#Michael Moon’s Bookshop

[vidavalor]

Crowley actually says a barely-coded "I love you" to Aziraphale back in 2.03

In his proposal in the S2 finale, Crowley told us that he and Aziraphale know they're in love and have known it for damn ever but they pretend they're not a couple. This, by default, means that they've not specifically said the words "I love you" before, by Crowley's own admission. They've said I love you in their own little language and we've watched it before. It's little demonic miracle of my own. It's don't go unscrewing the cap. It's just a little bit of a good person and just enough of a bastard to be worth knowing... But what Crowley says in the S2 finale is that they've never-- ever-- said in 6,000 years is just I love you in those normal people, human words. It has always been too dangerous for too many reasons to count so they have euphemisms for it and whole conversations around it and have made that be enough. Why do I bring this up? Because Crowley found a middle ground between the words and their coded language with one another in S2 and it's flying under the radar.

So you know that scene when Muriel has shown up and interrupts Crowley and Aziraphale talking in the back room? The one where while Crowley is speaking, Aziraphale suddenly looks like he's about to pass out with sheer want? Yes, our angel always looks at Crowley like he hung the damn moon (which he did but lol...) but this scene is different. This scene is like... someone get Aziraphale a chair and a glass a water because he is pupils-dilated, audibly breathing, and eyeing up Crowley with naked want. More than the lust? He looks happy. He looks delighted. You can basically hear his heart race from that look on his face. Why here? Yes, Crowley looks hot. Yes, he's in profile in a way that is a visual parallel to Before the Beginning (which was an inspired choice for this scene.) Yes, he's here with a Plan and taking charge of the Muriel situation and swaying his hips a bit while he speaks. It's not any of that. Those are nice bonuses. Aziraphale likes them. He gets them all the time. It's what Crowley said in this moment. To Aziraphale. Through what he said to Muriel.

Crowley cracks a dry, kinda dark joke that is meant for an audience of one: just Aziraphale. He knows Muriel won't get it. Since Muriel is cosplaying as what they think is a human Inspector Constable and they are here to verify the miracle Aziraphale has told Heaven and so are monitoring them, Crowley quips that Muriel is here to spy on them (since they, well, are, actually) and that he knows that many human police officers like to make a bit of a hobby out of spying on "people in love."

People. In. Love.

In a one-two punch in the same sentence, Crowley called him and Aziraphale queer humans and he called what they have love, using the actual word *aloud* for the first time in 6,000 years. He said he loved Aziraphale in front of an angel of Heaven in a little coded joke but this time, using the coded bit to say the real thing for the first time.

Then, just to hammer it all home and make sure that Aziraphale really knows it was very much intentional, Crowley says 'love' again in the next sentence. He starts going on about how Muriel can come to him anytime with any questions about love and he's happy to assist with their understanding of human love with all of his implied vast, vast years of experience with the subject and how he'll be here to answer their questions, in the bookshop, while Aziraphale drives his car to Edinburgh.

Go back and tell Heaven I'm here, Inspector Constable, I don't give a fuck anymore. *We* don't give a fuck anymore. You go tell The Archangel Michael that I'm who they're going to get managing Angelic Embassy X aka The Bookshop until Aziraphale gets back-- yep, me, former Demon of Hell. The Boyfriend in the Dark Sunglasses. He's asked me to, which is his way of saying he wants to stop hiding and asking me not to sneak out to my car in the middle of the night which hallefuckinglujah, Inspector Constable... Go tell Their Beatitudes that we ravish each other all over the bookshop. You won't even be lying. As Maggie'll put it later in the season: I'm done being afraid all the time. I love him. We're in love. There's your hot intel.

Aziraphale:

Aziraphale: Inspector Constable, be a dear and spray me down with all 700 of our fire extinguishers, will you?

[battyaboutbooksreviews]

Queer Books November 2023

🌈 Good afternoon, my bookish bats! Struggling to keep up with all the amazing queer books coming out this month? Here are a FEW of the stunning, diverse queer books you can add to your TBR before the year is over. Remember to #readqueerallyear! Happy reading!

❤️ The Pirate and the Porcelain Girl by Emily Riesbeck 🧡 Heading North by Holly M. Wendt 💛 The Wisdom of Bug by Alyson Root 💚 Trick Shot by Kayla Grosse 💙 A Holly Jolly Christmas by Emily Wright 💜 Outdrawn by Deanna Grey ❤️ Yours Celestially by Al Hess 🧡 The Christmas Memory by Barbara Winkes 💛 Violet Moon by Mel E. Lemon 💙 The Santa Pageant by Lillian Barry 💜 Only for the Holidays by Shannon O’Connor 🌈 Homestead for the Holidays by Wren Taylor

❤️ You Can Count on Me by Fae Quin 🧡 No One Left But You by Tash McAdam 💛 The Worst Thing of All is the Light by José Luis Serrano, Lawrence Schimel 💚 Today Tonight Forever by Madeline Kay Sneed 💙 Wren Martin Ruins It All by Amanda DeWitt 💜 Emmett by L. C. Rosen ❤️ Finding My Elf by David Valdes 🧡 Tonight, I Burn by Katharine J. Adams 💛 Gorgeous Gruesome Faces by Linda Cheng 💙 Bookshops & Bonedust by Travis Baldree 💜 A Power Unbound by Freya Marske 🌈 We Are the Crisis by Cadwell Turnbull

❤️ The Manor House Governess by C.A. Castle 🧡 You Owe Me One, Universe by Chad Lucas 💛 Last Night at the Hollywood Canteen by Sarah James 💚 Skip!: A Graphic Novel by Rebecca Burgess 💙 Something About Her by Clementine Taylor 💜 Touching the Art by Mattilda Bernstein Sycamore ❤️ A Nearby Country Called Love by Salar Abdoh 🧡 Normporn: Queer Viewers and the TV That Soothes Us by Karen Tongson 💛 Sir Callie and the Dragon��s Roost by Esme Symes-Smith 💙 The Order of the Banshee by Robyn Singer 💜 Once Upon My Dads’ Divorce by Seamus Kirst, Noémie Gionet Landry 🌈 Forsooth by Jimmy Matejek-Morris

❤️ A Common Bond by T.M. Kuta 🧡 Risk the Fall by Riley Hart 💛 Just a Little Snack by Yah-Yah Scholfield 💚 Home for the Holidays by Erin Zak 💙 NeurodiVeRse by MJ James 💜 Dark Heir (Dark Rise #2) by C.S. Pacat ❤️ sub/Dom by Rab Green 🧡 Bitten by the Bond by Elaine White 💛 Heir to Frost and Storm by Ben Alderson 💙 The Sea of Stars by Gwenhyver 💜 Bad Beat by L.M. Bennett 🌈 Idol Moves by K.T. Salvo

❤️ Plot Twist by Erin La Rosa 🧡 In the Pines by Mariah Stillbrook 💛 The Crimson Fortress (The Ivory Key #2) by Akshaya Raman 💚 Only She Came Back by Margot Harrison 💙 Megumi & Tsugumi, Vol. 4 by Mitsuru Si 💜 Pritty by Keith F. Miller Jr. ❤️ Just Lizzie by Karen Wilfrid 🧡 An Atlas to Forever by Krystina Rivers 💛 Come Find Me in the Midnight Sun by Bailey Bridgewater 💙 Bait and Witch by Clifford Mae Henderson 💜 Shadow Baron by Davinia Evans 🌈 Day by Michael Cunningham

❤️ Livingston Girls by Briana Morgan 🧡 Delay of the Game by Ari Baran 💛 The Nanny with the Nice List by K. Sterling 💚 A Talent Ignited by Suzanne Lenoir 💙 A Kiss of the Siren’s Song by E.A.M. Trofimenkoff 💜 Rivals for Love by Ali Vali ❤️ Whiskey & Wine by Kelly Fireside, Tana Fireside 🧡 Buried Secrets by Sheri Lewis Wohl 💛 Ride with Me by Jenna Jarvis 💙 Living for You by Jenny Frame 💜 Death on the Water by CJ Birch 🌈 Merciless Waters by Rae Knowles

❤️ Vicarious by Chloe Spencer 🧡 Sapling’s Depths by Spencer Rose 💛 That French Summer by Sienna Waters 💚 System Overload by Saxon James 💙 King of Death by Lily Mayne 💜 Warts and All by Ashley Bennett ❤️ Principle Decisions by Thea Belmont 🧡 The Best Mistake by Emily O’Beirne 💛 Sugar and Ice by Eule Grey 💙 Until The Blood Runs Dry by MC Johnson 💜 Splinter : A Diverse Sleepy Hollow Retelling by Jasper Hyde 🌈 The Mischievous Letters of the Marquise de Q by Felicia Davin

❤️ The Queer Girl is Going to be Okay by Dale Walls 🧡 Til Death Do Us Bard by Rose Black 💛 Leverage by E.J. Noyes 💚 Alice Sadie Celine by Sarah Blakley-Cartwright 💙 Godly Heathens by H.E. Edgmon 💜 Gwen & Art Are Not in Love by Lex Croucher ❤️ To Kill a Shadow by Katherine Quinn 🧡 Warrior of the Wind by Suyi Davies Okungbowa 💛 For Never & Always by Helena Greer 💙 A Demon’s Guide to Wooing a Witch by Sally Hawley 💜 Heaven Official’s Blessing: Tian Guan Ci Fu Vol. 8 by Mò Xiāng Tóng Xiù 🌈 A Carol for Karol by Ann Roberts

[sleepxhllow]

new muse

*temp info post

NAME: Claude Gustave La Rouge D.O.D. / AGE: MAR 20th,1984 / 39 yrs old WHAT: warlock / something else JOB: owner of a bookshop/cafe/witches magic supply shop. the later is secret. The shop is called The Spellbook Emporium, a family owned buisness since 1970s

HEIGHT: 6'1" HAIR: dark brown | EYES: warm brown ORIENTATION/GENDER: heterosexual / cis-male

5 POSITIVE TRAITS: charming , intelligent ,gentle , calm , whimsical 5 NEGATIVE TRAITS: lazy , disorganized , - ZODIAC: Pisces sun | - moon TROPES: cute bookworm , Amateur Sleuth

*notes

relative of Camilia La Rouge,

portrayed by charles michael davis

dispute the mess, he has a system and its "organized"

the shop has a "mascot" a white cat named Lilith

he is a gentlemen, and sort of Dad friend.

he can cook, but can't bake to save his life

he's inspired from Hanna Swansen from murder she baked

if you want a starter check the this one, but also mention its for Claude

will be updated later

[cyclone-rachel]

books read in October and November 2023:

October:

Crudo by Olivia Liang

The Bookshop Book by Jen Campbell

And What Can We Offer You Tonight by Premee Mohamed

Paradise Rot by Jenny Hval

Dogs of Summer by Andrea Abreu Lopez

Princess Floralinda and the Forty-Flight Tower by Tamsyn Muir

The Last Fallen Moon by Graci Kim

Superman: The Harvests of Youth by Sina Grace

FantasticLand by Mike Bockoven

Invincible Compendium vol. 1 by Robert Kirkman

I Who Have Never Known Men by Jacqueline Harpman

Hey, Hun by Emily Lynn Paulson

Weasels in the Attic by Hiroko Oyamada

Lucky Penny by Ananth Hirsh

November:

Victor and Nora by Lauren Myracle

All Rights Reserved by Gregory Scott Katsoulis

Invincible Compendium vol. 2 by Robert Kirkman

Love Theoretically by Ali Hazelwood

Loathe to Love You by Ali Hazelwood

Mem by Bethany C. Morrow

Mooncakes by Suzanne Walker

Lightlark by Alex Aster

Check and Mate by Ali Hazelwood

The House of Kent by Brian Michael Bendis

White Holes by Carlo Rovelli

Parasocial by Alex de Campi

Romantic Comedy by Curtis Sittenfeld

[mirecalemoments01]

Heartwarming Discovery: UK Woman Finds Book with 40-Year-Old Message to Father

In a heartwarming twist of fate, a UK woman, Ros Ford, from Alfriston, East Sussex, stumbled upon a precious relic from her past when she purchased a copy of Aldous Huxley's "Texts and Pretexts" for her husband's birthday. Little did she know that this book would turn out to be the exact same copy she had inscribed and gifted to her father nearly four decades ago. Let's dive into this remarkable story that reminds us of the beautiful and unexpected ways life can come full circle. The Unexpected Reunion Ros Ford's enchanting journey began when she decided to purchase a copy of "Texts and Pretexts" as a birthday gift for her husband, Adam. Little did she know that this seemingly ordinary book would carry a remarkable surprise. She ordered the book from ABE Books, and it was sent from a quaint bookshop owned by Michael Moon in Whitehaven, Cumbria. This is where the magic happened. A Message from the Past When Ros received the book and started flipping through its pages, she stumbled upon a handwritten message that instantly transported her back in time. It was her very own handwriting, dedicated to her dear old dad. The message was a heartfelt inscription she had penned almost four decades ago. The shock and delight of this discovery left Ros astounded. A Serendipitous Facebook Post The enchanting tale took a step further when Michael Moon's bookshop decided to share this serendipitous moment on Facebook. They expressed their amazement at the extraordinary coincidence, explaining how they had received an online order for a book from a customer living hundreds of miles away. To their astonishment, it turned out to be not just the same edition but the very copy Ros had given to her father, complete with her handwritten gift inscription. The post celebrated the wonderful journey that old books can embark on, finding new and often perfect homes since the bookshop's inception in 1970. Ros Ford's Reflections When asked about the book and its significance, Ros Ford shared her sentiments with the BBC. She mentioned that she originally purchased the book in 1984 for her father as he was heading into retirement. She thought it would be a beautiful way for him to reflect on life during his retirement years. However, it was a completely unrelated event that prompted her to think about the book again. On her husband's 83rd birthday, she decided to revisit the idea of gifting "Texts and Pretexts." To her surprise, the book that arrived came from Michael Moon's bookshop, making the story come full circle. A Privilege to Pay Twice In an amusing twist of fate, Ros Ford humorously remarked that she now had the privilege of paying for the same book twice. This quirky turn of events only added to the charm of the story, highlighting the unpredictable and delightful ways life can surprise us. Conclusion The story of Ros Ford's book discovery is a heartwarming reminder of the beauty of serendipity and the unexpected ways in which our past can resurface in the present. It also underscores the enduring power of literature to connect us with cherished memories and loved ones. In a world where everything seems to move at lightning speed, such stories remind us to slow down and appreciate the small, magical moments that life has to offer. How did Ros Ford rediscover the book she had gifted to her father 40 years ago?Ros Ford rediscovered the book when she purchased a copy of "Texts and Pretexts" for her husband's birthday from ABE Books. The book arrived from a bookshop owned by Michael Moon in Whitehaven, Cumbria, and it turned out to be the exact same copy she had inscribed for her father decades ago.What was the reaction of Michael Moon's bookshop to this discovery?Michael Moon's bookshop was equally amazed by this serendipitous discovery. They shared the story on Facebook, celebrating the extraordinary coincidence and the way old books find new homes over the years.Why did Ros Ford originally purchase the book in 1984?Ros Ford purchased the book in 1984 as a gift for her father, who was about to retire. She believed it would be a wonderful way for him to reflect on life during his retirement years.Why did Ros Ford decide to revisit the idea of gifting the book on her husband's birthday?Ros Ford decided to revisit the idea of gifting the book on her husband's 83rd birthday after something she read in The Guardian prompted her to think about it again. Read the full article

[secretdiaryofcrowley]

Where we left off: Our hero was nursing his wounded heart, that had been so callously broken, with a bottle of whiskey and a lamentation to the stars. (Mind the commas in the last sentence or it will mean something entirely different... I think. My spelling's "tickety boo" for a demon, but don't hold me accountable for commas, or as Aziraphale used to call them: commata.)

Anyhow, as our hero was lamenting and minding his own business, he was suddenly ambushed by an old enemy. With even more whiskey.

I know, I'm gonna regret this. I'm gonna regret this big time.

"So", I ask, turning to Beelzebub. "What exactly happened?"

"At first, nothing bad. We went to the pub as usual. And then we went to lots of different places. More pubs, shops, the sea, some restaurants, a waterfall, Paris, the moon...."

Why did we never do things like that? We could've had ages to go to places. Literally ages!

Nice one, us!

"And then? Then what?"

Well, we did go to the Ritz. And Paris, too. And some graveyard in Edinburgh. Still, to most of these places we haven't been on purpose. They just happened.

We've wasted our time. We’ve wasted so much time.

"At first, everything was like...like..." Beelzebub is at a loss for words.

"Maple syrup?", I cut in, "Raspberry vinegar? Baklava drowned in honey?"

Being stuck in their office, Beelzebub used to be quite unfamiliar with earth, but they do have a taste for sweet and sticky stuff. Even more so if it's drowned in even more sweet and sticky stuff.

They pause for a moment, trying to hide the goofy grin spreading on their face. It's a very unbeelzebublike grin. "Even better. It didn't really matter where we went and what we did, as long as we could spend time together."

"So, what changed?", I ask. No reason to dwell on memories of things you can no longer have.

"I don't know. It got boring. No, not boring. And not all of the things."

"More like annoying?"

I'm taking a wild guess here, but the expression on their face tells me I struck gold. "Yes. Exactly."

Beelzebub sets down the bottle to be able to move their hands more freely as they talk. "Wherever we go, he always wants to go shopping. This watch and these bags and those shoes. And then he parades around in them and wants me to tell which ones make him look better. And if I pick the wrong ones, he gets all sulky and curls his lip in this really weird way."

Their words get a bit fuzzy, as they try to demonstrate it with their own mouth, but that may be the alcohol's fault.

"And the tailors - oh, these endless hours at the tailors! I can't stand it. This suit and that coat, and - bloody heaven - how am I supposed to know if a tie is supposed to match the shirt or the jacket?"

"It used to be the jacket, now it's the shirt." I marvel in silence at the amount of words tumbling out of their mouth. Beelzebub can be quite a chatterfly, but this is unusual even for them.

"Oh and if it wasn't bad enough, then that whole napkin thing started. We ate at this nice little restaurant in Florence - and he managed to get a stain of tomato sauce on one of his oh-so-precious suits."

I snigger. Imagine that, Mr. ‘I-don't-sullen-my-celestial-body’ eating Pasta in Florence and getting tomato sauce on his clothes. Oh, Angel, how I wish, I could tell you this! We could sit in the bookshop, have a laugh together and imagine Michael or Uriel sending Gabriel a strongly worded note...

"I thought, how can one little stain be such a big deal? We can just miracle it away, but he was devastated. And then he started stuffing a napkin into his collar whenever we had something to eat, so it wouldn't happen again."

Florence. Aziraphale and I met in Florence once or twice during the Renaissance. We were watching the horse races with a young Spanish seminarian - César, I believe - me trying to tempt him away from priesthood and Aziraphale trying to cancel me out. I had already struck a deal with the boy's father in Rome to make him Pope, but I suppose that's a story for another time. Anyway, napkins. Right. Napkins.

Is Beelzebub about to tell me how they broke up with Gabriel over napkins?

"You know, some humans actually do wear napkins in their collars. Or put them on their lap while they eat. It's considered an acceptable behaviour in most restaurants."

"It's a ridiculous behaviour." Beelzebub doesn't seem to be happy about me trying to share my earthly wisdom. "Human children wear them. Adults look absolutely ludicrous in them. Anyway, I told Gabriel, I will not stand for it. If he puts one more napkin in his collar, I will turn on my heel and leave. And yet he did, and then I left and now I am here. End of story."

They grab the bottle again and gulp down the rest of it.

Okay, how do I put this. "Look, Beelzebub, 'breakup' may be a bit of a strong word here."

"Whaddoyoumean, strong?"

"I'm saying, you two got in a fight, but it's not that bad. Aziraphale and I used to have them all the time. You see, he has far more annoying habits than wearing napkins in his collar and parading around in new clothes."

"More annoying than napkins?" Their eyes narrow in disbelief.

"Tartan. That bloody tartan! Yes, I know, Angels wear tartan, but he wears it in places where you wouldn't believe it even existed and I'm not telling you because it really is none of your bisss... business. And he practisesss weird phrasesss about auntsss and their gardenersss because he insistsss on French, the hard way."

"French the hard way?"

"No, not that kind of French!"

"What French?"

"Oh, just forget about the French! He turned my car yellow. He uses weird words like 'commata' and 'tickety-boo' and half of the time, I don't understand what he's talking about anyway. He insists on doing human style magic shows without any miracles and doesn't care that he's bad at it. All of his drawing pencils have to be put in their little boxes in the right order and they all need to be the same size. And when he gets all excited, he pronounces capital letters."

I mean, really pronounces them. And he waves his hands around and bobs on his feet and singsongs along to his music records and I can't... I don't... grrrm... and where the heaven did I put my blinds? Where the f*** are they?

"Here." Beelzebub grabs them off the street and hands them back to me without looking at my face. Their eyes are set firmly on the flow of the river.

Humans may offer each other hugs and hot cocoa. Demons usually mock other demons for weakness. Pretending not to notice it, is a rare thing, and I appreciate the sentiment.

"I have a plan." Luckily, my instincts are back in place, for Beelzebub is about to tell me the real reason why they came to me in the first place. "Look, Crowley, why don't we just start our own thing?"

"What thing?"

"I mean, Hell was started originally because angels rebelled against Heaven, right? And now we - sort of - rebelled against Hell."

They can't be serious. "You mean, we create Hell Point Two? Oh, I bet, good old Lucifer is going to love this."

"He can't thwart us if we're strong enough. Not if we get enough demons to join our side."

They start to pace to dwell on their train of thought. "We could offer better rations or even some nice extras. Like stronger firecoffee or bugs in the office."

I take a step back. "Look, I don't know if 'Hell Point Two' is going to cut it..."

"You're right, we need a better name. One that's more appealing. How about: "The United States of Beelzebub?'"

"Bit long for demons, don't you think? They couldn't spell it. 'Hell' is such a nice short word."

"Don't be such a spoilsport!", they snap. "We could shorten it."

Right. I can clearly picture legions and legions of demons pumping their fists, fins, hoofs and claws up into the air while shouting: USB! USB! USB!

Scary thought. "Oh, come on! Think of all the paperwork. It'll be far worse than a few napkins."

"So, whaddoyousay, Crowley?" Beelzebub extends their hand. "I'll run it, you can be my second-in-command?"

Now, where have I heard THESE words before?

"Well, yes, USB. I can definitely see a career option here. Bees are great. Wahoo for Plan B. Just don't forget, before Plan B is set into motion, there's Plan A as in: Talk to Gabriel!"

Their hand sinks as they stare at me incredulously. "Talk to Gabriel... what about?"

"Pacts. Pacts are a thing. I know, they teach us in hell that we can only strike proper pacts with humans, but they actually function with angels, too. Quite well, to be honest. Aziraphale and I have had lots of pacts over the centuries."

Oodles of pacts. Once he had understood that it actually worked, it was pact-city-Aziraphale.

"For example: You could try something like: 'First, I go shopping with you for two hours, but then you go to my favourite pub with me.' Or: "First, you tell me which pair of shoes feels better on your feet, then I tell you which one looks better.'"

I see the frown on their face, but this time, I definitely sparked their interest. "There are many ways this could work, all you have to do, is bargain for good terms. Negotiate. Find things to bribe him with. You won't believe me now, but this can be quite fun."

"Fun?"

"Fun. Trust me on this. And don't let fights discourage you, they are just a thing. After our first fights, we didn't speak for centuries, then it became decades, then years. Nowadays we are down to mere days or even hours."

"Fine." Beelzebub still looks grumpy as usual, but also relieved somehow. "I'll do that, then."

"You know how to find him again?" I'm curious.

"Yes. I can sense where he is... sort of. I know it sounds weird, I can't really explain, how it works. It's just a feeling."

A feeling? Right. How would I have even the slightest idea how this feeling feels like? It's only been ... what? A few hundred years? A few thousand?

Why can't I pinpoint the moment when it started. I actually can't. It's always been the two of us. Always. Except for the brief times when he went up or I went down, I could always feel an earth with an Aziraphale in it.

Now it's empty. Hollow. I've never not felt him for such a long time.

I'm empty. Incomplete. Ripped to pieces at my very core.

"And, Crowley?"

"No, don't thank me.” Just go, be happy lovebirds or whatever. This has gone far enough already and I hope, I'm just too drunk to remember this entire conversation tomorrow."

~*~

More Diary Parts:

1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / 9 / 10 / 11 / 12 / 13 / 14 / 15 / 16 / 17 / 18 / 19 / 20 / 21

Things to Do Today

1. Sober up and get rid of hangover

2. Ponder on how ridiculous this is

3. Get drunk again because I can't deal with this sober

I thought they were off to Alpha Centauri. Living that sweet life we will never have...

Well, it seems things don't always work out for other people, too.

Obviously. But let's rewind to last night and try to sort this all out.

"I was going to mysteriously appear in your car", Beelzebub said, "but somehow I can't get in anymore."

Oh.

"Also, when I tried to miracle myself in, the car suddenly turned yellow. Like some kind of defense mechanism."

OH!

"Things have changed, Beelzebub. You have to be invited in. And I'm certainly not go... gonna do that."

"Well, that's all right." They take a step closer. "We can just talk here."

"And I certainly don't want to talk."

"I brought booze."

My eyes shift between the empty bottle I'm holding and the full bottle in their hands.

Sigh.

I throw the empty bottle into the Thames (Yes, I should litter, I'm a demon after all. And maybe some hermit crab can build a home in it. Or some little fish family. Oh, lookey here, it's Nemo and the guys.)

Beelzebub passes the full bottle to me. It's obviously not miracled out of Hell, it's good old Earth stuff.

Mhm. Smells like it, too. And I just remembered that Nemo is a saltwater fish.

And so are hermit crabs.

I take a deep sip. Well, obviously not fish, but well.. you know.

"I heard about Aziraphale," Beelzebub looks at me with a sympathetic gaze and suddenly I feel the need to throw up. "I'm sorry, things didn't work out."

Bloody Heaven! I'm not going to talk to them about Aziraphale. It's bad enough with Maggie and Nina trying to get me to talk about Aziraphale, but Beelzebub? Really?

This is one of the few times I'm actually speechless, but being a fellow demon, Beelzebub should fully well be able to read my death glare.

They do. "Well, that's all right. Gabriel and I broke up, too, and I don't want to talk about it either."

They WHAT? They thwarted both Heaven and Hell for their love and now they fall out of it after barely three months?

Lucky for the both of us, Beelzebub freezes the bottle in mid air before it smashes on the ground. They grab it, take a big sip and pass it back to me.

We stand in silence, staring at the river. All is quiet, except for the city noises in the background, the sound of the water and the occasional burp from one of us as we devour the alcohol.

I know, I'm gonna regret this. I'm gonna regret this big time.

"So", I ask, turning to Beelzebub. "What exactly happened?"

~*~

Older Diary Parts minus the Reblogs:

1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8

[trixie-and-ames]

"I love everything that's old, - old friends, old times, old manners, old books, old wine."

~Oliver Goldsmith.

📷 Old leather bound books @ Michael Moons Bookshop, Whitehaven, Cumbria.

[michaelmoonsbookshop]

The periodically controversial signs which sometimes adorns the bookshop door

[justforbooks]

Old books in Michael Moon’s Bookshop, Whitehaven.

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at http://justforbooks.tumblr.com

[kotias]

I am myself in the middle of a tarot project in another fandom, so I'm really good at this game.

However please pardon me, I'm also just on my phone so it's not gonna be very pretty formatting.

The Fool: Jim, short for James, short for Gabriel

I The Magician: Aziraphale in his magician outfit

II The High Priestess: one of the nuns from the Satanic Church? Holding baby Antichrist?

III The Empress: Michael

IV The Emperor: Gabriel

V The Hierophant: The Metatron

VI The Lovers: Nina and Maggie dancing, with Aziraphale as an angel above them (this card is paired visually with the Devil, so you can imagine what the Devil card can be)

VII The Chariot: the Bentley in flames

VIII Justice: Adam, with Aziraphale's sword in one hand and Crowley's handle in the other

IX The Hermit: I don't remember his name now, but the sergeant corporal of the witch-finding army

X Wheel of Fortune: pretty sure they just issued a wheel of fortune with Aziraphale and Crowley on it in their behind the scenes photos, so that could be perfect to reproduce

XI Strength: Adam with his dog

XII The Hanged Man: Crowley in his angelic disguise

XIII Nameless Arcane/Death: Death, Horseman of the Apocalypse

XIV Temperance: Nina pouring coffee into a cup

XV The Devil: Nina and Maggie, soaking wet from the rainwater that just dropped on their faces, with Crowley above them

XVI The Tower: the bookshop on fire

XVII The Star: Crowley pre-Fall, surrounded by his nebula

XVIII The Sun: Either Muriel in the streets happily strolling around, or Crowley sitting alone under the sun

XIX The Moon: Anathema and... Her lover in season 1, I have issues with his name

XX Judgement: a recreation of those Renaissance pieces of Michael slaying the demons, but instead of a random demon it is Crowley

XXI The World: Aziraphale and Crowley at the Ritz

Those would be my suggestions at least, take what you will out of them!

i think it'd be fun to do a set of tarot cards with everyone from good omens, or maybe just crowley and aziraphale since i am just one dude lol

which card would everyone be?

[aglaydis]

Old books in Michael Moon’s Bookshop, Whitehaven.

[ingravinoveritas]

My GOD is he adorable, I'd almost forgotten what he looked like without the beard! :p Petition to have him keep the long(ish), curly hair as Aziraphale, though. Y'know, just so Crowley has a little something extra to get a firm grip on. ;) ~Domme anon

Domme Anon! Oh, your timing is nothing if not impeccable. That picture has totally put me back on my Michael thirsting bullshit, and I’ve been sitting here wondering if there is a full moon out or what (there actually is an almost-full moon here tonight, ha) because how am I suddenly so ravenously turned on by the sight of this man’s bare face...

...And I realized that it’s because of his eyes. They’re gorgeous no matter what facial hair situation Michael has going on, but they just pop when he is clean shaven. His eyes here are so much more visible and intense and I find him plenty sexy with the beard, but it’s gone and those damn weapons of mass seduction are staring into my soul (which, for the record, is now suddenly not wearing underwear).

But! To your point about Aziraphale with long(ish) curly hair...oh, I’m not sure we could handle it. I have actually thought about that before, though, especially because David--er, I mean Crowley--totally has a hair-pulling kink (giving and receiving) and could surely use some thick, luscious locks to hold onto when they’re in the dressing room bookshop.

I don’t think it’s too likely to happen, unfortunately, but at least he’ll soon be reunited with his beloved demon and our cups will runneth over with the sexual tension. Good times...

[just-aziraphale]

I posted 341 times in 2021

25 posts created (7%)

316 posts reblogged (93%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 12.6 posts.

I added 659 tags in 2021

#azicrow - 170 posts

#good omens - 113 posts

#fanart - 68 posts

#good omens 2 - 65 posts

#aziraphale - 58 posts

#crowley - 58 posts

#michael sheen - 48 posts

#david tennant - 42 posts

#ineffable husbands - 20 posts

#anthony j crowley - 17 posts

Longest Tag: 57 characters

#i like this take although i disagree that it was a threat

My Top Posts in 2021

#5

I still can’t believe Crowley was running around calling his angel ‘angel’ at any given opportunity for years, and the whole of London population who ever met them was certain of one thing - that Mr. Crowley and Mr. Fell are very much an item.

120 notes • Posted 2021-11-30 07:56:27 GMT

#4

I need to know what’s going on in that picture SO BAD

124 notes • Posted 2021-11-30 16:00:26 GMT

#3

Don’t give me a kiss in S2 - I couldn’t care less about it. 

Give me Crowley resting his head on Azi’s lap while they both lounge on a sofa.... them bickering over silly things while drinking heavily in the bookshop with next to no space between their bodies.... Azi baking a Schwarzwälder Kirschtorte and Crowley watching him from the countertop with a dopey smile.... 

Give me disgustingly domestic husbands - and I’d be over the moon.

397 notes • Posted 2021-10-28 09:13:20 GMT

#2

once again thinking about how one Anthony J Crowley literally hasn’t given two fucks about anyone except Aziraphale for 6000 years

506 notes • Posted 2021-10-25 17:40:13 GMT

#1

Crowley (every damn time he and Aziraphale get hammered at the bookshop together): I think ’m too drunk to drive home. ’m staying over. 

Aziraphale (knowing full well they can both miracle the alcohol out of their systems): Sounds reasonable.

819 notes • Posted 2021-11-08 17:47:10 GMT

Get your Tumblr 2021 Year in Review →

[theplatinthehat]

2019 Good Omens Fic Post

I didn’t think I could let the end of the year go by without celebrating some of my favourite Good Omens fics and authors that I’ve read over the last few months. This fandom has really encouraged me, and loads of others, to write some really amazing and fun work. I just wanted to say thank you to everyone who has made my time in this fandom something to be treasured – it’s been an amazing experience!

Consider this a love letter to the fanfic writers of this fandom. I can’t include everyone in the list, but if you write fanfic – thank you so much for the time and energy you put into this fandom!

  AUTHORS

Drawlight / @drawlight

Can you fall in love with a writing style? Because I honestly think I have. I, like many other, came across Draw’s amazing work after Michael Sheen tweeted about Salinity and now here we are! It’s been an absolute privilege to read the incredible fandom works by Draw, and we really have been blessed by his beautiful stories. I remember reading Salinity for the first time, and it totally took my breath away. Whenever I open it up to re-read I find myself taking a deep breath before diving in.

What I Love: My favourite thing about Draw’s writing is the way he weaves in references to music, poetry and other stories into his work (Hadestown makes a regular appearance). His writing often makes me very warm and very soft and are much like a literary hug after a long day.

Favourite Works: Salinity (And Other Measurements of Brackish Water); tell me who is victor; I Will Get Up Now And Go About the City

Atalan / @seaskystone

What. An. Author. Atalan has made me cry floods of tears and laugh until I’ve fallen out of bed! Their long-form stories are a particular favourite of mine, and whenever I get a notification that one of those has been updated I have to read it immediately (even if I’m in the middle of a lecture). Atalan is a superb writer in any style, and I cannot wait to read more of their work.

What I Love: I must confess, my favourites are definitely the comedies – their sense of humour is absolutely fantastic, and their witty writing style makes me grin like an idiot. I remember reading the opening chapter of ‘Instructions Not Included’ and messaging my sister to let her know that I had found the perfect fic.

Favourite Works: Pray for Us, Icarus (and check out this amazing video by @pinkpiggy93) and Instructions Not Included

JMA

My goodness where do I even start with this incredible author? JMA takes our favourite angel and demon and explores some intriguing and often dark concepts through them. JMA has a very erudite writing style, and I often find myself reading their work twice or even three times before I even begin to scratch the surface of what they’re saying. Absolutely beautiful prose – I can’t recommend enough.

What I Love: The fact that their work makes me stop and think. Each story is a rich tapestry, which you can admire as a whole, but each individual thread is beautiful in its own right. JMA also has excellent command of both plot and character, which I love.

Favourite Works: Rebuild you from clay (the full series is worth a read in my opinion). You might also like Suffer the Children, which was written in collaboration with Ineffable_Plans

weatheredlaw / @weatheredlaw  

I think it’s safe to say that weatheredlaw is the champion of the AU. There’s not a world that they can’t turn their hand to, and not a setting that they can’t describe in vivid detail. Weatheredlaw is an absolute pro at making me feel all sorts of things, and honestly, it was their fic that made me go ‘Oh, I see why people ship the Bookshop and the Bentley’.

What I Love: What’s not to love in weatheredlaw’s work? If I had to pick a favourite thing, it would absolutely have to be their descriptions. This comes across particularly well in ‘with all your delights’ where the descriptions of the south were so eloquent that I thought I might be able to crawl through the screen and join Aziraphale and Crowley there.

Favourite Works: with all your delights; dream to me

racketghost / @racketghost

I only discovered racketghost’s work recently and I only have one question – how on earth did I manage without their writing in my life before? Oh my goodness, their stories are absolutely marvellous. The main body of their work imagines what Crowley and Aziraphale might have been getting up to during WWI – and let me assure you, they pull no punches.

What I Love: I absolutely adore their storytelling style – it’s fabulous. Their descriptions of war are unflinching, and feel so real. The relationship between Aziraphale and Crowley is explored so well, and their emotions are so well portrayed.

Favourite Works: Strange Moons

INDIVIDUAL WORKS

With Love, A Symphony – OneofWebs / @tantumuna

This is a beautiful tale of love and music. I remember when I first read this, I fell in love instantly. I have such a weakness for Crowley playing stringed instruments, and this gave me exactly what I needed. The exploration of Aziraphale and Crowley’s relationship through the different periods of music was just incredible. If you have an appreciation for classical music and slow-burn romance, this is the fic for you.

Full Circle – Hekateras / @futureevilscientist

Gosh, where do I even start with this series? The first two sentences grabbed me by the lapels and did not let go. An absolutely fascinating exploration into what happens at the End of Days – and beyond… This fic played my heartstrings like a fiddle and I loved every second of it. There’s a lot of angst, but it’s well worth sticking through until the end. I thoroughly recommend if you, like me, wonder what might happen if the Apocalypse comes round again.

Slow Show – mia_ugly / @mia-ugly_ugly

Is there anyone in this fandom that hasn’t read this fic? Well, if there are, here’s a reminder for you to set aside a day and devote it to reading this amazing story. This is a beautiful AU that imagines our favourite angel and demon as human actors; Avery Fell and Anthony Crowley. The narrative, the characterisation and the world-building are all absolutely stupendous, and like me you’ll be absolutely desperate to see Warlock on the screen yourself! Gosh, I don’t want to spoil this too much – go and read Slow Show! Now!

And once you’ve read that, be sure to check out the some faith remix of the fic by attheborder and curtaincall

Demonology and the Tri-Phasic Model of Trauma: An Integrated Approach – Nnm

Many of us have said that Crowley needs to go to therapy. But what would therapy with a demon actually look like? And what kind of a therapist would be able to unpack all that trauma? Meet Aubrey Thyme, professional psychotherapist. Nnm does a wonderful job with this story, and its equal parts humorous and heart-breaking. And the end… oh the end – I won’t spoil anything. You really must read this fic.

Acts of Service – seekwill / @jasmine-cottage-uk

Another stunning human AU. Aziraphale is a vicar, and Crowley is a mysterious bad boy that can’t seem to keep away, and Anathema is there being an absolute bad-ass, set in the heart of an inner-city community. What starts out simply turns out to be much more convoluted than I ever could have imagined, and there were points where I was literally at the edge of my seat! An intriguing story, with vibrant characters, told by an absolutely marvellous writer.

Made Flesh – rfsmiley / @redfacesmiley

What if two, were in fact three? This is the question that runs throughout this piece of work – where Crowley is shadowed by something that only Aziraphale can see. A thoroughly absorbing tale that explores the love shared by an angel and a demon, and how that love manifests itself. This story settles itself well within the 6,000 year canon, and is beautifully told. An absolute must-read.

The Demons Have the Phonebox – theplatinthehat

You didn’t think I could get through this list without a self-rec did you? I shan’t say much, but I will say that the overwhelming love and support I’ve had for this fic has meant more to me than you’ll ever know. Recommended reading for people who love Donna Noble, creative use of the English language and general hijinks.

[wanna-b-poet31]

Just an Observation...

So Like, let’s take a quick survey of the kinds of people in Aziraphale’s life in order of appearance:

Crowley: Looks at Aziraphale like he hung the moon after meeting him and learning he gave away his sword, and carefully cultivates a relationship of mutual respect and care. He also shows a willingness to meet the needs and “speed” of Aziraphale’s comfort, compromising and treating each other as equals.  Indulges, respects and remembers his special interests (food, books, music tastes, restaurants and the specific seating in said restaurants, saving the world, etc.)  And I’m sure more and more can be added to this gross overview.

Gabriel: Belittle’s Aziraphale’s interests IMMEDIATELY. Feigns interest in his attempts to love and save humanity. All around abusive jerk.  Fuck him.

Warlock: Child, sweet, normal, cute. Doesn’t (nor should be held accountable to) show a profound interest in gardening, (though the case could be made he does share a fondness of animals) or other Aziraphale/Brother Francis’ interests.  IS. A. CHILD.  It is not his job to take care of adults.

Sandalphon: -100000/100 Angel. Terrible. Bad Angel. Goes and thinly threatens Aziraphale. Homophobic (no other reason to shout out Sodom and Gomorrah). Remembers what the hell a book is, but also dismisses any care about Aziraphale. Is part of the group that physically harms Aziraphale. Fuck him.

Michael: -10/10 Angel. Dismissive. Later uses “backchannels” to threaten and attack Aziraphale. Overall shady. Is part of the group that physically harms Aziraphale. Fuck her.

Uriel: -1000/100 Angel. Dismissive. Rude. Overall shady and again, is part of the group that physically harms Aziraphale. Fuck them.

Anathema: Rightfully shocked by being hit by a car, and generally curt to him. It’s also not her job to extend him kindness, although I do feel, given different circumstances they would have been friendly. Although, for the purposes of this overview, doesn’t show any specific care or interest about him.

Shadwell: His Homophobic ass doesn’t deserve a second of our time. He’s rude, throws slurs around, and dismissive. Also he “kills” Aziraphale, so there’s that. Although he does help Aziraphale, and he does agree to help him at the end of the world, he does not care about Aziraphale’s interests.

Madam Tracy: An actual delight. Mildly interested in Aziraphale. Literally Shared a body. Could grow into friends, I’m sure. She seems delightful, but not (currently) a close friend, and shared interests may only extend insofar as the Armagedon’t was concerned.  

Adam + Them: Overall good kids, saved the world. Aziraphale gave Adam a stellar pep talk, but overall, again, they’re children, and while Adam may be able to bend reality, and the Anti-Christ, he’s still not responsible for taking care of Aziraphale. Did replace his bookshop with (almost) no changes, showing some kind of care about Aziraphale’s interests.

Newt: ...do they meet? Like, yeah there at the airfield base...but... N/A.

Hastur: Tries to Kill Him (as Crowley, although Hastur does throws him several threats over Crowley’s phone recorder). Awful. Tries to take away Crowley, his ultimate favorite person. Really, quite terrible.

TLDR: Crowley’s the only one who cares deeply about Aziraphale. Madame Tracy and Anathema distant seconds. Actual Children could grow up and be A+ friends/support systems for him, but now they are children first, supernatural emotional support later. Everyone else is terrible to him. 

[nancywheelxr]

Not sure if your ask box is still open on Good Omens, but could you write something of Crowley getting severely injured, and he becomes actually afraid of things touching him due to nightmares, and Az hears people talking rumors of the deed, and goes to help Crowley

Oh hey, look, my askbox is always open for Good Omens. Here, hope you like this!

*

The Hiccup happens in late September of 1989 when the air is beginning to turn cold and the nights are getting longer.

It’s called the Hiccup because much like a hiccup, it happened suddenly and uninvited, causing distress abound, and lingered stubbornly for far longer than either party would have liked. Calling it the Hiccup is also a tentative of, as it would be said in the coming years, softening the blow enough for the events to be forgotten into oblivion.

But in that Wednesday evening– and for many years to come– this would stay fresh on Aziraphale’s mind.

*

He had been about to close the shop, already flipping the sign, really, when Gabriel bounds in, cheerfully pushing the doors open and sending Aziraphale tumbling a few steps back.

“Aziraphale,” Gabriel says, holding him by the forearms and smiling, which is a very scary expression for Gabriel to have because it usually means things are going his way and the opposite direction of Aziraphale’s. “I come bearing good news!”

“Oh dear,” he offers a lame smile. “Please, do tell.”

Gabriel doesn’t seem to notice. In fact, it’s quite possible he came down here just to brag to one more angel. “The demon Crawly has been defeated!” He announces and looks expectantly at Aziraphale as if he hadn’t just turned his world upside down. “Rejoice, brother! Come on!”

“What– when you say defeated,” Aziraphale mumbles, feeling strangely numb, stricken.

“I mean defeated, done for, gone for good, dead and gone,” Gabriel counts off his fingers, “and whatever else is under utterly obliterated in the thesaurus.”

“Oh dear, that can’t be,” he says quietly to himself and it’s a good thing, really, that he’s too dazed to be anything but distantly detached. It wouldn’t do to succumb to grief right here in front of his superior. “That’s– are you sure?”

Gabriel huffs a laugh, shakes Aziraphale around before letting him go. “Yes! No doubt, Azriel reported directly to me this afternoon! Why, why aren’t you overjoyed? Your assignment here is finished, you can finally come home!”

And now Gabriel is sort of squinting at him with a hint of suspicion so Aziraphale musters the best smile he can under the circumstances. It’s probably wavering and awkward, but truly, it’s better than the alternative. “Oh, of course, of course. I’m, erm, very overjoyed. Over the moon, as the humans say!”

“Over the moon? Ha! I love it,” he smiles condescendingly, a true patented Archangel smile, “delightful little creatures, these humans, aren’t they? Tell you what, I’ll be sorry to see them go when Armageddon comes.”

Once again, all Aziraphale can do is nod numbly, barely processing this. “Indeed,” he mumbles, itching to dive for the phone, call Crowley’s ridiculously expensive flat at Mayfair and hear his voice hissing about calling this late.

“But I’m afraid there’s still a lot of paperwork to be done for your withdrawing,” Gabriel continues, dusting his coat off like the mere presence on Earth was enough to dirt it, “bureaucracy, you know how it goes. Upstairs will take a good three to four business days before officializing the order, so you’ll have enough time to get your earthly affairs in order.”

Get rid of the bookshop, he means, and in any other circumstance, Aziraphale would be righteously offended, but there’s little space on his mind left for anything that isn’t Crowley. “Of course, I’ll see to it soon. Three to four days, you said?”

“Business days,” he corrects absently. Then he claps his hand, thankfully ready to go. “Well, now if you’ll excuse me, I left Michael drafting Azriel’s promotion and we all know how terrible he is at that.”

“Right, right,” Aziraphale nods fervently and begins to try and shepherd him out the door without any smiting. “I understand.”

Gabriel smiles, claps him on the back once, hard enough to knock the breath out of him. “Sure you do, brother. I’ll be in touch and in the meanwhile, keep up the good work, yeah?”

And before Aziraphale could say anything else, Gabriel is gone, thunder rumbling in the distance.

Inside the shop, Aziraphale finally lets himself crumble into grief soaked pieces.

*

Because Crowley isn’t answering the phone, Aziraphale flies straight to his flat, knocking impatiently at the door for a good five minutes before miracling it open.

His heart is at his throat, swinging wildly between racing and missing a beat, and the door has no business creaking that ominously. 

It’s a good thing Aziraphale doesn’t need to breathe because his corporation wouldn’t know how to hold his breath for so long.

Inside, the place looks untouched, eerily still– not even the plants are moving and the kitchen faucet doesn’t dare drip so much as a drop.

For a second, Aziraphale nearly prays, gets as far as looking heavenward, up at Crowley’s pristine white ceiling, before he remembers his people are the ones behind this and catches himself. It wouldn’t do to call Above and alert them to come to finish the job.

Because God knows he won’t let himself consider otherwise.

Aziraphale walks around carefully, unwilling to disturb anything, to mess with Crowley’s things when he might not be there to set them right again later.

It’s in the bedroom that his heart stops for good and if his throat hadn’t been hopelessly locked by a thorny lump, he would have cursed.

Coiled tight on the bed, bleeding and twitching, there’s a snake– there’s Crowley.

A shiver goes down his spine as another wave of fear seizes his chest. The room is terribly cold and seems to spin as Aziraphale walks closer, crossing the space between the door and the bed, both dreading and hoping, hoping, hoping what he might find at closer inspection. 

“Crowley?” He asks softly, a quiet whisper not to startle the demon, but Crowley doesn’t move, doesn’t acknowledge him, stays wrapped around himself, scales glinting dully in the moonlight that spills from the window and eyes unblinking in his sleep. This, too, is wrong, because while Crowley rarely ever shifts into snake anymore, Aziraphale still remembers how his skin glittered under the Sun back at the edge of the Garden, reflecting off the light in mesmerizing patterns. 

He reaches a hand to maybe look for a pulse, or reassure himself it’s not an illusion, almost expecting it to go right through, but instead, Crowley strikes once in warning, lightning quick, and missing Aziraphale’s hand by less than an inch. “Good Lord,” Aziraphale pulls away, startled. Crowley rears back, uncoiling to hiss at him, and his eyes are glazed over, clearly unseeing and unrecognizing. For some unfathomable reason, this sparks the flutter of something foul-tasting that doesn’t settle right on his gut. Aziraphale glares. “Oh, stop that, you old serpent! It’s only me, there’s no need for theatrics!”

Normally, this would be the moment where Crowley would shift back to his usual human corporation, possibly smirking amused at having worked Aziraphale up like this.

That’s not what happens, though.

Aziraphale waits, and waits. And waits, but Crowley stays a snake, swaying on the bed, his once beautiful scales dulled and scraped off in some places, and Aziraphale wants to help healing that, but at this distance, he has to admit he might just do more damage than good. 

Crowley doesn’t snap out of it, not in the four more times Aziraphale tries calling him, and hisses threateningly when he reaches for him again. This isn’t good, Aziraphale knows, and his heart is sinking all the way down to the churning mess that is his stomach, but there’s not much he can do while Crowley is like this. 

There’s only more waiting.

So he closes the blinds and warms the room, retreats to the chair by the desk at a safe distance away from the bed, an unthreatening distance away from Crowley, and settles for watching over him during the night.

Again, if Above didn’t keep records of all prayers, Aziraphale would rather close his eyes and ask God for this small mercy. It could be for either of their sake’s, he doesn’t mind which, really, he wouldn’t mind anything as long as Crowley lives.

Perhaps, he wonders, that’s enough. Lord knows prayers have always been more intention than words.

*

Nights are longer during Winter, but no night has been longer than tonight.

It’s cold outside but the room is almost uncomfortably hot, and Aziraphale can’t keep track of Crowley’s breathing in this shape, so every twitch and every hiss jumpstart his heart, jolting his whole body up. It’s unnerving and exhausting, a whiplash every five minutes or so, but they’re proof Crowley is pulling through.

The look on Gabriel’s face is what irks him the most during these hours, especially in those intervals where Crowley stays still and Aziraphale can’t tell if there’s going to be another twitch. The smug smile, the condescension dripping from his tongue, the way he told Aziraphale to get his affairs in order like an adult telling a vaguely related child to put their toys away, the glee at having Crowley gone, gone, gone.

It pokes at the parts of Aziraphale that used to have a flaming sword at guard the Gate, and it thrums on his corporation’s blood with something akin to, to… indignation. That’s a safer word to settle on. 

Outside the wind blows quietly and the blinds flutter along, allowing slivers of pale silver to slip through and Aziraphale thinks of standing at the edge of the Wall and looking at storm clouds gathering in the distance. 

Sadly, he doesn’t think his wings would do much good at protecting here.

*

As a rule, Aziraphale doesn’t sleep. It’s never been something he found particularly satisfying. But with all the worrying and the hoping, he must have nodded off at some point during the early hours of the dawn because when he opens his eyes again, neck stiff and back faintly aching, sunlight illuminates the room in long tendrils coming through the blinds and in the bed, there’s Crowley.

His clothes are mangled and bloodstained, and on his stomach, a nasty-looking wound is struggling to heal itself, the edges stitching skin back together in painful blueish tinges that can’t be healthy.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale tries again and his voice wavers, breaks at the vowels. “Are you awake?”

Are you alright? Are you back?

The demon stirs, eyes blinking open sluggishly, and it takes a long time until they focus on Aziraphale. Crowley’s face does a complicated thing where he looks relieved and horrified at the same time, settling for a vaguely embarrassed face, drawn out with pain. “Angel,” he says, and his voice has never sounded sweeter to Aziraphale’s ears. “You shouldn’t be here, your people might come back–”

“Nonsense,” Aziraphale shakes his head and he thinks he might be tearing up a little, and approaches the bed once more, carefully not to crowd him. “Everyone thinks you’re already dead. No one will be looking for you. Besides,” he sniffs, continuing as loftily as he can manage at the moment, “there’s nowhere else I ought to be.”

Crowley closes his eyes, looking pained, and tries to sit up. Obviously, it’s a terrible idea, and it sends him gasping for breath and clutching at his stomach. Aziraphale clucks at him, immediately fussing with the pillows and helping him into a more comfortable position; he also doesn’t miss the terrible flinch Crowley gives when he first reaches for the pillows.

It sends his own heart, already quite tattered with all the ups and downs of the past hours, into a rather poor state.

“Dear boy,” Aziraphale breathes, still hovering by the bed but with his hands in clear view as not to startle Crowley again. “What have they done to you?”

“What?” Crowley is probably going for a snort, or perhaps to wave the concern off dismissively as always, but it comes off too strained to be anything but slightly panicked. “Just a bit of squabble, that’s all. The bastard got the drop on me, had some sort of holy spear-knife-thingy.”

“Oh, is that all?” Aziraphale does his best to keep his voice level and not shriek at the casual way Crowley mentions his life-threatening– literally life-threatening– injury. “Just a bit of a squabble? They told me you were dead, for Heaven’s sake!”

Crowley’s eyebrows raise at that, and to be fair, he does look chagrined. “Did they now? Is that why you broke into my flat?”

“Of course,” he says primly, not wanting to let it slip his desperate flight here. “I had to make sure I wasn’t being called back Above unnecessarily. It wouldn’t do to leave Earth unprotected.”

“Ah, right,” Crowley attempts a bit of a smirk, one of his infuriatingly knowing ones, “of course not. And let me win? That would be embarrassing for you.”

“Very,” he agrees with a solemn nod and frowns at the still bleeding wound on Crowley’s stomach. Well, at least this explains why it’s taking so long to heal. “Now, will you let me take a look at that?”

Crowley’s face falls. “I’m fine, angel, truly,” he clears his throat, “this is healing nicely, I’d say. Be back on my feet in a few days.”

Aziraphale hesitates. It’s perfectly understandable that Crowley would have issues after what he must have gone through and he’s quite convinced all that twitching and hissing in his sleep last night had been due to nightmares. He is also convinced those won’t go away so soon. “This looks far from fine, Crowley,” he sighs softly, “if not for your sake, then for mine? You know I will keep worrying.”

“That’s a low blow,” Crowley accuses, heaving a long-suffering sigh of his own before waving a hand, “but fine, fuss away, angel.”

“Thank you,” Aziraphale smiles. He keeps his movements deliberately slow, making it clear where he’s going for, and while it doesn’t erase the flinching or the shadow that passes over Crowley’s face, it seems to help. At least, enough to allow Aziraphale to heal the worst of the gash and the infection that had been starting to fester. Crowley must have been feverish last night, that’s why he didn’t recognize him, of course. “See? Now we both feel much better.”

“Is that pride I hear, angel?” Crowley, clearly better, singsongs and his yellow eyes are already much brighter, catching the sunlight like always. 

“Oh, shush,” he defends himself, wishing away the heat spreading up his neck to his cheeks. Blushing is hardly an angelic trait. “Do you think you can keep some light food down? I’m thinking chicken soup– humans have traditionally made them for their sick– what now?”

See, he asks because Crowley is staring at him with an odd expression that Aziraphale can’t get a read on, can’t pin a name even though words have always been his domain. It’s unnerving and it’s stirring something in his chest– something warm and light and terribly doomed– and it leaves Aziraphale feeling unbalanced and flustered.

Crowley, though, only blinks with the leisure of someone who doesn’t need to blink if they don’t want to and grins a grin that is not a smile but it’s still softer than a smirk. A pretty, ineffable thing, Aziraphale would say if he were in the business of getting into trouble.

Which he’s not, for the record.

“Oh, nothing, erm, don’t mind me,” Crowley says, quieter and easier than his usual drawl, “I quite fancy some chicken soup, yes.”

“Well, then,” Aziraphale stands up, dusting himself off for the sake of having something to do to hide the way his fingers are stubbornly refusing to stop trembling. “I’ll get on with it and you do try and rest. You lost a great deal of blood and holy injuries are pesky things to heal in a demon, you know.”

There’s an answering grunt from Crowley and Aziraphale makes the herculean effort of averting his eyes and trusting the demon won’t disappear if he leaves his sights for longer than a fraction of a second. His heart protests, but he stays good on his word and marches bravely towards the kitchen.

How hard can it be to make some soup, anyway?

*

“Erm, so you see, then,” Aziraphale says, wringing his hands nervously, as he sits in the park with Gabriel. It’s very unsettling to have a meeting in St. James with someone other than Crowley, but well. At least they’re not on their bench. “I can’t leave Earth on good conscious, not with the agent of the Adversary still roaming the planet.”

“Well this is just disappointing,” Gabriel huffs, sounding very cross. Like a spoiled child, one could say if one wouldn’t mind immediate smiting. “I thought he was dead, he was supposed to be dead– why isn’t he dead?”

“The demon Crowley is very, uh, wiley,” he explains, clearing his throat and gesturing to Crowley drinking tea in a coffee shop across the street. “You know snakes, cunning and crafty and all that. It’s exactly why I need to stay. Keep thwarting his plans.”

Gabriel glares at no one in particular. “Fine,” he whines, drawing the word out, “no more promotion for Azriel and no more coming home for you. I guess I’ll just shred all the paperwork and the forms and the memos, then.”

“That’s– what a pity,” Aziraphale laughs apprehensively. Across them, Crowley sips his tea sedately. A dog stretches its leash to sniff at his snakeskin shoes and he feeds it a biscuit. 

“Tell me about it, Michael will be insufferable,” Gabriel drags himself up, fussing with his suit. “Keep up the, well, work here, Aziraphale. Keep a close eye on that one and maybe figure out how he’s already up and about– Azriel even filled out all the paperwork to borrow the Holy Lance from the Archives.”

“I am as clueless as you,” he says, hoping his face is as innocent as he feels. He doesn’t know, technically, how Crowley bounced back so quickly either. There should be at least another day of recovery. “I haven’t the foggiest.”

“Huh, I guess Hell is investing in their insurance plans now,” Gabriel shrugs, “no one saw that coming. I’ll talk to Rafael to revisit out dental plans. Maybe cover some more procedures.”

Nodding serenely, Aziraphale watches as Gabriel grumbles about not being outdone by Hell and disappears in a bolt of lightning that scorches a square in the grass and startles nearby ducks.

Across the street, Crowley waves cheerily. There’s no sign of his injury, not outside, but Aziraphale knows the sunglasses are hiding deep shadows under his eyes and Crowley still flinches at sudden movements.

Still, he is finally, as the humans say, out of the woods.

Aziraphale smiles.

He throws some bread at the upset ducks and joins him for tea.