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weirdly-specific-but-ok · 3 months

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pt XVI good omens season 2 (still not traumatic) episode 3 EDINBURGH

HELLO IT'S ME IT'S THE OFFICIAL GOOD OMENS MASCOT WHY DO I STILL KEEP INTRODUCING MYSELF IDK. If you don't know who I am, thank God and Satan for their mercy and flee. Also, the day after I post this, I'll be watching the last three episodes on livestream for the first time so. You know. I'm hyped on the energy of this being my last day not enveloped in tears. Take the summary:

Before the episode starts, someone asks why Crowley said in the last episode that Aziraphale couldn't fall because look at him, all angelic when Crowley looked the same as starmaker. I reply that "Crowley thinks he deserved it, he sees Azi as something beautiful and untouched while he probably sees himself as idk marked in some way so god kicked him down."

I am told that I am learning too fast to weaponise the narrative to induce angst. So then I say oh, I go too fast for you. Tears ensue.

The episode begins! Everyone shrieks about Edinburgh, David Tennant, how it is their favourite episode, and SCOTTISH CROWLEY.

We open with lesbians being gay, and then Muriel enters as Inspector Constable! They are very sweet and very determined to do their job right, and they are adopted by Crowley and Aziraphale just like Jim.

Crowley sits on Aziraphale's chair's arm. The maggots all swoon.

Fine, I also swooned.

Aziraphale gaslight-gatekeep-girlboss-mansplain-manipulate-manwhores his way into getting Crowley to give him the Bentley keys (BOUNDARIES. BOUNDARIES.).

WHAT PLENTY OF USE DO BOTH OF YOU GET OUT OF THE BOOKSHOP?

The really ineffable plan is whatever the fuck was happening in Aziraphale's brain when he somehow went from London to Edinburgh via Loch Ness (check the map) and then proceeded to disguise himself as a detective who pretends to be a journalist.

Crowley slays in sleeve garters and a cardigan keeping house in the bookshop meanwhile, does not sell books, instead cleans with Jimbriel and periodically yeets book stacks into corners when distracted.

Aziraphale reads his old diary entries about Crowley, a (6000+) 13 year old with a crush.

MINISODE MINISODE. They are in Edinburgh during the mid 1800s. Victorian outfits, check. Scottish Crowley, check. Capitalist Karen Aziraphale, che-wait what.

Huh. Well. There's a wee bit of body snatchin' going on, to sell to doctors for medical research because there aren't enough murderers, and to make enough money to survive.

Aziraphale channels his inner capitalist judgemental Karen and ruins that plan, come on Aziraphale you have religious trauma but you're better than this, and long story short, Wee Morag dies after Aziraphale realises his error, her friend Elspeth has to sell her corpse for pennies, and is about to commit suicide with laudanum. Azi, oh god. I'm glad you underwent character development at least.

NOW CROWLEY HERE SLAYS. I KNOW THIS IS AZIRAPHALE'S PERSPECTIVE AND IS BIASED. BUT WITH THIS POV, CROWLEY SLAYS.

He calmly educates Aziraphale about how his whole "the poor have more opportunities and you shouldn't give them money or they'll lose the virtue of poverty" is absolute bullshit, and he does this understanding Aziraphale's situation and not losing his temper.

The framing. The framing of the shot when they see Wee Morag and Elspeth sitting down on a step and explaining their situation. Aziraphale stands above, bustling with righteousness, and judges them. Crowley sits down. He sits down next to them, rather than taking the high ground. He meets them where they are and empathises. It is the fact that he is fallen and damned that makes him behave really divine and sorry I wrote a whole hymn on him have it I'll stop rambling just know I love him.

I think his amusement is a facade so hell won't think he's genuinely being good. I think he's morally grey and incredibly brave and kind.

When Elspeth is bouta kill herself with the laudanum, Crowley grabs it and drinks it himself, and grows tiny and then huge, absolutely high off his head. David Tennant takes the opportunity to travel Scotland from east to west in terms of accent variety.

He gives us the good message of NO DYIN'. NO MORE DYIN'. IT'S NOT ON. And then forces Aziraphale (who doesn't want to ruin her virtuous poverty) to give the girl all the guineas he has in his pocket, and tells her to go off and start a farm or something. BUT NOT JUST PRETENDY GOOD, BE PROPERLY GOOD.

He then gets pulled into hell. To be punished for this. Aziraphale is frightened and heartbroken for him, looking around desperately, and we find out that Crowley didn't meet him for a while after. And later he wanted holy water. To protect himself? He got punished by hell. For how long? The whole month in between the incident and the diary entry? There can't be anyone better at punishment and cruelty than hell.

Sorry I'm just screaming here.

Never mind fuck I started this summary really happy and bouncy and listening to a dance playlist. Dionysus by BTS and Italian pop is still playing and now I'm crying.

Is this the natural progression. Fuck I'm crying. Sorry guys something else happens with Aziraphale politely talking to a phone and Crowley smiling really beautifully while unsuccessfully trying to manipulate two lesbians into a relationship and something about a visit I don't care everyone's being morally dubious as usual and then lovely Scottish music outro I CAN'T FUCKING ELABORATE I'M SITTING HERE CRYING OVER CROWLEY.

right summary done, time to go sob, lmao i thought i wouldn't cry today over good omens HAHAHAHA still not traumatic eh HAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

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nobie · 9 months

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I was rewatching Good Omens earlier today and I noticed something thats probably been analyzed before, but I'm a film studies minor thats losing their marbles over this I need to talk about it.

SO I've taken a ton of classes about filming and story telling. And one aspect of story telling I love so much is cinematography (you'll see the cinematographer credited as Director of photography) the purpose of this job to direct lighting, color, and framing during shoots. So whenever you see changes in a shot to any of those things, the cinematographer is the one directing that in order to create a certain feeling for the scene and audience.

why am i telling you all that? Because the director of photography on Good Omens (Gavin Finney) achieved something that has me climbing the walls. In the first season when Crowley and Aziraphale are having a "breakdown" in their relationship under the band stand in the park each time it cuts between them something changes in the framing. When we are looking at Crowley from Aziraphales POV, Crowley seems farther away in the shot. And when we are looking at Aziraphale from Crowley's POV Azi is closer. Then we see this framing again in season 2 during the confession scene. Azi looks much closer from Crowleys POV and Crowley is much farther to Azi.

The number one thing I've learned through out my film classes is when you are framing someone in your shot you have to show what's most important to your character, show don't tell. The purpose of that is a great story should be able to be told without sound, so showing emotion and feeling in the way you frame shots is important.

So what are the feelings in these frames? Crowley wants Aziraphale to be close, for Azi to just accept their love, to stop pushing him away, and be together. Each time they've had these confrontations Crowley is always the one wanting to be closer. While Crowley in Aziraphales eyes need to be farther away, stop getting closer, and only sees them as an Angel and Demon who are on opposite sides (lets be honest Azi you are fckn SMITTEN with Crowley). In the second season the feelings have changed but in the end it still hurts the same. They are important to each other but have different ideas of what their love/relationship should be. I think in order for the framing in each others eyes to be balanced they'll need to stop talking AT each other and start talking TO each other.

Anyway there are my two cents I could add more but it hurts to think about. (I'll think about it the more I watch honestly so more might be added.)

#Excuse all my grammar mistakes I'm too lazy to correct anything #as long as you can read and understand it lol its always appreciated when anyone reads my takes.#good omens #good omens 2 #aziracrow #ineffable husbands #could this be considered meta?#its more of an observation based on skills I've acquired.#nobie does stuff #txt post

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katiefrog217 · 19 days

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Good Omens Fic + Poetry | Personal Recommendation Masterlist

I said I'd do it, so I'm doing it. For both myself, and so others can enjoy! I'll try to tag the original authors and link any secondaries/people who recommended me the stories!

If you feel so inclined, you may read my own (very long, very angsty) fic: Dubious Excerpts from the Chonicles of a Demon (Retired)

To clarify: this list is going to be a collection of stuff I've personally read/been recommended. I'll try to make sure to tag everyone who owns the fics (if they have a Tumblr) and the people who recommended them to me (if at all). I'll update this list as I go, and might start sorting things into their own posts if it starts to get too long. I'm not going to be able to tag all warnings, so PLEASE HEED the A03 tags!

This list is not meant to play favorites! If I read it and enjoyed it, it will be going on this list. That means the quality may vary, but I think everyone should have a chance to have their work seen! Inevitably though, I will have my favorites, and if I ABSOLUTELY think you should read one, I'll mark in in Green. Everything else will be in Orange for visibility. Anything with NSFW Content will be marked with a (!!!).

If you would like to recommend me a fic (self-promotes welcome and encouraged!), feel free to drop a recommendation here, DM me, or send me an ask if you want to remain anonymous! If you don't see your's here, I haven't gotten to it yet!

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Poetry

@lickthecowhappy does a LOT of poetry for GO, and they have a masterlist on their own blog for their stuff, but my personal favorite is Pour Hot Water Into A Pot With Leaves

This Black Out Poem | Written by @crowleys-bentley-and-plants

Questions (Sonnet No. 2) | Written by @aziraphalesdiaries

This Two Part Poem | Written by @knifeforkspooncup

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Short n' Sweet

Literally anything written by the account @meanwhile-at-the-cottage (Seriously follow them they make my day)

Nada | Written and Recommended by @gabapunk (Pining/Season 3 where you at??)

This One-shot | Written by @bloodashre (Post season 2/ The world is ending but their love is not).

Hazel Storms and Gentle Ormes | Written by @ardentlake and beta read by thatskindarough (Short chapters but cute, Crown Prince Crowley)

His World In Her Hands | Written by @nik-knight to an art post by Camilleflyingrotten (I was genuinely unwell after this one| Azi got hurt and Crowley begs)

Rain In Avalon | Written by SnowFilly1 and recommended by GoodOmensDuh (Long One-shot, Arthurian Times, Intimacy eluded to but nothing explicit)

Cozy Preening | Written by @canadiankazz and recommended by GoodOmensDuh (Not much plot BUT OMG SO CUTE/ Wing preening fluff)

Lord Knows it Would be the First Time | Written and recommended by @knifeforkspooncup (Angst/ But also Fluff / I want these idiots to be ok)

This Silly Story about Unicorns | Written by @brightwanderer (seriously just read it/I cackled really hard/ Crowley can be a dummy and I love that about him)

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Long Fics

And They Were Streamers | Written by @mrghostrat and recommended by HaeMey (Ongoing /Streamer Au / Its got art / KICKING MY FEET I LOVE THEM)

If We've Got Nothing (We've Got Us) | Written by @kedreeva, recommended by someone on Patreon (God POV / Grey Feathers / Medium Length / Old but Good)

Big Name Feelings (!!!) | Written by mrghostrat (Completed / Au/ Skippable NSFW/ Ace Crowley / I've never felt more seen and called out wtf/ I stayed up until 4 am reading it)

Not Light, No Light | Written and recommended by PolarisVega (Their first fic / Season 3 headcanons / Fun Crowley Headcanons)

Demonology and the Tri-Phasic Model of Trauma: An Integrative Approach | Written by mouseonamoose (aka Nnm) and recommended by lickthecowhappy and GoodOmensDuh (Crowley Goes to Therapy / Old but still REALLY good / Pre-season 2 / Super long chapters but very worth)

#good omens #ineffable husbands #aziracrow #fic rec #fic recommendation #Personal List #None of these are mine #But I want to share them #Writers deserve recognition #good omens fanfiction

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thisbisexualbrainrot · 7 months

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I Know Places We Can Hide

Rating: E

Summary: Aziraphale sneaks out of Heaven to visit Crowley. This fic is my version of a third season!

Tags: Post Season 2 Finale. Canon Compliant. Aziraphale POV. M/M. Sexual but plot driven.

Author Notes: NOW ON AO3! I just want more fic from Azi's perspective so I did it myself. Partly based on this post by @sensitivesiren cause I thought it was a great theory. Full first chapter is under the cut! :)

“Baby, I know places we won't be found and

They'll be chasing their tails trying to track us down

'Cause I know places we can hide.”

-Taylor Swift

—

He wasn't supposed to be here.

Earth, that is. He wasn't supposed to be on Earth. And certainly was not supposed to be visiting a certain demon who, for all he knew, did not ever want to see him again.

The Supreme Archangel took a breath to steady himself, absentmindedly pulling on the stiff collar of his pressed, white suit that he knew he could not show his face in. A hint of a buzzing sensation in his fingers and he was back in his familiar earthly attire.

It's a small miracle, they won't notice…I hope Aziraphale bit his lip and wondered if he was pushing his luck too far this time. He had slipped out after his weekly management meeting, when the weight of the discussion had been overwhelming to no one else but him. He didn’t understand how they could talk about such things, their eyes dull with apathy, like they were discussing budgeting and not the destruction of the human race.

These last few months had been a torment. He knew Crowley was right, he was not like the other angels. He didn't care about war or great plans. Well, he did care in the sense that he didn't understand why the earth needed to be destroyed at all. If I'm the one in charge, I can make a difference. Some difference he’d made, indeed. In the months he’d been in heaven, the only difference he’d made was restructuring the scrivener recording schedules due to Muriels absence. In all other regards, he had found the job to be lacking in the “making decisions for heaven” department. It was more of a mouthpiece role, mimicking whatever The Metatron told him to command of the lower angels. He realized rather quickly that he had been manipulated. That heaven had offered him the job to get him away from Earth. Away from Crowley. Away from actually making a difference.

So, his wary eyes scanning the room near the elevator, he hastened his steps toward it and made his escape.

–

“Nope, not doing this.”

Crowley shot up from the bench like it was made of holy water. “I have absolutely nothing to say to you, Angel.” He turned to leave Saint James park, but not before throwing a spiteful “You can go ahead and change your clothes back. I know that's not what you're wearing up there.”

Aziraphale breathed out sharply through his nose. Of course, Crowley was going to be difficult. He’d hurt him, he knew that but he had hoped the demon would at least be a little pleased to see him.

“I changed for my own comfort, if you must know.” Not a complete lie. “Crowley, we need to talk. I-I’m terribly regretful of how we left things and-” “You need my help.” He interrupted, “That's why you’re here, right?” Aziraphale said nothing. He understood he had hurt him but the demon had hurt him as well. And it wasn’t fair that he was being so cruel. Crowley clearly noted the silence and snarked, “Well, unfortunately for you, I'm out of the business of helping angels.”

“Crowley, please.” Aziraphale said softly, “I- if you would just hear me out.” The angel felt a pang of fear, pursing his lips and hoping that he would at least be allowed to explain himself. He couldn’t read Crowley's expression since he wasn’t facing him but his shoulders looked… tense. He finally heard Crowley mutter through gritted teeth, “Fine.”

“Oh, thank you.” He could feel a slight warmth of relief sing through his bones. “You see, I made a terrible mistake and The Meta-” He stopped himself, this should be discussed more privately. He stumbled over his words, “That is, Could I-...would you be willing to come back to the bookshop with me?” It was the first place he could think of but not the most ideal place either, he realized.

Crowley paused and Azirphale hoped he hadn’t ruined his chance. “We can meet at my place.”

“Oh you're um- you have a new one now?” Crowley seemingly ignored the question. He took out a slip of paper that looked like a receipt, scrawled an address on it and handed it to him, still not turning fully to meet the Angel's eyes. “Meet you there.” And with that, Crowley quickly shoved his slender hands into his tight pockets and walked away.

Aziraphale watched Crowley leave, the slip of paper still clutched between his fingers. Hearing the anger in his voice made the angel wince. Oh how I've made a mess of things.

He still stopped by the bookshop briefly to check on it. Muriel was delighted to tell him all about their interactions with the humans and how they had read almost every book in the shop already. He smiled kindly to them, his mind distracted by the events in the park. He did not mention any of it to the young scrivener. He gave them a quick farewell, thanked them for watching over things and exited the shop. Anxiety pooled in the pit of his stomach. Right, the address. He pulled it out of his pocket.

How would he ever explain all of this? Where would he start? Had heaven realized he was gone? What if they found him? He glanced around anxiously and waited for a feeling of Michael or Uriel appearing but saw no none. He wanted to stop and see Maggie and Nina but couldn't risk any more time. He would have to catch up with them later.

He glanced back down at the sheet of paper and could make out the address even with Crowley's terrible handwriting. Aziraphale couldn't help but smile. It turns out, the flat was just a few blocks away. Maybe Crowley didn’t truly hate him after all.

The doorbell rang, a hollow chime echoing through the flat. Aziraphale waited not so patiently for the black door to swing open, yellow eyes finally meeting his gaze.

“I knew they would be purple.” Crowley mumbled with what sounded like annoyance to his voice.

His eyes. He had forgotten. “Oh- I would love to do away with them, however, I can't seem to change them.” He fiddled with his ring and gave Crowley a half hearted, nervous smile. Crowley smirked, “I know the feeling.”

He stepped aside, a gesture that pulled Aziraphale in and he was hit with the familiar comforting scent of amber and brimstone. I know what you smell like he remembered the demon telling him once, and well…likewise. The door shut behind him and Crowley headed over to a bar counter, pulling two wine glasses from a rack and pouring each of them a glass. A fire crackled in the hearth, and the room was cozy despite being mostly decorated in sleek black furnishings. Crowley handed him the glass and Aziraphale managed to say thank you with a steady voice. He was incredibly nervous. “So?” Crowley cleared his throat, knocking Aziraphale’s racing mind back into the room. “Are you going to explain what the purpose of this holy appearance is?” He settled in a large armchair, swinging one leg over the other. He leveled his gaze on Aziraphale, taking a sip of his wine.

Aziraphale felt the panic that had been swelling inside of him threaten to bubble over. He had no idea where to begin, just as he had feared. He ran his finger nervously over the rim of his glass. Staring down at it, he centered himself and pulled together what he needed to say, or at least it was a start.

He admitted quietly, “I've made a terrible mess of things. I should have never taken the job.”

Crowley was silent. Aziraphale continued after a pause, his eyes still downward. “It appears The Metatron’s intentions were to separate us. I have been all but useless as a leader, I'm afraid. They don't actually let me decide anything. Not anything of real importance. And, worst of all, they plan to initiate the Second Coming in a matter of months? Years? I'm not entirely sure but it will be soon.”

Crowley let out a frustrated sounding sigh, shaking his head, “So that is why you’re here, to get my help then? Cause if that’s all you want you can shove o-”

“No.” Aziraphale looked up then, and he hoped Crowley could see the pain in his eyes as he confessed, “I am here to apologize and beg for your forgiveness.” Silence. A long awkward pause. Aziraphale didn't know what to say next, so he waited.

“Well then Angel, go on.” Crowley gestured his glass toward him. “Beg.”

Aziraphale huffed, “If you are going to make a mockery of it, I’ll just as soon leave.”

Crowley looked amused, “Oh come on, you really can't expect that I wouldn't give you a hard time. With you rejecting me and all, it's only fair.”

“I would appreciate you taking this seriously.” Aziraphale’s brow furrowed. If Crowley was going to make his feelings a joke, then he wasn't going to even bother trying to mend this- this…

“Oh I am,” Crowley’s tone shifted, “and you better start talking, Angel.”

“Fine.” Aziraphale straightened, setting his untouched glass on a nearby table. He looked at Crowley, “You were right.” “I want the dance.”

“No.” Bastard.

“Then apology not accepted” Crowley took another swig of his wine. It was almost like he was having fun with this. Looking Aziraphale up and down he remarked flatly, “You’ve lost weight. No crepes in heaven, I suppose.”

Aziraphale felt his frustration growing, “Crowley, will you please focus on what I am trying to say?”

“So far, I haven't really heard you say anything.” Crowley shot back, his eyes were dark and angry.

Aziraphale had enough. He moved toward Crowley’s seat, kneeling in front of him firmly but gently. He locked their eyes together, hoping that Crowley wouldn't see how scared he was and mistake it for something else.

“Then I will say it now.” Aziraphale’s voice wavered but he pushed on, “I have never regretted something more, in six thousand years. For choosing to leave you. The truth is…” He swallowed nervously, “I love you Crowley, no matter what you are. I will always love you the same.” He took a breath, “A-And you owe me nothing in return, except I would prefer for you to still consider me a friend. You don't have to kiss me, if it's not genuine.” If Crowley would agree to still be his friend, that would be enough. He didn't want Crowley to feel forced to love him the way he wanted. That would not do. And he couldn’t bear to hear Crowley speak to him with such disdain and anger any longer, even if some of it was deserved. He had placed his hands on the demon’s knees sometime during this admission, the warmth of Crowley's legs sending a jolt of adrenaline down to his gut. Now, it seems, he was unable to remove them. He was frozen in place, his eyes following Crowley’s expression. The demon said nothing, at first. Aziraphale watched as he slowly set his wine glass down,

“You think it wasn't genuine then.” Not a question.

Aziraphale looked back at him with slight confusion. “You- you surely know how I feel about you, Crowley. Certainly your kiss was a cruel temptation, was it not? A last effort to try to change my mind? I-I forgave you for it but it did hurt, you see, so I was angry and I-...I am..”

“ARGH!” Crowley stood up, pushing past Aziraphale and spinning around to face him. “Did you really not hear a word I said?!”

Aziraphale, startled by the sudden movement and aggression, stood and turned to face Crowley with confusion now etched into his features. “I-I was listening. You didn't want to come with me, you didn't want to be an angel with me, you- you said you didn't need heav- “

“Argh, not that part Aziraphale!” Crowley rarely said his full name anymore. He loved how it sounded rolling off the demon's tongue. Very distracting.

“What part then?” Aziraphale asked quietly. He had clearly been wrong about the kiss, but that meant- he felt his heart beat faster in his chest.

“I refuse to believe you dont know.” Crowley’s expression hardened, but tears welled in his eyes. He didn't have his sunglasses to hide them and Aziraphale could see then that the anger and disdain for him was actually just…heartbreak.

Crowley was heartbroken. Oh. OH.

He had been wrong in Crowley's intentions for the kiss.

Crowley had been trying to tell him his feelings the last time they saw each other. Aziraphale had just not been listening properly, or at least not been really hearing him properly. The kiss was a last ditch attempt, but it was to show Aziraphale how he felt. What they could be if he did stay. We could have been us.

“Oh I…Crowley.” He stepped closer instinctively, reaching his arm out to grasp Crowley's hand. He thought for a moment Crowley would pull away, but he didn’t. “I've been such a complete fool. Please forgive me.” Crowley cursed quietly as a tear slipped down his cheek, looking away. Aziraphale pulled them closer then, his free hand reaching up to turn Crowley’s face back to him and wipe the tear away. His hand remained, gently rubbing his thumb on the demon’s cheekbone. Aziraphale’s heart could not have been beating louder in his ears as Crowley leaned in until their foreheads were resting on each other. A breath of silence and then quietly he heard,

“I’ve missed you, Angel.”

“And I you, my dear. Desperately.” Aziraphale closed his eyes and brushed his nose against Crowley’s, cautiously. Slowly. With his eyes shut, the sensation of the demon’s breath was so close. His warm face was so unbearably close and the Angel pushed in further until his lips were barely caressing the demons, testing his boundaries.

Testing to see if Crowley would push him away.

He didn’t.

Aziraphales heart fluttered as Crowley wrapped his hand around the Angel’s neck, his fingers curling into the nape of the white curls and pushed in to deepen the kiss. It felt like fire. Warm, crackling and intense. Nothing like before, no feeling of humiliation or pain. Aziraphale sunk into it, letting out a small moan as Crowley licked against his lips. Crowley must have taken the moan as an invitation. He began to push off Aziraphale’s jacket and it fell to the floor.

Aziraphale pulled back slightly, “Crowley, I- shouldn't we talk about this?”

“I think we’ve done enough talking, don't you? Always talking, us.”

Crowley moved back in to claim the angel's mouth once more and Aziraphale agreed, they could talk after. After they- oh mother in heaven, has Crowley always smelled this incredible? He breathed in deeply, pushing his tongue in and getting a satisfying groan in return. He wanted all of him then. Wanted to touch every unholy inch of him. He felt Crowley start to push him backward and clung to him as they toppled onto a black velvet couch. He felt the weight of Crowley's hips as he settled onto his lap, one leg resting on either side as he straddled over him and cupped his jaw, kissing him feverishly. Aziraphale used one hand to pull the demon closer to him. The other gripped Crowley's neck, fingers gliding into perfectly soft red hair. He felt Crowley slip off his shoes and he did the same, all while not breaking their joined mouths even for a moment. Crowley chuckled affectionately as he broke their lips apart, “You sure you’re alright with this, Angel?”

“I don't know what you mean,” Aziraphale chided, “I have been around just as long as you. I know perfectly well what this is.”

Crowley wrapped his arms around the angel's neck, “but have you ever...” he waved his hands and the rest trailed off. Implied. “I haven't had the desire until now.”

“Oh is that so?” Crowley teased, “Well well, Supreme Archangel...”

Aziraphale blushed hotly and sputtered “Well I- I wouldn't say I didn't have the desire till now but I just- oh you know what I mean you impertinent demon!” Crowley rolled his hips then, and Aziraphale forgot to keep scolding him.

“S’what I’m good at after all” he whispered, his breath hot in Aziraphale’s ear, “flustering you”.

He then watched the demon's eyes go wide as he grasped Crowley's thighs and flipped them over on the couch. The angel was now resting on top, his legs splitting Crowley's apart. Aziraphale began running his nose along Crowley’s neck, his voice a bit deeper than usual. “You know my dear, I think you underestimate just how adept I am at flustering you as well.” He then pressed a number of light kisses along Crowley’s long neck, and was quite pleased when he heard a low growl. He had never felt quite like this. There was an unleashing of desire at seeing Crowley laid out so desperate for him. He nuzzled lovingly against Crowley's mouth, his eyes half lidded, as he asked “Where is your bed?” Crowley swallowed, noticeably. His voice was rough. “Down the hall to the left.”

“Show me.”

Crowley pushed Aziraphale off of him enough to stand and hastily lead him down the hall, their sock-covered feet sliding smoothly over the hardwood floor. He had reached out and grabbed the Angel's hand without another word. And Aziraphale’s heart was in his throat as they entered the bedroom. Crowley pushed him back to lean against the doorframe and kissed him achingly and intentionally. The angel barely noticed the undoing of his bowtie as it dropped to the floor. They broke apart and Aziraphale sucked in a shuddering breath,

“Crowley…” he exhaled as he lifted the silver tie over the demon’s head. The black leather vest came undone next and he captured the demon's lips in his again as Crowley set to work on his velvet waistcoat. With hungry confidence, Aziraphale pushed against Crowley until he was stepping backward toward the king size bed. The demon was finally sliding off the waistcoat and working his way down the buttons of the undershirt when he muttered with frustration,

“Too many layers....” and proceeded to rip the rest of the shirt off, the buttons clattering against the wood floor. Aziraphale, shockingly, did not object. He pulled the white undershirt off over his head and climbed on top of Crowley as they settled onto the black duvet, soft and inviting against their bodies. He ran a hand down the demon's side and Crowley hissed with pleasure as the angel ducked down and pushed the black t-shirt up to run his mouth along the demon’s stomach. The shirt was pulled off and got lost somewhere on the bed in the process.

“Aziraphale...” Crowley breathed, and a vulnerability slipped out of him. He said the angel's name like it was a prayer. He brought his mouth back up to Crowley’s lips and felt the demon wrap his arms around him. When their lips met again it was a moment of devotion and reverence. He savored Crowley's mouth, trying to give him the worship and love he deserved. Please always say my name that way. Please always want me as you do now. He begged silently and he hoped Crowley could feel how much he adored him. The demon kissed back with as much affection, rolling them so he was now laying on the broad chest of the angel. He sunk his head down and began kissing his neck and down his chest. Aziraphale moaned and grabbed at the red disheveled hair of the demon, bucking his body upwards to bring himself closer to Crowley’s pleasuring mouth as he moved downward.

“So naughty…” Crowley teased and Aziraphale let out a small huff of annoyance. But Crowley kissed his body tenderly, nipping and smoothing over the bites with his tongue. And slowly moved downward. Until Aziraphale sucked in a breath at the sensation of Crowley’s mouth on his cock, only a thin layer of fabric in between. He needed that fabric to be gone. Thankfully, Crowley was one step ahead and pulled the boxer briefs down the Angels thick thighs.

The feeling was overwhelming, incredibly good but almost too much. His vision went blurry and all he could think was how he needed more. Every movement of Crowley's hot, wet mouth pushed the Angel further into utter oblivion. It was no surprise that humans found this so enjoyable, and he couldn’t believe he hadn’t done it until now. He gasped as Crowley's tongue flicked out to pleasure him and lost all sense of anything but the demon's touch on his skin.

If this was sinful, Aziraphale made a mental note to sin often in the future.

It was some time later when they collapsed, the tension in their bodies melting away with the release. Aziraphale laid next to Crowley, his breathing a little ragged as he caught up. He rolled over and smiled into the crook of the demon's neck and Crowley smiled too as they both broke into a shared laughter. There was no denying what was between them. There was no going back now. And somehow, after everything, they found that it was incredibly funny. Crowley sighed pleasantly. He rubbed his hand on his forehead, pushing his sweaty red locks away from his face,

“Well, now that that coming is over with, do you want to tell me more about this Second Coming then?” Aziraphale gaped with dramatic disgust, and nearly shoved Crowley off the bed. Crowley sat up laughing, “I'm going to grab the rest of that wine.”

Aziraphale pulled him back down to sit on the bed, sitting up himself to wrap his arms around him from behind and plant a kiss on his cheek. He savored the feeling of intimacy as his bare chest warmed against the demon's back.

Crowley laughed warmly, “I’ll be right back.”

He got up and pulled on a black silk robe he had hanging on his door, and reached into his closet to toss an oversized Velvet Underground t-shirt to the Angel.

Aziraphale tucked up his nose at the shirt, “Don’t you have anything a little more stylish?” Crowley rolled his eyes, “It's just us, you’ll survive. I’ll go grab you some new clothes tomorrow.”

Azirphale watched him slip the robe on, wanting very much to rip it off later. Partly to wear it instead of the t-shirt, if he was being totally honest. He could miracle something, he supposed, but he’d already risked enough doing the small one earlier. And Crowley wasn't doing miracles either, he noticed. He thought back to the handwritten slip of paper.

But he couldn't deny that he enjoyed the pleasing silk covered view that sauntered down the hallway and out of sight.

–

It turns out he had lost a little weight and the shirt did fit. Albeit a little tighter in the arms and shoulders than it would on Crowley but it would do.

When Crowley returned, Aziraphale was wearing the offending t-shirt with his boxer briefs back on, blonde hair disheveled and flipping through the records Crowley had on a small shelf in the corner of his room. He noticed Crowley staring at him, a look of arousal in his eyes and he suddenly felt very self conscious. He was sure he looked like an absolute mess, but apparently the new look was appealing to the demon.

Aziraphale walked over to meet him and accepted the glass of wine he had neglected to drink earlier gratefully. He felt so content it was almost dizzying and he heard himself say without thinking,

“I hope you know that I am very much in love with you.” And he couldn't very well take it back, and realized he actually didn't even want to. He leaned in for a kiss before sitting on the edge of the bed. He felt the weight of it shift as the demon joined him.

“I caught on, I think,” Crowley teased. “Seeing as you left your very important heavenly post to pop down here and seduce me.” Aziraphale’s blush deepened and he caught Crowley smiling devilishly, clearly enjoying it.

“T-that wasn't the plan! Initially.” Aziraphale fussed absentmindedly with the bottom hem of the shirt, “Oh I don't know, perhaps it was. I just couldn't stand being there anymore. They are all so dreadfully dull and awful. I needed to see you. I couldn't leave it as it was and- oh dear,” Aziraphale remembered, “Do you think they’ve realized I'm gone?”

“Probably.” Crowley shrugged, stilling the angels' fussing hand with his own. Aziraphale was grateful for the secure touch. “But they have no idea where you are.”

“What do you mean?”

“I warded this place after I moved in, against angels and demons. No one enters here without my permission and no one can see it or who’s inside. We can hide here until we sort this out.”

“Impressive,” Aziraphale sipped his wine, “How did you come up with such a thing?” “Muriel has been reading a lot of your books, the ones in the back. Spell books. And, I had my own ideas. I wasn't sure it would work but I tested it on Muriel, they couldn't come in until I let them. I don't know for sure about the second part of it. So we will see what happens, I suppose.”

“Fascinating.” Aziraphale smiled fondly. “You really are such a clever demon. I’ve always thought so.” Crowley blushed, and it did not go unnoticed. Aziraphale let Crowley pull his face in and give him a long, affectionate kiss. His mouth was warm and supple from earlier, a hint of wine on his tongue.

“I'm in love with you too, Angel.” Crowley stated, like it was as obvious as the stars in the sky. “And I thought, maybe, you would come back so I- I, you know, came up with a plan. Just in case.”

Aziraphale beamed at the confession. He wasn’t sure if he ever would say it out loud and honestly didn’t need to hear it. But, actually hearing it was like finally releasing a breath he’d been holding for years. But that initial meeting in the park, if he’d wanted him to come back then why-

“You didn’t seem to want me back at first.” It was more a question, and he looked at Crowley to see how it landed. Crowley was staring straight ahead at nothing. Lost in memory.

“I did,” he said finally. “But missing you and actually seeing you again were very- it was hard to know for sure why you came back.”

“Ah,” Aizraphale felt a small twinge of guilt, “Well, I hope it’s clear now.”

Crowley chuckled, “Just a bit, yeah.” And for the first time, Aziraphale felt truly forgiven.

They talked through the night, among other things that distracted from the conversation. By morning light, they had the beginnings of a plan to save humanity and each other. Again.

_ It had been a few hours after Aziraphale had left the bookshop. Muriel was busy cataloging books when Michael stormed through the doors seething, Uriel following behind. “Where is he?”

Muriel smiled, “Oh hello! Where is who?”

“Aziraphale.” Michael snapped, “who else would I come here asking about?”

Muriel winced, “I don't know actually. He was here for a moment but then he left. He didn't say where he was going.”

Michael let out an aggravated groan. They had been tasked by a very irritated Voice of God to locate the second missing Supreme Archangel and bring him back immediately.

The only problem was, there was no trace of him anywhere. Or the demon Crowley.

Ugh.

Michael was going to get so much shit for this.

Author Notes: Thanks for reading! Let me know if you'd like me to continue this story. :)

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crowleys-hips · 2 months

Text

Look At Me

(a Crowley pov poem)

i'm still learning to seem human

it doesn't come naturally

i'm still not used to living in this skin

i've tried to crawl out of it

but gravity pulls me back in each time

i'm trapped within these bones

my ribcage, my prison

my eyes, a scream, a plea to be seen

look at me

i'm still here

against all odds, against all reason

i'm still here so

look at me

i can't escape, so ensnare me in your arms and please don't let go

look at me

i haven't faded away yet

i'm trapped in this vessel, raw and real

and physical so

look at me

run your hands across my skin

make a dent, leave your teethmarks

scratch my back, bruise my neck

fill me so deep with your essence

that i forget i've ever felt empty

look at me

make me real

make me feel

make me known

claim this part of me as your own

open my chest, crack my ribs

and free me from this prison

i bleed, therefore i am

i break, but you fill my cracks with gold

and i am shaped anew in your gaze, so

look at me

make me known

i wrote this poem a few weeks ago, partly inspired by this fic by @feiandart and partly (greatly) by my shitshow of a life, and i hadn't meant to post it, but then my friend showed me this Azi pov poem by @crowleys-bentley-and-plants and she was like "hey this sounds like it could be a reply from Azi to your poem isn't that neat" and i was like well now i have to post it so here you go take my suffering

(originally posted in my poetry blog)

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fanfoolishness · 20 days

Text

Evaluations (The Bad Batch)

A selection of evaluations of the health of CT-9904, as performed by Nala Se. Nala Se POV, Crosshair whump/medical whump, angst at a remove. ~3200 words.

---

Nala Se walks through the long white corridors to the clones’ medical bay. Troopers march past in tight formation, each one perfectly uniform, created precisely to match their original specifications. Behind them small cadets trail their older mirrors in imitation, small brown faces all alike, dark hair in the same short military style. She has only to glance at them all to see her own flawless work marching beside her.

She allows herself a small, secret smile. There have been some clones with flaws, of course. Adjustments to obedience, size, intelligence. ability. She is most curious to see how the clones of the 99 designation fare as they age.

Her work, she suspects, is not unlike that of the artist or musician. Like them there is an idea she carries in her mind, the delicate dance of DNA and genetic modification, a vision she has planned and put into motion through the work of her own hands and her own vision. Now there is only the waiting to see the finished product that remains. She knows what she expects of her enhanced clones one day. Yet she also anticipates there may be surprises to occur in their development, unexpected interplays of inspiration or epigenetic accidents leading to something greater than the sum of their parts. It is a pleasant source of anticipation in her day to day, to see the finished music that her work might make.

She reaches the medical bay and the doors slide open for her. She is mildly taken aback at the scene of disarray that appears. A clone cadet, bio-equivalent to a seven-year-old human, sits hunched over himself on the floor, surrounded by scattered medical equipment that appears to have been thrown or kicked around the room. AZI-3 hovers a safe distance away from the clone, and seems relieved to see her.

“Doctor Se,” he says, pitching his voice modulators to a quiet scale. “You have asked me to inform you of any medical visits regarding clones of the ninety-nine designation. This is CT-9904, and he is here with a minor injury, but he is proving… difficult.”

Nala Se nods. CT-9904 would be identifiable from across any room nearly instantly; with his modifications, it is obvious. The clone’s proportions are unusual, thinner and taller than would be expected at this stage of development, and streaks of gray pepper his dark hair despite his young biological age. She had expected that variation. On many species her work has shown an inextricable link between hair color and visual development, and humans are no different.

“CT-9904,” she murmurs. “Please explain yourself.”

The clone unfolds himself and gets awkwardly to his feet, bowing his head briefly to her before looking down at his boots. The injuries are apparent, a blue-black bruise swelling his right eye shut, scrapes up and down his rather thin, angular face. He sniffs, rubbing the back of his hand against his nose. It comes back bloody.

“There was a fight,” the boy says slowly. His voice is odd, slightly raspy, with an accent to his Basic that deviates from the norm. That variation had not been anticipated. One of her intriguing surprises.

She waits, giving him an expectant look. He takes a deep breath.

“The other clones didn’t like that I’m different.” His fists clench at his sides. “I beat all of their scores in marksmanship. It’s so easy. They got mad… they started it. I tried to finish it, but there were more of them than me.” He crosses his arms over his chest, scowling, then wincing.

“Fights are not uncommon at this stage of training,” Nala Se murmurs. “The tendency is typically outgrown.” Though there is the matter that with his enhanced visual acuity, CT-9904 has been training in marksmanship with clones four cycles older. Perhaps seeing a clone so much earlier in his development excel has triggered the aggressive response from the standard units. She turns to AZI-3. “What is the prognosis?”

“There is a hairline fracture of the right zygomatic arch, but with the rapid growth rate and the improved healing capabilities, this is not expected to have any negative long-term effects. Which I have tried explaining to him!”

“I don’t believe you!” the boy bursts out. Nala Se tilts her head to one side, studying him.

“Why?”

The boy looks furtive, anxious, fidgeting where he stands. His hands twist together. At last he stammers, “I can’t see!” He tries to open the swollen right eye and fails, hissing with the effort.

“I have informed him that this is temporary,” says AZI-3. He addresses the clone directly. “The swelling needs time to come down, and then you will see normally again. All of the scans indicate that your eye itself was not damaged, only the tissue surrounding it. You should be back to normal within ten rotations.”

“Are you sure? But that’s -- it’s all I -- I have to --” His face is flushed. “It’s what I’m for!”

“Your vision will return in time, CT-9904. Your enhancements remain intact. The droid tells the truth,” says Nala Se. “There are other skills you may continue training in during this time. I will see to it that you are assigned extra training in stealth and hand-to-hand combat as you heal.”

The clone gives her a worried look, then nods, letting out a long breath.

“Please help AZI-3 clean up this mess. After that, you should return to your quarters. Your fellow cadets should be returning from their own training soon.”

The clone laughs slightly, a small smile shifting on his face. “Wrecker’s going to be mad he missed the fight. He could have taken them all out. I know it.”

“Hmm.” She sighs. This is not the first time these particular clones have been at the center of discord among the standard cadets, and she has a strong suspicion it will not be the last. Yet another unique trait in a batch full of them. She wonders which one of them will be in here next.

---

CT-9904 is led into the medical bay by red-painted clone troopers, stripped of his armor and walking with his head down. Nala Se is waiting. She has been curious to assess the effects of the inhibitor chip on her modified clones; the chips themselves had not been modified or calibrated for the minds of this particular batch, and she had long wondered if she would ever see the effects on them were the chips to be activated. Here then is her opportunity to learn, though her curiosity feels subdued from what she had anticipated. Perhaps it is merely that she feels disquieted by the presence of Admiral Tarkin in the chamber beyond.

My work does not need your supervision, Admiral, she thinks, then turns to the clone at hand.

CT-9904 has only rarely needed medical assistance after completing his training; as his squad’s long-range sniper, he has typically avoided the types of injuries accrued by the others. It has been multiple cycles since she has last seen him up close, and he sits obediently on the examination table under armed guard, his eyes shadowed, his face grim.

“How do you feel, CT-9904?” she asks.

“I don’t know why I’m here,” he bites out, looking away. “There’s nothing wrong with me. Perhaps you should look at Hunter. He’s been acting irrationally.”

“He will be examined in time,” she assures him. “There are some questions I am going to ask you.”

He shrugs, sighing. “All right.”

“Have you had any episodes of seizures?”

He sits up straight, looking at her suspiciously, a wary surprise in his eyes. “No.”

“Have you experienced any episodes of fainting?”

“No.”

“Have you experienced any disorientation?”

“No.”

“Have you experienced any headaches?”

A short, sharp intake of breath. His eyes focus beyond her, fixating in the direction of the Admiral, and a guilty look crosses his face. “...yes.”

“Thank you, CT-9904. The examination will begin.”

One of her new medical droids hovers forward, extending a long hypodermic. The clone’s eyes widen. “Is that necessary?”

“Yes, it is.” The droid injects him in the shoulder. He grimaces, but then his expression slides into something dreamy, a placid, half-lidded stare. He slumps where he sits and the droid eases him onto his back, preparing him for imaging. Nala Se recuses herself to the outer chamber.

She has read CT-9904’s report of Kaller, contradicting the reports from his squadmates. They have informed her of his attempts to convince his squad to follow orders. It is a fascinating finding. CT-9904’s chip may be working -- she will run the necessary tests to confirm, but the headaches are the earliest stage of an incomplete chip activation -- yet loyalty to his squad appears to be superseding its commands.

Admiral Tarkin waits for her as the test commences. As she has suspected, the chip is partially working, but CT-9904’s mutations have muted its effectiveness. She transmits the order to amplify the chip’s effects as the Admiral looks on.

The amplification process is one that she has never used before in practice, though it was developed for theoretical use in an event such as this one. As she watches it becomes plain that the dose of sedative has been insufficient for such a procedure. CT-9904 trembles, hands curling beside him, his chest rising and falling jerkily. She assesses his vitals. They are stable enough, but the elevated heart rate and erratic breathing are consistent with pain.

She considers adding further sedation, but the process is nearly complete, and she refrains.

The arms of the machine retract. She checks her datapad. The clone’s vitals have returned to normal, and he is starting to stir.

“Did it work?” Admiral Tarkin asks, voice clipped with impatience. “If not, you may begin the decommissioning process. But if it has worked, I would like the same procedure performed on the remaining squad.”

“Understood, Admiral. I will assess him myself.”

By the time she enters, CT-9904 is clumsily sitting up, breathing hard. He raises one hand to his right temple, shaking his head. “What happened?” he asks.

“You have been found clear to return to duty. With your squad.”

CT-9904 frowns, his face going cold. “My squad disobeyed orders.” He gets off the table, swaying slightly, and straightens up. “Good soldiers follow orders.”

“And if your squad does not?”

“Then they need to be eliminated,” CT-9904 says evenly. His eyes are blank, devoid of the suspicion and wariness that had been plain earlier. She nods, feeling a slight pang. She would have preferred to have had the time to study the interplay between the clone’s mind and the partially activated chip in case there were new insights to be gleaned. Observing him for several weeks would have been most intriguing. But she is certain now that in this regard, at least, CT-9904 is no longer unique.

---

“Status report,” Nala Se asks, gazing down at the unconscious clone in recovery.

The medical droid catalogs the clone’s injuries while removing the field bandages marred by strikethrough. The list is long and troubling. Ion burns to the chest, hands and face. Concussion to the right temple. Corneal abrasions. Right shoulder dislocation, replaced in the field. Inhalation injury. It is disheartening to see such a unique specimen in such shape. The corneal abrasions are the most concerning, given the nature of his enhancements, but the droid’s readings confirm that they are thankfully superficial and should heal without issue.

“How did this occur?”

“Exposure to an ion engine, Doctor,” says a human woman with a clipped, stern voice, her helmet carried under her arm. “We were shocked he survived. None of the other clones with him made it.” Nala Se gives her a cool look. One of Admiral Tarkin’s conscripts, her training nonstandardized, her breeding unknown. She does not understand the Admiral’s obsession with ‘updating’ the army of the Republic, no, Empire, and it is an affront to have one of those inferior soldiers here in her own medical bay.

The soldier is still standing at attention. “Will the Commander be all right?” she asks, and there is something calculating in her eyes. Nala Se frowns. Clones would never show such hints of naked ambition.

“Yes. There is extensive treatment to be done, but he will likely be fully rehabilitated within a matter of weeks.” They have repaired far more grievous injuries to their clones over the years. Kaminoan work was strong, and it was reparable when desired. “CT-9904 is valuable to the Empire, and he will recover.”

The soldier frowns. “Even with the seizures?”

Nala Se gives her her full attention. “He has had seizures?”

“Two, on the journey back from Bracca,” she says. “I thought the medic told you. Is that from the head injury?”

“There will be no further questions,” Nala Se says. “You may leave.”

The woman shoves her helmet back on, nodding, and finally leaves. Nala Se immediately locks the laboratory door behind her.

There is a faint groan from the bed. CT-9904 raises his left hand weakly before it drops back against his chest. He coughs, the sound amplified in the oxygen mask looped over his face.

She casts her eyes over the blistered flesh above his right ear, then directs the medical droids to set up the imaging device to assess the chip. CT-9904’s breathing rattles in the confines of the imaging chamber. It is disconcerting.

The machine whirs, its testing cycle complete, and it retracts to leave CT-9904 back in the open. She frowns at the results on her datapad.

“The inhibitor chip is damaged,” she tells the medical droid at the clone’s side. “Swelling in the brain has interfered with its functioning. The seizures are the result of an improper connection.”

CT-9904 fumbles at the oxygen mask on his face, making a garbled noise. He manages to pull off the mask, and rasps, “Take it out, then.”

Nala Se stiffens.

She has made a mistake.

She has never spoken of the chips in the presence of a clone beyond Omega. Now in her curiosity, with CT-9904 so wounded as to appear unconscious, she has erred. She turns to him, wondering how she should proceed. Despite what she had said about CT-9904’s value to the Empire, she is certain there would be no repercussions if he were to not survive his injuries.

“What do you mean?”

“I know…” He swallows, coughing, flecks of blood-tinged fluid dotting his lips. “I know about the chip. They told me.”

“Who?”

“Clone Force 99,” he manages. “Said it’s… controlling me. But I don’t --” He presses the oxygen mask against his face again, taking in several deep breaths before removing it again. He squints up at her through blepharospasm, eyelids struggling to open despite the pain of the abrasions. “I don’t need a chip to be loyal. To --” His chest heaves. “To be a good soldier.”

CT-9904 suddenly stares off into space, his good eye transfixing on the ceiling. His jaw slackens, and she recognizes the prodromal signs of an impending seizure. Nala Se gives a swift look to the medical droid. “He will need an anticonvulsive. Immediately.” The droid complies, heading off the seizure before it can truly begin.

Nala Se hesitates. There are three paths remaining to her now. Euthanasia of the enhanced clone to prevent possible awareness of the chip from being spread to other clones; treating the injuries but leaving the clone in his current state, potentially compromised by seizures and prone to worsening degradation of the chip; or --

She makes her choice, recalling the clone’s words. CT-9904 and his cohort have always represented a new era in experimentation for her. Perhaps by removing his chip now, she may continue to be surprised.

---

The walls of Tantiss press in around her, a windowless narrow world of her cell and the hallway beyond. Tipoca City lies beneath the waves of her homeworld, her lab, her work, her calling buried in the sea; and now there is only the Empire and its brutal destruction.

She has been a fool. She had so buried herself in her work that she had blinded herself to the dangers of being indispensable. She knows that she will never leave this planet alive.

The days are endless, the monotony almost worse than the clumsy efforts of the Empire to extract the information they needed by force. Their interrogation droids had been programmed for human physiology, and while unpleasant, their methods had failed to force her to share her scientific knowledge. They have since given up on that, and now Hemlock attempts to use the clone Omega as a bargaining chip, despite having no idea of her whereabouts.

Nala Se cares little for his efforts. She cares little for anything at all, now.

The one slight bit of interest in her day is her daily walk. They bring her to the lab once daily under heavy guard and supervision, perhaps hoping she will be enticed by the technology to resume her old work. She has no interest in the lab, refusing to examine its machines and capabilities, but she watches closely the clones walking by under their own guard, amusing herself with guessing which batches they had arisen from. She has no way to confirm her guesses, but to her trained eye, subtle changes in the degree of aging -- the appearance of fine wrinkles starting at the edges of the eyes and corners of the mouth, a slight shift in glossiness of the hair, faint alterations to the gait -- provide significant clues. It puts her in mind of happier times, when she could truly focus on science and take pride in the results of her labors.

One day -- or perhaps night, there is no way to tell -- she awaits the lift with her captors and a group of clones stops beside them, waiting for the same lift. She turns to study them and is taken aback. One clone stands above the others, several inches taller despite the slump in his shoulders.

Her mind swirls with questions. Had the removal of CT-9904’s chip -- omitted from his final medical report after his injuries on Bracca -- come to light? Was he sent here for betrayal of the Empire? Or had he merely been injured and deemed unfit to return to duty, so was sent here for study to remain useful?

He does not meet her gaze. She is not sure he has even noticed she stands beside him. His face is skull-like, his skin sallow from lack of sunlight, deep shadows etched beneath his eyes. A flicker of movement catches her eye and she notes a fine tremor, nearly imperceptible, along the edge of his hand. He shakes his hand almost subconsciously, a small, subtle jerk she is not sure that even he has detected. There are no obvious injuries, but there is an emptiness that is apparent, a lack of something vital.

She does not know what has brought him here, but she knows that he is a soldier no longer.

The lift arrives and the guards herd them within. Force is not required; the prisoners know their place. They stare down at the floor, heads bowed.

Nala Se gazes away from the ruined clone beside her. The music she had once carried in her head, the clever dance of DNA and ingenuity, the spark of creativity, of creation, falls silent. She does not speak to him, nor he to her.

There is simply nothing to say.

#the bad batch #the bad batch fanfiction #the bad batch crosshair #tbb crosshair #crosshair tbb #ct 9904 #nala se #whump #but like... dispassionate whump #this is such an odd little one but i had fun writing it #also nala se is kind of awful #my batcher fic #oh and if you were wondering #being a veterinarian I do like throwing in medical nonsense when I can

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sailorkamino · 1 year

Text

the force and plants (tech's pov)

wildflower masterlist

relationships: twi'lek!jedi!reader x tech [gn, neurodivergent reader, can be platonic or romantic]

word count: 1.9k

summary: You and Tech can talk for hours about your shared interests and curiosities. On your first mission to Felucia you go on a nature walk and explain how you perceive each batcher in the force.

warnings: tech and reader are neurodivergent, brief insecurities, mentioned sensory overload, tech worries his info dumping is annoying, reader befriends a snake, dehumanization/mistreatment of clones

mando'a translations: vod- sibling, ori'vod- older sibling

ryl translations: nerra- brother

Tech has never met anyone that shared his thirst for knowledge, then he got a jedi.

When you mention liking plants he tells you every fact he knows. When you fire back with plants he’s never even heard of he stares at you in shock. Later he uses his datapad to confirm everything you told him is correct. He doesn't sleep that night. Too busy researching.

The next day he sees the lockscreen on your own datapad. It’s you, a Kel Dor jedi, and a clone trooper with a gigantic white wolf. You notice his stare and smile. “Did you know loth wolves are force sensitive?” No, he did not know that. He asks you multiple questions about the force and the jedi. He knows Hunter told him not to interrogate you but he can’t help himself and you don’t seem to mind.

“I read that jedi can heal with the force. How does that work, sir?”

“Well first you use the force to assess the injury, feel how much damage is done and envision what needs to be fixed. Then you use the living force to speed up the natural healing process.”

“Can you read minds?”

“Yes but not in the way that you think. I don’t hear verbal thoughts, it’s more like feelings and intentions.”

“What is the force like?”

“It’s like a comm in the back of my mind, constantly flicking through channels. The volume changes but it never turns off.” Without meaning to his face screws up. That sounds completely overwhelming. He thinks about Hunter hiding under his blankets, whimpering from sensory overload after a hard training session. He frowns worryingly.

You smile as if sensing his concern. You probably can. “I know it sounds like a lot but once you’re used to the background music, you can’t live without it.”

You also enjoy mechanics but oddly enough you talk about droids like they're living beings. You confess that when you first joined the order, later than most and unable to speak a word of basic, you had a hard time making friends. You spent a lot of time with droids. Tech can relate.

Then you’re excitedly pulling him to your temporary quarters on Kamino, saying you have something to show him. “When my master found out I was joining a unit without an official medic he got me Pup.”

“Pup?”

“She’s an AZI series surgical assistant droid!”

He shouldn’t be surprised you’ve named your droid. And gave it pronouns. You never use CT numbers when referring to clones. If they don’t have a name yet you call them vod or nerra or even an affectionate name like dear one. But never by a number.

You even show him the inner workings of your lightsaber, all though Tech is a bit distracted by the fact the parts are all levitating. The way you explain your weapon as it’s a part of you reminds him of Crosshair.

You both have an interest in foreign languages and cultures. Tech explains that growing up the bad batch were completely isolated from other clones and most trainers. The little mando’a they do know they learnt from their ori’vod, 99.

Your conversations become a mix of languages the others fail to keep up with: Basic, Ryl, Dai Bendu, Mando’a, and even Huttese. You’re practically fluent thanks to past undercover work and Tech finds the crass language interesting. The insults are most creative.

When he sits in the pilot seat of the marauder for the first time you’re beside him with a smirk, “modify anything you want, just tell me how to use it.” He has never been given so much creative freedom before and it makes his mind buzz with ideas. When he tests how fast the ship can go his brothers scream but you grin in the co pilot's seat. Tech finds he quite enjoys your company.

Your first mission takes you to Felucia. It’s a success. The locals invite the you all to a feast that night but until then you have some free time. Tech wonders if you would be interested in helping him with those modifications you mentioned. Just then you enter the ship.

“I’m going to do some exploring if anyone wants to come. A local told me a lot of flowers are blooming right now.”

Tech’s head snaps up at your offer. Being raised on Kamino he has no real life experience with plants. It sounds most fascinating. He tells you so. You grin, bid goodbye to the rest of the batch, and the two of you are off.

He’s excitedly telling you about the medicinal properties of a neon colored flower when he spares a glance at you, his words trailing off awkwardly. Your back is to him as you kneel in the grass. Apparently the ground is more interesting than him.

The dismissal stings a bit but he tries to ignore it. He should be used to this kind of reaction by now. But… he learnt all this for you. He thought you liked plants. Maybe he’s the problem?

“Why’d you stop?”

The question makes him pause. He wasn’t expecting that. Maybe you’re pretending to care about his lecture to spare his feelings. Yes, that makes sense. From what he’s observed you care a great deal about other’s feelings.

“Apologies, general. I have the tendency to ramble.”

“I know.” You state neutrally. He gulps, feeling his ears redden in shame. Then you’re standing and turning to face him in one swift movement, a comforting smile on your lips. “I like it.”

For a moment he’s speechless. A feeling Tech is not used to. “Pardon?”

Then he notices something bright blue-green curled around your bare arm. Because you didn’t want to wear any armor for a nature walk. He has so many questions.

“I like talking to you. I always learn something new.” You calmly pet what Tech now recognizes as some kind of snake. “Your brothers don’t mind your talking either.”

He stares at you in shock. An odd warm, fluttery feeling blooms in his chest. Maybe he’s ill. You notice his stare and offer a shrug, like you soothe insecurities while adopting unknown creatures all the time. Maybe you do.

“This little guy was chilly so I offered him some body heat.”

You say it like that explains everything. Tech still has so many questions. “How could you tell he was uncomfortable?” He finally asks.

“In the force,” you answer plainly. “I can form emotional connections with animals. He's so calm because he can sense I want to help him.”

Okay. So you can communicate with animals. He’s adding that to his notes as soon as possible. Tech continues to stare at the colorful reptile. Where has he seen that scale pattern before? He made sure to research Felucia before their arrival so it’s reasonable to assume the snake popped up, but what is it’s name?

Tech frowns as he turns on his trusty datapad. He hates not knowing things. But before he can even open the app he remembers. Feluican tree viper. Venomous. He looks at your serene face in alarm.

“Don’t worry, Tech. He won’t hurt me,” you soothe, meeting his shocked gaze with a small smile. “I can feel your concern.”

He’s still put off by the venomous reptile wrapped around your flesh but he has to admit, it’s fascinating. He raises his datapad to take a pic. You wordlessly move the animal closer. “Thank you, sir.”

“You don’t have to call me that off missions.”

He hums noncommittally. The viper flicks out an orange tongue just as he snaps the holopic. “Do animals feel different than humans in the force?” He asks curiously.

“Mhmm it depends. All living things have a presence but creatures and plants are more... shallow." You give him a playful look, “I can recognize familiar signatures. I would never confuse you with a snake.”

“Do clones feel different from one another?”

“Of course they do!” You answer immediately, as if the question is ridiculous. “I could tell you apart blindfolded.”

He recalls a time the two of you were working on your droid when without looking up you greeted Crosshair who had entered the room. Tech didn’t think that much of it at the time. Growing up with a brother who can hear heartbeats and recognize scents he’s used to that kind of behavior. But now he’s curious.

“How do you perceive me?”

“You feel like… a tuned up engine.” Your eyes widen in alarm at your own words, the snake suddenly becoming restless against you. Tech is confused by your sudden change in demeanor. And slightly worried about the venomous reptile. If you get agitated while sharing an emotional connection with a creature, how will they react? For the first time in Tech life, he doesn't want to learn.

"Not in an inhuman way!” You splutter. “Your mind is just… a lot of working parts coming together. Is that rude?”

Tech has never been good at social cues but he is genuinely baffled now. Nothing about your explanation seemed snide or backhanded. “How would that be rude? It sounds like a fitting description.”

You take a calming breath as the viper slithers torwards your chest in an almost sympathetic way, small head resting over your heart. It's seemed to relax thankfully. It's almost like it's trying to comfort you? Fascinating. Your voice is meek when you answer, “well, some nat-borns treat clones like droids. I don’t want you to think I’m like that.”

Tech is caught off guard. Not only do you care about his emotions, you care what he thinks of you? That should be obvious. Why would he go on a nature walk with someone who views him as subhuman? Who doesn't respect him? He’s never been good at expressing himself so he just focuses on being honest. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t enjoy your presence. You have given me no reason to doubt your character.”

Your smile is gentle but meaningful. He awkwardly pushes up his goggles. Not one for emotional conversations he reverts to his comfort zone, researching. “What about my brothers?”

You hum thoughtfully as you bend down, allowing your snake friend to slither into the brush. You notice some fire colored flowers and plop onto the ground to get a closer look.

“Hunter is like… A calm forest.” You say, plucking a few of the plants. “Wrecker is fireworks.” You begin to tie the stems together with nimble fingers. “Crosshair is the air before a storm.”

Tech finds all your descriptions fitting. He's efficient. Hunter is steady. Wrecker is free spirited. Crosshair is harsh. That only leaves one member. “What about you?” He asks.

“Me?”

“How are you perceived by fellow jedi?”

“Well it changes from person to person but I’ve been told I’m bright and warm.” You explain as you stand. “My master once called me a shooting star.”

You suddenly thrust the hoop of flowers towards Tech. “It’s a necklace!” You explain proudly. He observes your innocent happiness as he dons the creation. He finds it hard to accept you’re the same warrior who took out 50+ battle droids only hours ago.

“Thank you, gen–” he cuts himself off, recalling your preferred nickname. “Thank you, Blossom.”

You positively beam. Tech is not force sensitive, nor does he understand the mystical energy field, yet he finds himself agreeing with your master’s assessment. You are indeed a shooting star.

#the bad batch #tbb x reader #the bad batch x reader #tech x reader #tbb tech x reader #bad batch tech #tbb tech #autistic tech #the neurodivergent batch #tech x you #star wars #bad batch #tbb #clone wars #clones x reader #clone wars x reader #clone force 99

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thatlonelycactus · 2 months

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Look, as we all know, Aziraphale and Crowley have differences in opinion when it comes to heaven and hell and that’s because whilst they’ve had similar experiences with them- they’ve also had really different experiences with them too.

Let’s start with Aziraphale because I feel like, heading into season 3, we’re going to see some change in his opinions on above. Compared to Crowley, Aziraphale’s experience with hell is fairly limited and mainly manipulated by Heaven and all. This opinion was supported when he went to hell at the end of season 1 and presumable by all the times they’ve kidnapped (and supposedly tortured) Crowley. Hell is simple to understand to him. They’re the ‘bad guys’ as he painfully reminds us in the final fifteen. That’s understandable- everything he’s ever had to do with hell, that he has considered to be connected with hell, has been bad. But Crowley’s different. He could still be an angel- right?

This is where we get on with Aziraphale and heaven because, deep down, he loves what he still thinks heaven stands for. It’s just been corrupted. Sure, it has been cruel to him on multiple occasions but that’s not heaven- that’s just the archangels. In his mind, Heaven as a whole has never done anything necessarily bad to him, there are only a few corrupt individuals. Plus, forgiveness comes easily to Aziraphale. He’s forgiven Crowley too many times, he silently forgives Jimbriel, and he arguably forgives the Metatron. Thus, for Aziraphale, forgiving Heaven, who from his pov has never directly wronged him, is super easy. That’s why he still thinks Heaven can be redeemed.

Alternatively, Crowley was outcast from Heaven- almost told he wasn’t wanted there because he asked questions/whatever else he did to fall. This is why I wish we knew more about Crowley’s fall because I feel like it would tell us so much more about his character development but alas. But he was cast out of the only group he had ever known because he did what he thought was right. We don’t know what else happened to him in Heaven so there could be plenty more times that he was mistreated etc. Crowley doesn’t forgive as easily as Azi put also we can assume that a large part of Heaven would have turned their backs on him after he fell with Aziraphale being one of the few to still treat him like an equal.

To Crowley, hell was an escape. It was a way to express himself and allowed him to have some sense of companionship after his fall. It was a way of not being alone. Yes, hell went to shit, it was always going to go to shit. Maybe Crowley knew that and he recognizes it. He doesn’t think hell is better than heaven. He thinks their equals because they have the same purpose. As he states in the final fifteen:

When Heaven ends life on earth it will be just as dead as if hell ended it.

Neither opinion is necessarily right or wrong but they’re both opinions informed by experience and thus arguably are just as valid as the other.

(NOTE: bc Im a little bit unhealthily obsessed with Angel Crowley and his identity Id also like to point out that if he was a high ranking Angel (like supreme archangel status yk) his experiences in Heaven would have been totally different to Aziraphale’s because he also would have been in a lot more contact with the higher-ups than, say, a principality. We know that Heavens corruption permeates the higher circles and that the lower ranking angels still stand mainly for what Heaven is supposed to stand for so this may have also impacted their experiences anyway sorry lol)

#Sorry for my ramblings #good omens #ineffable husbands #ineffable divorce #crowley #aziraphale #good omens shitpost #aziracrow #angel crowley #the starmaker

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thescholarlystrumpet · 4 months

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Good Omens Fic (and art) Master Post

Smut fic

For Loving One rated explicit Slow burn long fic, posting weekly on Wed and Sun. Father Fell x Crowley Human AU in WW2

Silence is Golden rated explicit Smutty Angst follow up to The Rest is Silence

Like one of your French Girls rated explicit Aziraphale gets inspired by the Titanic film. Crowley models ;)

Eye Contact rated explicit "Keep looking. Don’t you dare look away. Look away and I’ll stop. Understand?” Dom Crowley one shot

The Tension and the Spark rated explicit “I think I like hearing you beg me.” Dom Azi one shot

In Perfect Unity rated explicit Double priest porn, PWP with feels.

To Err is Human Rated Explicit. Memory Loss AU, based on canon but Aziraphale was never invited to Heaven. Slightly slow burn, Mutual Pining, Smut with Feels.

The Rest is Silence Rated explicit One-shot, Porn with Feels for the Smut War. They're Not Talking.

There's A First Time for Everything Rated Mature One-shot (with potential for more encapsulated stories to follow) about "Firsts" between Crowley and Aziraphale. Tickling, humor, fluff.

Chromatic Carnality Rated Mature Poetic prose: An Angel trembles before a kneeling supplicant and it is perfectly perverse.

Lending a Hand Rated Explicit First GO smut fic, post S1, 3 short chapters, Complete A Demon lends a hand to his aroused confused Angel.

** Non-smut

I have brought her laughing (to my quietly dreaming garden) Rated T Fem Azicrow, Prohibition Speak Easy, Drug Use, PINING. Art collab with the incomparable @quona

Wounds Unseen Rated T Inspired by Zoeytime’s comic, an Angsty Aftercare ficlet

A smidge of celestial, a pinch of occult rated T Collection of Drabbles (each 100 words exactly) ranging from humor to angst to suggestive.

What I Am Rated T Post S2 Crowley POV ficlet, meta as inner monologue (3rd person)

To Know a Black Sheep Rated T published first draft of a Priest AU (am doing a whole new idea as a long smutty fic)

Linguistic Evolution - Rated G First fic I ever wrote for GO: Funny and fluffy one shot.

Art (ratings vary)

Ineffable Art - rated Explicit herein there be peen, so be warned

WIP LIST! (if interested)

Priest AU long fic, slow burn, smutty. Human AU set in WWII

Titanic film as inspo "French Girls" inspired by @Mothma'am

RHPS cast, Human AU collab with hakunahistata

I also run the 18+ discord with the Masters of Sex streams and NSFW Sims channel. Link by request :)

#good omens #get to know strumpet #about me #fanfic master list #aziracrow #azicrow #ineffable husbands #ineffable idiots #ineffable spouses #ineffable wives #aziraphale #crowley #crowley x aziraphale

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grumelot123 · 3 months

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Crowley x Aziraphale Season 3 "Rejoice" PART 2!!!! ANGST AT FIRST! (This will be a happy ending dw!) TW! PANIC ATTACK

Part 2 will be the last part in this small series. But I will def post more after this. Anyhow let's get in to it!

"I forgive you"

"I forgive you" is the only words that could ring through Aziraphales head as Crowley left.

Even though no one was there. Aziraphale needed someone to talk to. No not someone, not something, he just needed to talk.

"Y-you forgive me? That's all he said? But I wanted...oh." This has to be exactly how Crowley felt after I left..oh no what have I done? I don't know what to feel right now. I think I need to breath for a minute. My chest feels tight, really tight. I can't breath. Im hyperventilating. The world is spinning. I can't.

"hey mr.fel-? MR.FELL ARE YOU ALRIGHT"

CROWLEYS POV (dw azi will be ok)

"let me explain"

"i forgive you"

What the fuck, did i just do? How the fuck? What in Satan's name? I just left him. He wanted to explain. He wanted to fix things. He wanted to fix us.

We could've been us.

But I just lost it all. To me being petty. I realize he's done this to me before. But he had reason. Reason he was going to tell me if I would have let him explain.

I should go back. I should apologize. I should do something. I need to do something. If I don't. If I just lost something, someone so important to me in my life.

What will I do?

What have I done?

AZIRAPHALES POV NOW

"Mr.Fell breathe in and out. Calm down. Can you count backwards from 10 in your head?"

10,9,8,7,6,5-

My breathing is going back to normal. I'm not as dizzy. But still shaking and still crying. I'm not sure I could stop crying even if I wanted to.

"Okay..Mr.Fell I'm going to call Crowley now, ok?"

Crowley? No she can't call him

"No..no need Muriel really I'm okay, I've just been a bit shaken up I promise I'm alright, I just need a bit of air, okay?"

My chest is still tight. I need to go sit down somewhere before even trying to explain anything.

"Oh, okay Mr.Fell, if you're sure"

I walked out of the bookshop and went to walk to a nearby park. I hope Crowley isn't around to see me like this. Not sure what he'd do.

MURIEL POV (muriel stan right here btw)

Mr.Fell was not okay when I walked in here and not much better when he walked out. Even though he told me not to call Crowley..I mean..it couldn't hurt, could it?

What's his number again? Oh that's right..

CROWLEY POV (dw it will get happier soon ok?)(also idk what Muriel's nickname for Crowley is so bear with me)

I'm pathetic. Couldn't even put my ego down long enough to listen to what my best friend had to tell me. I can't lose him like this though. I won't I swear I will do anything to just make him hap-

*ring ring ring ring RING*

Who the fuck is calling me?

*Caller ID "Bookshop Watcher Girl"*

Oh..Muriel? I wonder what she wants? Isn't Aziraphale there anyhow?

*answers phone* "What do you want?"

"Oh! Hello Mr.Crowley, uh..is there any chance Mr.Fell is with you?"

Aziraphale was just at the bookshop? Minutes ago?

"Uh er no? He was just at the shop minutes ago though?"

"Oh well. no I know that it's just when I had walked in Mr.Fell, well he was uh he was"

Can this girl stutter anymore?

"He was what? Just spit it out!"

"Oh sorry Mr.Crowley. He was crying! He was having a panic attack and well, I calmed him down and tried to call you but he insisted on me not calling you and him just going out to get a fresh breath of air and I probably shouldn't have let him go and oh I am so sorry!"

Aziraphale? Crying? A panic attack? Oh no what did I do? Where is he? I need to find him.

"Uh, it's quite alright Muriel. I'm not mad but I am going to go find Aziraphale now, alright? Bye now"

AZIRAPHALE POV

Well now that my breathing slowed down I can just sit on this park bench for a minute in the peace and quiet. Not thinking about anything. Pushing all my worries aside. I haven't really had a minute to myself in a few. I need this. Just peace and quiet.

CROWLEY (peace and quiet my ass. i know you all want your happy ending and don't worry it's coming faster than the depression hit you from season 2!)

If Aziraphale is anywhere he's at a park. Not just any park though. Especially if he walked. He's at the one down the road.

As I pulled up and got out of my car I spotted him right away. He seemed to calm and content. Poor thing probably hasn't gotten a moment to himself. But right now he needs someone with him.

As I walked over I couldn't help but to notice how tired and overworked he looked.

"Hey, Aziraphale..you okay?" I whispered, not even knowing why it just felt right.

"Oh hello Crowley you frightened me. I'm quite alright..why wouldn't I be?"

He's not telling me the truth obviously. I mean I understand but still. I want him to trust me.

"Well..Muriel called. You had a panic attack? Why didn't you call for me? If I were mad you know I would've been there for you right?"

He looked at me, almost surprised for a moment but then he calmly spoke.

"Well yes I understand you would have but my whole breakdown was really not of much importance I'm sure as you said you had other thin-"

"You? Not being of importance? Impossible. You are one of the MOST important people in my life Aziraphale. Anything that happens big or small I want to know about it. I need to. I want to make sure you're okay because angel, I love y-"

Azi and Crowley Pov

Aziraphale cuts off those last words with a kiss. Crowley kisses him back because he can't not. Aziraphale right then and there realizes how much of Crowley he really wants, and it's overwhelming in the best way possible. It's gentle but firm, they don't come up for air for what feels like hours. They could do this for hours. They probably will someday. Crowley is first to break the kiss only to say.

"Don't ever forgive me again"

There was joking in his voice but also a level of seriousness Aziraphale hasn't heard in a while.

That comment is followed by a breathless Aziraphale as a light laugh escapes his mouth.

"I wouldn't dream of it dear"

Even though Aziraphale went along with the tone. He knew what kind of promise he was making. He knew it was a promise he could and would keep.

And no, it may not be perfect.

But it damn good enough for the both of them.

I DECLARE MY FIRST (and definitely not the last) GOOD OMENS, CROWLEY X AZIRAPHALE FAN FICTION FINALLY FINISHED!

Can I get a wahoo?

#good omens #good omens season 2 #good omens spoilers #aziracrow #crowly x aziraphale #aziraphale #crowley #angst with a happy ending #light angst #happy ending #its going to be okay #part 2/2 #part 2 #the end #no thoughts head empty #ineffable husbands

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