looked over to see his niece on the first year's, Jack's, shoulders, eyes wide and face in utter joy.

The Pomefiore Dorm Leader and the Savanaclaw Dorm Leader locked eyes.

And suddenly Leona knew.

And Vil knew that Leona knew.

Leona looked at Ebony and seemed to tell her something. She frowned, but almost immediately perked up again before asking Jack something. He seemed hesitant, but eventually gave in to her smile and started walking towards Vil.

"So she's yours?" he asked.

"My niece, but yes." Vil smiled, "I see she already adores you. Must be the ears; she's always had an immense love for animals and anything animal-esque. Kemonomimis, Anthros, the like."

"Uncle Vil, Uncle Vil! I met a little blue fie haid boy!"

"A blue fire haired boy? Was his name Ortho or Idia?"

"His name was ORRRRtho and Morad said that they were bOOOOOOOYYfeeeeeeeends!"

Vil nearly dropped his niece as Jack passed her.

"Really now?"

"Yep! I didn't have the hot to ask him if he knew what that meant."

Vil chuckled. He had known Ebony knew what a boyfriend was, he was just glad she didn't flaunt her knowledge.

"You sure you're alright with her coming over to your our table?" Jack scratched the back of his neck a little.

"As long as you don't harm her, I see no problem."

"You seem like a good uncle."

Ebony hugged Vil tightly, "He is! Uncle Vil is the prettiest, bestest, funnest uncle ever!"

Vil felt himself blush and grin.

"Alright, alright, let's go back and eat lunch."

"Alighty!" Ebony chirped.

As they walked back, Jack heard Ebony fail to whisper.

"Uncle Vil, their eas were so FLUFFYYYY~!"

--- --- ---

After lunch was flight class with Mr. Vargas. As Ebony stayed outside the changing rooms, Ashton approached her.

"Hey there!" he squatted to get eye level with her, "You wanna fly today?"

The child giggled.

"Uncle Vil says I'm too little, sir!"

"Aww." Ashton made a childish pout, "Well, I hope I can see you flying in my class someday!"

Ebony giggled again, bouncing up and down as Vil came out of the dressing room, holding a broom.

"Ebony, can you stay with Mr. Vargas while I take today's lesson?"

"Okay!"

And that she did the entire class period, watching students zoom around on their brooms and cheering people on as they did a small race and game after lessons.

They walked back to the Pomefiore dorm, the rest of the day to themselves.

"Uncle Vil, may I have some chocolate?"

The man in question turned to see why his niece had asked such a question. He stiffened as he saw her staring into the windows of Mr. S's Mystery Shop.

"It's closed, Ebony sweetie."

The child whipped her head around, the look upon her face screaming "I'm not amused, now try again."

"It's fo-thity, Uncle, we have time."

"Yes, but it's very dangerous to go inside after three thirty."

"Why?"

"Demons."

"Well, they won't mind if we're only in there for a LITTLE bit, right?"

Vil looked at the pleading eyes of the child he cared for.

"Ebony Black Schoenheit, you know I can't handle those puppy eyes please stop."

Ebony continued, eyes almost seeming to get bigger and bigger.

"Fine..." Vil sighed in defeat, "Which one would you like?"

"Dawk chocolate!"

"Dark chocolate? A very good choice!"

"Really?"

"Yes! Why, did you know that that's healthier than the normal chocolate? Milk chocolate?"

"Really!? Wow! So... is it a healthy that it will make me as pretty as you, Uncle Vil?"

The dorm leader squatted to caress his niece's face, "Ebony. Ebony, my sweet little apple." he kissed her forehead, "You are already twice as pretty as I am. Cherish that."

With Ebony giggling, the family entered the store, the smaller one making a beeline for the seemingly specific bar she wanted before rushing to the counter.

"Why, hello, little lady! Are you paying for that?"

Ebony's smile died into a look of realization.

"Oh yeah I need money."

"Which is exactly why I'm here." Vil placed some bills on the counter, Sam handing the change back to Vil, who, in turn, gave it to Ebony to keep. They exited without a hitch.

--- --- ---

When it was time for bed, and Ebony was in her pajamas, she brought Rook a small book as he sat on the couch.

"Uncle Vil is aleady asleep. He had a vey tied day."

"A very tired day, you say? So you want me to read Sleeping Beauty to you?"

"Yeah! It's the only stoy about one of the Seven Heoes I like. Oh, but you have to stop after the Prince kisses her. Uncle Vil does that with ALLLL my stoies."

So Rook read to that part, closing the book.

"Now?" he asked.

"The kiss didn't work!" Ebony piped.

Rook was taken aback at her answer.

"Then what happened? How did Miss Aurora wake up?"

"Welllll...." Ebony pondered her answer, "I like to think her mommy and daddy found out. They were vey sad, so they visited her. Then they kissed her forehead to say goodbye..."

She seemed sad for a bit before perking up.

"But then she woke up! Do you know why?"

"I don't think I do! Enlighten me!" Rook asked with exaggerated and childish interest.

"Because a good mommy and daddy's love is REAL true love!"

She suddenly hugged Rook for but a second, recoiling almost instantly.

"Ow..." She whined, and Rook looked down in time to see a small ball of light disappear...

And her fingertips grow pitch black.

A fierce, unbearable cold that nipped her fingers to make them look like his.

"Your... Daddy did that to you?"

Rook noticed that Ebony's eyes had become his shade of green. It didn't last long, however; her eyes were soon back to blue and her fingertips normal.

"That's... That's not nice... Daddies shouldn't do that!"

"You saw?" Rook didn't mean to sound angry with Ebony, but... he really didn't want her telling.

"Yeah. Mommy says it's my hero power- what's gonna get me into a big school like Uncle Vil. I don't really get it though..."

There was a silence.

"Have you told him?"

"Who?"

"My uncle! Isn't he your friend?"

"Would you?"

Ebony nodded, "Yeah! I trust him!"

Rook thought for a bit.

"Well, what if you didn't trust anyone?"

Ebony took this question into consideration.

"... I'd make friends." she said, "Then I'd spend time with them so that I can know to trust them or not.”

More silence.

“Hey, you have to pomise me something.” Ebony suddenly stood on the bed so that she was somewhat eye level with the huntsman.

“And what do I have to promise you, Little Miss Schoenheit?”

“That by the time I get to big school, you’ll have told somebody.”

She held out her pinky and waited, presumably for Rook.

“Pomise?”

He contemplated, looking at the hand outstretched in front of him. Finally, with a small smile and tears at his eyes, he wrapped his own pinky around hers.

“Promise.”

--- --- ---

The week went by almost too fast. Soon, Ebony’s parents returned from school for their daughter. As they stood in the front hall, Vil assuring his brother that everything had worked out fine, Ebony suddenly hid behind her mother.

“What’s wrong, Ebby, love?” Casanine asked.

“It’s the scay red man, Mommy!” the child whispered.

Riddle approached them and knelt down, “It’s okay! I’m not gonna scare you this time!” he smiled.

He pulled out a small box and retrieved something from inside it.

It was a miniature cupcake with red icing.

“I heard it’s almost your birthday, so I asked this to be made for you. Do you want it?”

Ebony’s eyes widened, almost sparkling with curiosity. She slowly came out from behind her mother and shuffled up to the monarch. Grabbing the treat with a delicate hand, she then scurried back, this time hiding behind her father.

“Thank you!” she said once behind Phillis. Riddle got up from his knee, then bowing a little before heading back to where he had come from.

Phillis suddenly hugged Vil, who slightly recoiled at the touch before hugging back.

“Thanks, Vil. Ebony seems like she had fun. Any chance you could watch over her again?”

“Perhaps.” Vil smiled, “If Ebony wants to stop by again, that’s fine!”

At the mention of a possibility, the little girl nodded feverishly.

“Yes!”

#disney twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland fan character #twistedwonderland #twisted wonderland oc #disney japan

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samaraclegane · 5 years

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How about a protective/ jealous Crowley? It would be super fun to read him getting all huffy over aziraphale

author’s note: thanks so much for this! a lovely prompt to work with, as I can totally envision it. this did become a bit longer than I had expected it to be and it gets fluffier towards the end. hope that’s alright! set just after the almost-apocalypse. thanks again for the prompt :)

-bollocks. utter bollocks, this was. the fact that he had spent six thousand years with the angel, working beside him, adoring him, and now, in a matter of hours, this... woman had managed to suck it up and display more courage than he ever had. utter bollocks.

-Madame Tracy had been giving Aziraphale the eye ever since she’d seen him. this, Crowley could relate too. in her eyes, he could see what had been running through his head in Eden, and every time afterwards. there was something absent in her gaze, though, as though she thought he were a vessel, a piece of meat, not the love of her life.

-even so, Aziraphale is doing nothing about it. this, terrifyingly, tells Crowley that he isn’t opposed to it, that some part of him wants the woman flirting with him, that he likes the attention. it makes Crowley feel sick.

-is he not enough? has he been depriving Aziraphale of that something all his life? would the angel be better off without him, more free to flirt and dance and - god forbid it - kiss somebody else?

-oftentimes, Crowley catches himself speaking as though they’re married, which they decidedly are not. as much as they care for each other, as many times as they have each ‘taken one for the team’ they aren’t a thing.

-it was approximately six thousand years ago that Crowley considered this, and decided he’d like to try it. he wanted to know what it was like - not only to kiss, he knew what that was like, when it meant nothing - to kiss the angel. the sweet, (mainly) pure angel, who so often looked at him like he was special. did he? or perhaps Crowley’s want was getting in the way of the true signs Aziraphale was giving him, primarily ‘sod off’

-mind reeling, all Crowley can do is watch, arms folded, as the pair of them interact like savages on the tarmac. now that the world’s not ending, he supposes he’ll have to deal with more of this. more watching Tracy bat her ridiculous eyelashes at Aziraphale, trying to reach out and touch his angel.

-how was it fair that Aziraphale had already been inside of her, after knowing her for seconds, when he’d never so much as touched Crowley? boy, did that question sound wrong. he couldn’t care, though.

-none of it mattered. he tried to tear his eyes away from the couple, trying in vain to ignore the way the bright colours of the woman complimented the beige aesthetic of Aziraphale. he didn’t care, not when he could look at Shadwell instead. then again, that man was still looking around, believing he was some sort of deity. no thank you.

-the kids sat, huddled together, looking somewhere between afraid and amazed, obviously shaken by the events that had transpired but loving the shrill of excitement it had sent down their spines. he almost smiled at them, but decided against it. better not.

-ultimately, all attempts to ignore Tracy and Aziraphale failed, and always led him back to staring - not gawking, he’s not an animal - at the pair. he watched in stunned horror as the woman reached out a long, painted fingernail, then eventually settled her entire offending palm onto his jacket - why hadn’t Crowley been able to do that? - to brush away some dust or something.

-the look of gratitude was what broke Crowley.

-the demon flung himself into action, all but jumping between the two, calling out, “alright, alright, that’s enough. give it up, you two.”

-he turned to Madame Tracy, giving her a stern look, yet she didn’t look afraid. she had the audacity to look accomplished, as though this interruption was exactly what she was aiming for the entire time. Crowley suppressed a growl the best he could.

-”excuse you,” Aziraphale said in a hushed, yet angry, voice, “what do you think you’re doing?”

-”oh, please,” Crowley scoffed, “as if you don’t know what she’s trying to do!”

-”well, if you were listening, you’d hear we were having a rather nice chat, thank you very much!” Aziraphale sounded so genuinely offended, so irked, that even Crowley himself began to quake, just slightly. “not everything is about... what you lot think it’s about.”

-”oh, I believe it is,” Crowley said matter-of-factly, as though he had been the one inside Madame Tracy’s head, “and, I think you’ll find, she was luring you in. she almost had you! how can’t you see it, angel?”

-”what, do you mean to imply she was tempting me?”

-the sudden use of the word made Crowley fall quiet. surely Aziraphale wasn’t implying that he knew Crowley had been trying to - no. if he had known and he reciprocated any sort of feelings, he would have acted by now. and, if he knew and didn’t feel the same way, he wouldn’t have brought it up. that’s like poking a bear in a net, no?

-there’s a hush that falls over everybody present. even the kids go quiet, despite being previously engaged in rather boisterous conversation with one another. it seems like everybody is waiting with baited breath to see what will happen, a ‘will they or won’t they’ situation, until Crowley sighs.

-”I don’t need you,” he repeats his words from so long ago, though now with much less conviction. Aziraphale has the decency to look taken aback, but then suddenly the demon questions if this is a conscious decision on the angel’s part.

-”you...” he doesn’t quite finish his sentence, trapped bouncing about his own, angelic little head. Crowley thinks he’s made a grave mistake, something irreversible, figures he’ll never see the angel again, until somebody picks up from behind him.

-”oh, dear- oh my... please!” Anathema begins, voice loud but not quite enough to be considered shouting, “would you listen to yourselves?”

-”oh, would you look at those auras,” Madame Tracy responds, as though engaging in a witchy conversation with the other woman, “dear, can’t you see them?”

-”yes - I can’t stop seeing them, actually,” Anathema tells her, “please, for our sakes and yours, just kiss already.”

-Crowley turns back to the angel, having been focused on the rather engaging conversation between the two women, and finds Aziraphale already looking at him. his eyes are wide, his lips are parted just slightly, like he’s trapped between wanting to say something and wanting Crowley to steal the words right from his lips.

-”do you want me to...” Crowley begins to ask, then realises abruptly it’s completely futile, because just look at the man’s face. how has he never seen it before?

-the world seems to stop turning when Crowley finally begins to cross the short distance between him and the angel. Aziraphale’s eyes follow him the entire way there (as do everybody else’s, it seems). by the time he’s finally before him, in front of him, it feels as though they should have kissed long, long ago - and perhaps they should have.

-he dips his head, pausing just momentarily to look the angel in the eyes, then sucks in one single, sharp breath and finally - finally - does it.

-the kiss itself is almost platonic. there’s a sense of romance, a longing finally fulfilled after millennia of mutual waiting. it’s only when Aziraphale’s hands come to the back of his head, once he’s regained control over himself, that Crowley begins to feel it.

-it feels like he can breathe again. it feels like, after century after century of never knowing if his desires are reciprocated, now he finally does. he feels whole, like he’s never felt before. he feels wanted, like he hasn’t done since his fall.

-he hates romanticising things. he loathes when people try to make everything seem perfect, drawn up into a pretty little bow. things aren’t all good, because even despite this sense of coming out victorious and the love (oh dear Satan prevent it) bubbling up in his stomach, he’s still angry. well, not angry, more irked, because he can still sense Madame Tracy behind him, watching them, and it feels rather suspiciously like she’d organised the entire thing.

-with this in mind, he breaks the kiss long before he wants to, and turns around to the rest of them.

-”take a picture, would you? it’ll last longer,” he says, forcing everybody to pretend to get on with their own tasks, when in reality he knows they’re all casting glances back over at them, trying to catch what happens next.

-regardless, he returns his attention to Aziraphale, who’s now beaming like a madman. he looks beautiful, Crowley notes, feeling both sick at his use of the word and lovesick because of the being before him.

-”sorry that took so long,” he offers Aziraphale, who shakes him off.

-”I’ve known for a while, too,” he adds, “it’s as much my fault as it is yours. at least we’re here now, though, no?”

-Crowley lets himself smile, almost certain Aziraphale doesn’t know how long he’s loved him for, but not willing to ruin the moment by pouring his black, sunken heart out to him. instead, he merely nods, “I suppose you’re right.”

-Aziraphale smiles wider, just for him. “do you want to go back to the bookshop? I’ve got some wine stored away just for us.”

-”oh, angel,” Crowley’s face falls and he feels suddenly remorseful, “you don’t know? it burned down. all of it; it’s completely gone.”

-Aziraphale’s smile fades a little, and Crowley watches as the sadness begins to pool in his eyes again. he lets out a distant, “oh,” and that’s all he can manage.

-”you can stay with me, if you like,” Crowley offers, tone gentle, as though talking to a child. well, not the way he’d talk to a child, but generally speaking. “there’s space in my flat for you.”

-Aziraphale’s pale face begins to regain colour, and he nods in agreement, looking unnecessarily grateful. Crowley doesn’t bother gesturing to the others, figuring they’ve been watching long enough to understand when they begin to walk away, away from the base, following the tarmac back to somewhere in civilisation they recognise.

-”I can’t believe you thought I wanted her,” Aziraphale quips quietly as they walk, and this makes Crowley tilt his head and tut. he can’t quite be considered jealous anymore, not when the angel is walking right by his side, coming back to his home, but the mention of her does send his ears ringing.

-”I can’t believe you don’t think she wants you,” Crowley retorts, giving Aziraphale a pointed look he’s not sure the angel can properly see through his dark glasses, “it’s obvious.”

-”I wouldn’t have noticed,” Aziraphale’s voice is sing-song, sweet, sickening if it were anybody else but him, “I only ever look at you.”

-”shut up,” Crowley responds endearingly, though contradicts himself as he slips his hand into Aziraphale’s and interlaces their fingers. “I love you, angel.”

-there’s a beat, full of singing and sugar and everything nice that Crowley loathes, that usually makes him think of drowning himself in holy water, before he hears it. Aziraphale’s hand squeezes his, reminding him they’re both there - together, as they always are - then he speaks, saying the only thing Crowley’s convinced himself he’d never hear.

-”I love you too, Crowley.”

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