#I sure do hope it's apparent how much I love Aziraphale from this and it doesn't come across super negatively

[knaccblog]

Aziraphale and "I Forgive You"

So after I watched the first season a few times however many years ago, I noticed something, wrote up a bit of a meta about it and then never posted it. I thought that it was either very obvious or very silly and either way, no one needed to see it. But now it's several years and another season later and again, I'm noticing the exact same thing so here it goes- I think the reason Aziraphale keeps saying that he forgives Crowley has overall very little to do with what Crowley has just done right before Aziraphale says it and much more to do with a secret Aziraphale hides deep within himself and has for thousands of years, a truth that he hates to acknowledge and is terrified to speak aloud: he thinks God is wrong to have not Forgiven Crowley.

Get settled in because this is gonna take a bit.

The first time I started noticing this really clearly is the Bandstand Breakup scene. Crowley starts by cussing God literally out- "For the record, great, pustulant, mangled bollocks to the Great blasted Plan." To which Aziraphale says, "May you be forgiven." And yes, Crowley has just sinned and Aziraphale is a stuffy angel but the way Aziraphale says it is like a hope, atleast to my ears. Like he's really wishing that God will see how good Crowley truly is and bring him back to Heaven even though he keeps doing stupid stuff like this

Anyway, Crowley then responds with, "I won't be forgiven. Not ever. Part of a demon's job description. Unforgivable. That's what I am." And Aziraphale responds again with a hopeful sounding, "You were an angel once." At this point, I was almost sure that he's talking about his personal wishes here. It sounds like he's saying, "Come on, Crowley. There's a chance." To which Crowley responds, "That was a long time ago," basically saying it's impossible and shutting that whole bit of the conversation down. And you can just watch Aziraphale's face fall at that, like it kills him for that to be true. 

The next time the topic of forgiveness and Crowley comes up is when Crowley shows up to beg Aziraphale to run away with him one last time. In this conversation, Aziraphale is very adamant that if he talks to the right people, they won't want the apocalypse and they'll stop it. He, of course, thinks this because his most core belief is that God is good and that even if we don't understand how what God is doing is good right now, it will lead to goodness eventually via the Rube Goldburg machine which is time and the universe etc aka God is ineffable. But even Aziraphale can't imagine how the ineffable Rube Goldburg machine could turn an event where everything on earth dies into a good one so therefore, he's certain that God doesn't want the Apocalypse.

Crowley responds to this hope with, "You're so clever. How can someone as clever as you be so stupid?" to which Aziraphale responds, "I forgive you" in a very gentle but sure tone. And now yes, while it is entirely possible that Aziraphale is forgiving Crowley for calling him stupid, I've always felt like that would be a rather weighty response considering how mild an insult it is. It's also possible (and I feel slightly more likely) that Aziraphale is forgiving Crowley for his lack of faith, his inability to believe in the goodness of God anymore. 

And that could definitely be it, but if we think about the way Aziraphale had talked about forgiveness at the Bandstand, the hope and desire that he seemed to put into the idea of forgiveness and Crowley and the fact that Crowley had dismissed it as entirely impossible for him to ever be forgiven, than a third read of Aziraphale's "I forgive you" emerges: one in which Aziraphale is saying, "While God might never forgive you, I do". It's "I might never see you again since you intend to run away to the stars but if this is the last time I ever see you, I want you to know that I think you are deserving of forgiveness. That I see the good in you even if God can't." It's a combination "I love you" and small rebellion against God, because while Aziraphale can't bring himself to give up on Her completely and run away with Crowley (even though a part of him clearly wants to), he is willing to say that She's done this one thing wrong and it's never forgiving Crowley, who Aziraphale can see clearly is more kind and good than any of the angels he knows.

So yeah, that was about where the idea rested at the end of the first season but now we have a bunch of new historical scenes and a new "I forgive you" following a very loaded conversation in which Aziraphale got extremely excited by the idea of Crowley being reinstated as an Angel and I felt like this idea has even more legs than before. 

To me, it's very clear that Aziraphale's pitch for Crowley to come back to Heaven isn't him hoping to "reset" Crowley to how he was before the Fall or him being incapable of loving Crowley as a Demon and instead was him being overjoyed to have this secret truth (Crowley is deserving of God's Forgiveness) that he's been observing for 6000ish years be acknowledged and have a chance to come to fruition. After all, as we saw this season (and honestly last season too but less pronounced), Crowley, current Demon Crowley, not the angel he knew over 6000 years ago, has proven over and over again just how truly good he is to Aziraphale.

For example, in the Job sequence, Crowley does a truly good thing that no Angel (beside Aziraphale) would do or even think that they should do and that is save Job's children. And through the entirety of this bit, Aziraphale basically always believes that he will. There are even two moments where Crowley tries his best to scare Aziraphale away, to play up being the bad guy (so as to better hide the con he's running and protect Aziraphale), but Aziraphale's faith in Crowley's goodness does not falter. At the end of the day, it seems clear that Aziraphale has more faith that Crowley will do the good thing, the correct thing than God. Conveniently for Aziraphale's faith in God though, not understanding how something horrible he hates will eventually lead to goodness in the long run is a foundational principle of said faith so his faith in God remains strong even after everything She and Heaven do to Job. 

But his faith in Crowley doesn't require such a complicated work around. He believes Crowley won't kill children and he is correct. Though unfortunately, this very simplicity leads to a new problem, a problem that we can see eventually solidify in Aziraphale's mind, becoming a running theme of their association and leading to the eventual "I forgive you"s.

Aziraphale can clearly see how kind and good Crowley is, how he does the right thing as best he can, even when he could (and sometimes does) get into immense trouble for it. But for some reason, despite repeated evidence that Crowley is everything that Aziraphale believes Angels are and should be, Crowley continues to be a Demon. And once you realize that Aziraphale has noticed this contradiction and that it most likely haunts him and is a constant challenge to his worldview, it colors a lot of what he says in a new light. Many of what seem like simple, self-righteous statements reveal themselves to be Aziraphale trying to protecting himself from a massive logical inconsistency he keeps stumbling across. 

"It must be bad, otherwise you wouldn't have tempted them into it," Aziraphale says, clearly not quite sure why it's bad actually. 

"You, I'm afraid, are evil," Aziraphale asserts, basically stating that Crowley is evil because he's evil. It's tauntological and therefore doesn't have to make sense. (He says this one shortly before Crowley saves Elsbeth from suicide, poverty and damnation.) 

"So this is all your demonic work? I should have known," Aziraphale says, thinking, "Aha, this time Crowley must have done the bad thing and therefore continues to deserve being Fallen." (Crowley has, in fact, not done the bad thing but shhhh, worry about that later.) 

Once you notice this self defensive habit, you can't unnotice it really, it's just so present in Aziraphale's logic and speech. Aziraphale even at one point says, "Still a demon, then?" after the Ark and Job and Jesus because on some level he probably doesn't want to actually evaluate, it makes no sense to him that Crowley is still a Demon, especially when he has also sinned in a few ways (lied to Gabriel, thwarted the will of God, technically gluttony etc) and nothing has happened to him, to say nothing for all the things Gabriel has done (or has just let passively happen without a thought to interfere).

So yes, I think the entire final argument plays out the way it does because Aziraphale thinks Crowley is good and deserves to be reinstated, to be forgiven by God more than anything. 

He comes into their final conversation nervous but excited, to the point where he stomps right over what Crowley is trying to say. "You see I... I have some incredible good news to give you." The good news is for Crowley, you see, because Crowley deserves this and clearly being forgiven like he so deserves should logically make Crowley happy. It will make Aziraphale happy after all. 

Aziraphale then starts to describe the conversation that he had with Metatron, stating that he thinks he might have misjudged him. And why would he think that he misjudged the angel who had told him point blank to his face that "The point is not to avoid the war, it is to win it" about the Apocalypse? Well, it's not because he's offered the job of Supreme Archangel, that's for sure. As we can see in the flashback, Aziraphale seems nervous and uninterested in the job at first. He says clearly that he doesn't want to go back to Heaven and even brings up a very half assed excuse to try and weasel out of it, a soft no of, "Where will I get my coffee?" 

No, instead, the clear, obvious point where Aziraphale changes his mind about the job and about the Metatron is when he offers to reinstate Crowley as an Angel. Metatron has, quite accidentally (I think? I don't think he actually knows Aziraphale's secret soul), just said one of the most faith affirming things he possibly could to Aziraphale, "We can correct that little error that's been bothering you. You are completely correct that Crowley deserves God's forgiveness." 

Given that, it's understandable that Aziraphale is absolutely bubbly about Crowley's reinstatement when he mentions it to him, like the best thing ever has just happened to him even though he's talking about something that will happen to Crowley and not him at all. "You could come back to heaven and- and everything. Like the old times, only even nicer." (Nicer because this time, they are in love. Nicer because they'll both be powerful enough to make a difference.)

Some other bits of Aziraphale's dialogue from this scene that make so much sense through this lens are:

After Crowley tries to reiterate his constant stance that both sides are bad actually, and mentions how he rejected Hell's offer to work with them again, Aziraphale misses his point completely and says, "But well, obviously you said no to Hell, you're the bad guys. But Heaven, it's the side of truth, of light, of good." Aziraphale's faith in the potential goodness of Heaven and the actual goodness of God is unflappable but so is his belief that good is what Crowley wants to be doing. Like of course a good soul like Crowley would reject working for Hell again but why would he reject a chance to do good like he's sneakily been doing all along? (Aziraphale here ignores the fact that he's also had to sneakily do good on the side sometimes even though he was always working for "the side of good" but that is very par for the course for him sadly.) 

The lines, "Come with me- to heaven. I'll run it, you can be my second in command. We can make a difference," are a particularly telling set.  Everything about these from the high position he's offering Crowley to the "We" scream that Aziraphale trusts Crowley, a Demon, to guide Heaven the correct way more than any angel already in Heaven.

Aziraphale's final, desperate argument also lines up well with this (as well as featuring Aziraphale more completely referencing how he wants him and Crowley to be together romantically). "Come back, to heaven. Work with me! We can be together. Angels... Doing good. I- I need you! I don't think you understand what I'm offering you." Like is the "I need you" here romantic? Definitely. But it's also Aziraphale again affirming that he trusts Crowley to lead him the correct way ie goodness, because, as it's been shown to us many times (and focused on particularly in this season), Crowley will do and always has been doing the correct thing as best he could while Aziraphale would dither and be locked into passivity (like in The Resurrectionists).

So yes, after many attempts to explain to Crowley how he should be in Heaven, doing good and Aziraphale needs his help and one last desperate kiss from Crowley, we reach the final dreaded, "l forgive you." And yes, maybe Aziraphale is forgiving Crowley for not having faith that they can fix heaven, for abandoning him, for kissing him so suddenly. But I hope, after everything I've laid out here in this essay, you can also see why I think Aziraphale is saying, "Even as you reject God's forgiveness and leave me behind, I still see that you are good and know you deserve it so I will forgive you anyway." And maybe, even though it's still blasphemous to disagree with God, it's less scary for Aziraphale to say "I forgive you" one more time than tell Crowley that he loves him for the first time. He is very good at forgiveness after all.

[ticklishfiend]

A Joint Effort (Good Omens)

(lee!crowley / ler!aziraphale)

Summary : in which aziraphale and crowley created tickling together many years ago (alt. and reminisce on it many years later)

a/n : lowkey this is very conversational abt tickling but i do (personally) love a fic that discusses the topic :D there is tickling tho dw LOL i just wanted to write some tickly dialogue

word count : 4065

hope u enjoy! pls consider giving a reblog if u liked it <33

. . .

A lot of things went through Crowley’s mind as he gazed at that all too familiar lake. Mainly all the times he and Aziraphale met here to discuss their “private affairs,” a secret team-up only one angel, one demon, and dozens of ducks could know about.

More recently it was all that dreary “end of the world” business he’d quite frankly prefer to Men In Black himself out of remembering (by the way, what a fantastic film that one was, the humans couldn’t have been both more far off and somehow right on the nose with it). The lake was lucky it was still so pretty after all these years, otherwise he’d have stopped visiting after everything resolved itself some time ago.

Humans had a phrase for what he tended to do alone on the bench. “People-watching,” they call it. Such a funny phrase considering it’s technically been his job since the creation of man itself. Maybe that’s why he enjoyed doing it so much. Technically, it’s kinda what he was made for.

He listened as a man adjacent to him across the lake was thinking and thinking his little head off. The man pondered over a woman, a lover Crowley presumed, and apparently how good their date had gone last night. Crowley noticed him fiddling with something in his pocket. Oh yes, a ring. What a disgustingly adorable tradition.

Crowley tapped his ring finger against the bench with an unknown impatience.

He saw that close by, a woman made her way towards the man (ah wait, it’s the woman, he could hear the man’s heart rate pick up and blood sloshing towards his cheeks, kinda gross how their bodies betray them), her hand finding his as she laid her head down on his shoulder. Crowley’s throat made a funny sound as he crossed his arms.

Crowley didn’t care much for the conversation, much more of an observer than a listener. Out of habit, he almost sent an evil little miracle their way, a “no” from the woman catching at his fingertips and becoming clenched in his fist. Actually…this might be the first successful proposal he’ll ever witness. He can hear the yes before she’s even said it, so much love radiating between them it's like radiation to his skin.

But he wants to see this play out. Just because he actually can now. Yeah…trying new things and all.

So it plays out just like the movies. He gets down on one knee, she cries, yadayadayada, blahblahblah. But this time, Crowley can actually feel it. This isn’t like seeing it through the screen. Those emotions become one with the air, making the whole park’s atmosphere thick and sugar-scented. It makes his skin crawl. Or he got goosebumps. He can't tell for sure, maybe it’s all one and the same.

He keeps watching the couple, telling himself he’s invested like one would stare at a car crash (even though nothing about this is a wreck at all, it’s a tad beautiful and Crowley knows this, but there’s still something so wretched about how his eyes stay glued to that spot across the lake).

They keep giggling and kissing, snapping a few photos of the moment and basking in each other. The man lifts the woman and twirls her around, her sun dress twirling with her and making the scene look so…ugh, romantic.

Or…just romantic. Maybe there’s no need to groan so hard at that.

Then the woman does something that snaps Crowley out of his little haze (call it jealousy and Crowley will treat your legs like snap peas). She pokes and squishes around her new fiancés sides, and said fiancé begins to giggle. The woman gave the man a tickle.

Tickling is far from a new concept to Crowley. Actually, he may have had a little hand in creating it. It wasn’t his idea exactly, he didn’t sign off on the paperwork or anything, but let’s just say laughter wasn’t the first possible noise option. He thought it’d be a bit more creative if there was less screaming in hell from time to time.

Most people would probably assume tickling came straight down from above, a place of innocence and love and, yeah, laughter. Others may even say it’s a hellish creation, but those tended to be the ones that drew the short end of the ticklish stick (that is to say, they��re probably really fucking ticklish).

But honestly, this one was kind of a joint effort. Is the paperwork technically written on a heavenly scroll? Sure, yeah. But who was the one that signed off on that scroll in the first place?

Well, Aziraphale did always have such an obnoxiously perfect signature.

Near the beginning, Crowley had overheard some demons discussing new torture methods for the humans to use on each other, something easy that required less machinery on their part. One brainstorm talked of the humans being able to do nothing but poke at their enemy to get them howling in pain.

And, well, Crowley thought that sounded laughably absurd.

So the next time he saw Aziraphale on Earth, he gossiped like usual. Talked of how stupid it sounded, how the humans would get so out of hand using it they’d never get anything productive done. And of course, Aziraphale agreed (though he was at first quite shocked a demon was against any brainstormed torture method, no matter how ridiculous).

Together they devised a little scheme. Nothing major, just something to beat the demons to the race. They had to though, right? It’d just be stupid to ruin something as precious as humanity over a few pokes.

So, instead of screaming in pain, the humans would scream in laughter. It wouldn’t hurt, unless the human was too rough of course, and really the worst it could do was embarrass the victim (except when Crowley snuck in that sometimes they may wet themselves, as a silly little gag. Aziraphale may have been too distracted trying to find a mysterious, strangely itchy dark feather in his garments when he wrote that one). It was such a silly invention, and Aziraphale even felt a little embarrassed bringing it to Gabriel, but oh how the other angels adored it. It was a new game for their humans to play, to occupy and fill the time of their short useless existences. It was a perfect time-waster.

And so became tickling. A joint project created by Crowley and Aziraphale, one of the first little schemes they pulled together that only dipped their toes into everything that came after. And now Crowley got to watch as his invention created a positive memory for some random romantics at his favorite park.

It was weird. He’s never felt funny about tickling before, but since he and Aziraphale have gotten rather…um, close recently, seeing this couple be all flirty and affectionate and tickly was making him feel funny feelings about it he’s never felt before.

He’s not blushing. That’s a human thing. He’s just…warm.

Crowley shakes his head, emptying his mind of all that weird mushy shite. He brings his eyes back to the couple, seeing them kiss and talk and bask in each other’s otherness. Part of him made that happen, in some cosmic butterfly effect sort of way.

Maybe everything is a circle, just as they say. Like it’s all meant to be. One particular word stings at his tongue, he’s heard it a thousand times before out of Aziraphale’s mouth when the subject of a great plan is brought up. He’ll just have to save it for when his angel comes back around.

…

—( alt : s2 ending never happened and crowley goes back to the bookshop afterward and everything is fine and dandy and happy :D )

…

The bell above the bookshop’s door rang a familiar chime when Crowley stepped through, announcing his presence to the one and only being it should matter to. He practically beelined for the drapes, figuring it far too bright for a cozy bookshop even with his sunglasses on.

Crowley heard behind him the soft angelic clunk of each foot making their way down the staircase, the room brightening on its own as Aziraphale made his way down.

“Well that wasn’t a very long outing,” Aziraphale rounded into the main area, cup of tea in hand. “Did something happen?”

Crowley dusted the drapes with his hands, “Such a worrywart, you are,” spinning around and brushing his hands as he met eyes with the one on his mind all afternoon. “The park just got boring, don’t get your knickers in a twist.”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes, “Excuse me for noticing that you’re home earlier than usual,” he muttered, taking his next sip with attitude. “But since you’re back so soon, maybe we could…hang out, as the youth say,” he smiled that thin-lipped smile, and Crowley groaned in the back of his throat, following Aziraphale towards the back room (yknow, the one with the couch that Crowley can stretch his legs on as long as he needs and nothing ever feels uncomfortable).

“Grahk, angel, there’s a reason that only the youth should be saying these things. Sounds…unnatural, on your tongue,” Crowley plopped down on his favorite couch, his hand in Aziraphale’s (he’s not even sure when that happened, but who is he to complain?) leading him down to the spot next to his. Aziraphale did a wiggle as he sat, like getting the cushion ready for him.

“I like integrating new shortened language into my vocabulary,” Aziraphale pouted behind his cup.

“Helps me understand everyone better.”

Crowley tutted, “Okay, well, one: it’s not called “shortened language” anymore, you boob. They say slang now. If you don’t even know the word slang, you definitely shouldn’t be using it in the first place,” Crowley propped his feet up on Aziraphale’s lap, the only acknowledgment of his position being Aziraphale’s zero hesitation in using his shins as an armrest. “And two: you already have the most extensive vocabulary on the planet. You can know all the words and phrases you like, but I doubt you’re in dire need of any new ones to use.”

Aziraphale sat his glass down on the coffee table, leaning against Crowley’s legs. “I think you’re just jealous. Envy is one of the seven sins, correct?”

Crowley merely huffed, throwing an arm against the couch’s own and propping his cheek against his hand. He gazed a bit longingly at the angel, who seemed more interested in picking lint off his trousers at the moment. “Saw something at the park I thought you’d like.”

Aziraphale’s ears perked, but more or less remained focused on grooming Crowley’s pants. “Oh?”

“Want you to guess.”

That caught his attention, an annoyed glare thrown Crowley’s way. “I hate this game.”

“Naaaah you love it. Cmon, guess.”

“I’ll at least need a hint, Crowley. It could literally be an infinite number of things,” Aziraphale sat back against the couch now, finally interested in the conversation even if he continued with the annoyed charade, hands folded on Crowley’s shins. “At least tell me if it’s good or bad. You know how I hate bad surprises.”

“It’s good, trust me,” Crowley grinned. “Has to do with something we created a looong time ago. I’m talkin’ B.C, baby.”

Aziraphale’s eyebrows raised, really curious now.

“We created it?”

“That we did, angel.”

Aziraphale hummed, fingers fidgeting with the fabric, before gasping in excitement, “Was it a chihuahua?”

Crowley’s own eyebrows shot up at that, nearly having forgotten they created that wretched animal.

“Oh but they’re so cute, Crowley, look at how tiny!”

“Fine, but that thing’s gonna be a beast, I don’t care how little it is.”

“Heheh, no but good guess,” He chuckled, sliding his glasses off and tucking them into his front pocket. His hands mimicked Aziraphale’s, fingers crossed but against his chest. “One more hint: I saw some very…giggly humans.”

It took him a moment, but finally Aziraphale grinned, giving Crowley’s knee a few squeezes and delighting in the squeak and kick against the other arm of the couch. He giggled as he watched Crowley turn pink and grumble. “That may be one of my favorite things we created together.”

Crowley shoved his glasses back on as if hiding, more embarrassed than he’d like to admit. “You’re ridiculous for miracling that shit into me all those years ago.”

“I only did it because you did the same to me!”

Crowley chuckled, regaining his confidence to reach over and squeeze at Aziraphale’s side, relishing in the angelic giggles.

“Well obviously. I’m a demon. Had to mess with my angel somehow.”

Aziraphale pushed his hand away, his smile remaining with pink cheeks. “Yes, but an angel is nothing without an even better miracle than yours. We both know you got the worst of it,” Aziraphale said, throwing wiggly fingers in Crowley’s direction when he tried to argue, “Don’t make me tickle your ribs and prove it, Crowley. We don’t want a repeat of—“

“Say it and I’ll pluck each feather off your back and go to town on those ears of yours.”

Aziraphale just grinned, retracting his fingers and letting his demon relax as he held his hands up in defeat. Aziraphale sort of has the high ground here anyway, considering their differing levels of sensitivities; he’ll just bring it up later.

“So you saw some people in a tickle fight, then?” Aziraphale tipped the conversation away from them, a little wary of the threat. “Quite a public spot for something we made to be so embarrassing, don’t you think?”

Crowley waved a hand, “Aaaaah they don’t all find it embarrassing. The guy seemed too happy to care, anyways,” he said, scrunching his nose. “He had just proposed.” Crowley said the word like there were worms crawling under his clothes.

Aziraphale gasped, “Oh how lovely! You should’ve congratulated them, Crowley!” He whined, knowing Crowley too well, sensing there was no way he had given them a proper congratulations. Aziraphale hated missing out on precious human moments like that.

Crowley smiled at his enthusiasm, “Don’t worry, angel. They’ve got each other for that sappy shite.”

Aziraphale huffed out a happy giggle, giving Crowley’s leg a little shake and pat. Crowley always found it gross how giddy the angel got over others happiness. It made his heart and belly feel funny, maybe he was going into cardiac arrest or something. Well, not literally of course, but maybe like metaphorically.

“So the newlyweds had a little tickle tussle in the park? Oh that’s just precious,” Aziraphale held his hands close to his chest. “Thank you for letting them have their moment, dear.”

“Whatever, just didn’t feel like working too hard today,” Crowley sniffed, leaning back against his arms. “Yknow, the guy seemed to be loaded with those tickly nerves. I don’t blame that girl one bit for going at ‘em. Kept making these funny noises and wigglin’ like a worm. It was honestly very amusing to watch.”

Aziraphale grinned all smug. “Weeelll…”

Crowley frowned. “Well…what?” Aziraphale just shrugged, giving Crowley a quick up and down. Crowley shot up, pointing a finger, “No. That is not how I am.”

“All I’m saying is, if you can’t blame her for tickling her husband because of his funny reactions…weeeelll…” Aziraphale giggled, throwing shaky arms up in defense when Crowley leaned forward.

“Keep at it,” Crowley warned, throwing his legs off Aziraphale so he could corner the tittering angel into the couch, “And I swear, I will have jars of ticklish angel tears to display on my shelf,” he poked Aziraphale in the chest, awfully close now. “I’ll make sure you discorporate with a smile.”

Aziraphale gulped on a giggle.“I-I was merely…Crowley, come on now, I’m teasing,” he stuttered out. Crowley was right up in his face now, a smile that may as well be fanged making Aziraphale’s voice quiver. Crowley was eating up the sight.

“Yeah? Well so am I,” Crowley grinned in his face, glasses falling to the tip of his nose so Aziraphale could see the endearment in his yellow eyes. Aziraphale sighed, bringing a hand to the demon's chest. Crowley leaned into the touch, humming contentedly as he started relaxing against Aziraphale’s form.

He curled up against the angel’s side, Aziraphale’s fingers playing at his cheek. Crowley pressed his face into Aziraphale’s shoulder, mumbling, “It’s not my fault you’re a literal God-gifted tickler.”

“Mm, well it isn’t my fault you’re ticklish enough to break my vessel’s nose—“

“Okay, fuuuck you, I thought we weren’t bringing that up, you twit,” Crowley flicked Aziraphale in the temple, “Also, it quite literally is your fault I’m this ticklish. Prick.”

Aziraphale kept a frown after having his face assaulted like that, “I feel like you’re just asking for it now. Insulting and flicking me as we talk about how horribly ticklish you are. Yes, quite a wise decision on your part, Anthony.”

Crowley pressed his face further into Aziraphale, mumbling something incoherent that probably made no sense anyways. Something like, “your mum’s horribly ticklish…” but who's to say. Aziraphale caught on with a giggle.

“Oh is that it?” Aziraphale asked, squeezing Crowley’s shoulder.

“Is what it?”

“Do you want me to-“

“No. Fuck you.”

“Are you sure? Because it sure seems like-“

“Noooo.”

Aziraphale held back a laugh, trying not to embarrass Crowley so much he fled from the scene. Instead, he just slid a hand up Crowley’s side, decidedly not tickling. Crowley tensed under him, his hand squeezing tighter on Aziraphale’s lapels, but made no move to leave.

“I used a word before,” Aziraphale tapped one finger against the clothed side, not ticklish but definitely threatening. “Envy. Is that what you’re experiencing, Crowley?”

Crowley tried to grumble, but it sounded more like a whine with his face smushed into Aziraphale’s coat.“Wha’ would I even be…envious of,” Crowley muttered. “S’all stupid. Not the proposal, that’s for damn certain.”

“Oh no, surely not the proposal,” Aziraphale used his one finger to scritch gently. Crowley tittered in his throat. “I wonder what else I could be talking about, hm?”

Crowley was vibrating. He could feel how warm his face had gotten against the coat, hating himself for it but refusing to leave. This was…this was something. “Beats me,” he shrugged, but quickly brought his arms back down when he felt Aziraphale’s hand trail up even further, fuck. He growled, “Sssstop.”

“Stop what?” Aziraphale pinched once, and Crowley growled. “If there’s something on your mind, I’d love to hear it.”

“Hhmmhhmmhehehmm,” Crowley hummed a whine, squirming in Aziraphale’s hold. Part of him desperately wanted to sprawl out onto his partner's lap and let the angel have his ticklish way with him. The other part of him was screaming to push Aziraphale away, tell him off for being so silly and stupid. He didn’t actually think Aziraphale was stupid in the slightest, but fuck he couldn’t really think of anything worthwhile to say with Aziraphale’s fingers doing that to his lower ribs.

He didn’t do either of those things, though. Instead, he stayed curled into Aziraphale’s side with fingers also curled right on that spot that made Crowley feel all…all squirmy.

“Crooowleyy~,” Aziraphale sang into his ear, smiling against the shell of it as Crowley jerked and snickered in giggly fluster.

“What do you waaaant??”

“Did that couple make you think some…” Aziraphale pinched a quick line from Crowley’s ribs down to his hips. Crowley choked out a surprised giggle, body arching with a flinch. “…ticklish thoughts?”

“You’re such a dihick,” Crowley slapped Aziraphale’s hand, barking a laugh when he just squeezed his hip in response.

“I’m right, aren’t I?”

“…mmmmm no.”

“Crowley. You’re pushing into my fingers.”

“Shhhut up!”

“Admit it and I’ll get this over with,” Aziraphale said, abandoning his fear of embarrassing Crowley too much as it seems he was actually enjoying that part of it now. Who knew demons were so fond of being a little flustered?

Well, probably not most demons. But, come to think of it, when has Crowley ever been like “most demons”?

“I can’t, angel,” he whined, words a bit breathy as Aziraphale has switched to gently, slowly clawing at the clothed skin. It wasn’t enough to make him laugh, but damn if it still didn’t tickle like hell. If anything, this was probably worse. He can’t use the excuse of, “well I can’t talk when you’re tickling me!” because really, Aziraphale wasn’t. Not yet at least. Now they both knew he just can’t talk because he’s too flustered, and isn’t that a horrifying thought in itself.

“I never realized you actually liked it,” Aziraphale said genuinely, but his tone really made it sound like a tease.

Crowley shook his head, “I d—“ he bit down on his rebuttal with a growl, the word ‘don't’ falling down his throat. By now, they both knew that wasn’t true. No sense in fighting it, he guessed. “I didn’t know.”

Aziraphale made a surprised sound. “Really?” He gave a scribble to Crowley’s side, longer than the usual ones, and Crowley whined through a giggle.

“Uuugh maybe. Just when…whehen the couple—when they wehehere—Angehel I can’t speheheak when you’re—!” Crowley squeaked when Aziraphale started pinching up and down, giving focus to that little spot below his ribs. He couldn’t keep his giggles down, falling into breathless, flustered laughter as Aziraphale actually, finally started to tickle him.

“Too ticklish for words, Crowley?” Aziraphale teased on purpose this time, bringing his hand up, up, up to tickle a single finger in the hollow under Crowley’s arm. Crowley spasmed, choking out high pitched giggles as he squirmed and tried hiding his face even more into Aziraphale.

Aziraphale merely brought his other hand in to play with his exposed ear, bringing Crowley’s smiling face out as he jerked his head around to defend.

“Nohoho! This can’t be fffffuhucking fahahair-!” Crowley agonized, his laughter all over the place in pitch.

“I suppose not, considering I have quite the advantage here. More ticklish and enjoyable for you? What a pickle, my dear,” Aziraphale said, giggling as he heard the words come out of his mouth. “Aha! A tickly pickle! Isn’t that funny, Crowley?”

Crowley cackled as he shook his head around madly. Words weren’t easy when Aziraphale’s hand moved from his ear to his previously untouched side, pinching and squishing at the devastatingly sensitive hip bone.

“Refute it all you want, but with how hard you’re laughing you must think I’m very funny,” Aziraphale said, digging both hands into Crowley’s hips while dodging a headbutt to the nose.

Crowley’s mind felt like tangled wire. The tickling, the teasing, the knowing that he’s enjoying every second of it (and tickling and teasing him for exactly that). He’s been tickled before, been tickled by Aziraphale a few times in the past, but this was…it’s different.

They’re closer now, closer than they’ve ever been before. They know each other so intrinsically and still manage to learn new things about each other every day. Today’s discovery just happens to be Crowley’s apparent love for being tickled silly by his favorite angel, and he’s having trouble coping with the embarrassment of that when Aziraphale’s hands won’t leave his fucking hips alone.

“Yohohou-! AHA—! You’re diabohoholical! Ffffuhuhucking wanker!” Crowley insulted through hysterical giggling, squirming and kicking as his hips were tickled to the nub.

“Oh? Does someone want me to go back up to the ribs?~” Aziraphale’s hands finally left his hips, but slowly scribbled their way back towards his awful rib cage. Crowley thrashed with a cackle, it doesn’t even tickle that much on his sides but even the thought of those fingers back on his ribs has his stomach feeling ticklish on the inside.

“You dohohon’t—! Dohon’t have tohoho—ahAHAha nohohoho-!” Once those fingers found his ribs on both sides, Crowley gave up all the fight he had in him. He melted into Aziraphale’s side, merely squirming and twitching as he let his ribs be plucked by angelic hands. It was a torturous bliss he never expected himself to be found in.

“A ticklish demon,” Aziraphale cooed, leaning down to press his nose into Crowley’s hair. When Aziraphale talked now, it felt like the words went straight to Crowley’s brain, vibrating through the skull and making his neck scrunch. Crowley wanted nothing more than to let his angel play with him, and Aziraphale loved doing just that. “My proudest creation.”

. . .

a/n : hope u enjoyeddd it was very fun to write lol. pls consider liking and reblogging!! happy holidays <33

[2bearsinatrenchcoat]

ineffable may: day 8!! (last delayed one for today because i’ve been up since 6AM CST and it’s currently 12:41AM CST)

Records

The shop just across the road is full of wonderful music, kinds i’ve never knew existed before.

I believe I’ve heard Mr. Crowley call them.. records? Human stuff is very new to me, and names are extremely difficult.

Maggie is the woman who runs the record shop, one member of the pairing that I was sent to make sure were falling in love. Apparently, her and Mr. Fell Aziraphale had a strong bond, which I’m still struggling to understand how an Angel made so many human friends. It’s quite peculiar.

Mr Crowley goes by the record shop, along with the coffee shop, pretty often. He usually stays in the bookshop or his car, but if he happens to go somewhere else, those are the two places.

Crowley and Mr. Fell Aziraphale have been on Earth for a long time! They’ve gotten used to many human customs before me, so even being around Crowley is a struggle for me.

I do think I’m getting better at human emotions though, because I can tell Crowley misses Aziraphale a lot.

The records he listens to make it obvious, with plenty of songs that are slow and full of lyrics that talk of “break-ups(?)” and missing somebody.

I do hope him and Aziraphale will listen to happy records someday.

little story from muriel’s perspective! as much as i want to draw more, i almost never have time for it and writing seems to be my strong suit. thank yall for your support and patience with me!

[mid0khan]

Last Line Tag Game

I was tagged by my dear @samsalami66 , thank you darling!

And it's a great timing, I've just finished a new chapter for Our Hopes and Expecations yesterday! So, have a snippet ^^

By the time Crowley parked the car in front of the angel’s bookshop, Hob’s hand was completely healed. “Well, this all went down smoothly!” the angel exclaimed, helping the immortal out of the car. “You’ll stay celebrate with a nice little cuppa, right Robert?” “Of course,” Hob answered. He wanted to make sure the grimoire would be destroyed as promised. Apparently, Crowley too was eager to get rid of the book. As soon as they were seated in the bookshop’s reading booth with their drinks, he held his hand toward Aziraphale expectantly. The angel feigned innocence, earning a frown from the demon. “Angel, we had a deal. I’m not joking around here, I won’t let you keep it and you know it.” With a heart-breaking sigh, the bookseller snapped his finger and the grimoire appeared in Crowley's outstretched hand. “Thank you,” the demon softened. “You may want to look away while I take care of it?” With tears in his eyes and a shaky nod, Aziraphale stood up. “Be careful, don’t damage anything else,” he sobbed before fleeing to the back of the shop. “Is he alright?” Hob asked worriedly. Crowley shrugged. “It’s a unique copy.” Hob startled when the book suddenly burst into unnaturally red flames. The demon didn’t seem bothered by the fire engulfing his hand, but his face was tense with concentration as he used his second hand to make sure nothing else started burning. At first, the grimoire resisted the hellfire, but soon the flames turned green as the paper crinkled and blackened. After only a minute, there were only ashes left in Crowley’s hand. The redhead tossed the grey dust into a little bin hidden between precariously balanced piles of books. “Good riddance,” he whispered, before calling louder: “Angel! It’s over, you can come back!” Aziraphale was still tapping a handkerchief under his eyes when he joined them. They drunk their tea in companionable silence. When finally Hob decided it was time to go home, Aziraphale rushed to guide him to the door. Once they were both in front of the bookshop, the angel grabbed the immortal’s arm before he could leave. “Robert, one last thing. Be careful with Lord Morpheus, okay? Loving what is Endless is dangerous and I’d hate to learn you were hurt, or worse.” Hob choked on nothing. “What? How… what?” “Angels feel this kind of thing,” Aziraphale answered with something akin to pity. “I am serious. Mortals and the Endless are not meant to have this kind of bond. It always ends in tragedy.” “With this mindset, it has no chance to go well,” Hob spat, miffed by the compassion he could see in the angel’s eyes. “There are rules-“ “And what do the rules say about an angel and a demon being together?” Aziraphale sighed, defeated. “Alright, alright. Just, take care of yourself.” “Don’t worry about me,” Hob growled before leaving without a glance back. By the time he reached the tube station, his anger had subsided. Even if he really didn’t like how patronizing it had felt, the angel’s warning had been given with no bad intention. And, to be fair, Hob easily believed mixing with the Endless could be dangerous for regular humans, and Aziraphale didn’t know about his immortality. … Did he even still count as a mortal? He was human, yes, and technically he could die, if he chose to. But it wasn’t really what being mortal meant, was it? Hob shook his head with a humourless chuckle. It was all wistful thinking; he doubted Morpheus would want of him this way. He was only a man after all, and not even a good one, and Morpheus was so much more. He ran his fingers over the necklace through the fabric of his bag. It was okay. Morpheus didn’t need a lover anyway, not right now. He needed healing, and a friendly hand to guide him. Hob would be happy to be just that. He didn’t need to be more. It was okay. Now, all he could do was wait, and hope Loosh would be able to convince Morpheus to let Hob help him.

And for tagging, since I'm posting this while working, I don't really have time to check who was tagged recently as I usually do, so lets do it this way: if you're seeing this and you want to join the game, consider yourself tagged!

[arabellatheauthor]

heaven and hell were words to me - part 2

Title: heaven and hell were words to me Rating: M for safety, might change later Word count: 650, WIP Summary: After the not-apocalypse, Heaven decides to discorporate Aziraphale and take him back to make him a better angel. But Crowley can't stand to live on Earth without him. This demon must find a way to sneak back into Heaven to save the angel he loves.

part one - wc 264

part two - wc 386

Crowley spent the first week Aziraphale was gone assuming the worst. His best friend had decided he wanted nothing more to do with him and left. Perhaps gone off to Alpha Centauri without him. Maybe the angel had gotten peckish and just wanted to pop across the galaxy for something celestial. 

And then one day the phone rang, and it was Aziraphale. 

“Angel!” 

“Oh, Crowley! I’m so glad I reached you.” 

“Where are you?” 

“I…I’ve been discorporated.” 

The angel proceeded to tell him how Gabriel and Michael had appealed to Metatron to get Aziraphale back on heavenly grounds and into angel training. 

“What can I do, angel?” Crowley pleaded. “Tell me what to do.” 

“I…I don’t think there is anything to be done, Crowley. I think I will be here for quite some time. Frankly, I’m not sure they’ll let me return at all.” 

Crowley’s hands started shaking, his heart beating faster. “I won’t let that happen.” 

“I just wanted to be able to say goodbye. I had to promise to shine the celestial harp in order to get permission to make this call. I didn’t want you thinking I’d just left. Not after…everything. I wouldn’t do that.” 

“Please,” the demon begged. “I need you. I want you here. I want us to finally—” 

“I know. But I don’t know how that would happen.” 

“Just say you won’t give up, angel. I’m going to fight for you.” 

“No.” His voice was harsh. “Do not do anything that could get you in trouble with your side. I can’t lose you, Crowley.” 

Crowley thought his demonic heart would beat out of his chest. “There’s just our side now.” 

There was a sigh and Aziraphale called “Yes, yes, all right,” off in the distance. “Sorry,” he said to Crowley. “That was Gabriel. Apparently the charges from heaven to earth are exorbitant and I need to go. I will miss you, so very much my dear.” 

“I’ll find a way to get you back, Aziraphale,” Crowley said. “I promise.” 

There was another sigh, and Aziraphale said, “I hope you know how very much you mean—” 

“Now, Aziraphale!” Michael called in the background. 

“I’ve got to go.” 

“Angel—” 

And the line went dead. 

Crowley sank to the floor of Aziraphale’s bookshop, where he hadn’t left since finding him gone, and sobbed. 

TBC

part three

[maryholdenofthevalley]

Mr Brown didn't die, as per Neil's answer, but I love everything else in this post, it points out everything I want to point out and even the thing I didn't notice.

That doesn't necessarily mean Crowley was an Archangel though, in fact I think he shouldn't be an Archangel, but the whole post is beautifully detailed. Anyway, my add in for this post:

- The purple plume (which looked more pink than purple) could be just a random choice of colour, or because Aziraphale and Crowley's combined power somewhat resonated with the power's target, Gabriel.

- Job minisode's Aziraphale also did a miracle right next to the angels but no one noticed. I don't think angels and demons can sense miracle done by others, part of the reason why Aziraphale begged Crowley to remove the stain, because if he did it himself "I would always know it was there" but apparently he won't feel it if Crowley does it for him.

- "How do you know it wasn't me doing it?" could be refer to him bluffed to Hell that he's immune to holy water in the past. If he has gone native, who can say he can't become stronger? No demon can answer that, so Shax was cautious.

- I don't think being able to use lightning is a thing only Archangel can do. Hastur can do it.

- Right, because we can get sidetracked and say 'what if Hastur was an Archangel', let's talk about "prince of Heaven". For now we know that there is only one prince of Hell (Beelzebub). We know that irl the Archangels were also called "princes of Heaven". We know Gabriel is the Supreme Archangel while others are just Archangels. I don't know how tittle in GO work, but from what Metatron said, we know that there was only one prince of Heaven that had Fallen and that was Lucifer. Could Lucifer be the only Archangel that fall? Possibly. But I still lean in the idea that Lucifer used to be the first Supreme Archangel and he was the only Prince of Heaven, that's why Gabriel is also the only current Prince of Heaven.

(That means there could be other Archangels that fell. That doesn't really support my "Crowley is not an Archangel", eh? I botched my own post shsjsjssk)

- Being a former Archangel and still not a very high ranking demon doesn't sound very likely. He was given important task like being the first one to work in Garden of Eden, delivery Antichrist, but I suppose it was because he knows how to appeal to the bosses and makes them trust him (like how he claimed the Spanish Inquisition).

- Yes I know this is about the show, but I still want to include this bit in the book: "Hastur was a Duke of Hell. Crowley wasn't even a local counselor." Crowley didn't think of himself or was perceived as important or strong enough against a duke of Hell. And, he didn't notice Hastur manifested himself in the car too.

- Being a Dominion fit him. Dominion controls stars and universe, also command and manage the angels below their rank, as we can see him yelling at his plants or the lower demons "You're out of order!". It also makes him high ranking enough to be powerful, but not too powerful that make everyone's so-so perception on him an odd thing.

Personally I would like to know his angel name in season 3, not so that we can deadname him (but some dick angels might, like Metatron, which would add into a good angst) (and I would't refuse a chance to have an official name for fic writing), but because I want to see how much he lost from the Fall he didn't want. Angst material. Make him mourn the innocence he used to has. Make Aziraphale sympathize with his fall trauma, and reminiscing a name that is long dead. Highlight how Aziraphale feel toward the contrast between the angel Crowley and the demon Crowley and understand that making him an angel again won't help anything.

But yeah, we don't really need his name to do that. Still, I'm hoping. At least I'm sure his name wouldn't be one of the existing ones.

On Crowley, memory, and identity.

So full disclosure first, I am not someone who is particularly interested in having Crowley's angel name on screen - personally I rather like the idea of never having an answer to this question - but I also do think it's interesting and fun to speculate and we got quite a few hints at this throughout this season soooo

Obviously part of this is that we meet him. The angel that would become Crowley is the first person on screen this season. We confirm a lot about him here. He confirm that he is powerful enough to start the engine of the universe. We confirm that he can control gravity and time and space and light. We confirm that he is the being that says let there be light before the beginning. We also confirm that he consulted with the concept designer of the universe and that he's very comfortable with the idea of questioning authority. We are also given Aziraphale's anxiety as a contrast to this and as proof that that is not a universal trait for early angels.

Now, we have always had evidence that Crowley is powerful. He's done some things that seem impossibly big. He stops time very casually and seemingly without effort - even at the end of season 1 it doesn't even seem to give us the same strain on him that holding the Bentley together does. This is a thing that we only ever see Crowley do and notably a thing that you would think other beings would mess with to their advantage if it was possible. Which means they either literally can't or that it never occurred to them that they could. Or as is becoming increasingly clear: perhaps it's a bit of both.

But that's not the only implication of power we get in season 1 either. We get Crowley seemingly in tune with the universe in a way many angels and demons aren't. Which, makes some sense if he helped make it. This manifests in all sorts of ways. He's constantly aware of Aziraphale's presence. He can smell when the world state changes like when Adam names Dog. He holds the Bentley together through utter destruction. He notices that there are different books in the bookshop - something I always assumed was meant to convey he was familiar with the shop's contents but after learning he didn't even know Jane Austen was a writer I wonder if it's actually more to do with him being in tune with reality. He also can apparently quite literally feel when there are eyes on them.

We're given even more of all these things this season in some really interesting ways. Crowley literally tests the air to check if a miracle has happened - another thing that we don't see anyone else do despite Heaven literally assigning someone to Aziraphale to check for a specific miracle. This particular beat is also something we are shown twice this season. Both here and in 1941, when Furfur uses the miracle blocker on Aziraphale. Here Crowley tests his miracles and despite getting nothing of the sort when Aziraphale tries a miracle literally the beat before this, we are given both a visual and an auditory effect. It ripples out with a watery sound effect from Crowley's finger. It's like he's prodding at reality.

There's also several instances involving the recognition or lack thereof of angels and demons. Crowley feels that the demon army is arriving before it does. Neither side seems to be able to track Gabriel - one of the most powerful beings in existence - at all once he leaves Heaven. We also see countless angels fail to notice Crowley himself both as Bildad the Shuhite performing literal miracles right in front of them. And this happens again as he prances about Heaven after Muriel. Aziraphale can't tell Shax is a demon despite Crowley recognizing she's manifested behind him nearly as soon as he answers the phone. Aziraphale can't even recognize that he himself is still an angel at the end of the Job story.

He also. Quite literally. Brings someone back from the dead???? Like waves a hand casually on the street and reconstitutes Mr. Brown like he'd never been dead at all. Mr. Brown returns with no memory of what happened to him holding a newspaper that seems to have literal bite chunks coming out of it. It's not framed as a huge miracle or anything strenuous either - just a casual snap.

And that's not even getting into the parallels with Gabriel. First of all. We get the color purple. It's purple when Aziraphale and angel that would become Crowley start the engine of the universe and it's purple when they miracle to hide Gabriel. This color is associated with power and, historically in the language of this show, with Gabriel himself.

But that's not the only symbolism historically tied to Gabriel that's given to this season that has found its way to Crowley this season either. Most flashy of all is the lightning. This is how we see Gabriel arrive on earth at the end of season one and it is something Crowley apparently just Does when he gets too mad to contain himself.

This alone wouldn't catch my attention except. Except the way Crowley reacts to Gabriel's memory problems is... interesting to say the least. He's angry and understandably so. Part of this is him being mad and protective of Aziraphale - he says as much himself to Jim directly. And yet, weirdly, it's the kind of mad that reminded me of something else.

This is the mad he tends to gets at his plants. Do it properly. Think hard. You can do better than that. Grow better. It's the kind of angry that's steeped in projection. It's he kind of angry that is undercut with the occasional weird undercurrent of understanding. And so much of his dialogue with Jim around this is framed like he does actually understand. Jim says it hurts and he says he knows. Jim starts talking about it feeling like being an empty house that still remembers where the furniture is and Crowley immediately latches onto this and understands ah it's looking at where the furniture isn't.

And there's a few other conversations that center around this issue that I find really interesting from a projection perspective. There's the conversation that happens when Crowley goes to have an alcohol fueled chat with Jim. He says "You're Jim now. Got everything just the way you wanted?" This doesn't make a whole lot of sense for him to be addressing Gabriel with. As far as he knows all Gabriel would want was the end of the world.

And then there's the particular way he asks Jim to eliminate himself in this scene. Climb out the window. In other words, have a fall. Something he pretty immediately retracts and clearly feels guilty about no matter how much he hates Gabriel.

And then there's the first conversation he gets to have after learning about Gabriel. Crowley opens this conversation, thinking out loud. He's staring out, not talking to Az yet and the very first thing out of his mouth is, of all things: "He's going to be okay." A weird start for a statement about Gabriel in itself but then Crowley goes and adds what at it's core is his own trauma narrative to the end with, "We can just take him somewhere and leave him there."

Now the real fun bit: Crowley also has memory issues that are out very prominently on display even as far back as season 1.

He has inconsistent memories of his Fall. The answers he gives us to why he Fell change slightly - even when he's alone with himself. He doesn't seem to understand why exactly he Fell even though he clearly has some vague idea of the pieces in play. I always thought to some degree that this was just a trauma response, but season 2 drew even more attention to this and now that we know that memory alteration is how Heaven handles powerful angels I can't help but to wonder if there's more in play here.

Crowley can't remember Furfur - who he apparently literally fought next to during the war in Heaven. Crowley can't remember building a nebula with Saraqael. Crowley doesn't remember why they decided gravity was a good idea.

But he does remember bits and pieces here and there. He remembers doing some of the starmaking. He remembers how to access clearance locked files. He's missing pieces and also seems to have an understanding that Gabriel's memories ARE in there. Almost like he's done this work on himself before.

This narrative itself is also far more concerned with the angel Crowley was this time around. It teases his rank a few different times. Most notably is him having access the files only available to Dominions and above.

Now angel hierarchy is a bit of a messy area depending on what sources you're using but given Good Omens tendencies in the past we can assume that this leaves us five ranks. Dominion, Throne, Cherub, Seraph, and Archangel.

I might break down why I think Dominion, Throne, and Cherub feel kind of odd to me later if there's interest in that but given the current length of this meta I just want to focus on that last one for now.

Crowley was an Archangel is far from a new theory and I've honestly historically had some fairly mixed feelings about it. But the parallels between Jim and Crowley lend some interesting connective tissue to a lot of those theories. And. There's also some interesting camera work and script writing tied to Crowley and that term outside of the scenes about Gabriel's memories specifically.

Firstly, during Crowley's chat with Beelzebub he says it's a big universe with plenty of places for an archangel to hide. Like Alpha Centauri perhaps?

Then we get Aziraphale and Crowley both presenting Hell and Heaven respectively the idea that it could have been them that did the archangel class miracle. Aziraphale gets scoffed at and yet. Shax is the one who says the miracle was archangel level and Crowley's response is "how do you know I didn't do it?"

Then later as she's prowling about the shop we get this interesting shot of Crowley in the doorframe and Jim in the background. Crowley grins and offers to let Shax look in and see if she can see any archangels in there while he's framed dead center and Jim himself is blurry in the back of the frame.

And most fascinating in my opinion is this shot that happens when Crowley and Muriel are accessing the classified files. Nearly every shot in this sequence is group shots or shots of Gabriel. The camera is focused in the plot and the way the archangels function as a group and on Gabriel himself. But we get one single shot in this entire sequence of Crowley by himself and it is immediately following Gabriel saying "I am the only first order archangel in the room - or, well, the universe."

And then in the end. We get the Metatron who goes out of his way to avoid using Crowley's name. He calls him demon (and insists correctly that Crowley would recognize him even when Michael doesn't) or refers to him as Aziraphale's friend. He only ever uses that name when trying to use him as a bribe for Aziraphale. That combined with the dark look he gives Crowley implies a familiarity that only the Metatron has with him.

So who is he then? There's plenty of old meta out there about why certain archangels fit or don't and I won't reiterate them here. They're interesting and definitely worth poking around at and very fun to read! Personally I'm not as interested in naming the someone he used to be as I am in examining the places that ghost of this angel has started to poke through the narrative so I'll end this here. It's spiralled into something far longer than I ever meant it to be anyway.

[this-is-krikkit]

Top 5 queer characters

ooooh good one, thank you !!

5. Frankie Bergstein. The most gentle soul out there, hilarious whether she wants to be or not, an incredibly loving and warm character who ends up falling in love with a woman who's shown her nothing but disdain most of their lives before they end up in the same shitty situation. What i especially love about her is that in my headcanon where that show didn't queerbait us to death, she's the bold and crazy one who doesn't care about other people's opinion, she's the one you'd expect to be brave and loud and clear about how she's in love with her best friend and it's not just platonic. But i actually love the idea that she might be the one struggling most with that realization and how to act on it, because she used to be so open and loving of everything and everyone (and still seems that way) for the seven decades before the show starts ; and she got her heart broken so badly from the twenty year old affair, that although she did get attached to Grace quickly enough and jokes about being more than friends all the time, she's deadly afraid of those feelings and what may come of them. I absolutely love this strong and funny and silly woman on the outside, who hides a much more vulnerable and frightened woman on the inside, who deserves all the lifetime of love and affection Grace has never allowed herself to feel or show anyone.. until now, post-canon !!

4. Crawley, my actual demon child, who is way too good for this world, and the other two he's visited. (And i've been torturing myself for a solid half hour trying to pick between him and his equally amazing boyfriend Aziraphale, and ended up flipping a coin for it. I'm sorry Aziraphale. I love you so much.) Anyways, back to Crawley and his ridiculous crush on an angel that makes him do crazy things such as going to actual heaven to save said angel's ass, and who embodies Iris by the Goo goo Dolls so perfectly it's a lil suspicious and he probably had smth to do with that song coming to life while he was under cover on Earth. I love a tv show that brings a book to my attention, i loved both of those media and i cannot wait for season 2.

(do i need to explain that gif choice ? no i don't. bye.)

3. Charity Dingle, chaotic bisexual icon if i ever saw one !! haven't had a chance to catch up with the soap since the Vanity shit hit the fan, but i'll get back to her one day because i miss the truly Slytherin Queen that she is (sorry for the HP mention but it belongs to us now, fuck JKR and terfs in general). Pretty sure she's the most flawed character in this list, but i apparently LOVE a queer anti hero ? She's a lot of things and not all of them good ; she's a cheat, a liar, a bad mom most of the time, selfish and venale and has trust issues towards everyone and herself the size of a mountain. She's also a survivor of terrible abuse, a fighter, a love-starved but deeply insecure person who won't let that be seen easily. She's the only such representation i've ever seen of a wlw woman esp in a popular soap, and her simply existing gives me so much hope that society might just be evolving in the right direction ? Idk man, on the good days where i still have faith for lgbt future, she sorta gives me hope for our queer lives to become part of the norm and not just sensational and weird.

2. Regina Mills from OUAT. What a great show with a great lesbian power couple and awesome message about queer families, or so i'm yelling somewhere in that parallel universe where the two cowards who wrote it grew courage instead of magic beans and made Swan Queen canon. I grew to love this character, it wasn't love at first sight (although def lust at first sight, shout out to them Evil Queen gowns) and now i'm trying to write self indulgent fics from her pov and day dreaming about all the things she deserved that she never got. Best redemption arc (apart from my #1 down there maybe) i've ever seen, a full badass bitch energy. Sidenote, Lana Parrilla being the biggest and loudest Swan Queen supporter in the cast felt suspicious to me in the beginning (idk, i don't get me either), but i'm finally at a point where i can fully appreciate how awesome that was of her.

(Yes that gif was queerbait. Yes i still get excited seeing it.)

1. Obv my number 1 queer bitch forever is ROOT from Person of Interest, it's been 6 years and i'm still in denial of the byg trope they pushed down my throat a meer day after she finally got her tiny sociopathic soulmate back. She was a lot of things that i can't detail or i would die from dehydration bc the tears would consume my entire stock of water, but she also happened to appear in a TV show i actually loved. I mean i did start watching strictly for the gayness i vaguely knew was ahead, let's be real, but POI is a show i really came to love so much even when she wasn't a main character. It touched me deeply, and i still rewatch it and get blown away by the genius of so many of its episodes, from the mind blowing plot twists to the soundtrack. I had so many kids on that show and loved them all so much, just thinking about it hurts... We were robbed of a Shoot reboot, and i'll leave it at that.

(look at her being so passionate and right and fierce and hot. loooooook. i would have followed her into battle from day one of her psych ward escape 😢 )

[ofpineapplesanddawns]

More platonic Phileas + Aziraphale? 😇

Here's a little something from the au, after Phileas finally learns that Aziraphale is an angel and they're on their way to Japan after the island.

This is part of the Let The Adventure Begin au, by the way. This probably won't be in the actual fic, so enjoy this little bonus.

On with the fic!

--

"So..." Phileas tapped his finger repeatedly against his cup of tea, made perfect, just like Aziraphale always made it.

Was it because he was...?

"I fear," Aziraphale tried to smile, "that the news of my true nature is a bit difficult for you to take in, dear."

"A little, yes." Phileas admitted, licking his dry lips. "An angel? A-and Crowley is a... a demon?"

"Yes." Aziraphale nodded.

They were alone, in Phileas' room on the ship, away from any nosy travel companions or people who didn't need to hear this conversation. Phileas had invited the other man to his room for tea, just hours after everything on the island, after finding out so many truths that it was still rather overwhelming and it made Phileas feel a bit ill.

Passepartout had nearly betrayed him, had actually nearly died try to help him and Abigail, he found out that Bellamy might be trying to kill him, Will was in love with him just as he was in love with the adventurer, and then to discover that his friend and associate were beings of the Lord, and Satan respectfully... it was amazing that Phileas hadn't just laid down and went cathartic for a bit.

"This whole time?" He asked, not sure what else to say.

"Oh yes, I've never been anything other than an angel. Crowley, however, well, he was an angel once." Aziraphale sighed. "And he's also a snake, so, he's a rather confusing person sometimes."

"He was before I found out he was a demon."

"Is it the... the woman thing?" There was worry in Aziraphale's voice. "Or the eyes? I know you saw them by accident, very much not a birth condition now, yes?"

"No, no." Phileas shook his head. "No, it was more of... the near identical thing between him and I."

"Ah, well, the same could be said about Will and I."

Phileas blinked. "I know the others have commented, but I just don't really see it."

The angel looked at him funny. "We have the same face, and eyes, even the same voice, though I feel like Will has a bit more of a Welsh accent going for him."

"But you two seem so different to me." Phileas reasoned. "Even if you two dressed the same or shared the same hair color, I'd just know who was who. I think it's how you both carry yourselves, how you both are around me."

He looked at the cup in front of him, toying with the handle. "I have so many questions, Aziraphale."

"I'm sure you do." The other man nodded. "Ask away."

"As my, uh, my Guardian Angel..." He could see Aziraphale's hands clench into fists, like he knew what Phileas was about to ask. "How come bad things happened on this trip? I'm not complaining, I mean, would you have been able to have done something to help us?"

Aziraphale sighed softly, running a hand through his hair. "I had hoped to, really, and I was able to use a bit of my angelic influence to make sure some things weren't worse for wear. But I got reprimanded by Gabriel, yes, that Gabriel, the tosser, and he had my powers muted for nearly two months!"

He pouted. "It actually was meant to be a month, but I apparently annoyed him with my own strongly worded letter in retaliation over being denied my powers to help you, so there was an extension. I only just got it lifted, but by a bit. The other Archangels think I should be limited, so I need to be careful of what I use. Getting the ship to the island to find you was a big miracle."

Phileas nodded. "And I am forever in your debt for that, my friend."

"No need, Crowley and I did it because care about you and our friends. Though, Crowley will never say it aloud." Aziraphale smiled, winking.

"Heh, yes, well, another thing I'm curious about, and have been for a few days now is... when we left Hong Kong, when I still had the fever, I thought you were in my room with me, I dreamt of you, but you have wings, and a halo behind your head, you were, well, you were like you were when you found us on the island."

Aziraphale looked at him, a bit flustered. "I... you remember that?"

"I do, I don't remember much of being sick, but I remember that so clearly."

"I went into a protective state, I wanted to make sure you would be safe. Sometimes I give into my true nature when like that, luckily you didn't see my true form, you would never be able to comprehend it." Aziraphale noted. "But then again, I feel like you might, just a bit, for a little while, before it would overwhelm you terribly."

"Oh, I see." The human blinked. "Wait, since I know, will I be in trouble with Heaven? This sounds like a bad thing."

"Depends on what you want to do with this information."

"I'd rather just keep it between the six of us."

"Good call!" Aziraphale nodded, before sipping his tea.

Phileas took a drink of his own before setting down the cup. "And what of you and Crowley? An angel and a demon, working together, as friends? Or possibly more...?"

Aziraphale coughed hard at this, his face pink. "W-whatever do you mean, dear boy?"

"I don't know, I've just noticed the way you are around Crowley, and how he is with you. He is always so close, and always quick to be at your side, defending you, and even with those glasses on, it's clear he looks at you with a longing like you look at him with such."

The angel bit his lip, toying with the ring on his finger. "It's... it's complicated, and always has been, but there might be, well, there might be something between the two of us, it's hard to say. And even if there was, our sides don't like the idea of it."

"Society is always like that." Phileas thought of himself and Will, what will happen when they return to England? It was a crime, a mental disorder to love someone of the same gender! And it was already troublesome for Phileas, who already had people eyeing him strangely for his mannerisms, his way of presenting himself when he felt more confident.

People would not want him and Will to be together, and it seemed like the same could be said about Crowley and Aziraphale, except with more Holy Fire and brimstone involved.

"It's hard to win when your heart wants something so wonderful." Aziraphale said quietly.

"That is true. But what of it? What if you just want to... I don't know, cast off the shackles of expectation, of society's norms, and embrace what will truly make you happy?"

Like he had done when starting this adventure, when he listened to Alberto's dreams and interests, when he listened to Jane Digby. Seeing the young groom defy his military duty to marry the woman he loved so dearly, learning that what he thought was supposed to be a good, helpful system was only a dark, dangerous thing that only benefited a small group.

Like when he finally decided to say he was tired of holding back, when he had shared that kiss on the island, when he had opened his heart to his friends about what the trip was really about and why he was the way he was.

Aziraphale looked at him with such kind, knowing eyes. "I think you've learned a lot on this trip."

"And it's not even over yet, there's so much more to see and do." Phileas smiled.

[heavens-bookshop]

Fic Asks Game!

I was tagged by my lovely friend @princip1914​ and decided to give this a go while I’m procrastinating on working on a fic (the circle is complete)

1) How many works do you have on AO3?

I'm up to 26 now apparently!

2) What’s your total AO3 word count?

78,636 (one day I will make it to 100k)

3) How many fandoms have you written for and what are they?

I’ve only written for GO since it was the thing that made me want to write fic for the first time.

4) What are your top five fics by kudos?

Frayed (5k E) - Aziraphale struggles to process 6000 years of repressed trauma

Dreading the winter's near (2k, T) - Crowley has a hard time with cold weather on account of being a snake

Apicius (3.2k, T) - Aziraphale and Crowley go on their first date post-Armageddon

Vipers that cannot be charmed (5.1k, E) - Crowley's venom has sex-pollen like qualities, and they use it to act out a fantasy Aziraphale has harboured for centuries

Treasures of Heaven (2k, T) - outsider POV, a moment between Crowley and Aziraphale as seen from the POV of a waitress in a coffee shop

5) Do you respond to comments, why or why not?

I try! I used to be very good at it but I lost my way a little while back. I would love to work through the backlog tbh

6) What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

Hmm, I haven't actually written much angst (despite enjoying a good angsty fic) so I am not really sure I have a good answer for this. In some roundabout way, it might be The Bible Project purely because it's a historical fic and therefore doesn't end with the two of them together. But the fic itself is lighthearted and silly so that's probably a dumb response. Maybe it's Pink and Poppy? A little ficlet I wrote that's set during The Night At Crowley's Flat and overall has a more melancholic vibe.

7) Do you write crossovers? If so what is the craziest one you’ve written?

I have not written a crossover! I think they're super fun to read but my brain cannot write them, it's like my writing needle has to be in a specific groove and really protests jumping between others. But there are some great GO crossovers out there!

8) Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Thankfully I haven’t

9) Do you write smut? If so what kind?

Yes, yes I do. Still something of a novice but I do really like using sex as a way of exploring some aspect of character or their relationship. I find it super fun to plot the smut like that!

10) Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not a fic, no!

11) Have you ever had a fic translated?

I don’t think so

12) Have you ever co-written a fic before?

As Princip said on their version, we co-wrote a little ficlet where Crowley and Aziraphale are algae! (Elaborate-On-That-No.gif)

13) What’s your all time favourite ship?

Aziraphale/Crowley for sure, I’m hopeless

14) What’s a WIP you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

Hmm, well I hold out hope to finish all the WIPs I have currently published on AO3 (however misguided that may be). I have a very sad WIP that I worked on when I was Going Through It™ where Aziraphale is killed by hellfire and explores Crowley’s grief. I would really love to finish it but I also think working on it takes a lot out of me.

15) What are your writing strengths?

Oh dang what a good question. I think I’m good at constructing a narrative, I think I use words fairly efficiently, and I think I can sometimes write interesting or funny dialogue between Crowley and Aziraphale.

16) What are your writing weaknesses?

I am resisting the urge to be immediately self deprecating and say “a lot“ (GROWTH.JPG). Realistically, I think I still struggle with structuring my writing. I’ve got a lot better at it, but when I read back some of my first several fics, I can see that I was definitely stuck in Science Writing Mode since that has been my only writing experience for the last, like, decade. I think I’ve managed to make things smoother and flow better for fiction, but I still get stuck. I also think that I struggle to make transition scenes interesting, and I’m sure I do a thousand other things that writing advice columns always tell you not to do.

17) What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

I think Princip’s answer to this was pretty identical to my feelings, which is that, much like writing dialogue in a dialect, it can be used to great effect when done sparingly. I think if you start writing too much of the dialogue in another language or with a thick dialect, it starts to a) become hard to follow, and b) runs the risk of turning your character into a stereotype.

18) What was the first fandom you wrote for?

I mean, when I was 11 I used to write stories where me and my brother had our own Digimon and we’d go on adventures and stuff. But other than that I used to be a strictly Fanart Only creator up until GO!

19) What’s your favourite fic you’ve written?

Gosh another good question... I think I’m definitely proud of several of the fics that have already been mentioned here, and certainly Frayed and Vipers cannot be charmed have a special spot in my heart. However I do really really love the SFW fic I wrote for the snake zine, Let Sleeping Serpents Lie. I think I got a good mix of soft and funny, and I also got to work with a super talented artist!

----

I have no clue who has or has not had a go at this point but I’ll tag @racketghost and @fremulon and @theoldaquarian and @forineffablereasons case none of you have done it yet! If you’re reading this and haven’t done it yet, feel free to fill it in and tag me!

[tonydaddingham]

actually no, you know what, let's address this - because i would love to be signposted to where my 'tasteless' post/take, as anon kindly implies, meant that i reportedly did not watch the same show, and missed the point of the character.

(and for anyone who wonders what the fuck im on about, please free to have a read here and interact, god knows i could do with the clout even if it's to rinse me, apparently-)

im going to assume at best that you didn't read the actual post, and therefore didnt actually see the point i made... or at worst did see it, and the point completely sailed you by. what i actually said was:

notice how i highlight the vast difference between crowley encouraging aziraphale with magic, his hobby that evidently makes him happy, and post-bullet catch when crowley doesn't - at all - express any gratitude for the photo trick, and actually insults him for it when the reproduction of the trick fails. if i have missed a mystical line in this scene where crowley actually expresses any gratitude, then by all means, please, educate me.

as for the scotland bit, this is the bit about scotland that i actually mention:

notice how i don't say anything about crowley preventing elspeths suicide? notice how i don't say that this was a bad, evil, dark, crowley-is-a-nasty character thing? i don't, because imo it proves my point. he can be an arsehole, and downright horrible, but has the ability and inclination to do nice things that literally have more weight when he does them. the backdrop is that he is a darker character than light. if you would like to scroll down further in the post, i even say this very thing! but just to make things a little more transparent for everyone, i'll even put that here too!

but ok! let's move on!

oh i have to admit that amongst having two panic attacks on the trot because im a baby, this one made me laugh. two things:

very human flaws? never said he didnt have them. i absolutely agree with you. but if you think that being human and having human flaws means you are immediately justified in engaging on the scale of less-than-nice > outright horrible behaviour, and don't deserve to be held accountable for that... idk what to tell you bud

notice how i don't, at any point in that post, make reference to other demons, nor compare crowley to them as if other demons are morally better than him... because of course they're not! they're completely worse! but id respectfully offer that splitting the characters' moral identities into 'recruited nazis' and 'didnt recruit nazis but does fuck up the O2 network for an hour or so' isn't quite the argument you think it is

actually no, third point; there is a vast difference between being a terrible demon (ie. refraining from doing horrific and devastating things to bring misery to humanity), and being a good-wholesome-and-nice person. there is a huge difference that tbh if you don't don't see that, idk how i can begin to explain it to you.

so look im sure i'll get the backlash on 'that ask wasn't even about your post', and tbh that's fair. it still however goes to show that a good portion of this site - for all it preaches about being kind to other people, just scrolling on or blocking people when they have takes on literature that you don't like - literally hasn't matured much beyond being that group in secondary school.

i have never, ever said that my take is the only correct take (in a serious tone, at least). i have never dismissed anyone outright who has politely rb'd or dropped an ask to me with a counter-argument, or asking me to clarify my points. i welcome them. what i don't expect is to find on my dash, at 0620am, a vague-post that makes me feel like shit, and from blogs i used to respect. and even if it's not about me or my post? well, i just hope that the other person doesn't see it.

except this. this is funny:

i recently saw a take on a blog i usually like that was basically people have over babygirled crowley. ok, fine, but included on a list of reasons why he is darker than we all think were ‘is mean to aziraphale about magic’, ‘didn’t thank aziraphale for saving him with the polaroid’ and ‘was kind of mean in scotland’.

sorry this isn’t really a controversial take i just think it’s very funny and you have taste so you might enjoy it.

They canceled his babygirl status for having the irritability of the average chronic migraine haver

[holycatsandrabbits]

                                      Give Me A Kiss

Released as part of the #Great Good Omens Snake-Off event!

ficlet by @holycatsandrabbits (Dannye Chase) based on a comic by @hayamiyuu 

*comic reposted with permission*

Crowley learned that Aziraphale was comfortable with snakes in Crete around 3000 BC. Crowley had been fleeing from something—probably some mob of humans he’d played a trick on. He’d taken his serpentine shape to hide, turning himself small and dark and slithering beneath some stones in a field. It was cold, and the meager autumn grass didn’t offer much protection, but that had seemed the least of all evils at that point. Eventually, he’d become cold enough that he drifted off to sleep. Which was rather a dangerous thing for a snake to do, but again—a lesser evil.

When Crowley woke up, though, he was warm. No scratchy grass surrounded him, no dry dirt. He was somewhere with a heat source, somewhere soft. He opened his eyes to realize that he was curled up in the lap of an angel, who looked delighted to see him awake.

“You missed our lunch date,” Aziraphale said, with obviously false reproach, his blue eyes sparkling sharply as only an angel’s could.

“Sssssorry,” Crowley managed to say.

“Oh, no matter, dear. I was able to track you down. You know, I don’t think I’ve seen you as a serpent since Eden. It’s quite becoming.”

It took a lot of determination, but Crowley slithered off the warm angel’s lap and back onto the cold ground.

Aziraphale’s smile faded. “Oh,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry, I’ve upset you.”

Aziraphale got to his feet. He towered over Crowley like this, and Crowley felt almost claustrophobic. He stretched himself back into human form, the right size, right temperature, right face. He shrugged, and they said no more about it.

But he never forgot what it felt like to wake up feeling so warm and—and safe. It was a harsh thing to realize that he could trust an angel.

                                                          oOo

Crowley discovered that Aziraphale was comfortable with giant serpents in 1038 AD in Cappadocia. Hell had ordered Crowley to hang about in a cave, menacing the population of a nearby town, collecting treasure and making some sort of legend of himself. Crowley had thought that sounded like quite a nice assignment for once. Of course, Hell had failed to mention that the presence of an enormous serpent-monster in a cave would attract knights with swords. That part was not fun.

The first few knights ran away at the sight of Crowley, and so he’d relaxed a little. Then had come a braver man who’d held a blessed weapon. When he got past Crowley’s defenses and stabbed him, Crowley had nearly passed out from the pain. He managed to win the fight, sending the knight fleeing for his life, but Crowley wasn’t sure how long it would be until he came back, with more men and more swords forged with priestly aid.

Crowley needed to leave. The problem was, he was too injured to change form, and he could hardly crawl about the countryside hoping no one would notice a dragon. So he’d blocked off the entrance to the cave as best he could and tried to sleep enough to heal.

He woke later to a sharply cold sensation and the sound of someone humming a hymn. He knew who it was without looking. “Angel,” he growled.

Aziraphale stepped into view around one of Crowley’s enormous black coils, looking a little more dusty than he usually did. “Oh, you’re awake,” he said, in an ordinary tone, quite as if he were talking to a person and not a giant snake. “I’m sorry, I had hoped you’d sleep through the healing. It can’t be pleasant.”

Crowley wanted to hiss at him, but in this form he feared he’d terrorize the angel. He pulled in on himself, groaning in pain.

Aziraphale gave him an admonishing look. “I’ve been here a week, my dear. If I was frightened of you like this, I’d have left by now.”

“A week?”

“And without my magic cloaking this cave, you’d have had other visitors by now. So you can be self-conscious later. Right now, you’ve got to let me heal you.” Aziraphale bustled away out of sight again behind a serpentine coil, but he kept chattering. “Bloody irresponsible of you to do this, you know. Become a dragon, fight knights. We just set up our Agreement, and now you’re risking it all without a thought for me. What am I going to do if you get discorporated? I don’t want Hastur or Ligur as an adversary. Disgusting, the both of them.” His voice fell low. “And if someone comes back with another holy weapon, you could be destroyed completely, so—”

“Ssssssorry,” Crowley said, and the sound filled the cave, making it uncomfortably loud.

Aziraphale popped up again, completely unimpressed. “I should say so. Now, hold still, I don’t fancy being knocked about by your tail.”

The healing took another two weeks, during which Crowley mostly slept. Aziraphale didn’t normally sleep, but the work seemed to take a lot out of him. Once Crowley woke up to the startling sight of an angel curled up for a nap with an enormous demonic serpent, tucked among his coils like a little white mouse. As if prey had found itself protected by its predator.

Apparently Aziraphale trusted Crowley as well. This was not good news. In fact, this was really going to put a cramp into the whole falling-out-of-love-with-Aziraphale plan that Crowley had been working on for the last thousand years.

                                                      oOo

It took a lot longer for Crowley to discover that he was comfortable being a snake around Aziraphale.

After the Abotchalypse, when Crowley was free to visit the bookshop as often as he pleased, he found that it was quite fun to lurk among the books as a small snake, scaring away customers (and startling an angel, if he could manage it). One day, Aziraphale made an exasperated noise and shooed him out of the Yeats section and onto a sunny windowsill. Crowley found that it was actually quite pleasant there, even if it was out in the open, and still a great place from which to menace potential customers.

The point of being a snake in the bookshop, Crowley had told himself, was just that it was an age-old instinct to avoid making it obvious that he and Aziraphale were friends. If Gabriel came through the door, Crowley could easily hide. The problem with that was, if Gabriel made one false move toward Aziraphale it was very likely that he’d be met by a giant serpent who definitely was not attempting to be inconspicuous.

The truth was that Crowley still just wasn’t sure how Aziraphale loved him. He knew that Aziraphale did love him. Aziraphale had said so, and looking back, he’d certainly acted like he had for millennia. But Crowley was a demon. Could an angel really love a demon? Could he love someone who didn’t even have a human face?

One night Aziraphale was sitting on the couch by the fire, reading a book with those ridiculous little glasses on his face, and he was simply the most adorable, impossible, beautiful thing Crowley had ever seen. So Crowley, in snake form, slithered down off of a chair and crawled into Aziraphale’s lap.

Aziraphale gave him an absent-minded caress, still reading. Crowley lifted his head up over the top of Aziraphale’s book, getting in the way. They sat there a moment, human and snake, angel and demon. Aziraphale didn’t recoil or pull back. He never had. He just smiled a little, looking patient. Crowley kissed him.

It was a wonderful thing to be a demonic snake who was trusted and loved in all of his forms. But, Crowley discovered, after having given Aziraphale a small snakey kiss, that it really was much nicer to kiss an angel if you had hands to hold him with.

HolyCatsAndRabbits (Dannye Chase) on Ao3. Fic Commissions for OC’s open!

@summerofspock thank you so much for organizing this event!!

[justkeeptrekkin]

A gift to all my followers!

This is something I whacked out a couple of weeks ago- just a thank you to all my followers who’ve stuck around, or who have just found me within the Good Omens fandom! It means the world to see you guys enjoy my fics. This is my gift to you guys, now that 2019 is coming to a close!

Enjoy! x

***

It’s hard to keep track of time when they're together on a good day. It’s even harder on the best of days. 

The Ritz is busy. The lunch table is inappropriately large for just the two of them. They’re sat right next to each other. Champagne is bitter-sweet on Crowley’s tongue and he could watch Aziraphale for hours, listen to him talking for hours. He measures the way Aziraphale leans towards him with a hand stretched across the table, sharing a story. Eyes bright, typically taut posture unusually relaxed. Entire aura relaxed. The feeling in his own chest, relaxed.

And so it’s harder than usual to keep track of the time. People leave after tea; people arrive for dinner; people leave after dinner. The waiters stare at them from the kitchen doors, waiting for them to ask for the bill, which they don’t. Crowley barely has it in him to glare at them. 

Their knees touch for almost the entire time. 

For Crowley and Aziraphale, time has only ever been a construct. However, it has also, always, been bound by celestial responsibilities. Now, they have no such responsibilities. And they are no longer being watched. 

The sky is darkening just a little when they finally leave. Green Park remains busy at-

Crowley checks the time on his phone.

-Greek Park remains busy at five thirty on a Tuesday night. People line up at the bus stop, heading home from work. Tourist stands filled with union jacks litter the streets outside the park. The colonnade of The Ritz shelters them from a light bit of drizzle. 

Crowley slides his hands into his negligible pockets and considers what comes next. Dining at The Ritz has always comes with a time limit, and somewhere to go immediately afterwards. Some sort of agenda. He doesn’t know what that is now. 

He looks over at Aziraphale, who hovers. Hovers and fiddles with his hands. Gaze flitting about as if he’s nervous, smile flickering on and off as if he doesn’t want Crowley to notice. He makes a feeble attempt at smiling again and gestures to the rain with a small nod. “Lovely weather we’re having, eh?” he says. It’s followed by a shaky half-laugh. 

Crowley frowns at him, the bottom half of his face forming a smile. He feels as if he’s watching the Angel of the Eastern gate, introducing himself at Eden. And something about the sudden awkwardness fills him with intrigue- more than that, anticipation. 

He leans back against a column, hands in pockets, and surveys Aziraphale’s anxious flapping.

“Well, go on, then,” Crowley prompts. “Something’s on your mind.”

“Not on my mind, per se,” Aziraphale concedes. His eyes darting up to the roof of the colonnade, to Heaven- a habit that may take some time to kick. “An idea of sorts.” “You’ve intrigued me,” Crowley drawls. 

“Nothing exciting. Only.” 

The look Aziraphale gives him in the brief moment of hesitation is heart-breaking. It’s filled with hope, and a healthy dollop of apprehension, too. As if Crowley would ever deny him anything. Crowley has experienced these moments of heart-shattering, heart-squashing, heart-pummelling love many times before, and he very much hopes that he’s done an alright job of concealing it from his expression.

He raises his eyebrows at Aziraphale and waits. 

Aziraphale sighs, looking uncomfortable and apparently having no intention of expanding. He expects Crowley to make the move. Unsurprising.

“I could…” Crowley starts. Aziraphale looks at him in hope again. Christ on a bike I’m a pushover, he thinks. “I could. Invite you round to mine for a drink. If… you were thus inclined.” A great beaming smile. “Oh, you took the words right out of my mouth.” Crowley huffs an almost-laugh. They look at each other. And they both let the weight of that sink in. Slowly, like the rain that’s currently seeping into the stone pavement beyond the Ritz’s colonnade. 

“Right,” he announces quickly, before thoughts can escalate any further. “Off we go, then?”

“Yes, just so. Tip top.”

Crowley conjures an umbrella. It’s not as if anyone would have noticed, he tells himself, though he sees the doorman at the Ritz recoil a little in shock. They share its shelter until Aziraphale miraculously hails a cab. 

***

“Best idea you’ve had all week, angel- and that includes the body swapping nonsense.”

Aziraphale is sat on Crowley’s sofa. He has been handed a glass of wine. He holds it between cupped hands like he plans to take communion. His legs are hidden behind a tartan blanket. (Crowley will never admit that he conjured such a thing long, long ago, just in case something like this might happen. Something like Aziraphale staying for a movie night, or even, staying for the night. It had always seemed so unlikely. In fact, the moment he’d created said blanket, Crowley had been so infuriated by his blind hope of ‘having Aziraphale round’ that he’d burned it. 

He’d restored the ashes to its original, tartaned form just a couple of hours later.)

“It seemed like the next logical thing,” Aziraphale explains pensively, brows raised and peering down into his Malbec. “If I had a ‘to do’ list, this is what I would put on it. I haven’t sat down and watched a movie all the way through in such a long time.” This may well be true, Crowley considers, as he rifles through his DVD collection, knees against polished concrete and painted nails tapping the spine of Monty Python and the Holy Grail. Meanwhile, he’s simply marvelling at the fact that they’ve never sat down and watched a movie all the way through together, the two of them, ever. They’d always had more important things to be getting on with, like saving the world or performing miracles or negotiating the terms of their Agreement. And now. Now they can-

Now they can what?

He looks back over his shoulder at Aziraphale. Aziraphale is looking at him. The angel’s gaze flicks away instantly, staring back down into his wine. It hurts something in his chest. A nice kind of hurt, like a dash too much wasabi. 

Crowley takes a moment to recover from this. Then- “You. You still haven’t given me any clues. What you in the mood for, angel?”

Aziraphale’s eyes widen for the briefest moment as if he’s alarmed by this question, for whatever reason. Then he frowns to himself, purses his lips in thought. Casts his eyes around the room, for inspiration. “Something…” “If you say nice,” Crowley warns, knees hurting a little on the hard floor. 

“I wasn’t going to,” Aziraphale retorts. He pauses. He adds, more quietly, “I was going to say fun.”

Crowley groans. Turns to the DVD cabinet.

“I don’t do fun,” he says slowly, emphatically. 

“Alright, well. Something at least a bit light-hearted. I think saving the world rather calls for it, don’t you?” Crowley tilts his head from side to side in consideration. “It’s a fair point,” he concedes to himself more than Aziraphale. Pouts. “Don’t want to bring the mood down. Not sure I’d want to…”

The reason he doesn’t finish his sentence is because he’s just been, unfortunately, reacquainted with the more mushy end of his DVD collection. He’d forgotten that he has several Audrey Heburn films, as well as a couple of Julia Roberts classics. He glares at them. Hidden amongst the arthouse silent movies, they’re betraying just how soft he is. And Aziraphale’s watching.

The DVD boxes quiver under his stare. 

“How about we start with discussing what you have,” Aziraphale tries, reasonably. “Since we can’t reach a consensus. We don’t even have to watch a DVD if you don’t want-”

“Netflix,” Crowley remembers, standing up abruptly and immediately closing the cabinet. Then, “Netflix! That’s a thing. That’s a thing that we can do.” “Oh yes- I’ve heard of that,” Aziraphale says chirpily. 

“Oh, yes, well done, angel.”

Aziraphale glares. 

And so the Netflix loading screen bongs into life, Crowley collapsing onto the sofa beside Aziraphale. The red wine is jostled; Aziraphale tuts. Crowley props his heels on the coffee table. 

“Do you mind. I almost spilled Malbec on my shirt.” “Lots more choices now,” Crowley ignores him and begins flicking through. “Look, it’s all organised nicely in rows of genre. Love how tidy this is, look. And the search function is so much easier. Have you tried the search function on Amazon Prime, lately? Nightmare.” “I have no clue what you’re talking about,” Aziraphale replies lightly, spinning the wine in his glass like a whirlpool.

“Look, ‘s’got a whole section called ‘light-hearted movies’.” 

“Very helpful.”

They flick through the row. They go through all of them without choosing, and end up at the beginning of the loop again. Crowley growls and hangs his head off the back of the sofa.

“Oh, pass it here,” Aziraphale sighs, putting down his wine with a decisive clink and picking up the remote. He holds it with one hand and presses the directional buttons with his other hand, as if it’s far more complicated and delicate a process than it actually is. Like an octogenarian trying to use an iPhone.  

“How about this lovely looking Christmas film.“

"N- no. Anything but that. It’s October. And more importantly, no.”

“It looks ever so sweet, though. How lovely and romantic-”

“We are not watching The Christmas fucking-well Prince.”

He’d had a hand in inspiring that, and he’s too embarrassed to admit it even to himself. His evil deeds really are shit. 

“No need to snap,” Aziraphale mutters.  

“If you’re determined to watch something romantic and seasonal, I will accept The Holiday. If I must. Jack Black makes it bearable.”

Aziraphale lets the screen rest on the thumbnail of the movie. Then, quite thoughtfully, he says: “I like Kate Winslet. She seems like a nice woman.”

“Mm. Yeah, that’s. OK. I’m sure she is, angel.”

In all honesty, the idea of watching a rom-com with Aziraphale is border-line torture. It’s not quite as bad as waterboarding, but it’s close. More on the same level as those nightmares you get where you have to do a maths exam in your underwear, on stage, and all of your exes and crushes point and laugh at you. Not only are rom-coms pretty hit and miss- some influenced by Heaven, some by Hell, you never know what you’re going to get- they’re also a fantastic way of making Crowley feel incredibly exposed. Incredibly hot in the face from second-hand embarrassment. Incredibly aware that he’s meant to be sneering and heckling, when he’s just trying to concentrate on holding himself together. Stop the feelings from spurting out of his heart like water in a dam: feelings that he thinks are, embarrassingly, rather a lot like longing.

And yet, because it is Crowley, and this is what Crowley does, he lets Aziraphale select the movie and they watch The Holiday. They remark on the general cheesiness, the (at times) witty dialogue. The staggering amount of disbelief that has to be suspended for the plot to work. How nice Jude Law looks in glasses. 

Crowley’s only sort of watching. He’s concentrating on Aziraphale. Not outright staring at him (although he does often do that, it’s a wonder he hasn’t noticed and told Crowley to sod off). Rather, letting his brain tick over the knowledge that he is right beside him. Too much of his daft, devil mind is unable to ignore the fact that Aziraphale is there. 

Sometimes, it sends unhelpful thoughts his way. Like, you could touch his hand. Or, imagine feeding him popcorn- wouldn’t that be interesting. Or simply, there he is. He’s here. He’s with you. He’s chosen this. 

About half-way through the film, Aziraphale starts with those sad sighing sounds, making woebegone eyes at the television- which tells Crowley that he’s getting peckish but doesn’t want to bother Crowley with it. So, Crowley casually announces that he’s heard there’s a good new Chinese restaurant around the corner, and Aziraphale brightens up again immediately. And they have to pause the film to choose what to eat, because Crowley reckons he might actually order something for himself this time, and Aziraphale ums and ahs about these things for hours anyway. And once they’ve ordered- over the app, thank God for avoiding human interaction- the food arrives, quite miraculously, three minutes later. 

And once the food is gone, the film is almost finished. And Netflix seems to have decided what they should watch next, because it puts on the first episode of The Crown without asking them. Which they watch, although Crowley’s not really watching. And Aziraphale is complaining about the inaccuracies. 

And at some point they end up sitting very close.

No. That makes it sound as if Crowley has no idea how they ended up that close. He knows exactly when this happened, because he hasn’t taken a breath since. 

It happened like this.

They’re halfway through the first episode of The Crown, and Aziraphale has returned from the kitchen with a new bottle of red- a Pinot, this time- and he pours for both him and Crowley. Aziraphale has been sat on his own side of the sofa, and Crowley has been on his, draping his arms and legs wherever he sees fit. Now, as Aziraphale resettles on the sofa, he sits right beside him. The way Crowley is angled, his legs dangling off the arm of the sofa, means that he’s leaning in Aziraphale’s direction. Very obviously. 

So he’s using all his (very little) core strength to keep himself sitting upright enough not to fall into his lap. Even if it would be very nice to let his head rest on Aziraphale’s lap. And even if he’d really like to relax a little bit and lean his shoulder against Aziraphale’s. 

And for Heaven’s sake, it shouldn’t be an issue for a couple of six thousand year old beings to sit side-by-side on a sofa, and yet, here’s Crowley, having a crisis about it. It’s not as if he thought twice about pinning him against a wall. 

Although he probably should have. That was a lot.

His eyes follow the way Aziraphale’s legs stretch in front of him, crossed over at the ankles. A little slouched on the sofa, shoes off. It’s about as relaxed as Crowley’s ever seen him. 

“Why do you think they decided to make this TV series now, when the Queen is still alive,” Aziraphale remarks. It almost makes Crowley jump a little, so deep in thought that he’d forgotten time hadn’t stopped entirely.

“Whassat?” “Well, why do you think they’ve made the series now? It seems a bit-”

“Right,” Crowley says brain finally processing the question. “No- dunno, angel.” They both go quiet. Crowley’s hand grips the back of the sofa. The fear that he’s going to slip and lean against Aziraphale is too real. As nice as it would be-

Perfect. Miraculous. Wonderfully human. 

-It would also be mortifying. 

He can hear Aziraphale’s breathing. Slow. Precise and even, like he’s measuring out ingredients for a recipe. It makes Crowley’s mouth go dry with painful self-awareness.

“Do you remember,” Aziraphale starts quietly, “when you and I bumped into each other in Camden Town?” He takes a few seconds to pretend to think about this. “Yeah, ‘f course. Nineteen seventy-seven. What made you think of that?” Aziraphale shifts a little, looking at Crowley. Crowley doesn’t look back, watches the screen. If he turns towards Aziraphale, they’ll be-

“You were wearing that awful t-shirt.” That makes him laugh. A tipping-the-head-back laugh. “Oh yeah- my God Save the Queen t-shirt. Sex Pistols. Yeah, those were the days. Don’t knock ‘em, they were a good band.” “I’m sure they were.” “Don’t use that voice, they were. Anarchic music at its finest.” “I believe you, but bebop is still a little too baffling for me, I’m afraid.”

Crowley doesn’t expect it. He doesn’t know where it comes from- he thought he knew himself quite well at this point, but apparently not well enough. He feels something take over from out of nowhere. Rather, feels something erase everything else- a whiteboard rubber cleaning all the bullshit away. 

And now he’s turned to Aziraphale without the babbling voice of anxiety in his head. 

“It’s punk music, not bebop. And. I reckon you’d like it.” His voice is a murmur and his eyes are looking at Aziraphale’s lips. Thank Christ for sunglasses. 

When he looks back up and meets Aziraphale’s gaze, he’s watching Crowley. Looking for something. 

He feels his lips part, hears himself take a breath through his mouth. 

“Oh, really?” Aziraphale asks weakly. A small quirk in one eyebrow. 

“Y-” Fucking Hell. His throat’s all dry and he’s forgotten what words are. And now Aziraphale is definitely looking at his mouth. Fuck fuck fuck fu- “Yeah. You’re a rebel now, after all. Sort of. Breaking all those rules.”

“Yes,” Aziraphale replies in a whisper. Then, regaining his voice, “I suppose that’s true.”

“S- uh- mm- w- some of the songs, anyway, not all of them. You’d uh- h- some of them are a bit explicit than others and you’d probably not. Not get on with those ones.”

“Crowley…?” That’s all it takes. Thousands of years of keeping his feelings to himself and taking it slow, and all it takes is that little inflection in Aziraphale’s hushed voice. That hesitant request, draped over the sound of his name. Crowley leans in and presses his lips gently against Aziraphale’s. 

There’s that horrible moment when it stops, and everything else seems to stop, too. The what next? hangs in the air and Aziraphale stutters a shaky breath against Crowley’s skin. 

“Too fast?” is what Crowley ends up asking. Just to break the pause. 

And then the most dazzling, drunken smile spreads across Aziraphale’s face. Brows knit together. An expression that looks a lot like “To the world.” 

“No,” he half laughs, shaking his head infinitesimally. “For once, no. We… we saved the world, I rather think we deserve this.”

Something in Crowley relaxes, unhinges, collapses. It lets all the feelings free and they flood him till he swears he almost goes blind. And that is how they both end up falling asleep on the sofa, still wearing the days’ clothes and kicking off a tartaned blanket. Wrapped up in each other- starting this new era as they mean to continue.

***

Crowley wakes up and finds his head on Aziraphale’s chest. He’s splayed on top of him, arm hanging off the edge of the sofa. He feels Aziraphale’s hand, warm between his shoulder blades. 

“What would you like to do today?” Aziraphale asks with a smile in his voice. 

That is how it starts. They think of the things they were too scared to do together, the things that they never found the time to do together, the things they always liked to do together. 

They go for a walk through Hampstead Heath, just as the weather’s beginning to turn- their breathes steaming in front of their faces as they walk. They haven’t been here since 1815. They both try to avoid the muddy parts and fail spectacularly. They make fun of each other for the mess they’ve made of their shoes. They begin by hooking their fingers together, until they’re brave enough to hold hands completely. 

They go home and cook together. It goes disastrously. 

“What are we doing today?” Crowley asks the next morning, when they wake up on Crowley’s sofa again. 

They go to some hipster bar in East London- Tobacco Docks, it’s called. They find that there’s good food, lots of good booze and an ice rink- which Crowley absolutely point-blank refuses to go on until Aziraphale makes that wide-eyed, pleading face. They have a tipsy and very clumsy skate around the rink before returning to their drinks. Crowley’s better at wine than ice rinks. 

“What are we doing today?” Aziraphale asks, when they’ve woken up in Crowley’s bed. His white hair against his white sheets. A new part of the landscape of his room.

They end up doing very little. They read together on the sofa and make tea.  Crowley introduces Aziraphale to the best music ever created- disco, of course. They dance in the living room in bare feet and laugh till they can’t see through the tears. 

“What are we doing today?” Crowley asks the next morning. 

“What are we doing today?” Aziraphale asks the next. 

They’ve saved the world, and that still seems surreal. But there’s waking up on Crowley’s sofa after a movie marathon, too. A dinner date, or a night in. 

And that feels perfectly real. 

[stareyemoth]

(Don’t) Take Me To Church

A very short G-rated fic in which Aziraphale watches the Destiel confession and shenanigans ensue.  Featuring: crack, fluff, and VHS

There was a time when it was ‘Crowley this’ and ‘Crowley that.”  It was bad enough the angel wasn’t talking about him, but some other kind of knock-off demon Crowley?  That was insufferable.  Crowley (the real one) was thankful when it was over.  

But no, apparently, that show never actually ended and Aziraphale was watching it?  Again?  

Crowley couldn't care less.  He decided to shut himself up in the bedroom and listen to music instead.  If it was just a tad louder than it needed to be, well that was too bad.  

From above the-thankfully-not-yet-Queen music, Crowley unwittingly heard a few of the usual sound effects—screams, knocking, explosions—which he of course ignored.  What he was altogether unprepared for, however, was the high pitched screaming that suddenly drowned out his music.  

Crowley jumped out of his chair and bolted through the door barely pausing to slam it open, “ANGEL???”

The scream had evidently come from Aziraphale?  Who was crying!!! 

“Oh no angel what is it??”

Wait, he definitely was crying, but the sobbing sounded a lot closer to—

“Are you laughing? I—don’t” Crowley reached toward Aziraphale but stopped himself, then reached for him again, flapping his arms about in a bungled attempt to help, “Angel?  Are you ok?”

Aziraphale waved his hand at Crowley in between fits of laugh-sobbing but couldn’t manage to form a single intelligible word.  He gave up the struggle and gestured frantically at the television instead.

Crowley looked from Aziraphale to the TV and back again.  The stupid show was finally over, but that didn’t explain anything at all.  Crowley was worried.  Had the angel finally cracked?

Crowley waited a minute, maybe two, hoping that this fit would subside on its own.  When it didn’t, he started to pace, “Angel, what do you need?  A human doctor?  A priest?  Holy water?”

“HEE HEE HEE HEE HEE HEE HEE!!!” the angel continued.

“I don’t understand… is it?  Is it that other Crowley?”

Aziraphale shook his head, “HA HA HA HA NO—HA HA HA… THE ANGEL….. GAY!!!” a squeal of giggles erupted again then, “HELL!!!!  WRITING!!” he waved his hands more “Bad!! SO BAD! AHAHAHAHHAA!”

“This is all because of bad writing?” Crowley was not at all following.

“NO—YES—It’s.... Hehehehe… So absurd…” he gestured to the TV again, “Destiel!! IS BACK!! It’s REAL!!! BUT ahahahahaaha, THEY SENT HIM TO HELL!”  He started laughing uncontrollably again, “OH NO I’M GOING TO HELL TOO! AHAHAHAHAHA!!”

Now this, THIS truly alarmed Crowley.  He didn’t understand much of what Aziraphale was trying to say but his angel screaming about going to hell was all wrong.  “Hang on, Angel,” Crowley said as he awkwardly scooped Aziraphale off the couch and began to carry him down to the car.

Aziraphale was on the verge of containing his giggle fit until “Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy” started playing on Crowley’s radio and he started laughing all over again.  Even more concerned, Crowley raced the car through the London traffic in what was an entirely unsafe display of driving skills.

With a screech, the Bentley pulled to a stop right in front of—a church?  Crowley jumped out of the car and opened Aziraphale’s door, “Come on Angel, we’re getting you help.”

“Are we,” a muffled giggle, “Crowley did you take me to church??”

“Yes, so, out you come, let’s go,” he took Aziraphale’s arm and helped him up, “I’m sure we can find someone here to help you.”

“I’m FINE, really,” Aziraphale laughed again, “It was just, you know, well you don’t know, hehehe, do you want to know? OH, You need to watch it too!!”

“Is this seriously because of that television show? You’re not possessed or crazy or something?”

Aziraphale scoffed, scandalized, “Crowley dear, I am most certainly NOT possessed, or crazy, how could you think such a thing?

Crowley simply stared at him wondering if Aziraphale had any idea just how ridiculous he was being.

Aziraphale straightened his coat, “Anyway, I’m… quite fine, quite fine, let’s go home.”

“And what about hell?”

Aziraphale snort-laughed, “SUPER hell.”

“FINE, super hell?”

Aziraphale chuckled then climbed back into the car, “Come on, just take me home.”

Crowley threw his hands up in exasperation.  Was this some kind of angel thing he didn’t understand?  Still, he did as Aziraphale asked and drove home.  Slightly safer than the first run.  Maybe.

Aziraphale practically skipped back into the living room.  “Now, I’ve gone and recorded the whole thing on my Video Home System.”

“Right, because of course you still use VHS.”

“Yes, yes, look let me just rewind,” he pushed a button with a flourish on the remote control, “One moment.”

‘One moment,’ Crowley mimicked to himself and slumped down on the couch in resignation.

The whooshing sound of the VCR abruptly stopped, “Here we are,” Aziraphale sat down on the couch next to Crowley, “OK, I’m hitting ‘play.’”

“Mmhmm.”

The episode played as intended and Crowley vaguely faded into and out of attention.  Toward the end, Aziraphale was suddenly patting the back of his hand excitedly, “Here we are, here we are!”

Crowley undraped himself from the back of the couch and leaned forward, at least willing  to humor the angel.  

But? What? Was? This?

Castiel had said ‘I love you,’ and was promptly carried away to? Super Hell? Or something?

And it was so? Awkward?

Crowley pointed at the TV accusingly, “This?  What is this?? It’s so…?  There is NO CHEMISTRY??  And Dean says NOTHING?”

Aziraphale had already melted into a puddle of giggles next to him.

“Is Dean really THIS emotionally constipated all the time?”  He looked at the angel in disbelief, “Really??”

Aziraphale clutched at his chest to steady himself, “You don’t understand, this has been a major non-explicit romantic relationship in this narrative for years.  They’ve been leading fans on, and it’s finally real and it’s awful and,” more laughter, “HELL!”

“So they made it half-gay, killed the angel, and sent him to hell.  Well, sounds like the kind of thing my lot would do,” Crowley remarked.

“DID YOU?”

“What? NO of course not.  This is, well I would have done a much better job if I had done it.”

“HEE HEE”

“But why are you going to hell?  I mean, these writers are definitely going to hell, don’t get me wrong.”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Aziraphale pointed to himself, “Angel,” he pointed to Crowley, “demon, and arguably worse than a hunter, and I love you.”

Fortunately, Aziraphale was not immediately carried away to Super Hell. 

And Crowley was not emotionally constipated, either.

(Special thanks to @actuallyfeanor for Crowley reactions and @knitordeath for helping spark this idea as we both lost our minds on November 5th)

cross-posted to AO3

[quillyfied]

Omenstuck Act 2 Bonus Content

Hello! Here’s just some extra bonus content from the pretty weighty upd8 I posted to my fanfic Omenstuck today (for Chapter 4: Act 2 specifically). A lot of background info went into it that I’m not going to get much occasion to use, so I’m doing what any self-respecting writer would do and dumping it here instead. Obviously has huge spoilers for Omenstuck so if you haven’t read the upd8s from today, don’t look. Hope the readmore holds on mobile, and there are some images below, too. Enjoy!

So for starters, I’m going to post the little cheat sheet that I had on hand for remembering all the characters’ assigned blood colors, Trollian handles, god tier titles, and quadrants (both filled and experimented with):

In order, here’s what we’ve got:

Crowley. Blood: burgundy. UN: anthomanicCaduceus. GT: Rogue of Life. Quadrants: Aziraphale (matesprit), Eric (auspistice, unwitting) and Hastur (other leaf of auspisticism quadrant, unwitting). Lusus: snake

Eric. Blood: brown. UN: coneyCloning. GT: Heir of Time. Quadrants: Auspistice to Crowley and Hastur (unwitting); Uriel (auspistice between arguing Erics, short-lived). Lusus: rabbit

Beelzebub. Blood: yellow. UN: carrionTyrant. GT: Prince of Rage. Quadrants: Dagon (moirail), Gabriel (kismesis). Lusus: giant fly

Ligur. Blood: lime/red (vacillating glitch). UN: guanineChameleon. GT: Sylph of Space. Quadrants: Hastur (moirail), Michael (kismesis). Lusus: chameleon

Hastur. Blood: olive. UN: amphibiousGrunt. GT: Knight of Breath. Quadrants: Ligur (moirail), Eric (auspistice, unwitting) and Crowley (other leaf of auspisticism quadrant, unwitting). Lusus: frog

Dagon. Blood: jade. UN: aquaticTaskmaster. GT: Witch of Mind. Quadrants: Beelzebub (moirail), Sandalphon (matesprit, short-lived), Metatron (kismesis, one-sided crush). Lusus: lungfish

Aziraphale. Blood: teal. UN: aetherialAntiquarian. GT: Thief of Doom. Quadrants: Crowley (matesprit), Michael (auspistice, coercing) and Sandalphon (other leaf of auspisticism quadrant, coercing). Lusus: ??? (dragon, owl?)

Michael. Blood: cerulean. UN: tenebrousAgent. GT: Seer of Void. Quadrants: Uriel (moirail), Aziraphale (one leaf of auspisticism quadrant, coerced) and Sandalphon (other leaf of auspisticism quadrant, co-conspirator), Ligur (kismesis). Lusus: ??? (tbh spider would still fit here)

Sandalphon. Blood: indigo. UN: toughenedCrusader. GT: Page of Blood. Quadrants: Michael (auspistice, co-conspirator) and Aziraphale (other leaf of auspisticism quadrant, coerced), Gabriel (moirail), Dagon (matesprit, short-lived). Lusus: ??? (Possibly musclebeast)

Uriel. Blood: purple. UN: celestialAureate. GT: Maid of Heart. Quadrants: Michael (moirail), Eric (mediated between two of his arguing selves, short-lived). Lusus: ??? (sea-goat still viable)

Gabriel. Blood: violet. UN: gregariousArchangel. GT: Bard of Hope. Quadrants: Sandalphon (moirail), Beelzebub (kismesis). Lusus: ??? (seahorse or shark)

Metatron. Blood: fuchsia. UN: communicantGodhead. GT: Mage of Light. Quadrants: object of one-sided pitch crush from Dagon. Lusus: Horrorterror from Beyond (Gl’bgol’yb, probably)

Here’s the shipping chart of what this madness looked like:

Solid lines for established or longer-lasting relationships, dotted lines for either crushes or experiments that didn’t pan out. Crowley, Eric, and Hastur’s auspisticism is dotted because it’s not a consciously-thought out relationship that’s actually been defined so much as a convenient social contract that keeps Hastur from killing Crowley by distracting him with a multitude of Erics, which makes it a pretty functional auspisticism, actually.

Some notes:

- If you’re thinking that the blood colors and god tier titles don’t exactly fit, you’re right, but there’s a reason, and we’ll get to it in future chapters of Omenstuck. Maybe one day I’ll do the thing proper and give them all more accurate classpects and blood colors, but I think I did pretty well, given everything.

- This means that it was Hastur and Ligur’s jobs, as the Knight and Space players, to breed the Genesis Frog, which creates each new universe, and that tickles me to the bone.

- Ligur’s whole situation is a nod to both Good Omens and to Homestuck; for a bit I entertained making Crowley the hemo-mutant that Karkat is, but thought he fit best lower on the totem pole (on his belly he shall crawl and all that). Canonically, Karkat’s bright red human-like blood is a mutation off of an old hemospectrum caste, the limebloods, and it tickled me to think of Ligur occupying both the limebloods and the red mutation that spawned from it, as a nod to his color-changing in Good Omens and his affiliation with chameleons. Also, apparently it’s the guanine in their skin that makes chameleons change color, which is what the G in Homestuck pesterchum handles stands for (bc the chats are all supposed to represent DNA strands that make up each Genesis Frog that creates each new universe), so it came together kinda perfectly. If Ligur ever was in a pesterlog, I was going to code it so his lines would alternate colors, but it didn’t pan out that way.

- Was it overly simplistic to cast Hell as the lowbloods and Heaven as the highbloods? Yes. But there are two reasons for this, one of which I can’t say because spoilers, one of which I will freely admit, which is that I got tired and just simplified where I could because I was already putting more effort into backstory that turned out to be less relevant than I thought once I finally got the dang thing written.

- In the bowels of my Instagram there is a doodle of Gabriel with the traditional Bardic codpiece and an expression to match, but I didn’t keep it in canon. It is definitely there in spirit and more loving detail will be paid attention to it if I ever go back and do a proper Homestuck troll AU.

- There was a subplot I discarded when thinking of the quadrant entanglements that involved Dagon hooking up with both Sandalphon and Michael in a redrom way and that being one of the catalysts for the bloodbath at the end, because I adore Dagon/Michael and wanted to go there first but she was already appearing so much, and I remember reading about Dagon/Sandalphon once in a fic I wish I could remember off the top of my head and it was so bizarre I adored it. Ultimately I stuck with Dagon and Sandalphon having a redrom fling, because why not.

- Dagon was also going to have a whole Thing against Metatron that boiled down to her having vestigial seadweller traits and being jealous of an actual seadweller that didn’t do his heritage credit, but Metatron was such a non-entity that it didn’t feel relevant to bring up, with so much already getting crammed into this upd8.

- Gabriel and Eridan have some eerie synergy and that’s a hill I’ll die on.

- Uriel was supposed to have a bigger part, too, delving into how they fit into the whole purpleblood Mirthful Messiahs cult and how they use their paint to emphasize their vitiligo (inspired by their canonical pretty gold face markings), but once again...not enough room, not enough interaction with Crowley or Aziraphale. They were either going to be a huge part of it, or eschew it entirely in favor of worshipping Metatron and possibly Metatron’s eldritch lusus instead, but eh. Roads untraveled. I also didn’t doodle their facepaint while I was doing my concept sketches/brainstorming activities so I just let it be.

- The whole Michael and Sandalphon using a heavily manipulative auspisticism to blackmail and control Aziraphale was a concept I had from the beginning, but when I wrote the scene, it actually shook me up a lot; Auspisticism is one of the platonic and weirder quadrants in Homestuck, but it didn’t hit me until I had written it how that particular dynamic could be exploited and turned into something kinda borderline abusive, if not outright abusive (I’m trying to be more careful in how I apply the word so I don’t know for sure if what I wrote counts as fully abusive, or just a super bad time). To be honest, in all the Homestuck fics that ever were, I don’t think I ever read a single one that described what I did in this fic (and RAPE MENTION TW a part of me that is forever struck by my friend’s fic that described a brutal pale rape, as in forcing the usual nonsexual markers of the pale quadrant on an unwilling victim, was worried that I had written ashen rape, which was NOT where I wanted to go; after worrying about it to friends and sleeping on it, I don’t think I quite went there, but the implication that it COULD happen is going to haunt me for a while).

- I did want to get more detailed with a lot of things, like Crowley and Aziraphale’s influencing and talking with humans, and how it was affecting things like their vocabulary and how they saw the world, but it was just too much to tackle in any great detail.

- the whole thing where Crowley uses his god tier powers to steal Life energy from his fellow stranded trolls and makes plants that could potentially feed them one day? Totally unexpected. I did a LOT of refreshing myself on the classes and aspects of god tiers when I was doing the groundwork for this part of the fic, but it didn’t strike me that that was a thing Crowley could do until I was already writing it. And maybe Aziraphale should’ve been a little more horrified by it, but Crowley’s right, they ARE immortal now. Also the whole “taking Life energy and redistributing it among allies” thing probably wasn’t meant to be interpreted as “puts the other trolls in the Mood for quadrant hookups” but it was too hilarious a coincidence to ignore. Life needs things to live, as a wise internet dnd player once said, and when you’re the last of your species, you’ve gotta do what you can to propagate (even if it’s functionally impossible to restore your species, since there’s no Mother Grub to donate slurry to and no ectobiological lab to make ectobabies from. God loves a trier). Does that make all the hookups dubious consent, since weird Life magic was involved? I don’t think so, I think it just accelerated what was already present, but I’ll leave that to y’all to judge.

- Crowley was actually supposed to be the one to die. It said so in my notes. It was a whole Thing, Crowley getting speared or shot or whatever and looking at Aziraphale like “ha I got this one better luck next time”. But then I made Aziraphale a Thief of Doom, which was originally a joke to myself about how he hoards books (Thief players are hoarders and Doom can represent rules or systems), and then he got all contemplative and hit ME back with “no, no, sister, you made me a Thief of Doom, I’m gonna steal this death meant for Crowley and keep it all to myself, and there’s nothing you can do about it.” And he was RIGHT. I can’t believe I’ve killed Aziraphale THREE TIMES now. And I completely forgot about how god tier players are also immortal from being killed unless the death is Heroic or Just until, again Aziraphale reminded me by pushing Crowley out of the way--therefore making his death to sacrifice himself for his friend and beloved Heroic. I played myself in every possible way. Checkmate, brain. (As for what that means in future chapters, stick around, it’s only gonna get weirder, but Homestucks who are puzzled at the inclusion of Dream Shards rather than Dream Bubbles are encouraged to draw some conclusions of their own.)

I think that’s all I wanted to talk about, so have a doodle of Michael with her Seer hood drawn for funsies.

See y’all later! Feel free to send me an ask or a comment or whatever if you have any questions or just wanna talk about this madness I’m creating!

[eganantiquus]

Capitalism: Its Effects on Heaven, Hell, and a Few Others // A Good Omens Meta

I think the discussion about capitalism in Good Omens is a very interesting one to have- specifically in how it relates to Heaven and Hell. I saw a post about it recently, about the Quartermaster saying Heaven would “take the sword out of [Aziraphale’s] celestial wages,” which begs the question: does Heaven have money? A system of checks and balances on the Angels’ miracles, perhaps? Heaven is, after all, the original monopoly. But how does that affect them? Or affect Hell, for that matter? (Keep in mind, I will primarily be discussing events and dialogue from the TV show, as that’s the canon I’m most familiar and comfortable with extrapolating on.) So let’s move out a bit to take stock of the bigger picture. First of all in this discussion, let’s remember that the entire structure of Heaven and Hell blatantly showcases the shittiest parts of capitalism. As a reminder, the cons of capitalism can include: a monopoly on trade, goods, or services; social/emotional necessities ignored in the pursuit of profit; lack of concern for the environment; driving need for exponentially increased profit, allowing no space for slip-ups or less-profitable cycles; Inherited wealth, and big gaps in economic equality, which creates social divisions, which cause people to resent their fellow citizens. Let’s first take a look at something we’re all familiar with. Heaven’s and Hell’s relationship with Crowley and Aziraphale. Both Heaven and Hell have an inherent monopoly on basically everything, which is something we see both Crowley and Aziraphale struggling with in different ways throughout history. They want to exist outside of the hierarchy, but there literally isn’t any outside. In terms of social/emotional needs… do I need to go into the trauma and anxiety that Heaven and Hell instill in Crowley and Aziraphale? A post for another time. And it’s apparent, however much they try to hide it, that both of them fear authority, and would do practically anything to get away from it. So, they wiggle out from under it in whatever ways they can. (See: the “arrangement,” Crowley’s “there’s more to evil than killing people, eh?” and Aziraphale’s “Well, if you put it that way, Heaven couldn’t actually object… ”) Lack of concern for the environment can be extrapolated to Heaven and Hell’s lack of care for humanity. (See also, uh, nuclear Armageddon.) Inherited wealth/prestige is definitely a thing: see the Archangels lording their power over the lower Principalities. There’s a bit more room for mobility in Hell, where doing more evil deeds = more prestige & (...dis)honor? Anyway, this is where Hell begins to deviate. Exponential need for profit in Heaven and Hell translates to their increasing intolerance of Aziraphale’s *ahem* lies. Hell is more lenient in this area too- perhaps because of their disorganization. So Heaven and Hell are capitalistic. But in what capacity, and what is the effect on their respective denizens? In practice, who’s the winner in this capitalistic structure? Hell isn’t, no matter how inherently hellish capitalism might be. They’re clearly the losers in this situation- they’ve got terrible service, (see: Hastur having to “[wait] for maintenance to come and fix another bloody pipe,”* and the Demon Eric’s “we don’t get this view down in the basement.”) lack the organization to rise up against Heaven, (see: the frankly concerning lack of organized preparation for The Great War) and are constantly put down. They all have to fight for their positions, and are intimately familiar with what the failure to succeed in this “business” means. Not to mention that their entire hierarchy is performance driven, showing the capitalistic values they, for lack of a better term, grew up in, are still ingrained in all their practices. Heaven is at the top of an office building, has views of the entire world, is clean and obviously well organized. It’s clear what the hierarchy is there- everyone walks in lines, Gabriel always stands slightly in front of Michael and Uriel and Sandalphon, all of the higher Angels we see interact with Aziraphale treat him like he’s less than them. Heaven clearly benefits from the organization and driving force that capitalism provides, while Hell is just getting by.

To dive further into what the effects of capitalism are on Heaven and Hell, let’s go into depth more about Heaven and Hell’s respective war preparation to analyze their motivations.

Hell’s war preparations are disorganized, at best. All the Demons of Hell, gathered around two ‘generals,’ getting ready to hear a pep talk best described as being far from premeditated or sophisticated. On top of this, the second something goes wrong, Beelzebub says it. Just like that, to all the Demons. It makes me cringe every time I watch it, to see the rest of the Demons turn to each other and wonder if they’re following the right leader. The thing about this, though, is that they don’t have another option for a leader. This is the place for the people who couldn’t make it in Heaven, the outcasts and Fallen, so they don’t care. There’s nowhere else for anyone to go. Hell is far more transparent about their hate, their evil, but also about their vulnerability. Perhaps not individual vulnerability, (see: Crowley needing to be Cool and Collected at every moment) but in their overall anxieties and problems, Hell is very transparent. There is no need to hide the problems Hell has, because there’s no worse place to go. In this way, Hell has accepted their fate at the bottom of the totem pole.

Now let’s talk about Heaven’s war preparations. When Aziraphale arrives prematurely in Heaven, his “whole platoon” is “waiting” for him. So, Heaven has an organized war effort. They have uniforms. They have someone checking everyone in, putting them into place. (Where do they all line up to go to war? Where does the war Occur?? Questions for another time.) However, here is the interesting part: Heaven’s whole spiel to get everyone motivated, unlike Hell, is based on fear. While Hell brings up the actual motive for fighting, saying “we lost” and “we have had thousands of years to… get smarter,” Heaven tells Aziraphale that he’s a “coward” if he doesn’t fight, while not providing any reason besides ‘he’s supposed to.’

Here lies the beginning of the difference between Heaven and Hell: their motivators. Now let’s talk about how they carry out justice, and how that is an indicator of the effects of capitalism on them both.

Hell’s trial for Crowley is a mockery of the word, let’s be perfectly clear. They don’t provide him with a defense, and have an implicitly biased jury. However, it is a trial. A trial with evidence presented against him, a prosecutor, and a judge, and everything. What’s so interesting to me, about this, is that they don’t think for a minute that there wouldn’t be a trial. If they had thought such a thing was possible, they would have taken the opportunity. But they didn’t think of it. And that is what is so important here. Hell is the one that carries out a just trial. And I think that really speaks to their experiences as the Fallen. They know what no mercy looks like, what it is to be cut off from God’s love, with no hope for recompense. And, however evil they are, they know how much that hurts. Hell is just because they were given no justice. 

Heaven, on the other hand? There’s no preamble to Aziraphale’s “trial.” There isn’t even a trial. There’s just the characteristic fake-niceties boiled down to their basest component: a complete lack of empathy for anyone who deviates from the norm. (See Gabriel’s “into the flames,” and “don’t talk to me about the ‘greater good,’ sunshine.”). And, oh yeah by the way, what kind of good and just society uses capital punishment? Isn’t that the exact sort of thing Heaven should be above? I should sure hope so! Their believed moral code, the idea that because they’re Angels, divinely Chosen by God, that whatever they do is predestined to be right, has all the flavor of a strong dictatorship. So convinced are they of their superiority that even outright capital punishment is not below them. This is an interesting contrast to their motivation of fear that we looked at in the previous section. Perhaps higher Angels use fear to keep Angels in line, but feel exempt from the process itself. Very similar to the way big CEO's in the human business world accumulate wealth and power while their workers work paycheck to paycheck.

So Heaven is fundamentally bad, and Hell is fundamentally… good?

Not quite. 

Both Heaven and Hell are operating under the millennia of repressed trauma and baggage that came with the first war. For example, let’s look at their refusal to see nuance in the issue of war Take a look at Gabriel’s “We can fight! And we can win!” to Aziraphale and Beezlebub’s “Don’t you want to rule the world?” to Adam. They can’t comprehend that someone would want to, or, for that matter, could look at the structure of The Way Things Are and go, ‘No, this is not for me, I think I’ll just do this quietly over her instead.’ Heaven and Hell have each been indoctrinated in their own ways, by God and by Heaven and by their own inability to look past their instructions.

So, Heaven and Hell operate under the guidelines of a capitalistic system because of their respective experiences with authority and punishment.  

What does this say about Crowley and Aziraphale? That they’ve managed to dodge this system (mostly) altogether, and made one of their own… based purely on joy, mutual respect, and They still have their issues, (See: Being unable to communicate effectively. When? Oh, just for all of history) but for the most part, they’re living their own lives. It takes an especially strong will to stand up to a faulty administration, even if the standing up part consists of drinking a lot of wine, sliding around killing people, and consorting with an enemy who’s actually quite nice. It takes what a lot of Angels and Demons, simply put, don’t have. Like Hastur, who doesn’t have an “imagination.” Crowley invented one for himself. Crowley and Aziraphale practically invented free will for themselves, too. Part of their ability to so wholly reject their ‘upbringing,’ if you will, must be connected to the fact that they spend so much time around humans. If we go with TV show canon, they’re practically the only ethereal/occult entities that are on Earth for any long period of time. Of course they’re going to catch on from the humans. So Crowley and Aziraphale are the only celestial beings who have been able to get free of this terrible system, and so are able to better ‘guide’ the humans, which inevitably leads them to attempting to stop armageddon. (And of course, the apocalypse, according to Aziraphale, is something no “reasonable person would permit!”)

This brings us to the humans. Specifically, how Heaven is supposed to guide them. Heaven doesn’t, insofar as we are aware, care about the humans. Perhaps other Angels do, ones who have walked among them. But for the most part, especially with Gabriel, Michael, Sandalphon- the people in charge- the humans are an afterthought. They’re one knight on the chessboard, easily moved, taken, and discarded- perhaps with a bit of regret, but dispensable all the same. In this way, the exponential growth mindset that Heaven has goes to show just how far they’ve deviated from God’s design. Now, far be it from me to speculate on the nature of the Ineffable Plan, but as far as I’m aware, the Angels were created to love humanity, and to nurture them. Doesn’t sound like what they’re doing at all, does it?

So in this way, we can see that both Heaven and Hell have gotten the short end of the metaphorical capitalism stick. Hell, at the bottom of the ranks, desperate to climb back up and regain their glory, but unable to do so because of the weight of their Falling trauma; Heaven, in all its Jeff Bezos glory, unable to see the consequences of their actions close up because of their disassociation with “reality.” 

Capitalism and economics in general are incredibly nuanced things, and I do not at all pretend to fully understand them. However, I fully enjoy imagining how the complex dynamics of Good Omens universe Heaven and Hell deal with the repercussions of existence and their own actions through the lens of capitalism.

*side note from paragraph seven: I think maintenance work would be a more fitting job for Crowley and Aziraphale, and frankly, I would love to read a fic about that.

[yamisnuffles]

Blitzed

On the night a church is bombed and books are saved, Aziraphale gives in to what he wants. Crowley can't understand it but is more than willing to follow wherever the angel will lead him.

Rated E. Read on Ao3

Based on my art.

- - - - - -

Crowley was deeply familiar with pain. Every demon was baptized in that sulfur pit, their former grace a smouldering ruin. There were myriad other examples each and every one of the Fallen could list, bother utterly merciless and utterly mundane. Crowley had gotten used to most of it. He was up on Earth and free as he could hope to be, barring some unforeseen miracle. Could maybe be a little better off but that would require him to be without his own very unique brand of suffering. A near century long nap had taken some of the edge off hard denial. Off fraternizing .

The problem was, as familiar as he might be with pain, he wasn’t the best at handling it. That was why he’d added a fresh layer in the form of charred feet. It was why he was talking too much. He tended to do that, he knew. Unfortunately, knowledge of a problem didn’t magically cure it. If it did, his life would be much easier and he wouldn’t be rattling on about decades he knew nothing about firsthand because he’d been asleep and Aziraphale couldn’t know he’d been asleep. If the angel noticed he was bullshitting, he didn’t let on. Didn’t really let on to anything. He’d been about silent since Crowley handed over the books and currently looked a bit like he might be sick as he clung to those same books.

Were the books a mistake? Probably a mistake. A step too far. He was always overstepping and ending up with his foot in his mouth. Or his… everything in that pit of boiling sulfur. And so he talked to stop from thinking, even if Aziraphale wasn’t listening. Especially if Aziraphale wasn’t listening.

He very nearly sent up a prayer when they reached the bookshop at last. Instead he said, “Here we are.”

Aziraphale still didn’t say a word. Crowley dared a proper, straight on look rather than the surreptitious side-eye he’d been giving. Just above a powder blue shirt collar was a pulse that looked to be going faster than the Bentley had a moment before. Neat fingers gripped the handle of the case of books like Aziraphale was afraid he’d fall right off the face of the planet if he let go.  Wide, mirror eyes reflected what little light there was in that bomb filled night and then were hidden behind fluttering lashes. Then, with no warning or obvious cause, Aziraphale stilled completely. Closed eyes. Not a single breath.

When he finally moved again it was to just about throw himself bodily from the car. Crowley made a more measured exit. His eyes were glued on Aziraphale’s every hurried step and a good thing, because the angel nearly fell on his face tripping over the curb. Wouldn’t have been nearly at all if Crowley hadn’t caught him.

Worry overcame his usual restraint and he held firm to Aziraphale’s shoulders. He dipped his head so that he could look Aziraphale in the eyes. “Are you alright?” One thunderous beat of his heart and Crowley pushed further. “I can stay. If you need me to. Want me.”

Aziraphale started doing that rapid blinking thing. Something too complicated passed over his face and was replaced by surety before Crowley had a chance of understanding it.

“Yes. Yes, I think you should stay.”

Crowley’s heart drummed again. When Aziraphale turned, smiled, Crowley forgot all about the need to breathe, the pain in his feet, anything that wasn’t a smile so bright it felt deadly in the middle of a blitz. This close he could smell hints of the near century between them. There was a new cologne and old books, life during a war and peace in the back of a musty old shop. Crowley wondered if he still fit in somewhere amongst all that. He was frozen in that moment, pondering, until he realized the thing grounding him there was the solid weight of Aziraphale against his palms. He quickly removed his hands and shoved them deep into his pockets.

“After you,” he said with a nod toward the door.

“Right, of course. Silly me. I should unlock that, shouldn’t I?”

Aziraphale finally broke eye contact and Crowley felt like he could finally breathe again. He shuffled a careful distance behind. He slipped inside as smoothly as he could given the pain of each step. The moment he was able, he leaned against a wall and tried to arrange himself in a way that surreptitiously took pressure off his feet.

Aziraphale locked the doors and, just like that, the world outside ceased to exist beyond the blacked out windows. Lights in the back of the shop sprang to life with a snap. Apparently no miracle was frivolous in a time like this. Or maybe Aziraphale had stopped caring so very much. Crowley wished he’d been around to find out which.

“Would you care for some wine?” Aziraphale asked, already winding back through the shelves. “I for one could use a good drink after tonight. I have a lovely Cheval Blanc that I’ve been saving.”

“Don’t open it on my account. Can’t imagine it will be easy to get a replacement anytime soon.”

Aziraphale clicked his tongue. “Don’t be ridiculous. I haven’t seen you in nearly a century. I think this is as good an occasion as I’ll get. Besides, I don’t know about you, but I could use an excuse. I’ve had few enough recently.”

“Well then,” Crowley said, “don’t let me stop you. Demon. Meant to inspire you to indulgence.”

Aziraphale bit the inside of his cheek and gave a smile that strained to be bigger regardless of his best efforts against it. “It’s settled then.”

He puttered off, deeper into the shop, and Crowley was pulled inexorably after. It felt like walking through a dream to be back in the shop with Aziraphale happily chattering away about everything that he’d been up to in the last seventy odd years. How many times had Crowley had that very dream? And yet not a one of them matched up to the reality. He never could have guessed how it would feel to step back into a life so changed. Yes, the world at large was different and he was glad to have woken up with time to figure it all out. The thing, though, that got him was how his memory matched up to the current reality of the shop.

There were new books. New furniture. But it was all only new to him. There was love written into well handled texts. Chair cushions showed where Aziraphale had sat countless times over years, if not decades. It was all thoroughly lived in and every minute of that life devoid of Crowley, all because of a stupid argument and an even stupider decision to sleep his despair off, as though it was something to be quickly gotten rid of.

Aziraphale hadn’t settled into any of his well loved furniture nor had he retrieved the bottle of wine. Instead he was floating about, putting his books of prophecy down one place only to immediately pick them back up and put them somewhere else. Crowley flopped down into the corner of a leather sofa and watched as the angel flitted to and fro.

“Are you hot?” Aziraphale asked. “It seems rather a bit too hot in here.”

Putting words to action, he immediately stripped off his coat and tossed it on the couch next to Crowley. His hat followed soon after. Crowley tried not to think too much about that golden banded halo, so thoughtlessly discarded. Instead he let his eyes flick over to the coat rack and then back to the angel who was currently toeing off his shoes. At this rate, he’d be down to nothing in a minute or two. Crowley swallowed over his increasingly dry mouth.

“Are you sure you’re alright, angel?”

Aziraphale stopped, fingers on the buttons to his waistcoat. “Yes. Absolutely fine. Finer than a frog's hair split five ways.”

“Finer than…? Do frogs have hair?” Crowley shook his head. He took off his hat and placed it delicately next to Aziraphale’s and then pushed out of his seat. His feet screamed at being used again but he grit his teeth and ignored them. He put a hand on Aziraphale’s wrist. “Just stop for a second, would you?”

And he did. When he looked at Crowley, the blue of his eyes had gone grey under a furrowed brow. He stilled completely for a moment and then reached up to take the sunglasses from Crowley’s face. He folded them, gently opened Crowley’s coat, and placed them in a pocket there. His hands lingered on the lining and moved up to the lapels where they stayed.

Crowley’s feet could have caught on fire in that moment and it wouldn’t have been enough to get him to move. His tongue darted out to wet his lips. When he saw Aziraphale track that movement, his breath was aborted in his throat and he was fairly certain he blacked out for a moment. When his brain started again, words tumbled out too fast to stop.

“Are you- What is- You seem like… Was it the thing about the frogs? I know frogs have- don’t have- hair. You know what, maybe I should just leave. Survived one bomb tonight and so I’m feeling pretty good about my chances out there.”

“Crowley?”

“Yes?”

“Please shut up for a moment, would you?”

“Yep. Shutting up. Now.”

The moment Crowley shut his lips he found them covered by Aziraphale’s. The first thing he thought was that he couldn’t believe he had Aziraphale’s lips on his own. The second was that there was a word for that and that word was kiss. He was kissing Aziraphale. Or, at least, Aziraphale was kissing him. Finally came the thought that he really ought to be kissing Aziraphale back. Like many of his best thoughts, it came too late.

Aziraphale released Crowley’s lapels and broke away. “I’m sorry, Crowley. I shouldn’t have presumed. It’s only that, with my books…”

Crowley let one of his incisors dig deep enough into his lip to draw blood. “Was that all that was? Some way to thank me for the sodding books?”

Aziraphale’s eyes widened. “No. Of course not. I only realized, well I’ve felt it for so long that I’d almost stopped noticing, but tonight confirmed it.” Those lips that had so recently been pressed together in a kiss, curled up into a beatific smile. “You lo-”

Crowley swallowed the rest of the word with a kiss. He couldn’t hear those three words, not said for him and certainly not if Aziraphale wasn’t going to say them back. For an excruciating moment, he thought Aziraphale wasn’t going to kiss him back now that he’d had time to think better of it. That moment fell away when the angel sank into it with a small, sweet whine. Crowley tried to focus on that, on the noises he could draw out and the taste of ethereal lips, instead of anything that might have been said or wouldn’t ever be said.

With his wits about him this time, he was able to appreciate just how blessedly soft everything about Aziraphale was. His lips were pliant. His stomach and thighs filled in every bony gap Crowley had. Then there was the worn velvet of his waistcoat under one hand and a cloud of curls under the other and Crowley gripped both as tight as he dared. Some foggy corner of his brain wondered if he pressed himself close enough if he could lose himself entirely in Aziraphale. Only way to find out, he supposed, was to try.

He pressed his tongue to the seam of Aziraphale’s lips and was granted entry with a soft moan that grew louder as he roved ever deeper. He was suddenly glad they’d skipped the wine because now all he could taste was Aziraphale and it was the only thing he wanted to taste for the rest of his innumerable days. He pressed tongue to tongue and licked along even teeth. He was too intoxicated by it all to realize that his own heady, hungry sounds were being added to the chorus.

Crowley could never have imagined he’d want more but there was so much more of Aziraphale and he wanted it all. He kissed along the gentle curve of an angelic jaw. He nipped, testing, at an earlobe and licked down, over tendon, thrumming pulse, and to the small peak of his Adam’s apple. He let his tongue fork slightly over that charming colloquial, just enough to savor the irony and cause Aziraphale to let out a needy whine. Or maybe it had been Crowley himself. He was no longer particularly interested in finding that line where one of them ended and the other began.

Nor, it would appear, was Aziraphale. He all but ripped off Crowley’s jacket and cast it aside before fumbling with his tie. While Azirphale went high, Crowley went low. Aziraphale himself had already done away with his waistcoat while Crowley was occupied elsewhere, so it was a simple task to unclasp braces and flick open the button to his trousers. They fell into a pile around Aziraphale’s ankles. Crowley worried it was too much— he was too much— and yet, for all his softness elsewhere, Aziraphale was half hard already and rolling his hips in search of friction. Of Crowley.

Crowley gripped the flesh and tugged Aziraphale closer. Head to head and mouth to ear, he asked, “Tell me, what do you want, Aziraphale?”

Aziraphale dug his fingers into short cropped hair and tugged so that they were looking each other in the eyes. This close there was no mistaking how much black had overtaken stormy blue. “You.”

That one word shuddered through Crowley and undid millennia of hedging and denial.

“Fuck.”

Breath ragged, he surged forward to close what scant distance remained between them. He could feel desire rolling off Aziraphale in waves and he wanted to drown in it. Instead of letting it wash over him, he lapped up every bit. It wasn’t pretty. Noses bumped and teeth clashed. It was frenetic and sweaty. It was, in a word, perfect. That should have been Crowley’s first sign that it all was gonna go to shit.

In the midst of all that twining of tongues and limbs, Aziraphale stepped onto Crowley’s foot. Not hard. Not the sort of thing he would have noticed any other time but this time, when he had a cock pressed against his stomach, this time of course he had scorched feet. He jolted and hissed in pain. He bit his tongue, hoping his pain somehow had gone unnoticed. It hadn’t. Of course it hadn’t.

Aziraphale stilled and stepped back. “Sorry. Clumsy of me to step on-” His eyes widened in horrified understanding. “Oh! Your feet! Why didn’t you say anything? How could I forget?”

“It’s fine. Just… twinged a bit when you stepped on them.”

Aziraphale paced in place, over one step and back, as though he didn’t have his cock out. Crowley was tempted to grab it and make him forget all about his stupid, bloody, inconsiderate feet.

He realized he hadn’t taken the time to appreciate it. Appreciate any of it. He’d always imagined, when he’d dared, taking things slow and relishing every article of clothing removed. Instead, he barely remembered half of it. He felt certain he would have remembered stripping away Aziraphale’s boxers and yet, there they were, in a pile on the rug with his trousers. He was caught staring at them when Aziraphale stopped fluttering about like a very fussy butterfly.

“Come here,” Aziraphale said.

The Principality didn’t wait for a reply. He put one arm behind Crowley’s knees, the other behind his shoulders, and lifted him as though he was nothing. Crowley flailed in surprise.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m going to take care of your feet.”

“ Now ? We were sort of in the middle of something.”

“That can wait.”

“It can-” Crowley sputtered, losing the war for words in the haze of his lust addled brain. “I think your dick, which is poking me in the back right now, by the way, would argue otherwise.”

Aziraphale ignored him and carried him across the room, back to the couch. He was gently deposited on top of some of their discarded clothing. “Stay there,” Aziraphale said.

“Stay- where are you going?”

“I need to retrieve a few things.” Aziraphale only made it a step before he came back to prop Crowley’s feet on a chair. “There. Stay right there.”

There was a small edge of divine command that Crowley was certain Aziraphale hadn’t intended but which made the skin on the back of his neck tingle. It also triggered that part of him that very much wanted to disobey every firmly given order. Had it come from anyone other than Aziraphale, he probably would have, no matter the damage to his own feet in the process. So he crossed his arms and had a good sulk. He tracked Aziraphale’s movements by the tremendous amount of noise he made, first turning his kitchenette upside down and then crashing through his flat upstairs.

Aziraphale returned with an assortment of fluffy towels over one arm and a large ceramic bowl held out before him. The bowl was placed on the ground with enough care that the water within it barely rippled. The largest of the towels was spread out next to it, and then Aziraphale lifted Crowley’s feet and moved the chair they’d been resting on aside.

Crowley watched it all unfold, strangely transfixed, until Aziraphale started to untie his shoes. “I can take those off myself, you know.”

“Nonsense. They need to be removed with care. Your socks as well.”

“Aziraphale-”

“Crowley.” Aziraphale’s voice was sharp but it softened right along with his expression. “Let me take care of you. Please.”

“Hrnngf.”

Aziraphale rightly took that as assent. Crowley could hardly watch him but he also couldn’t look away. An angel was kneeling at a demon’s feet. An angel with a flagging but still very much present erection, without a stitch on below the waist beyond a ridiculous pair of tartan socks and even more ridiculous garters to hold them up, and pale skin marked by the drag of blunt nails. And somehow that was all nothing next to the gentle curl of kiss stained lips or eyes that sparkled with something private and warm and liable to kill Crowley on the spot if he looked too deep.

Luckily there was pain to distract him, a far more familiar distraction than... whatever that had been with Aziraphale not long ago. Or was going to be before his traitor feet had interrupted. He was tempted to spend the rest of eternity as a snake just to spite them for their impudence.

“Sorry,” Aziraphale said when a hiss escaped from between Crowley’s clenched teeth.

“It’s nothing.”

No matter how easily the lie came to Crowley, the sibilance of it gave him away. Probably Aziraphale would have known anyway. He pursed his lips as he slowly rolled up the bottom hems of Crowley’s trousers.

“The shoes were the easy bit, I’m afraid.” His hands were on Crowley’s ankle, the thumbs rubbing gently over the bone. “Perhaps I should get that wine after all. To help with the pain.”

“Just get it over with, angel.”

Aziraphale nodded and peeled off the first sock. The fabric clung to Crowley’s raw sole. He clenched his teeth until he heard them creak in his jaw. Once one foot was bared, it was lowered delicately into the basin of cool water and Aziraphale was on to the next foot. Crowley sighed at the immediate relief the water brought.

“Better?”

“Yeah. Erm, thanks.”

Aziraphale fiddled with the rolled trousers, though the hems were in no danger of getting wet. “I suppose you already tried to heal them yourself?”

“Yeah. Think something about the consecrated ground. Divine retribution or some such. Can’t fix it with a demonic miracle.”

“Right. So I thought.” Crowley shivered as Aziraphale ran thoughtless fingers under the water and to the edge of wounded flesh. “Do you mind if I try?”

“Sure. What’s the worst that can happen?”

The water could, he suppose, get accidentally blessed and reduce him to a steaming pile of nothing goo. Not that he would say that. He didn’t think Aziraphale would appreciate the visual. Aziraphale must have had a similar idea because he pulled Crowley’s feet out of the water and went so far as to push the bowl aside.

Hands once more gingerly cradling Crowley’s ankles, Aziraphale closed his eyes. The miracle probed gently, slower and more tentative than Aziraphale usually worked. His miracles always left a taste something like honey and paprika on Crowley’s tongue, sweet with enough of a kick to make things interesting.

“There now, that’s better.”

Aziraphale kept his hold on Crowley’s legs but lifted one so that Crowley could get a better look. The soles were the bright, slightly dewy pink of new skin.

“They’ll still be tender for awhile, I’m afraid, but your trespass has been forgiven,” Aziraphale said with a chuckle to punctuate.

Even knowing it was meant in jest, there was a squirming in Crowley’s chest that he didn’t care to examine. He wriggled in his seat but that movement only served to tighten Aziraphale’s grip on him.

Crowley frowned. “Gonna keep me here forever?”

“I don’t think,” Aziraphale said slowly, rubbing circles over protruding ankle bones and working his way up to Crowley’s calves, “that I’m quite done taking care of you. If that’s alright with you, that is.”

“Hrnf. It’s whatever.”

Aziraphale shifted his grip so that he had more freedom to move. If Crowley cursed moving too fast to savor things earlier, he’d changed his tune. Aziraphale was looking at him like a buffet and Crowley felt a mix of awe and terror at being on the menu. He held his hands aloft, not sure where to settle them. Yes, Aziraphale had his nose pressed somewhere just east of his cock but he couldn’t put his hands on him. So he started with his fingers digging into his own scalp and stiffly moved to drape arms over the back of the couch in a show of false bravado.

He wanted to protest. No, he didn’t want to do any such thing but he felt like he should protest. Should at least want to protest. There was Aziraphale, bent in reverent supplication and handling him like the most cherished thing in the world. No matter what he did, he made sure to hold Crowley’s legs in a comfortable position, his feet never so much as whispering over the carpet below. He kissed over the exposed edge of sharp hips, up along lean sides, and then down. Every press of his lips was a benediction that only burned for the rush of blood that followed.

With his hands occupied, Aziraphale was forced to use his mouth to do everything. When meandering progress brought him back to Crowley’s now rather tight trousers, Crowley moved a hand to intercede.

“If you’re going to be so precious about my feet, at least let me get that,” he said, waving at his fly.

“Don’t you trust that I have everything well in hand?” Aziraphale asked. “Or, I suppose I should say, in mouth.”

And then, as though it was just the kind of thing he did all the time, Aziraphale used his teeth to undo the straining button and caught the zipper pull between his teeth. He slowly dragged it down, all the while maintaining eye contact with Crowley.  That was the nail in Crowley’s proverbial coffin. He let out a fully undignified keen, the pitiful pitch of which he couldn’t be fucked to care about.

Once freed, his cock sprang out with a sort of eagerness that might have been mortifying if he had a spare thought beyond the heat of Aziraphale’s breath and his intense gaze. Why was Aziraphale staring? Was there something wrong with his cock? Was it all the garishly red hair around it?

“Look, you don’t have to-”

Aziraphale’s tongue hit the base and moved slowly up. Crowley’s eyes slammed shut involuntarily as his head flew backward. He forced them open and forced his head back up. He wanted to paint that image onto his retinas. He didn’t ever want to see anything else. He’d seen that mouth around food, around forks, around fingers even. Now-

“Fuck,” Crowley panted.

Aziraphale let out a pleased hum that turned Crowley’s insides molten. His whole world reduced to the feeling of that mouth on him. That tongue. Those lips. In even his wildest imaginings he had never thought to see this, to have Aziraphale between his legs sucking him off. And he was entirely at the angel’s mercy. His hips ached to move, to get more , closer , but the angle of his legs didn’t allow it. He needed something, though, and so he finally relented and put his hands on Aziraphale. His fingers dug into the meat of Aziraphale’s shoulder and tangled in his curls. It had to hurt but Aziraphale only moaned and smiled around Crowley’s cock.

Crowley couldn’t understand any of this. He couldn’t fathom Aziraphale actually wanting this, enjoying this . How long had Aziraphale wanted this and why had he finally acted tonight of all nights? Was Crowley going to have to don his best suit and burn his feet every night from here to the end of the world? Because God knew he would. Oh, what he wouldn’t have given to be in Her head at that moment, to know what She thought about the Guardian of the Eastern Gate sucking down the Serpent of Eden’s cock like it was the Cheval Blanc that was still collecting dust somewhere.

That thought made his muscles spasm. Contract. “Aziraphale, I-” I love you. Have for the past six thousand years and maybe you’ve finally found me out. Maybe that’s all this is. Pity. And maybe it’s just tonight. But even if it is, I’ll love you still. Always. Always. Always. “I’m close.”

Aziraphale moaned and took him deeper.

“Fuck. Aziraphale. Fuck. I-”

His jaw snapped shut with a clack, his back arched, and his eyes closed against the explosion of color behind them. A supernova, he thought somewhat deliriously. He’d had his hand in a few, back when he’d been good for creating things. Now, Aziraphale had as well. Or a mouth, rather. Maybe Crowley would suggest he name it. The humans only ever gave them a series of numbers and letters.

Crowley melted into the couch, panting. He opened his eyes just in time to see Aziraphale licking his lips as he stood.

“Jesus Christ.”

Aziraphale only smiled as he took Crowley’s legs up with him and swung them around so that his feet could be propped up on the arm of the couch. Crowley was too insensible to protest. What he did protest was Aziraphale stepping away. Crowley quickly sat up and caught the fleeing Principality by the wrist.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“I was going to fetch our clothes and then perhaps finally break open that bottle of wine.”

“Aziraphale.”

Crowley looked pointedly at Aziraphale’s flushed and leaking cock. Aziraphale’s cheeks turned a similar color before he turned his head away.

“Tonight was about you. I wanted to show you how much I… how thankful I am.”

Crowley’s heart twisted, a flaming sword to the chest. “Yeah, well, I’m feeling really fucking thankful now, so come here.”

He didn’t give Aziraphale time to make excuses. He used his grip on the angel’s wrist to pull him down on top of him. Aziraphale yelped in surprise but did nothing to fight against it as Crowley adjusted them both so that Aziraphale was between his legs. Crowley rested his chin on Aziraphale’s shoulder.

One by one he undid the buttons of Aziraphale’s shirt. Every stretch of skin unveiled was a thrill. He ran a thumb over the pert, pink flesh of one of the nipples. He swept his knuckles through the near white cloud of chest hair and followed its trail down, over a soft stomach, to the place where it darkened to blond in the juncture between thighs. He let the pads of his fingers sink into plush flesh, not yet moving to his intended target.

“Why did humans ever invent clothes?”

He hadn’t expected an answer because he hadn’t entirely meant to say that aloud. Aziraphale gave one anyway. “I believe it had something to do with a tree. And an apple. And a snake.”

“Right. Well, time to do my penance for that, I suppose.”

He took Aziraphale’s length in hand. Aziraphale drew in a sharp breath and pressed back into Crowley. A guttural sound escaped Crowley’s mouth before he buried half his face in the thick muscle of Aziraphale’s shoulder.

Crowley had some hands-on experience. As in, his own hand on himself. He knew what he should do, in theory, but the reality of having Aziraphale in his grip, both hard and velvety soft all at once, was a different thing altogether. What did Aziraphale like? Did he enjoy the same pressure? The same speed? Crowley prided himself in being a quick study of things Aziraphale enjoyed and he was damned sure he was going to get it right. He was willing to spend all the time in the world to find out. He carefully catalogued every reaction, each wiggle, moan, and gasp until he had Aziraphale panting in his lap.

“ Oh .”

He sounded so surprised to find himself cared for. It spurred Crowley onward. He slowed the pace just enough to get Aziraphale thrusting up into his fist in search of more. And Crowley would give him more, give him whatever he wanted. That Aziraphale wanted him only served to make Crowley’s head swim.

He was going to lose his mind. He grabbed onto Aziraphale’s chest with his free hand. There was fat there, that wondrous softness that he adored, but also muscle. Strength. He remembered how easily Aziraphale had hefted him up earlier. So damn strong and so damn much. He’d let himself be pulled down and he was letting Crowley control things now.  Everything felt suddenly hot and hazy.

“What do you want?” Crowley asked, desperate for a focus.

Aziraphale put his hand around Crowley’s and guided him. “Like that,” he gasped. “Just like that.”

Crowley followed his lead to the letter. Aziraphale bucked upward and it was all Crowley could do to try to hold him close. He could feel all those glorious muscles tense on top of him. Crowley’s own hips stuttered in rhythm with Aziraphale’s movements.

“Crowley.”

A demonic name sent up like a prayer. Aziraphale said it like he’d never had anything more blessed on his tongue. Crowley blinked away the moisture that had gathered in his eyes. He buried his face deeper into the crook of Aziraphale’s neck. “Just let go. I’ve got you.”

Aziraphale’s entire body shuddered and in another moment, Crowley’s hand was painted with the wet heat of him. Crowley rode the crest of that wave with Aziraphale and did his best to guide him down again. He felt entirely boneless by the time it was all over. It was all he could do to snap away any mess so that Aziraphale wouldn’t fret after it and would, perhaps, lay with him a moment longer.

Aziraphale shifted but didn’t get up. Instead he pulled an exceedingly rumpled suit jacket from underneath him. “Oh dear.”

“Don’t worry about it, angel.”

“But you looked so dashing in your suit.”

A small squeak escaped Crowley’s mouth and he cleared his throat. “Eh. If it makes you feel any better, think I’m sitting on your waistcoat.”

That was the wrong thing to say. Aziraphale scrambled up to his feet. Crowley might have been offended by being cast aside in favor of a piece of clothing, but he was too distracted by the fact that Aziraphale had lifted him up to retrieve said clothing.

Aziraphale put Crowley back down and then held out his waistcoat to examine it. “I’ve had this for nearly a century and now look at the state of it,” he said.

“It’ll be fine, angel. Just get it laundered.”

Aziraphale looked at him with his bottom lip wobbling and Crowley sighed. He gathered up what energy he had left and snapped his fingers again. Aziraphale was dressed tip to toe once more in regular immaculate fashion. He was about to do the same for himself when Aziraphale caught his hand.

“Let me clean them for you,” he offered as he gathered up the discarded clothing. “You really shouldn’t be back on your feet just yet and I can take care of them while you rest.”

“Rest,” Crowley repeated. He blinked. “Wait, you mean here?”

“Well, not there, precisely. I have a small flat upstairs that you can use. I assume the bed would be more comfortable than the couch but I haven’t used it, myself, so I can’t speak definitively.”

“Right. Here. Sleep. Uh…”

He felt like he should say something. There were a lot of unsaid somethings hanging in the air between them still but he was worried if he mentioned any of them, whatever little bubble they were currently in would burst. It couldn’t be too bad to shove that all under the rug for one night, could it? He’d lived through a lot of pain and would gladly live through more if it meant just this one night in Aziraphale’s good graces. Even if it made a space inside him ache so keenly he thought he might split in two.

“Yeah, sure. Why not? Lead the way.”

Aziraphale stooped and gathered Crowley up into his arms once more. “Your feet, remember?”

Crowley’s brain rang with the high pitched squeal of a tea kettle. Once he was sure it wouldn’t escape his mouth when he opened it, he said, “Right, just go ahead and manhandle me. When have I ever gotten in the way of what you wanted to do?”

Aziraphale beamed at him and pressed a featherlight kiss to his temple. “Never, dearest.”

That one word had the power to fell Crowley and perhaps tomorrow it would find its place amongst his many handpicked scars. For the time being, though, he thought he could forget to hurt.